The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Marsha’s roommate took a new job in another state. The new job came with a significant raise in pay as well as an advancement in her job title. Unfortunately the new company required all employees to work in the office at least three days a week. So she packed up and moved.

Marsha couldn’t afford to keep the apartment to herself. She considered advertising on Craig’s List for a new roommate, but wasn’t comfortable with having a stranger move in. She covered the whole rent herself for a few months, but it became clear she couldn’t sustain that. So she started asking around among her friends to see if anybody had a room available.

Connie, a fellow gym rat at the local sweat zone, overheard her and chimed in, “I actually could use a roommate. I own a small townhome with an extra bedroom. Your bedroom would have its own full bath. I’ll even clear out some junk so you can park in my 2-car garage. I think you’d fit in nicely!”

Connie was a gregarious little blond, barely over five foot tall with bright blue eyes. She seemed to be friends with everyone at the gym. Super fit, she had a muscular back, strong legs, and small tits. Connie usually wore clingy outfits with open strap backs that showed she wasn’t wearing a bra, and sheer yoga pants without panties that fit so snugly between the cheeks you’d swear you could make out the outline of her asshole. Marsha had spied on Connie’s workout routines for months now. It was quite impressive how much weight she could lift, considering how compact she was. She had also checked out Connie’s tight little body in the locker room. Connie was not shy at all about parading wet and naked around the dressing area, smiling, chatting, laughing, showing off her pierced nipples and the butterfly tattoo right above her carefully shaved pussy. Connie had extra piercings in her left ear and once Marsha caught a glimpse of jewelry between her thighs. Several times Marsha had seen Connie casually shaving in the common shower area, not even trying to be private about it.

Everybody liked Connie. She seemed to know everybody’s name and liked to tell an endless supply of ribald jokes. She always turned to face someone squarely when she talked to them, standing uncomfortably close, holding eye contact, giggling, wiggling just slightly enough to entice. Whenever she talked to Marsha, it made her nipples hard for the next half an hour.

Connie’s locker room manners must have been infectious because there were a number of other women who hung out in the nude, gabbing, laughing, making sexist comments about the male members of the gym. It was a sort of mini nudist resort right there in the city. Even Jackie, the club owner, partook after her personal workouts. After a few months the social pressure got to Marsha. She lowered her guard to linger after her shower before dressing, enjoying the company and secretly enjoying the view. She was quite proud of her body and privately hoped the others would notice. The shared comradery of group locker room nudity became one of the important reasons for daily gym attendance. The absence of men staring made it all the more gratifying.

Then there was the L-gang, that group of six or seven hotties who always hung out together making a spectacle of themselves. They arrived about the same time. They worked out together. They showered and shaved together, laughing and chatting the whole time. They monopolized the dressing mirrors, doing makeup, brushing hair, and otherwise intimately grooming each other. They left together in a loud group, apparently unaware of the effect they were having on the men. It was obvious they were lesbians, though they never seemed to hit on anyone else. They just showed up, did their thing, and left. Connie seemed quite comfortable with the L-gang. She moved easily in and out of their circle, but never looked to be a member.

Marsha was no slacker in the gym, either. She was built for it. Taller than average and broad shouldered for a woman yet with narrow hips, she kept her full red hair in a thick braid that reached clear down to her britches. She had inherited her mother’s tendency to hold onto extra weight. So she watched her diet and worked out like a fiend. Daily trips to the gym kept her abs flat and strong, her ass nicely rounded and her legs curvy. Twice weekly yoga classes kept her as limber as a pretzel. Luckly, the only extra weight she carried was in her breasts. They were large and firm, riding high with dark areolas and nipples the size of thimbles when hard. Marsha’s breasts were as freckled as her face.

Marsha’s thought processes got short circuited when a giggling naked Connie offered her a place to live. Connie softly set her fingers on Marsha’s forearm, batting her baby blue eyes. A private bathroom and garage parking! A chance to live with popular Connie! How could anyone say no to that? Her lease was up at the end of the month, giving her a leisurely 3 weeks to pack. Connie enlisted two muscle dudes at the gym to help on moving day. Mike and Randy were familiar to Marsha. It turned out Mike was actually Connie’s boyfriend, although she had never seen outward signs of affection between them. Mike and Randy were very friendly during the move, commenting on Marsha’s workouts and physique. Marsha caught them checking out her body throughout the day, exchanging knowing glances. She didn’t know whether to feel degraded or complimented. She figured men will be men. She decided to feel complimented. Randy’s comments delved into come-on territory, but never went any further than that.

Marsha and Connie hit it off like old pals. They had a lot in common, movies, humor, even liking the same foods. After Marsha was all settled in, Connie pressured her to sign a rental agreement that included significant penalties for early exit. Marsha thought it strange to sign something so strict between friends, but decided business is business. The feeling passed. Once that was signed, Connie revealed she was a full time nudist at home. She encouraged Marsha to do the same. Marsha declined at first. After a few weeks, she dropped her guard, but only when Connie wasn’t around. It did feel strangely liberating to be free of clothing, and after another week, she stopped being dressed at home all together. Besides, Connie had already seen her in the nude in the locker room. What was the difference?

Mike came over once or twice a week, usually spending the night. He was always gone before Marsha woke up. Mike apparently had his own key because he usually let himself in. He seemed quite respectful of Marsha’s nudity, taking in a good peek but never staring or gawking. If Connie was out of her room they went straight to her room as soon as he arrived. Other times he went right into her room without knocking. The sex started immediately. Mike and Connie were quite loud in their love making, and the noise usually left Marsha wet between the legs. She had no serious boyfriend at the time, and was quite comfortable with touching herself, so she often masturbated while her roomate was getting fucked. Marsha began flirting with Randy at the gym. He responded with likewise flirtatious banter, but that never seemed to go anywhere.

Mike started spending more nights at the townhome. The sex sessions became even louder. Marsha actually left the house a couple of times to get away, but soon tired of the dead-end men at the dead-end bar she ended up at. So she stayed home. One night Mike actually brought another woman over with him. Her name was Helen. Marsha recognized her from the health club. The three of them raised holy hell that evening, but Helen went home before 10, grumbling something about money for a babysitter.

Marsha became fairly used to masturbating while Connie and Mike fucked. Being naked made that a lot simpler. And since they fucked a lot, she masturbated a lot. Several times every night. Touching herself became the norm. She tried to fantasize that it was herself having sex with Mike. He was quite handsome, and well built. But Connie’s shrieks invaded her thoughts. All she could imagine was Connie and Mike together. She tried imagining sex with Randy. No use. Somehow, she could only see Mike on top of Connie in her mind.

Connie alway kept her bedroom door closed. Marsha respected that, thinking it was a privacy thing. After all, the townhome was her property. One Tuesday afternoon Marsha was collecting up her laundry. Due to their schedules, Marsha was home alone every Tuesday. Then they were both off on Wednesdays. Marsha’s whites load was a bit light and she wondered if she should collect up a few undies and sox from Connie’s room to add to her own. A friendly roommate gesture. She went into Connie’s room.

Marsha was very surprised at what she found. Connie’s bed was outfitted as a bizarre bondage bed. The bed was essentially a queen size frame with specialized upgrades. The headboard and footboard looked solidly built, able to withstand some serious abuse. Pins and rings were fitted at the corners and several other places. Instead of sheets, the mattress was covered in a fitted vinyl slip. There were no blankets in sight.

Two lengths of solid climbing rope came out of a whole at the center of the footboard, rising and separating in a vee to the outer corners of the headboard, each vanishing into a whole in the corner. At the foot of the bed where the ropes rose over the edge of the mattress were two padded leather cuffs attached to knots in the ropes. Obviously for ankles, they looked quite sturdy, although probably comfortable. Also near the corners of the headboard were two dangling ropes attached to another pair of padded cuffs. Similarly stout but comfortable, they were sized for someone’s wrists. Now Marsha had an idea of why the late night sex sessions seemed to get so roudy.

The bed had four large under drawers, two on either side. Marsh opened one and rummaged through its contents, finding an assortment of bondage gear. Much of it looked like nothing she recognized, but it was all obviously sexual in nature. One piece she did recognize was a ball gag. She had seen them in movies. It was a simple band of elastic bungee cord material joined together into a loop. The loop passed through a red rubber ball. Marsha wondered whether it would hurt to wear the gag for very long. She slipped the ball between her front teeth. The ball slipped easily pasty her front teeth and settled snugly behind, pushing her tongue flatly down. Her mouth was held open, but not stretched uncomfortably.

Marsa tried to say a few words. In the movies a gag like this silenced the wearer. She found she could make a fair amount of noise, but her words came out as unintelligible gurgles. Not silenced, but unable to speak.

Marsha looked up at herself in a full length mirror mounted on the ceiling. (Of course, there was a huge mirror on the ceiling!) She had never tried anything like this before, and it felt strangely sexy. Kind of a wicked, forbidden sexy. Marsha slipped a hand down between her thighs to discover she was already moist down there. She tried to imagine tiny Connie wearing the gag, but her own image from the mirror persisted. She pushed with her tongue and the ball popped right out. She put it back between her teeth and stretched the loop over her head. Now when she pushed with her tongue, the ball stayed put. She had placed the loop over her hair braid, which was slightly uncomfortable. Using both hands, she pulled the ball out, slipping the cord under her braid. She left the gag dangling around her neck.

Marsha returned to the drawer to see what other treasures were there. The next thing she recognized was a strapon dildo. It was a big one, some 12 inches long, and fat. Way bigger than any guy she had ever seen. It was realistically shaped, including protruding veins, a spear head tip, and a big pair of balls at the base. She held it up and examined the straps. She considered trying it on over her clothes, but tossed it onto the bed instead. There were more than a dozen other strange sex fetish items in the drawer. Three more drawers were unexplored. The weirdness overwhelmed her for the moment.

Marsha decided Connie could do her own laundry, and left the room, closing the door behind her. She certainly couldn’t shake the image of what she had discovered in her roommate’s bedroom. It added a whole new dimension to her fantasy of Mike on top of Connie. She found that for now, her roommate persisted as the object of her fantasies. That was fine with her. She didn’t want to think of herself in bondage. That was definitely too bizarre for her.

Marsha took her basket of laundry to the machine and loaded it, closing the hallway door to keep the noise in. She went to the kitchen to pour herself an afternoon cup of coffee, reheating it in the microwave. She sat down in the living room with her cup and as her mind recounted what she had seen. Her hand slipped between her thighs again. Since moving in with Connie, masturbation was becoming routine. She was home alone, and figured ‘What the hell.’ Looking down, Marsha realized she still had the ball gag dangling around her neck. An image of Connie wearing the ball formed in her mind. She remembered seeing her own face in the ceiling mirror, but now could only visualize Connie.

Marsha paused masturbating long enough to stretch the cord and let the ball settle into place. Immediately her own face came into focus in the fantasy. That was a bit strange, but it seemed she had to be wearing the gag for it to be a self-fantasy. She got down to business, giving herself several great orgasms. She relaxed after the third one, or was it four? She closed her eyes with one hand cupped over her sex, her other nursing her coffee mug. Her mind slipped into a state halfway between lucid dreams and horny fantasies. In her dreams she was indeed wearing the ball gag. However, she could only see Connie and Mike fucking. Now her fantasy version of Connie was trapped into various states of bondage while Mike plowed the ever-loving-shit out of her.

Marsha woke with a start. Glancing at the clock, she realized Connie would be home soon. She hopped up and returned the ball gag and the strapon dildo to the drawer and closed it, hustling back to her room. Just in time, as Connie came in the door just then.

The next day was pure torture for Marsha. She had to hold her secret knowledge close, keeping a straight face around Connie. She just couldn’t admit to snooping around her new roommate’s things. If it pissed Connie off, she could throw Marsha out without anywhere to live and keep the deposit. The day went on forever. Every time she saw Connie naked, her mind placed that sexy body in some sort of bondage posture. That night she got little sleep. Images of Mike pounding Connie haunted her.

The rest of the week crawled by. Mike’s visits were now nightly. Their loud sex became a vivid reminder of what she had seen. Images of Connie strapped down while Mike pommeled her drove her to fierce masturbation sessions. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture herself on that bed. After a few days, she started longing to feel what it would be like, to be held down helplessly while that hot guy Randy used her. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Connie and Mike. She bought a small rubber toy ball that was about the right size and practiced holding it in her mouth, pretending she was gagged. It helped clarify her fantasies, but only made her hornier.

Even though she found the pornographic images disturbing, it was also inescapably compelling. Simply wiping herself after peeing in the restroom at work now turned into a horny masturbation session. She carefully kept the noise contained so no one else knew. The orgasms were becoming quicker and easier to achieve while at the same time becoming stronger, more satisfying.

Marsha held a bachelors in psychology. It was what made her such a successful salesman. She fully recognized the feedback loop for what it was. Frequent orgasms needed less and less work to achieve. They also provided ever increasing pleasure. The amped up pleasure reward induced a fixation on the fantasy that was driving the behavior. Nightly hot sex in the next room forged increasingly abberant fantasies. The inescapable fantasies ensured more frequent masturbation. Smaller rests between orgasms guaranteed the next one arrived with reduced effort.

Marsha recognized she was trapped in what was called an obsessive compulsive feedback loop. The pleasure reward had become addictive, the environmental stimulant unavoidable. She was loving it! No one was getting hurt. Her university training taught her that masturbation was harmless. She independently decided it was not just harmless. Rather, masturbation was pure good, a goal in its own right. Natural, wholesome nourishment for the soul. Marsha welcomed the behavior and actively chose to escalate her immersion in the cycle. She accepted the compulsion to touch herself whenever she had the privacy for it. Round the clock domestic nudity encouraged the behavior. She embraced the sexual fantasies that now haunted her idle moments.

Marsha recognized that actually wearing the ball gag seemed to be required to fantasize about herself. She was becoming desperate to visualize herself in bondage. Marsha decided that this next Tuesday when Connie was at work, she would experiment on that bed, hoping to see herself in these fantasies that were consuming her.

Marsha left for the gym at the same time as Connie left for work. Neither Mike nor Randy was working out. Marsha put in a fierce session, even lifting a personal best on the mechanical bench press. After showering, she sent her roommate an innocuous text, verifying Connie was at her desk. Marsha bolted right home and peeled off her clothes immediately, leaving them on the floor just inside the garage door. She looked at the kitchen clock. It was mid morning. Connie wasn’t due home until after work. Marsha had like six or seven hours left to explore all the weird paraphernalia. She drank a protein shake and padded barefoot down the hall to Connie’s room, bringing her laptop to look up items she didn’t recognize. She felt deliciously sinful, sneaking naked into her roommate’s private space. Her left middle finger stroked slowly across her clit as she looked around the room.

The first thing she noticed was a huge TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed. In the corner was a studio grade, tripod mounted camera. It was off and pointed toward a wall. ‘Geez,’ Marsha thought. ‘Connie is really into this stuff.’

Marsha emptied the first drawer onto the bed and leisurely pawed through the stuff. First item of interest was the ball gag. She slipped it over head, under her luxurious hair, and around her neck, keeping it from her lips for the time being. She picked up the huge strapon dildo next. It took two hands to wield comfortably. She figured she probably wouldn’t want that inside her. She opened her jaw wide and pushed the tip of the thing past her lips.

She flashed on an image of a real cock pushing right on down her throat. That startled her and she pulled it out. The image faded. She introspected for a moment on how suggestable she seemed to be, how her mind seemed to flow in some direction directed by the external stimulus of Connie’s sex toys.

Marsha felt relaxation flow through her. Confident she had the whole day, she sorted idly through the other things, looking at each one, deciding what it was for. She tried out the image identification app on her phone and was surprised to see the software came up with a name for most of it, even suggesting sites where stuff could be purchased. She followed several of the links. She found sites that sold these items plus tons of other fetish gear. Marsha had a peripheral notion that these things existed, but had never explored for herself. One of her searches had a pop up ad for a site of bondage videos.

She was about to click on the link when her laptop alerted her to a low battery. Marsha padded naked back to her room to retrieve her power cord. She caught sight of herself in a mirror. The ball gag around her neck sent a rush of guilty pleasure down her spine. Looking for an outlet in Connie’s room, she found one built into the footboard of the bed. She noticed a video input plug right next to the power socket with a cord dangling ready.

She plugged it into the video-out on her laptop and the big screen TV woke up, displaying a copy of her laptop. ‘Oh, I get it. Connie, you little slut!’ Marsha clicked on the video site. The main page had the normal age verification step, then opened to a teaser page with links to a few very short bondage videos. She tried several, but they were too short to be exciting. Each one ended with a prompt to pay for full access. Her interest piqued, she clicked through, letting autofill provide her credit card number.

The first video she watched showed a large black gal strapped to a wall. Some skinny white guy poked and prodded the gal, molesting her tits, rubbing her between the legs. The actress grunted and squirmed, seemingly enjoying the attention. When it was over, a page presented with perhaps a dozen offered videos. They all seemed to be based on an upright actress attached to walls, doorways and strange frames. The top bar had a pulldown for other categories. She found one labeled ‘Reclining Alone’.

The first one she tried showed a model/actress outside on a lawn. Her legs and arms were pulled wide to pins, or stakes in the ground. She was shown just lying there alone. Birds were chirping. Dogs barked in the distance. The video stopped. She had been masturbating but the video ended too quickly to get her off. She selected another ‘Reclining Alone’ video. Now a busty brunette was on her back on a hotel bed. Her arm and legs were secured to the corners of the bed. Again alone, she lay quietly, undisturbed. Not exciting. She noticed a button at the corner labeled ‘Autoplay’. That sounded better, so she selected it. Marsha clicked another button at the top labeled ‘Random Play’. The splayed out brunette video continued.

Marsha looked down on Connie’s bed, trying one last time to visualize herself there. No luck. Now she saw the brunette porn actress, not herself. She placed the ball gag in her mouth and her imagination complied. She was able to see herself gagged but not bound. That did it. She lay down mid-bed on the vinyl covering, squirming and squealing at the first cold touch. It still wasn’t enough. She saw her own face gagged, but someone else’s body strapped down. Her imagination shimmered between Connie and the actress. She now realized she would have to feel the cuffs to be able to imagine them on herself.

Marsha scooted down toward the foot of the bed and slipped the ankle cuffs on. The simple buckles were easy to set. She experimented with the fit, finding one that was both comfortable and secure. Marsha noted the straps were well worn at a buckle position smaller than her own ankles. ‘Smaller Connie must wear these a lot.’ she thought to herself. She lay back and sure enough, an image of her own ankles in bondage formed. It was strange though, for she still couldn’t shake the thought of Connie’s wrists in the cuffs. She relented, reaching over to the dangling leather cuffs. They were on ropes just long enough to reach together at the center of the headboard. They were up and out of her visual field, but having just played with the ankle cuffs, she could set the wrist cuffs by feel. It all felt safe because the ropes had enough play that she could bring her hands together and let herself loose at any time. Her head settled onto a padded, contoured cradle.

Marsha smiled inwardly and moaned softly as her imagination now filled in the complete details. She could clasp her hands together above her head, but the ropes were nowhere near long enough to masturbate. She lay there for a few minutes enjoying the soft bondage, letting her mind wander, thinking how she would never be able to masturbate in true bondage. That seemed like the whole point of the thing. Or one of the points, at least. She looked at the playing video. It still showed a long static view of the splayed out actress just laying there. Kinda boring, really. Maybe that would appeal to some men.

The video faded and randomly switched to a different theme. Now a woman was bound face down to the front grill of a beat up old pickup. The truck was parked somewhere out in the woods. Two naked men showed up in frame. They were both skinny redneck looking guys with greasy hair, ugly tattoos, crooked teeth. Neither looked like he had showered or shaved in weeks. As they approached the bound girl, she struggled against her bonds.

Marsha watched the poorly shot video. The rednecks groped the bound girl. She screamed for help, but they were out in the boondocks. No help arrived. Marsha contemplated for a moment that possibly this wasn’t a staged video. The loud scream seemed real. Maybe she should have turned the volume off before she had settled in. Or at least down a little. The woman’s screams were unpleasantly loud. The speakers mounted just above the headboard were pointed directly at her. After a bit her nose itched. As she went to scratch it, she realized the leads were not quite long enough to reach. She thought maybe she could pull out a bit of slack. The ropes simply vanished into smooth holes in the headboard. Maybe there was more rope on the other side of that hole. Perhaps a sharp tug and they would extend a bit. She gave the right one a bit of slack and jerked hard. The rope went taught with a loud “thwup!”

Marsh heard a loud click and a small motor under the bed started up. She realized the leads attached to her wrists were slowly reeling in. She frantically tried to bring her hands together to unbuckle the cuffs. Too late. Her fingers touched each other and were then dragged apart. Her hands could no longer reach each other. The rope leads kept reeling in until each cuff met its rounded headboard hole. She heard the reel motor strain a bit, then shut off. Immediately after that another motor started up. The two ropes to which her ankles were attached also started to winch up. Marsha panicked. She struggled frantically, screaming into the gag as loud as she could, as if that would do any good. Arranged in a vee, the ropes retracted all the way, reeling her ankles up, pulling them apart, the winch stronger than her flesh and blood, stopping only when the ankle cuffs were pulled tight against the upper corners of the headboard. Both her pairs of wrists and ankles were now pinned wide to the headboard with no slack whatsoever. Her precious pussy was laid bare and exposed. Marsha screamed again into the red plastic ball between her teeth, pulling wildy at her bonds.

Marsha struggled for a good half a minute while that trapped feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. Her mind raced, ‘Foolish idiot! What was I thinking!’ She pulled against the cuffs as hard as she could. Nothing, not even a creak. The padded cuffs held tight without cutting into her skin. The bedframe was obviously stronger than she was. She was fucked.

Marsha relaxed for a moment to take stock of her situation. Here she was, naked, strapped spread obscenely on her roommate’s bed. Defenseless! Gagged, as well. She couldn’t call out for help. What could she possibly say to any would-be rescuer, anyway? Whoever showed up could well take advantage of her. Besides, she had double checked the doors to make sure they were locked. No one would hear her. No one would find her. She was definitely fucked.

Marsha tugged several more times on the restraints, biting down onto the ball to focus her will, pulling as hard as she could, hoping something would give. She shouted profanities as loud as she could, but they only sounded like crude gurgling. When she gave up she was sweating and breathing hard from exertion and fear. Marsha looked around the room for something, anything that might give her hope. The only thing she saw was the video. Now the two rednecks had progresset to raping their captive. One of them was stand-up fucking her from behind. She screamed some insult at him and he slapped her hard. A cut opened up in her lip and began to bleed. The video was obviously not staged. The girl was an actual victim.

Defeated, she lay back and her head settled easily onto the comfortable cradle. She realized the cradle kept her eyes trained somewhere in the middle between her own reflection in the mirror above and the huge TV playing bondage porn. She could focus on either by shifting her gaze. Marsha gazed at herself, realizing her lurid fantasy had come true. She didn’t have to fantasize about it anymore. She was actually restrained in a sexually exposed position. Any man could fuck her without resistance. Any number of men could fuck her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to see Connie in this position. Compromised. Defenseless. No such luck, all she could visualize now was her own predicament, her own image as reflected in the mirror.

Thinking of Connie, she opened her eyes again to take in the live, concrete image in the mirror. What would she say to her roommate when she found her like this? Well, nothing actually. She was gagged into silence. Thinking of excuses didn’t make any sense. Exactly what excuse would fly, anyway.

It was inevitable that Connie would be finding her like this. Hopefully her roommate would be good natured about this intrusion into her privacy. The leather cuffs had shown signs of regular use. Connie herself must have been spending time like this. Surely she would understand. Whatever Connie decided, there was nothing Marsha would be able to do about it. Defenseless. That was the third time she had mentally traced that word. Marsha persiverated on that word for a bit, repeating it, digesting its implications.

Defenseless, like that poor girl getting raped in the video. When Connie got home, Marsha would be completely at her mercy. No begging. No pleading. No escape. No evasion.

Defenseless. Connie owned all this bizarre equipment. She probably knew exactly what to do with each piece. Lord knows, some of it might cause pain. Lots of pain. Crap!

Defenseless. Tomorrow they both had the day off. No one was expecting Marsha to be anywhere. Connie could keep her like this for the next day and a half. Shit. Shit Shit! She had to figure out a plan, some means of escape, something.

Even though she knew better, Marsha pulled on her restraints one more time. She knew she was trapped. Fuck! She didn’t know exactly what time it was, but she guessed it was going to be some five more hours before her rescue. Or discovery, more likely. She was in the middle of accepting her loss when she realized something. Her nose still itched. Damn!

That was when she processed the first stage of loss. Denial. She must be dreaming. This couldn’t be real. She just had to be dreaming or something. All she had to do was wake up. Any time now. Just roll over and snap out of it. Hmmm, her nose itched. Definitely not a dream.

Marsha processed the next four stages of loss in a compacted amount of time.

Anger. Why hadn’t Connie been honest with her? This was all her fault. Those friendly interactions at the gym had been a trap. A honey pot. And she had fallen for it.

Bargaining. When Connie arrived, she would barter for her release. She must have something Connie wanted. Marsha realized that whatever Connie wanted she could take without paying or even asking for it. Marsha held no cards.

Depression. This sucked! How could she be so stupid? That was my life recently. Just one bad decision after another. Maybe I deserve this. Stupid cunt.

Acceptance. It was out of her power to change anything at the moment. Whatever happened would take its own course. Surely Connie would be cool with it. Someday Marsha would look back on all this and laugh. The wrist and ankle cuffs were well padded and did not hurt. Her hips and lower back may get tired after a while, but she was a strong and flexible athlete. She was sure she could take it. Everything would work out.

Marsha pulled on her bonds, gently enough to wiggle back and forth a bit, settling in, finding what comfort she could. She realized that although her arms and legs were bound she could still move her hips. She lifted her pelvis up and down several times and saw it for what it was: humping. She couldn’t move much, but she could energetically fuck back if someone decided to use her. That someone could well be Mike. He had his own key. He always when straight to Connie’s room ready to fuck.

Marsha couldn’t see a clock and figured she still had some four or five hours to wait. She judged the light at the window. No, more like six hours to go. The cradle holding her head kept her gaze focused on either her spread naked body or the video entertainment. She could lift her head and look to the side, but not for long. As soon as she relaxed, her head settled into the straight ahead view. She closed her eyes a few times trying to think of something else. The image in her mind matched what she had just seen. Marsha visualized her own body in the predicament of the woman getting raped. When she opened her eyes, the translation was complete. She now saw herself inserted in place of the video victim.

She tried to shift focus by looking up to stare at her own reflected image. Her gaze moved in a circuit from face to tits to cunt, back to her face. Marsha was so embarrassed, it was unsettling to stare into her own eyes, so for a while she tried looking at nothing else but her reflected pussy. But the video action was too distracting.

So for the next few hours she watched endless degrading bondage porn with the volume turned unpleasantly high. Video after video auto played. The content randomly varied from boring consensual soft porn to hard core rape scenes that were obviously filmed unscripted, the penetrations real, the women given no choice, some enduring significant pain. In every single one, she translated her own self into the position of the victim. When she dozed off for short periods the audio track ensured she dreamt of all the things that someone could do to her pussy that she couldn’t evade or escape.

Marsha had completely lost track of time, floating in and out of consciousness, when she heard the garage door open, then close, a car door shut, the back door into the kitchen open and shut. Marsha heard footsteps moving around the house, a wine cork pop, Connie’s laughter. Thank god it was Connie, not Mike. Marsha heard footsteps coming down the hall. This was it, Connie was going to freak out. Marsha was getting kicked out of the house for sure. She had left the bedroom door wide open.

“Well, well, what have we here? Wow, that was faster than I thought.” Connie stood at the doorway. She had a glass of white wine in one hand, Marsha’s discarded clothes in the other. She took a sip of wine, savored the taste, swallowed triumphantly. She looked up at the video playing. This one had five big black men gang banging a small white girl that looked a lot like Connie. Four men held her spread while each one took turns inside her. All three holes were repeatedly violated. The poor little white girl did not look happy about her predicament.

Connie said, “I had no idea you were into this kind of shit. What a fuck slut!” She set her glass down on the bedside table and dropped Marsha’s clothes on the floor, stripped out of her own.

Connie flipped on a wall switch that turned on some ten different spotlights scattered about the ceiling. The bed was bathed in bright studio-grade white light. She turned the tripod-mounted camera toward the bed to record everything. She stopped short of setting it to record just yet.

Connie found the porn sound track distracting and didn’t want it to be a part of the permanent record. She pulled out a pair of earbuds and inserted them into her own ears. She futzed with the Bluetooth controls on Marsha’s laptop until they were connected, the room speakers muted. Then she turned the volume down so she could still hear anything spoken in the room. Connie inserted the tiny buds into Mardsha’s ears so she would continue listening to the porn videos as well as watching them. Connie set the laptop on the dresser just below the wall-mounted TV. She set the main camera to record. From the point of view of the camera, Marsha was quietly captured in full bondage, but the camera recorded nothing of the video entertainment.

She left the room for a moment and came back with Marsha’s phone. She forced open Marsha’s right hand enough to push her finger against the fingerprint reader. Once open, Connie disabled all of the security features so she could do as she wanted with her roommate’s phone. Marsha’s phone was as exposed and vulnerable as her body. Calling up the camera app, Connie took twenty or thirty pictures from different angles. She crawled onto the bed, taking some close ups of Marsha’s cunt, her nipples, her lips stretched around the ball gag. She got in close for a few selfies as well, making it clear and identifiable who was behind the lens.

At one point Connie paused to finish her glass of wine. She got off the bed and fiddled with a couple of switches on the footboard. The ropes to Marsha’s wrists extended about a foot, giving her a bit of room to move. The ropes holding Marsha’s ankles reeled in reverse. The vee configured ropes pulled her feet down towards the foot of the bed, lower and closer together. Connie flipped the switch to Stop when the ankle cuffs were about a foot apart. She pushed a large cylindrical bolster under Marsha’s knees to support their weight in a comfortable bent position, her feet about a foot apart and a foot off the bed.

Connie told her unwilling captive, “You should move around a bit. Rest your hips and shoulders. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Marsha took advantage of the relaxed restraints. Her hips were indeed sore. She lifted her ass up and twisted side to side, getting the blood to flow in her back and legs. She rolled her shoulders a bit, testing the restraints. Her hands were nowhere near enough to reach each other. She was still trapped. The five-on-one gang rape video was still playing, the guys had moved on to seconds and thirds. The victim was sobbing. Snot ran from her nose. Marsha’s nose still itched. She tugged a bit too hard in the wrist restraint, trying to reach her nose. She heard that familiar click and her arms and legs were reeled back into place, high, wide, spread, immobilized. Shit!

The next video captured Marsha’s attention from start to finish. It was a film of a live stage performance where a man artfully wound a long soft rope around a fellow male performer while a small intimate audience watched. The two moved in a practiced routine set to energetic jazz music with a strong beat, transitioning from one obscene posture to another, more a modern dance than a bondage routine. One end of the rope was attached to the ceiling. The other end of the rope flowed smoothly in the Top’s hands, guiding the Bottom’s limbs to each nasty pose as though a third performer on stage. The Top was small, lean, and bald from head to toe. The Bottom was a handsome body builder, easily twice the size of his dance partner. In all dimensions. The Bottom’s well oiled body was tuned to athletic perfection. Both men proudly kept their shaved erections on display throughout the entire show. Moving in unison, they must have presented this routine to countless audiences in gay bars across the land. As the music reached a crescendo the Top shoved his cock inside his bound partner’s asshole. The bound man screamed in passion and immediately orgasmed onto the stage floor. The audience cheered. The music faded into rhythmic crotch-slaps as the Top continued to fuck his partner. The camera moved in for a series of tight close-ups of their tangled genitals. Top thrust relentlessly for several minutes, grunting profanities, obviously enjoying himself, before spending his load as deep up the bound man’s ass as he could reach. Top pulled out. The Bottom was left dangling from the rafters in his last posture. His knees were pulled wide, his crotch was exposed, his arms were pinned uselessly behind his back. His spent cock had softened a bit, but still was impressively large. The last of his semen drooled in a long string. A large bottle of body oil appeared and the audience was invited onstage to enjoy either the Bottom’s puckered asshole or his willing mouth. Marsha had never envisioned herself enjoying gay male porn. Too fascinated to look away, she watched completely from start to happy ending. Of all the obscene things she had seen this afternoon, that video left her the horniest. If only her hands weren’t bound to the headboard.

Connie took her time. She helped herself to a light and healthy dinner and a second glass of wine. She returned to the bedroom with her wine glass and the partial bottle. She chuckled that Marsha had been pulled spread again. As she climbed back onto the bed she chided her captive, “This bed will teach you an important lesson: just relax and enjoy it, honey. The sooner you accept that as fact, the better it will go for you.” Connie glanced at the scene playing out on the TV. Two lines of men had queued up and were fucking a bound man from both ends. The bound man was suspended in mid air. A scrawny bald guy kneeled underneath lazily sucking his cock.

“Jeez us, Marsha. You watch the weirdest shit on TV! You’re gonna fit in just fine around here.”

Connie sat next to Marsha with her refilled glass and Marsha’s phone. She flipped through the pictures, looking for the best ones, showing examples to Marsha. She singled one out, taken from the foot of the bed. Marsha’s nude body was in frame, exposed from ankle to ankle. The focus and lighting were perfect. She pinch-zoomed in. The look on Marsha’s face was priceless. The high definition camera left nothing to the imagination.

“I think I’ll send that one to Mike.” She opened up a text session, entered Mike’s phone number from memory, and pressed send.

“This close up of your cunt looks pretty hot.” Send.

“Now that’s what I call a nipple.” Connie’s fingers were in the frame, pinching hard. Send.

“Oh look, you’re drooling. Ain’t that cute!!” Send.

Connie pressed her face cheek-to-cheek with Marsha, snapped a selfie. “What do you think, Marsha? Who has the bluer eyes? You or me? I’ll leave that decision to Mike.” Send.

Marsha’s phone made several incoming text sounds. Connie was having way too much fun to respond, taking and sending like eight or ten more pictures before scrolling back to read Mike’s messages. Connie texted a response, waited for the reply. She laughed out loud. “Ha ha ha. Mike has a special request. He wants an extreme close up of your asshole. Let’s make it super special, why don’t we?”

Connie sorted through a different drawer under the bed, finding what she wanted: a small polished steel butt plug with a red jeweled heart on the stem. The plug end was a shiny ball about the size of a ping pong ball. The short stem was about as wide as her little finger.

“We’ll start with this little one.” Connie leaned in close and spit on Marsha’s asshole. [Picture] She pressed the steel ball against Marsha’s sphincter, rolling it around to spread the saliva. [Picture] With a quick nudge, she sent the polished ball home. She took a picture of the cute little heart protruding from Marsha’s asshole.

Marsha gave out an involuntary squeak as the plug slipped in. There was nothing else to say or do. Connie took one more picture of Marsha frowning, grunting, squeezing, trying to expel the anal intruder.

Connie sent those four to Mike in the order taken. She informed, “We will start with that small plug and work up from there.” Connie picked up another butt plug. This one was huge. Made of polished black plastic, it was about five inches long and probably four inches across at the widest. Cone shaped, it tapered to a smooth rounded insertion point and tapered abruptly behind the widest point to a short thick stem, maybe two inches across. A curved tee handle made it easy to wield. The wide waist would make it impossible to remove without help.

“Don’t worry, I won’t use this one next. I have a series of them in incremental sizes. They’re called anal trainers and this is the largest one. A woman’s asshole is remarkably elastic and can take a lot of abuse. But it works best if you take your time, get successive sizes inserted. Eventually we will get to this one. You’ll be glad I know all about how to properly train a girl’s asshole. You’re not my first. You’ll thank me someday.”

Connie’s cell phone rang in the living room. The ringtone was the sound of a woman orgasming, indicating it was Mike calling. Connie scampered off to answer it. Marsha only heard half of the conversation, but could guess the rest.

“Hi Mike!”

…

“Oh hell ya. That was way faster than we expected.”

…

“No, I didn’t have to. I came home from work and found her like this. I told you this expensive bed was worth every penny.”

…

“Of course! I’ve got two fingers all the way in and she’s wet as hell. Wait a second. Here comes proof.” Connie took a picture with Marsha’s phone and sent it.

…

“Oh, let me check.” Connie pulled her two fingers out. She leaned in and kissed Marsha on the clit, licked her once right up the center, then sniffed and sucked on her fingers.

…

“I’d say her taste and stink are quite strong. But then she isn’t shaved yet and I have no idea how long since she showered.”

…

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll clean up nicely.”

…

“Yes, of course, Mike. I told you, I’d seen her in the locker room. We already knew she wasn’t shaving. That’s why I kept calling her Ginger Muff.”

…

“Uh huh. … OK.”

…

“Yes, yes, Mike. I do know how you like ‘em.”

…

“Great. I’ll see you then. Oh wait. When do you turn her over to Randy?”

…

“Really?! We get to fuck her for two whole days? That’s awesome! OK, well I’m sure he will be delighted when he gets his hands on her.”

…

“OK, bye.”

Connie hung up the phone and held this dreamy smile, still sniffing her fingers with long deep inhales. Her other hand was busy between her legs. “Mike and Randy did two tours of duty in Afghanistan together. They share everything, including us women. They like to make bets about things. Whoever loses has to lend out one of his girls for some period. Mike knows I like being lent out so he often chooses me for payment. I mean, Mike is great and all, I love him, and I do belong to him. But Randy has a really big cock. Kinda like this.”

Connie picked up the strapon dildo that had been laying on the bed all this time. Marsha had thought it absurd. “He really is about this big. Fuckin’ huge! None of us girls mind when Mike loses a bet. Sometimes it’s just for a night. Sometimes it’s a whole weekend, or even more. I wouldn’t mind it being permanent. But I’m Mike’s property now. I can’t change that, so Randy’s just a once in a while thing. You’re the lucky one. This bet was on the Super Bowl. Mike lost, again. That guy has a knack for picking the losing team. The payoff was for Randy to point out any woman at the gym. Mike had to capture her and turn her into Randy’s sex slave. You’ve got one of the sexiest hard-bodies around so Randy picked you. I happily agreed to be part of the trap. I was the bate. You were the prey.”

“OK, I can’t afford you being too sore for your training. So let’s take another rest.” She got off the bed and motored Marsha’s limbs back down to a similar relaxed position as before. Marsha was glad for the rest and vowed to herself not to jerk on the ropes this time. Marha wondered what the whole ‘property’ thing was all about. Surely Connie wasn’t owned by Mike. No one owns anybody. At least not in this country. And there was no way in the world she was going to end up as someone else’s sex slave. She wanted to ask how that was supposed to work, but the gag made that impossible.

Connie got off the bed and went to the kitchen for a dish of ice cream. She ate it in the kitchen leaving Marsha to stew, watching the porn. Marsha carefully moved her hips and shoulders to help them recover. Connie passed through the bedroom to the bathroom humming some vaguely familiar tune to herself. She returned and set a tray of items on the bed. Connie flipped the switch on the headboard and the winches spread the helpless Marsha’s legs again. Marsha didn’t struggle this time. She just let it happen.

First Connie snapped on a pair of latex gloves. She squirted a generous dab of hand sanitizer gel on her gloved hands and rubbed them together. Still coated with excess sanitizer, Connie scrubbed Marsha’s cunt and ass crack thoroughly with it, squirted three more pumps of sanitizer on Marsha’s crotch and went over the entire area again from belly button to tailbone, out onto the ass cheeks. The cold feeling made Marsha shiver. Connie took a tube of lubricating gel and placed a blob in the center of Marsha’s cunt, about a half an inch below the clitoris. Connie opened up a long medical paper envelope and pulled out a new red latex catheter. She poked the tip around experimentally until finding Marsha’s urethra and slowly inserted it. She kept pushing gently until more than two thirds of the tube was inserted. Marsha felt an unfamiliar tugging sensation deep in her pelvic region as the tube entered into her bladder.

A second later her pee came flowing out. Connie was ready with a bowl, patiently waiting until all the urine was caught. It took over half a minute. Connie rubbed up and down on Marsha’s clit the whole time, just to emphasize Marsha’s vulnerabiblty. Satisfied the last few drops were done, Connie gently pulled the catheter out, dropping it in the bowl. She used a tissue to wipe Marsha’s cunt try. She got off the bed, being careful to not spill the bowl of urine, telling Marsha, “Your enima will be next.” She hit the switch that motored Marsha’s legs down and together. Connie carried the bowl away, pouring it into the toilet. She was already out of the room while the ropes finished pulling Marsha flat.

Marsha heard the flush. She was horribly embarrassed, but also quite relieved. It had been hours since she had peed, and her bladder was over full. Lucky thing she hadn’t drank a drop of fluids all afternoon. Otherwise she would have pissed the bed. Now she understood why the bed was covered in tough vinyl. She felt an increase in her feelings of helplessness. Not only was Connie in control of her physical position with a mere flip of a switch, Connie had taken away her bladder control as well and was planning to give her an enima. Her sense of personal privacy was being trod into dust. Her precious lady parts were undefendable. A flip of a switch and they would be back on display. Marsha was really thirsty, but couldn’t ask for a drink.

Connie took a long hot shower while Marsha continued to watch pornography. Connie carefully shaved her own nether regions, blew dry her hair, touched up her makeup. When she came back with a full enima bag and the bowl on a tray, Marsha was still there, waiting for her next indignation. Connie hit the switch to raise Marsha’s legs. As they slowly spread apart, her vulnerability became real again.

Marsha saw the bag while her legs were pulled up and wide. Connie really could do anything she wanted to her. There was literally nothing she could do about it, neither resist nor assist. Marsha watched every detail in morbid fascination as Connie went about her next task. Connie pulled the small butt plug out and tossed it onto the tray. She inserted the plastic nozzle into her ass. The nozzle was shaped like an oversized baby pacifier, comfortable but shaped to stay put. The bag was raised so gravity would force the fluid into Marsha’s lower intestine. Her guts reacted to the glycerine laced water. Her bowels began to contract rhythmically, trying to empty themselves. The nozzle stayed put, keeping her plugged, so the effect was like being constipated. Connie let that go on a bit longer, enjoying her captive’s discomfort. She laid her hand gently on Marsha’s lower stomach, feeling her muscles churn. When she finally removed the nozzle, Marsha’s intestines contracted forcing the fluid out, the bowl catching most of it. It was mostly brown liquid with a few soft turds. What little missed the bowl was easily wiped up. Connie picked up the second level anal trainer. This and all the rest were shaped like a realistic cock, just advancing sizes. This one was much smaller than a normal human cock, about the size of a short hot dog. The stem was about half that diameter. She used firm but gentle pressure to send it home and flipped the switch. Marsha’s legs were winched back down while Connie flushed the excrement laced water away.

Connie left Marsha flat on her back for a while, watching the constant stream of bondage porn. Several different videos played. When Connie returned she had yet another tray of implements in her hand. The bed growled again as it pulled Marsha’s legs apart. This time Marsha was given her first ever shave. Marsha had never shaved between the legs even once. Most of her previous boyfriends had always remarked on how beautiful her lush red rug was, the same color as her locks. The one guy that had asked her to shave wasn’t her boyfriend the next day. Her thick matt of red pubic hair had always been a point of personal pride. Marsha could feel her cunt swell with blood. Her nipples got firm. She was confused that her body was reacting with sexual excitement when something she loved about her body was about to be taken away.

First Connie used the electric razor to mow the pubes down to short stubble. Then came a dab of shave cream and a fresh disposable. Connie obviously had some practice at shaving other women’s cunts. She worked efficiently and confidently, never hesitating, even in the most sensitive, private regions. There were no nicks, no discomfort. She finished in short order, wiping down the area with a wet washcloth. Connie came in close, using her fingertips, lips, and tongue to feel around for even a trace of stubble. Her work had been thorough. Not a trace could be found. She took a close up picture. She texted it to Mike along with a comment on how Marsha’s freckles went all the way down.

This was the first time Marsha had ever had another woman’s mouth between her legs. The experience was making her desperately horny. But Connie quit long before Marsha could get anywhere. Connie traded up to the next level of anal trainer, then flipped the switch to lower Marsha’s legs. Marsha groaned in frustration as her ankles moved slowly down to the bottom of the bed. Every single thing Connie had done to her so far had left her more embarrassed and even hornier than before. The need for an orgasm was building. She normally knew how to handle things when she got this horny. If only she could touch herself. Marsha forced herself to calm down and not tug on the ropes. What had Connie said? “Relax and enjoy it.” How was she supposed to enjoy being horny when she couldn’t do anything about it?

Connie came back to the bed, leaving Marsha’s legs flat for now. Marsha felt a twinge of disappointment. There was something peculiarly exciting about watching her legs get pulled up and wide outside of her control. Every time it had happened Connie had done something to her lady parts that added to her sexual excitement. Only a few hours in and already her psyche was being subtly programmed to look forward to being forcibly spread.

Working one hand and then the other, Connie forced a small wad of foam rubber into Marsha’s palms, winding white athletic tape loosely around her fingers. Her hands were trapped into loose fists with her fingers and thumbs immobilized, useless for gripping anything. From a drawer she brought out a sturdy looking set of stocks. The central ring was locked around her neck and the two inescapable cuffs were locked around her wrists. Her upper body was now free of the headboard, but her arms were still pinned in a spread open position.

Connie flipped a new switch on the headboard. The upper portion of the mattress began to rise up. It continued up until her torso was supported in an upright, slightly reclined position. Her legs remained pinned together at the bottom, so she was seated comfortably, now looking directly at the TV.

Connie held an odd little contraption in her hand as she instructed Marsha, “I need to get this different gag into your mouth. When I remove your ball gag, I’ll need your full cooperation. No yelling. No speaking. No biting. I’ll give you several minutes to relax your jaw. It’s probably pretty sore by now. One peep and I’ll just shove the ball gag back in. Got it?”

Marsha nodded yes. Connie used a finger on each side and pulled the ball foreward out of Marsha’s mouth. Marsha said urgently, “Connie! Please! I didn’t mean to … um, mum mum!”

Connie had let go of the bungee cord at the front of Marsha’s mouth. The bungee cord pulled the ball home without effort. Connie reached down with both hands and pinched Marsha’s nipples hard. “I did say no speaking, right?”

Marsha nodded the affirmative. She was groaning at the pain. Connie let go and produced a set of nipple clamps, clamping them onto Marsha’s sensitized nipples, tightening them partially. Connie attended the laptop, mumbling to herself, “Let’s see. What can we find here? … Hmm, no … No, not that. … Ah, here we go. Cool, they have an entire section devoted to breast torture.” (She was unaware that one of these had already been served up mid-afternoon during Random Play.)

The first video opened up in a medical office. An obese woman had enormous breasts, fat and saggy, one of which was being smashed in a medical breast exam machine. The doctor was obviously an actor, and not a very good one at that. He took an image, examined the screen, shook his head no, smashed the tit further, took another picture. The patient was complaining, but she had been strapped onto the machine and was forced to endure her annual exam. “That’s a good start.” said Connie idly.

Connie produced a web cage that looked a bit like a harness from a bicycle helmet. The main band went around Marsha’s head at temple level with two vee straps clipped under her chin. Connie put it over Marsha’s head and tightened all the padded straps securely. Attached to the top of the rig was a sturdy plastic handle, like for carrying luggage. Someone with a good hold on that handle would have complete control of Marsha’s head and upper body. A tail strap dangled from the back. Connie pulled the tail strap back, fastening it to a ring on the mattress. This held her head back against the mattress looking directly forward at the newly organized video queue.

“The next time you agree to something, you’d better be honest and true to your word. These nipple clamps are just the beginning.” Connie poured herself another glass of wine, tightened the nipple clamps a bit more, and left the room.

Marsha tried closing her eyes a couple of times, but the self-visualizing images and the cries of pain through the earbuds invaded her thoughts. She ended up watching multiple women get their tits variously mauled, bitten, tied, slapped, whipped, stretched, tattooed, and pierced. Several of the women were not in bondage and seemingly offered their tits up willingly for abuse. Largely though, the women were in bondage and the scenes appeared non-consensual.

Connie returned after quite a few videos had played out. She was chewing a wad of gum loudly. She got right in Marsha’s face and asked, “Can I trust you to stay quiet and cooperative this time? No yelling, No speaking. You do everything I say. Promise? The nipple clamps stay on until I’m sure you can keep quiet.”

Marsha nodded her head anxiously, trying to be obviously affirmative. Connie pulled the gag out and let it drop around Marsha’s neck. Marsha rolled her jaw around, unconsciously moaned softly. Connie pressed a finger across Marsha’s lips in a hush gesture, letting the unintentional sound slide. Connie removed the nipple clamps. Marsha took in a sharp inhale as the blood returned to her nipples, but stayed otherwise obediently quiet.

Connie took the chewing gum from her mouth and pushed it into Marsha’s. “Chew on this. It’ll help your jaw relax.” Marsha appreciated the sweet minty flavor and allowed herself to enjoy this small token.

Connie had left the breast torture videos running. She pulled up a chair to watch, sipping wine, letting Marsha move her jaw silently. After a bit Connie got bored and switched the video stream off, pulled the ear buds out. She told Marsha, “Keep chewing that gum while I get you something to drink. Take a moment to think about something. I’ll give a chance to make one statement, and ask one question. That’s all. Anything more and the clamps go back on your tender nipples. Nod once if you agree.”

Marsha gave an abbreviated nod with her head. The harness was still wrapped around her skull, keeping motion to a minimum.

“Good girl.” Connie retrieved a bottle of water from the kitchen. She popped the top and had Marsha spit the gum directly into her own mouth. She gave Marsha a small sip and had her swallow. Several more small sips followed. Each was swallowed. Connie was satisfied Marsha wasn’t going to choke, and helped Marsha down the entire bottle of water. She went to the kitchen to get two bottles of premade nutrition drink. Marsha drank both, thankful for something in her stomach.

Connie said, “OK, now you get to say something and ask something.”

Marsha blurted out,”Please, Connie! I’m so sorry! Why are you doing this?”

“Stop!” Connie barked, holding up the ball gag menacingly, which shut Marsha up. “First your statement. Your apology is accepted. The answer to your question is more complex. The short answer: because I have to. I have no choice. Micheal told me to. I am his sex slave and I always do as I’m told. Here, open your mouth so I can fit this new gag in. I’ll give you the full explanation while I put it in place. It’ll take a few tries to get the fit right. I’ll have to make some adjustments here and there. In the end you’ll like it more than that crude old ball gag. Ball gags are quick and quite picturesque. But this rig is more comfortable for longer periods.”

Connie continued to calmly talk about her own relationship with Mike, how she had gotten here, and gave a preview of what Marsha could expect. While she talked she fit this odd contraption to Marsha’s mouth. The structure was made of hardened stainless steel. Most of it, those parts that rested against Marsha’s flesh, were covered in a flesh-colored plastic coating that didn’t irritate. Where it actually touched her teeth it was made of a solid, supple rubber. It was designed to be worn for extensive periods and be relatively comfortable.

Connie launched into the long form explanation, “I said that I was Micheal’s sex slave, and that is a true fact. There is nothing I can change about it, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. When this is all done, you will be Randy’s sex slave. Given your current inability to escape, there is nothing you can do to prevent it. And when it is done, you’ll be as pleased about your new life as I am about mine. Open wide, and remember, don’t say anything. Lift your tongue.”

Marsha opened her mouth. Somewhat in disbelief, but also in fearful obedience. Her head was trussed up, immobilized, she had no choice. Connie slipped the complex curved collection of stainless steel rods inside and pressed it against the lower part of her mouth, below the tongue. She pulled it back out to make adjustments. “I’ve worn this device many times, sometimes for a week at a time. I need to adjust it to fit your larger mouth. Don’t worry, it’s not so bad once you get used to it. I imagine Mike will hand you over to Randy still wearing it. It works well for oral training.”

“Like I told you, Mike and Randy served two tours in Afghanistan. The first tour was as Army Rangers. Their second tour was as private security contractors, doing things the military could deny any knowledge about. They killed people, they delivered arms, they blew stuff up in foriegn countries. During that second tour they were sent out to the north east end of the country. Way out there where China, Tajikistan, Pakistan, and Afghanistan all meet. Mike and Randy were trained in some obscure language, Wakhi, or something like that. They still use it when they want to keep secrets. It’s only spoken by this obscure band of nomadic goat herders. These people live without borders. They consider themselves citizens of no nation. They migrate across the wild lands over an area the size of Colorado, moving their herds around as they have for a thousand years or more. They live without electricity or running water. They think Mohammed was a fool. They’ve heard of Christianity but have no idea what it’s about. Mike and Randy were to forge an alliance with these people against a supposed common enemy. They lived with them for over two years, gaining their trust. … Hear, try this.”

Connie tried the fit again, examining closely, moving the contraption about, trying more adjustments. “Their mission was unsuccessful. They learned that ultimately, these people didn’t want to be anybody’s allies. They just wanted to herd their goats and raise their families.”

“They lived in small tribal units spread out across vast distances. Often individual families or small groups lived in isolation without seeing anybody else for months. To keep the tribe going, and to keep the gene pool strong, females were married off at the age of 18 to a male aged 20. Pairings were decided by the tribal elders. Fertile young women were used as bargaining chips, to settle debts or forge alliances. Normally a girl was traded out to a distant tribe, a girl for a girl. Each girl took a kid goat with her as a token of appreciation for accepting her. Traditionally the bride and groom never meet before the wedding day. A girl sent off to marry might never see her birth family ever again.”

“In the Wahki society, boys are raised by an uncle and have very little contact with their fathers. Wahki families live in two yurts, one for the children, one for the wedded adults. As soon as a young man is of age, he is invited to watch his uncle service the wife. Boys learn the expected way to treat a bride. They also observe how the uncle’s wife acts, her subservience, her willingness to do anything to please her husband. This way, when they obtain their own wife, they are not hesitant to take control. Being in charge comes naturally to a young Wahki male. Thousands of years of structured breeding has selected for male dominance.”

“Pre-marriage girls on the other hand are only trained in the standard household duties, like cooking, cleaning, and raising children, etc. It is assumed they will learn everything they need to know on how to please their husband on their wedding night. The impressionable younger men have watched their uncles service their aunts while the young women traditionally are kept ignorant about the ways of marriage. The wedded bride completes her domestic education under the firm hand of her new mother-in-law. Of course the mother-in-law’s training regimen includes strict sexual subservience. A new couple’s honeymoon night is spent in the adult yurt attended by the uncle and his wife plus any other married couples who wish to watch. The mother-in-law closely monitors the bride’s performance to ensure she satisfies the nephew’s every desire. The uncle also observes and gives the new couple additional pointers. All this takes place in the family’s marriage yurt, so any expectation of privacy during sex is driven from the young bride. An adult Wahki female is to be sexualy available to her husband at all times, regardless of circumstances.”

“A young couple lives with the uncle’s family until their first child is weaned. After that they are on their own. Being controlled by someone else her entire life is natural for a Wahki female. Again, generations of tribally controlled selective mating has bred women who live to serve their assigned husband.”

“During family life, often the men have to leave with the herd for weeks at a time, or longer. Women might be separated from their husbands for months. In other societies, there would alway be a chance that unattended females might wander from the marital path. Faithless brides and their bastard children are stoned to death. Harsh, yes, and the punishment can leave orphaned children. Not good for society. These people needed a glue to hold their families together. … Let’s try again.”

Connie tried the fit one more time. She was using this tiny wrench to make the adjustments. “They needed some way to make sure the young brides would accept and love their husbands, a man they had never met. And they needed a way to ensure the wives stayed faithful when the men were away. Some shaman in their distant past discovered a potion. It was made from the dried flowers of a rare plant that grows only in a specific altitude band in one specific desert mountain range of the region. Mixed with the white dirt of a dry lake bed, it makes a potent tea. This tea is administered to the young brides as part of the wedding ceremony. After one night, these women become bonded for life to their husbands. … Um, this should do. … Open wider.”

Connie tried the gag contraption one more time. Satisfied with the fit, she left it in Marsha’s mouth. Using the special wrench, she fixed it into place. The device spanned the lower jaw inside Marsha’s mouth. It reached from left to right underneath the tongue. It gripped firmly, but painlessly to the lower teeth. On either side it held hard rubber blocks between the upper and lower teeth. Locked into place, it could not be removed without the key wrench. The rubber blocks kept her jaw wedged open. Her tongue was free to move naturally. She could open her jaw a little wider than the blocks and move her lower jaw around, but she would not be able to close her mouth. With no external attachments, her lips draped naturally and the spreader gag couldn’t be seen unless she lifted her tongue. It looked like she was simply holding her mouth open in a surprised ‘O’ pose. Full time. With her tongue free, she would be able to drink fluids, but not chew anything solid. She would be able to talk, but her speech would be garbled, nearly unintelligible. She could scream as loud as she wanted, but only when granted permission. She could pucker her lips and wiggle her tongue well enough to pleasure a cock, but she would never be able to bite down on one, nor refuse its entry. If the situation was right, she could live for months or even years like this.

Connie gave her strict instructions, “While you are wearing this gag, you may speak only when spoken to. If you say anything disrespectful or disagreeable, you will be punished. You are allowed to grunt and moan like a whore, if you like. But words must be positive and constructive. Those nipple clamps are only the beginning of what can be done to you. Do you understand?” Connie cocked her finger with her thumb and gave a sharp snap to Marsha’s left nipple.

Marsha twitched at the sharp pain. She said a single word, “Yes.” Indeed her speech was garbled, but the single word response was understandable. She sounded like she was talking with a walnut in her mouth. She was fearful of the clamps, so she said nothing more.

Connie flattened the bed, motored Marsha’s legs up and apart, switched up the anal trainer, and lowered the legs again. Continuing her history lesson, “Mike and Randy fully realized the power of this wedding tea. They had seen the results for themselves. The Wahki wives were obedient and faithful to their husbands. Yet they seemed as happy and free as any woman from the developed world, maybe even happier. So before their mission ended, they each gathered a generous supply of the flowers and some of the alkali lake bed dirt to bring back with them. Keeping it completely secret between the two of them, they have used it to collect their own small harems for personal use.”

“I am just one of Micheal’s harem wives, his third. Mike has four other women that he has used the wedding potion on. He refers to all of us as his wives. Randy has different sexual tastes than Mike. It takes more girls to satisfy him. His current harem has seven girls in it. You’ve seen all of them. They come to the gym. We call them the L-gang. You are going to be his eighth harem slave. To Randy, his girls are all just interchangeable sluts. He doesn’t have any use for wives. Romantic intimacy is not his thing. He just wants a variety of sluts to fuck.”

“I know just what you are thinking. The question you wish you were allowed to ask, ‘How can that be?’ I’m sure you are saying to yourself, ‘There’s no way I am going to voluntarily be turned into somebody’s sex slave.’ I am here to tell you, in the same way that I have no choice, you will have no choice. It is going to happen. I am going to help Mike and Randy do it to you. I could let you free, but I won’t. I can’t. And when it’s done, you’ll be happier than you’ve ever been in your life. Like I said, someday you’ll thank me.”

“It’s the flower, the tea. You will drink it whether you want to or not. Your mouth is wedged open. Randy can simply pour it down your throat and pinch your nose until you swallow. Or he could slip a tube down your throat and bypass the need for swallowing. Either way, your fate is sealed. By tomorrow night this time you will be a sex slave. Forcing a drug on someone without their permission is clearly illegal. That won’t stop him and I guarantee you won’t turn him in. I know it doesn’t seem rationally possible. None of us knows how it works. There will be no university study on its effects. No FDA guidelines on dosage or safe use. But I can offer a guess on how it works. I can describe my experience taking it. Or rather I can describe what it felt like after Mike slipped it into my drink. And I can give you a preview of what your life is going to be like, assuming Randy does his usual thing.”

“This flower, the drug it produces, it somehow affects the brain’s neural connectivity. While the drug is in your system, it renders the nervous system selectively elastic. Er, no. Plastic. Elastic implies something goes back to its original state. With the drug, key parts of the nervous system become malleable, moldable to outside influences. Then, when the drug is metabolized and flushed out by the liver and kidneys, The brain becomes solid again, but in a new shape. The mind becomes fixed around a new set of, oh, I don’t know. I guess I’d call it new operating procedures. I have a whole new set of rules in my mind that cannot be broken, no matter how hard I might try. My brain has been rewired.”

“The drug affects certain parts of the brain more than others. Some parts seem unaffected all together. Like my memories remain intact. I know all my friends, my family, my favorite movies, all those sorts of things. I remember how to play the flute. I know all about how to do my job. I can learn new stuff as normal. But the things I want and like have all been remapped. The drug seems to have taken control of the pleasure processing centers of my brain. That and the pain processing parts. Whatever I experienced under the drug becomes permanently fixed as my association with pleasure. And because Mike fucked me while I was under the influence, somehow my entire concept of femininity is now permanently tied to his masculinity in all human dimensions. My entire definition of what it means to be a woman is inextricably woven around Micheal. I want him. I need him. I love him. I am obedient to him down to the smallest detail. It’s so permanent, so pervasive, it seems more appropriate to call it ‘programming’ rather than something like ‘conditioning’ or ‘training’. Intellectually I know it is all artificial. But that doesn’t make it any less real. And I am so happy, I don’t care if it is artificial.”

“For the Wahki women, the wedding drug turns them into faithful and dedicated wives. All their desires, all their decisions revolve around being the best wives and mothers they can be. And since the drug was in their system on their wedding night, their whole concept of happiness, fulfillment, and self-image becomes fixated on their new husbands. A married Wahki woman wants nothing more but to support her husband in all matters, to bear him as many children as she can, and to tend to her husband’s every wish and desire. These women live like that well into their old age. The effects of the drug do appear to be permanent and irreversible. For all appearances, they seem to be blissfully happy and totally content for the rest of their lives. So happy, they readily send their daughters off to live a life of marital enslavement, the same as they have lived.”

“Mike’s first slave was Helen. You met her the other night when they came over to fuck. You’ve probably seen her at the gym, too. She and Mike have been sweethearts since high school. They got engaged after his first tour. They married after his second tour. He wanted a wife like the Wahki women, so he dosed her on their wedding night. She is like the world’s perfect wife. She adores her husband. She provides him the ‘romantic’ love some men seem to need. They have two great kids, nice home in the ‘burbs. Their marital relations are fairly normal except she likes to fuck all the time, way way more that the average housewife. And she doesn’t seem to mind that he regularly fucks his other wives.”

“Mike keeps four other sex slaves outside his marriage, including me. He trained us to be his wives but also his sex slaves on our wedding night. So that is how we think of ourselves. When you meet my wife/slave sisters, you should recognize them as fellow health club members. He uses us to fulfill fantasies he doesn’t want his first wife directly involved in. At least not directly in the home with his kids around. Mike has programmed the rest of us to be independently living sex toys that he can call on at any time he likes. We all live separately. We each keep our place furnished to support his fantasies. Each of us has been programmed to entertain him in different ways. The one he chooses to fuck on any particular night depends on what fetish he fancies. He might not even choose until he is in the car. He keeps a key to each of our places and never calls first. He just shows up and we fuck.”

“Johanna was Mike’s second experience using the drug on a woman. He captured her with the full knowledge and participation of his first wife Helen. Johanna works at a bank and has her own condo. When Mike goes to her place she pretends to be a runaway teenage prostitute. They fuck like sex is a transaction. I think maybe Helen had some influence on that relationship flavor: she is the wife, Johanna is the whore. After they fuck, he gives her a few dollars to help her imagine it’s real. In her mind, she is convinced that when Mike shows up at her door, she is a cheap whore. Her only other customer is Randy, and he alway pays a token amount for the service.”

“I am Micheal’s second extramarital piece of ass. As you now know, I am his bondage slave. I am also Helen’s bondage slave. She comes by sometimes without Mike and fucks me on this bed. However, usually it’s both of them using me.”

“Erin is his third concubine. She is a stage actress and fashion model who is trying to get into the movie business. She has acted in a few movies, small parts here and there. She used to do some stripping at high-end clubs. That’s actually where Mike met her. Erin is stunningly beautiful. I have to admit I am envious of her super hot looks. Micheal used the drug to turn her into a raging nymphomaniac. She is endlessly and insatiably horny for Micheal. When they are together, she fucks him like a rabid weasil. When he’s not around, I’m pretty sure she just masturbates and watches homemade porn all night. It’s all videos of Mike fucking one of the five of us, never anybody else. Never any commercial porn. Connie looked over her shoulder at the video camera, its little red light blinking, “Now she gets to watch a video of me fucking you!”

“Jackie is his fourth outside fuck, Mike’s fifth wife. I’m sure you’ll recognize her from the club. She owns the franchise. She is that tall, broad shouldered gal with jet black skin. She has these big breasts and ass, powerful legs and arms, and abs that look like cannon balls would bounce off. She is beautiful, in a typical African way with facial features like large full lips and high prominent cheekbones, a broad flat nose and bright white teeth. Mike has programmed her to be his southern plantation sex slave. Whenever she is apart from Mike, she sees herself as a successful and independent business woman, a model for others. But whenever Mike shows up at her place, she regresses to mere property, her only value is the pleasure she can give to her ‘master’. She lives with the knowledge that at any time, she could be sold to another master who might not be as merciful as Mike. Don’t worry. I guarantee you that Jackie is as happy as the rest of us, including Helen. Mike has no intention of ‘selling’ her because she’s a truely awesome fuck.”

“At the gym, only Helen is allowed to show affection. In public we slave sisters must act like we are normal friends, not sex partners. It might seem weird, but since I am programmed that way, it is completely natural to act like a platonic friend at the club.”

“So Marsha, I’ve been talking too long. I’m going to let you ask a couple of questions. And I think I’ll play with you a bit more here.”

Marsha tried out speaking with the strange mechanical gag in her mouth, “Ahnt oo ahrade? Ah shad?”

Connie stood by the bed. She had picked up the oversized strapon dildo and was stepping into the harness. She wrinkled her brow, trying to interpret the words. Luckily she had spent considerable time wearing that very gag and knew what most words sounded like, “Am I afraid, or sad?”

Marsha nodded almost imperceptibly. The strap at the back of her head held her nearly immobile.

Connie loosely buckled the wide waist strap, then reached between her thighs to draw the dildo forward. It had a wide shield in front that held the big dildo pointing out and up. She pulled it up and wove the buckles together, chinching it tight. She wiggled her hips to make sure it was secure, “Sad or afraid? No. I suppose I should be, but that is the magic of the Wahki wedding potion. I love my life and I love my owner with all my heart. I wouldn’t change a thing, even if I could.”

Marsha mumbled, “Wa ih ah ung wak ik?”

Connie wrestled with the interpretation, “Um, what if you don’t want it?” She squirt a large glob of sex lube on the dildo and spread it around in a male masturbation motion, “Honey, it doesn’t matter what you want any more.” She flipped the main switch on the bed. As Marsha’s legs pulled up and wide, Connie crawled onto the bed, “Like right now, you may not want to get dildo fucked, but it’s going to happen anyway.”

Marsha struggled against her bonds again, even though she knew it was no use. Perhaps she thought struggling would communicate her disagreement with what Connie just said. The sturdy ropes relentlessly pulled her back into that vulnerable position. Wearing the stocks, her arms were not splayed out as far as earlier. But with the strap holding her head down, her upper body was still immobilized. She pleaded, “uah, ah ah, shunga, gah gak!”

“Honey, I have no idea what you just said.” Connie crawled on top of Marsha and placed the tip of the dildo between Marsha’s lower lips. She gave a firm, steady push and the entire plastic thing slid on in. She kept her weight on her knees and her hands on Marsha’s tits. She wiggled her hips to be sure the tool was all the way in. Connie rolled her eyes up, “Oh god, this is fun. Ya know, usually it’s me on the bed and Hellen on top like this. I haven’t dildo fucked another woman since college. Now I know why Hellen likes it. You see, this harness has a whole series of silicone fingers lining the inside of the crotch section for both padding and stimulation. Every time I hump, those fingers squish against my cunt and my asshole.”

Marsha was reduced to a series of, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, …” Once with each rolling hump of Connie’s hips.

Connie used a humping motion that never drew the fake cock out of Marsha. She paused for a moment, holding firmly forward, rolling her hips gently side to side, enjoying the rhythmic massage of the silicone fingers, “Now I know that guys like to fuck by pulling all the way out and shoving back in.” She demonstrated with one full stroke out and back in. “It stimulates their entire cock the way nature intended. But I can’t feel anything from that. It’s just made of plastic. I can kind of imagine it, what it’s like to have a cock, but I know it’s not real. So I’ll just keep it shoved in and hump. More fun for me.”

Marsha continued to gurgle incoherently. The plastic cock had looked impossibly large when she had played with it earlier in the day. And it did feel really big inside her. But not really painfully big. Just, … large. Long, too. Certainly deeper than any man had ever been. But Connie wasn’t pistoning like a man would, so it didn’t necessarily hurt. It certainly wasn’t the pain she had expected. In fact, she started to sense excitement between her legs. She realized she was actually humping back, within the limits her bondage allowed. If this went on long enough, she thought she might actually orgasm.

Instead, Connie got there first. She tensed up and quivered on top of Marsha, having humped for less than a minute. She rested for a moment, then pulled the dildo out and rolled over onto the bed. She rested for a moment and said, “Ya, that’s what the guys do. They fuck you until they come. Then they pull out and leave you unsatisfied. Helen does that to me, too. You’ll be happy to know that Randy programs his sluts to always orgasm at the same time as he does. What a guy.”

Connie rolled off the bed and rested a bit. She traded up the butt plug again. This one was about the size of an average cock. It was made of a rubbery gel rather than stiff plastic. It conformed better to the curves of Marsha’s rectal passage, feeling much like a large turd Marsha couldn’t expel. She lowered Marsha’s legs, and left the room. Marsha lay there relaxed for a while. She expected the larger butt plugs to be painful. But since they were being introduced in progression, they were merely an uncomfortable full feeling. She looked at a blank spot on the ceiling and lost track of time. At some point Connie showed up. She reeled Marsha’s legs up, fucked her until she orgasmed, then left as the bed rolled her legs back down. This repeated for a while. Marsha started to expect the treatment, like her personhood really didn’t matter. What was important was her cunt. The machine spread her legs, Connie fucked her. The machine closed her legs. A boring wait. The machine spread her legs, Connie fucked her. The machine closed her legs. A boring wait. Five times, or six? Marsha lost count. Somewhere in there the butt trainer was switched up again. Longer and fatter than the others, it left her even fuller.

Marsha heard Connie talking to Mike on the phone. Finally Connie came in and spoke to Marsha, “Mike has to work late tonight. He and Randy are working security for a concert at the Mayflower. Big name band, great pay. It’ll be midnight or so before he even gets to leave. So now I’ll get to my favorite part of this bed. I’ll describe my own experiences with the Wahki wedding drug, and maybe what you should expect when Randy gives you your dose.”

Connie picked up one wrist cuff Marsha had been wearing and tightened it around her own. The smile of contentment went clear up to her eyes, “I cannot describe how my slave sisters were programmed. I wasn’t there. I will tell you how it went for me. Mike asked me out for coffee at the club one day. I knew he was married to Helen. But he was so hot, so handsome, so confident, I couldn’t say no. It was just coffee, anyway. So we left the club for the local cafe. He was charming. He brought me my coffee. It tasted quite strong. I just thought it had an extra shot or something. I now know he had spiked my coffee with the wedding drug. I never did feel odd or unbalanced. I never lost consciousness. I didn’t feel sick. I remember everything. We talked about normal stuff, the gym, my work, what car I drove, that sort of thing. I laughed at his jokes and kept up a normal conversation.”

Connie buckled on the other wrist cuff, “However, he must have known what to expect. Or how long to wait. Suddenly, out of the blue, he asked me, ‘Do you shave your cunt?’ Just like that, in those words, rude and crude. I answered him, ‘No.’ like it was a completely normal thing to be asked. I should have been insulted, or grossed out. I should have walked out that minute, but no. He grinned at me for a moment and said, ‘Oh, you do now honey.’ Then he asked another prying personal question, ‘Do you masturbate with a dildo?’ Again, no hesitation, I said, ‘Ya, I have three of them.’ He knew at that point I was under the influence of the flower drug. He said, ‘OK, you’re ready. Lets go over to your place and fuck.’ And so we did.“

Her voice trailed off for a moment, like she had lost her train of thought. Connie murmured softly, speaking to no one in particular, “…fuck…” Connie hoisted Marsha’s legs again and slipped inside her, humping and talking at the same time, “I now understand one of the important aspects of the Wahki wedding drug. It had somehow erased my sense of self-will. Any thoughts of fear or self preservation failed to materialize. Same with any idea that maybe I shouldn’t do what was about to happen. My mind was opened up like a can of beans. I wasn’t in a trance, like they show hypnotized people on TV. I wasn’t a zombie. I was just completely unable to make any decision or rational thought for myself. I was fully conscious and aware. I answered questions thoughtfully. I laughed appropriately. I could see and feel everything. In fact, I felt really good. Somehow the Wahki wedding drug wraps itself around the pleasure and emotional areas of the nervous system. All those parts of the mind fire on all cylinders. Anything related to pain or negativity becomes silenced. Whatever Mike said seemed correct and reasonable. When he suggested we go to my place and fuck, that seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do. … uh, uh, uh, aw f-fuck!”

Connie came again before Marsha. After recovering from that orgasm, she left the strapon buried in her captive, “Mike led me to his car instead of my own. He said I shouldn’t be driving just then. So I volunteered directions on how to get to my place. While we drove, he told me lots of things about myself. All the stuff he said, it was like, I already knew that, of course. All he had to do was say it and it became part of my self image, something I’d known for years. Like how beautiful I was. How smart I was. How I loved to work out in super sexy clothes. How I shower and shave after every workout. How I never towel off, instead I prance around the girls locker room until I am air dried. How showing my naked body off for the other women makes me both horny and happy. How I need to be fucked multiple times a day and if I didn’t get fucked enough, I just have to masturbate. As soon as he said something, it was true.”

Connie crawled to the center of the bed. She leaned in and planted a kiss on Marsha’s clit. Holding her face in that position, she reached out toward Marsha’s feet that were pinned high and wide. She couldn’t reach Marsha’s ankles, but made note of how far out Marsha’s legs her hands could reach. She took a moment to upsize the dildo trainer in Marsha’s ass.

Connie winched Marsha’s legs back down, “When we got to my place he grabbed this duffel bag from the back of his car. As soon as we were inside my place, he ordered me to take my clothes off, which seemed like the obvious thing to do. After that everything he told me to do came out like a direct order. I followed every instruction to the letter. Mike seemed so confident and I felt completely subservient. … Damn this is making me horny! Fuck it! There’s plenty of time.”

Connie flipped the vee rope switch. As soon as Marsha’s legs were wide enough, she climbed aboard and shoved the fake cock in and started humping before the ropes had completed their journey. “God this is so much better than masturbating! Fuck ya. … I get it now. He was training my neurology to be obedient to his instructions. Following his instruction while my brain was plastic meant that when it became solid again, unthinking obedience would be permanently baked into my mind. That must be how it works. Now, when he tells me to do something, my obedience occurs without hesitation, without even the tiniest fraction of individual decision. … Oh god baby!”

Connie came again after maybe a dozen humps. Again she stayed on top of/inside of Marsha. Her thrusting diminished to gentle undulation, as if she was soothing her cunt by rubbing it against Marsha. Her running commentary continued, “All the instructions Mike gave me were overtly sexual. Every instruction was accompanied with some sort of sexual pleasure reward. Sometimes it was a touch or stroke. Other times it was sexy verbal praise. If he was hard, it was a fuck. The direct connection between untinking obedience and sexual reward was becoming engraved in my neurology. Micheal was using the influence of the drug to turn me into his private horny sex slave.”

Connie resumed humping at Marsha. This time it only took like seven or eight thrusts to come. Her orgasms were indeed happening faster and easier. She pulled out, motored the bed flat, and left to refill the water bottle from earlier. As she left the room, Marsha could see Connie was gripping the base of the dildo and was rubbing the base of it up and down against her cunt, masturbating with it. Her walking pace was faltered, unsteady. From the other room she heard Connie orgasm loudly.

When Connie returned she motored the mattress to sit Marsha upright. She forced Marsha to drink the entire bottle. “Mike’s duffel bag carried a basic collection of bondage gear. Most of it is still around here. Like those ankle cuffs you are wearing, and these wrist cuffs. Micheal gave them to me on our wedding night instead of a ring. I’ve been wearing them almost every night for the last three years. Them or some other sort of leg/ankle bondage. I can hardly get a wink of sleep if my legs are not bound in some sort of spread position, my cunt exposed. Anyway, Mike bound me into a position similar to the one you spent the afternoon in. He fucked me hard and came inside me. The pleasure was glorious, the orgasm was incomparable. I think it was that moment when I truly became his sex slave. All of it, his orgasm, his pleasure, his fulfillment. That’s all I want now.”

Connie forced Marsha to drink another bottle of nutrition drink. “Given how the Wahki wedding drug works, I was probably fully conditioned to want bondage sex with Mike that first time he fucked me. But he didn’t stop there.”

Connie motored the bed so that Marsha was flat on her back for a moment. She retrieved the catheter equipment from the bathroom and motored Marsha’s legs up. Marsha’s hips were getting used to the spread high position. It was starting to feel almost normal. “I’ll give you one more drain for the evening. … So Mike fucked me countless times that night and on through the next couple of days. And in many different positions. He carried me all over my townhome, tied me to almost every piece of furniture I owned at the time. Each time I was bound in some sexually exposed position. Usually he fucked me in these positions. But sometimes he just left me to contemplate my bondage.”

Connie disposed of Marsha’s urine and returned. “The wedding drug probably only lasts for ten or twelve hours in the bloodstream. Mike kept me in inescapable bondage for two and a half days straight. Never once was I free to move about. He hand fed me. He made me drink water and juices on a regular basis. He even mounted eye bolts in the floor on either side of the toilette, and the wall above the toilette. Mike trained me to pee and poop while in bondage, something I still prefer to do. The eye bolts are still there. I manage to pee without them at work, but at home I always strap my ankles in and wrap some webbing around my wrists. I keep some Velcro straps stationed next to the toilet to make it quick. For my wrists, I simply wrap twice around and hold on tight. I can let go to be free, but pulling hard against the wrapping makes it seem real.”

“Mike told me a lot of things about my new self. The important ones he repeated over and over, making sure I got it right. He kept telling me that it was taking less and less stimulation to have yet another orgasm. He used his thumb, his tongue, and of course his cock on me to ensure it became true. I now normally have three to five orgasmsm every time he fucks me. He told me that every orgasm I have instills a drive to have another one right away. He told me I liked giving oral sex so much it made me come. He wasn’t specific so now it’s true whether I’m sucking his cock or licking pussy. … Don’t move.” Connie winked as she said that, as if the inside joke was funny. She got off the bed, “I know it’s early, but I gotta piss and brush my teeth before I come to bed.”

After a long pause Connie returned. She gathered several items together before returning to the bed. The one Marsha could see was a large conical body bolster that she brought from a closet. The stubby cone was about two feet tall and nearly that across the base. “Suffice it to say, I am now, and always will be Micheal’s loyal, obedient, happy, horny, and devoted bondage sex slave. There is nothing you or I or anybody else can do to change that.”

Connie lay on the bed and lifted her legs up to install a medium sized spreader bar. As she set it around her own ankles, “Mike and Randy should get off their gig about midnight tonight. They’ll be here soon after that. I can’t say exactly what Randy’s plans are for you. Most likely he is simply going to fold you into his current slut harem. If that is what he does, here is what you can expect.”

Connie stayed on her back for several moments, masturbating, enjoying the familiar experience of having her bound ankles raised up, not stopping until she’d orgasmed. She opened a large jar of petroleum jelly. She gathered a generous dollop on three fingers and spread it around Marsha’s crotch, tits, neck, and face. She made sure huge, excess globs were smeared in, on, and around Marsha’s mouth, cunt, and asshole. She gathered up another large glob of petroleum jelly and smeared it on her own face and tits. Another big glob went on her ass crack and cunt. She lay back with the spreader bar high and luxuriously rubbed herself from tailbone to bellybutton for several minutes. She had two more orgasms before getting back to business.

Connie appeared quite adept at moving around the bed and the room with a three foot spreader bar between her ankles. Apparently well practiced, she walked with an exaggerated waddle, but never fell down. “Randy has a completely different relationship ethic from Mike. Randy does not treat his women like wives. To him, his harem is property. As his private slut, your main purpose in life will be to ensure he is sexually entertained at all times. By day you’ll go do your sales job like normal. You’ll contribute your paycheck into the harem pool account. You will sell whatever property you own and throw that money into the harem pool. At all times you will dedicate your life to pleasuring and fulfilling Randy in whatever manner he chooses.“

“Randy’s main kick in bed is he likes to dominate lesbians. To me, a lesbian having lots of sex with a man sounds more like bisexual than lesbian. So I talked to Rhonda and Sharon about that. They were his first two slaves, both super hot looking. They had both been sorority sisters with Helen back at university. Rhonda was Helen’s maid-of-honor. Randy captured them both the evening of Mike and Helen’s wedding. I’m not sure what ruse he used to get them both to take the wedding drug at the same time. While they were in plastic-brain mode, he turned them into full blown lesbians. As in women emotionally attracted to only other women. He used the pleasure focus of the drug to make sure they were hyper-attracted to other women and driven to have nearly non-stop sex whenever they could. He somehow made them sexually attracted to women but unable to form emotional attachements to any one woman. He then twisted the whole ‘obedience’ facet of the wedding drug to make his slaves only permitted to fuck other women that he ‘approved of’. By giving them blanket permission to fuck his other harem slaves, he ensured his harem would be providing him all the entertainment his heart could desire, yet never stray from the nest.”

“So that explains why Randy’s harem is made up of only lesbians. What about the whole ‘dominate’ part of my one-line description? Randy distorts the obedience facet to achieve it. Even though he has programmed his slave to be emotionally lesbian, he has programed into them a basic addiction to feeling his cock inside them. That addiction is reinforced through the pleasure mechanism of the drug. Even though his slaves have no social or emotional attraction to him as a man, they do derive enormous physical pleasure from sex with him. They’ll do anything, endure any humiliation, perform any perverted act for the chance to feel him inside one of their holes. Just like me, Ransy’s slaves reliably express multiple orgasms every time he fucks them. They uncontrollably squirm and writhe in response to his cock. Despite their lack of emotional desire, Randy’s sex slaves compulsively offer their bodies to him to use at his liesure.”

“All Randy’s sluts live in his big house and sleep with him on a giant bed he had custom made. Their obsession with fucking their fellow slaves means Randy gets to watch all the lesbian orgies his heart desires. So as a fully enslaved member of the L-gang, you will spend your free time fucking his other sex slaves in elaborate orgies staged for his benefit. You will freely swim in a tangled pile of sweaty, lubricated female flesh, keeping yourself and your fellow slaves wet and ready. At his pleasure he might peel you off for individual attention, or he might just dive into the pile and serial fuck all of you. He likes to enjoy all of a woman’s holes, but seems to get a special kick out of a lesbian slave squirming like a rabid weasle while he fucks her in the ass. He has an exceptionally large cock, and I can happily admit to squirming uncontrolably whenever he fucks me in the ass. As I said, you will be thankful I have been thorough with the anal trainers. I’ll even give you one of the larger ones as a present.” She traded up the anal dildo one more time. This one was considerably larger than a normal cock, but still smaller than the strapon Connie had been using earlier. Connie shoved a wedge pillow under Marsha’s hips for support, then motored Marsha flat.

“You might think it would get boring after a while. Yet Rhonda and Sharon have been lesbian cock sluts for over five years and neither of them wants it to stop or even slow down. None of his other slaves have ever seemed anything less than content, 24X7X52. I’m totally satisfied with my life. I wouldn’t change one thing I can think of. I’m sure you will end up equally fulfilled with your life, no matter what Randy does to you.”

“Mike and Randy’s security gig should be done around midnight. We will be here waiting for them. If I had a second insert gag like the one you are wearing, I’d be wearing it. Instead I’ll be wearing this dental spreader for the rest of the evening. I can’t help but drool while I’m wearing it, so things are liable to get real wet down there. Welcome to heaven, Marsha. We’ll be stuck here for a few more hours. As I’ve said several times, you’ll thank me.”

With that Connie stopped talking for the evening. Marsha gurgled incoherently on and off. Connie placed a surgical steel dental spreader in her own mouth that held her jaw quite wide. A rounded plastic shield kept her lips pulled back so that her teeth were displayed in a ghoulish smile. She stuck her tongue out at Marsha to emphasize what was about to happen. She took two span bars about eighteen inches long and attached one end to each wrist cuff, leaving them dangling for the moment. She clipped a short leash from the center of the ankle spreader to the footboard to keep her lower body confined.

Connie gathered the cone shaped body bolster, hugging it to her chest with its circular base near her hips and the tip just under her chin. It had a waist strap for holding an occupant down. She used the strap to secure the bolster to her front side while she finished preparations and so she wouldn’t fall off it in the long run. She gathered up another large glob of petroleum jelly and smeared her ass crack and cunt with it. Another big glob went on her face and tits.

Connie clipped the free ends of the short span bars to the same rings that attached Marsha’s ankle cuffs to the vee ropes. Reaching around the body bolster with greasy hands made this rather awkward. It took her several tries for the first one, several more for the second one.

The stage was now set. Connie gave a sharp tug on one of the ropes. There was that satisfying click and the winch started up. This time, as Marsha’s legs were lifted and spread, Connie’s arms were pulled forward and apart. While Connie was pulled forward, the motion tipped the cone shaped bolster onto its side. She supported her weight with her hands on the bed as long as she could. When the vee ropes completed their journey, it had pulled the span bars far enough that Connie’s hands couldn’t reach the bed. She couldn’t reach the clips to release herself and she couldn’t reach Marsha’s ankles or wrists either. The spreader bar between her ankles kept her legs spread. The short leash from the spreader bar to the footboard kept her feet confined to a few inches of motion, up and down, side to side. Connie had been dragged face down onto the body bolster. The waist strap kept her perched on top of the bolster. The tapered shape draped her upper body down onto the bed. The bolster’s padded round base suspended her knees six inches above the bed. Connie’s generously greased rumpside was conveniently presented at the perfect height for a leisurely kneel-behind fuck, either hole. Mike would be pleased.

Connie’s arms were pulled wide and held several inches off the bed, useless for supporting her upper body. Connie’s face was now held directly over Marsha’s vaseline covered pussy. Connie could only hold her head up for a few moments. She had no choice but to lower her mouth right over Marsha’s pussy. There it would stay until Mike and/or Randy arrived to release them. Connie gripped Marsha’s thighs as best she could and pulled both of them around, settling their bodies into comfortable positions for the evening, centering her mouth over Marsha’s clit. As she began to lick, she had a happy thought, ‘Four hours until midnight.’

Half an hour later Marsha had already given up several orgasms. Connie had enjoyed easily twice as many because she was wired to come while licking pussy. The Wahki wedding drug had made her tongue as sexually responsive as her clitoris. Thanks to the strong female stink saturating her senses, licking Marsha was way better than masturbating. Connie’s orgasms were accelerating in frequency and her compulsion for bigger-better-faster-more was in the driver’s seat. Connie heard what she thought was another Marsha orgasm but realized it was her cell phone, her own ecstasy recorded for the ringtone. No way she could answer it. The ring tone timed out. A few moments later the house phone rang.

Marsha thought, ‘Who keeps a landline these days?’

An actual, physical answering machine picked up, right there in the room so they could both hear clearly. Speaking with Connie’s voice, “Beep! … Hi, this is Connie. Sorry I cannot answer the phone right now. I’m either at work or tied up at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep and I’ll call you back when I’m free. … Beep!”

It was Mike’s voice on the call, “Click. … Sorry Connie, just called to let you know I cannot come over right after the gig. The band is paying us a ridiculous bonus to be after-party bouncers. I will come as soon as I can. Probably won’t be there until after breakfast with the kids. OK, love ya bye. Oh, and I have good news. I won a side bet with Randy tonight. I get to keep Ginger Muff. Should be an easy switch. She’s already moved in. She’s apparently already into bondage, spread and ready. Looks like your new roommate is going to become your permanent bedmate. Good girl, Connie. To celebrate I am going to let you choose where Ginger Muff gets her first piercing. You girls have fun tonight!”

“Click.”