Slave couldn't help shivering, unable to control the rapid movements of her body. 'Nose' had a special connotation for her. It centered on one of the first porn films she ever saw. It was aptly classed as 'brutal.' The heroine was a newly enslaved girl who was blindfolded, gagged and chained, and then dragged to the disreputable shop where body piercing was practiced in all its forms.
She was strapped to a dentist's chair but her head was left free. This was an obvious part of the threadbare plot, as it allowed her to evade the cold needle in the man's hand. He slapped her face hard, trying to get her to hold still. The girl still tried to evade the needle until her Master stepped in and backhanded her several times, warning her of the whipping she would receive once they were back home.
Slave remembered watching in awe as the girl actually was pierced. It was not a fake. The blood was real and the girl's ear splitting screams were real. Once the process was finished the camera zoomed in for a closeup, showing the large ring hanging from her nose, well down past her upper lip. It would interfere with eating or any other oral activity, including blow jobs. Slave lost it, realizing her fingers were already rubbing her clit. She came repeatedly as she watched them tie a thread to the ring and use it to force the girl's movement at their whim, her face showing the pain the least resistance caused.
Right now, Slave's libido was rocketing along, taking her for the ride of her life. Remembering, and seeing the equipment that she would be feeling in her delicate, sensitive nose, she was fully aroused. Somewhat to her horror she realized that she wanted to be pierced for a nose ring. Wanted it at the moment even more than she wanted to be Master's slave.
She was thinking like a pain slut. She knew she would ignore the rules and scream. She knew she would have a forbidden orgasm. She was not so sure about her juicing. At the moment she could tell she might be damp, but she wasn't dripping. That would come when the needle first broke through her skin.
Terry approached her, holding the hot needle in a forceps. Despite the tape she turned her head. Terry made an exasperated noise.
"I thought you had her fixed! Anyway, the angle is bad. Can we put her on the table?"
"Sure. There's a head vice that attaches to the table. She won't turn out of that!"
It took only a minute or two to make the transfer, and strap her down on her back. Slave had not experienced the head vice before. Ramos spun the handle, tightening it until the padded jaws were pressing her ears into the side of her head. Ramos put his hand under her head and pried. There wasn't the slightest movement. A wood block under her head raised her face above the edges of the jaws, allowing easy access and a steady target. Slave in the meantime had stopped shivering. With difficulty she swallowed the saliva building up behind her gag, feeling her throat rub on the large "U" bolt which fixed her to the table.
Terry laid a cloth over her eyes, leaving her nose in the open. Ramos had stirred the coals and the needle was red almost to the forceps, which pulled the heat from the last fraction of an inch.
Without further delay Terry pressed the needle through the side of her nose, eased across the open nostril, burned a hole through the cartilage in her septum, across the other nostril and reappeared out the other side. Slave screamed. Even if a gun had been pressed to her head she still would have cried out. She couldn't believe how much it hurt. Her eyes were flooded with tears and her nose burned and itched at the same time. Her fingers curled and twisted in a doomed effort to reach her nose and claw away the pain.
Terry went to the forge and came back with a different needle. This one was sharply curved, like a carpet needle. This time he went up into her nostril and pushed it through her septum from below. Ramos wiped away Slave's copious tears as Terry carefully applied dabs of antiseptic to the burned holes.
From one of the boxes he extracted a sterilized bag of small round silver objects. With another pair of forceps he pushed one up into her nostril and placed it in the hole in the side of her nose. A second bag had similar pieces, but they fit on the outside. Once clamped together they made a permanent grommet. Deftly Terry used a pair of offset needlenose pliers to lock the two pieces together. Then he repeated the operation, putting two grommets in her septum and a third in the other side of her nose.
Save could feel the pressure of the closed grommets. At the moment it merely heightened the itching. The antiseptic had relieved most of the pain from the needle holes.
Ramos opened the head vise, allowing her to move her head slightly, but the U-bolt was still over her throat so she couldn't raise up. The cloth was pulled away from her eyes in time for the demonstration of her new jewelry. Looking down her nose Slave could just see part of the grommets on each side of her nose.
Terry tried a rod first. It fitted easily through the first two holes and then screwed into the third. He showed them a "U" shaped rod with hooked ends. Sliding it up into her nose, straddling her septum, he caught the cross rod with the hooks, leaving the lower curve resting on her upper lip. He pulled slightly on the lower part, and Slave rose with it until she was choked by the restraint across her throat.
Slave didn't have to be told that it would hurt and certainly didn't have to be told that a child could take absolute control of her by merely pulling the loop. She viewed herself now as a totally helpless, permanently ringed slave, subject to the whims of her Master and anyone else who came near her. She had dreamed of this moment for years. Now that it was here and control of her nose controlled the rest of her body, reality began to settle in. If she had a choice, she might have thought long and hard and might not have agreed to abdicating her freedom. Master Ramos had given her no choice.
Terry had more to show off. He held a display of a variety of sized loops to fit on the cross rod. Some hooked on, while others were threaded onto the cross rod. One had a studded cross bar that would press against the base of the septum, causing mind blowing irritation. He then demonstrated a surprise feature. The ends of the rod were hollow and there was a half circle of spring steel with small posts that fit in the hollow ends. The open ring laid flat on the bridge of her nose, displaying to everyone, "Here is a ringed slave."
A second piece consisted of a small plate, bent to the curvature of the nose, engraved with "Slave." Slave almost had an orgasm picturing herself walking through the mall with "Slave" written on her nose.
Terry saved one ring for last. It was the one which would go through the lower grommet in her septum. "This is the size I use on a bull's nose," Terry noted. The monster hung almost to her chin. Its weight alone brought fresh tears to Slave's eyes.
Thankfully Terry had another display with some much smaller rings.
The show was over. Slave had some sexy rings and a dream realized, at the expense of a very sore nose. Terry had a sizable check and Ramos had increased his control and power over his slave, so everyone was reasonably happy.
Ramos sort of spoiled her day by announcing that she was not, under any circumstances, to touch any of her rings or attachments. Otherwise, "You can spend a day or two in the barrel." After her previous experience spending only a few hours in its noisy interior, this was a potent threat.
There was one more hurdle to cross. Slave remembered the final minutes of that video. The girl had been given to the shop owner as a bonus, for the sexual activity of his choice. He had opted for a blow job and the last minutes of the video were devoted to her skills in bringing him off. Slave had read several explicit stories which carried the same theme, so she was steeling herself for a similar fate. The two men played on that fear.
Slave was transferred from the table to the bed and chained to the four corners, open to any comers. Ramos blindfolded her and then the two men went to the far end of the dungeon and talked in low tones for several minutes. Slave was going through Hell. One moment she was hot, ready to be fucked. The next moment she feared being raped by Terry. Her mind was fully a victim of their game, one often played on slaves. She had no way of knowing that Terry was gay.
The talking stopped. She heard two sets of footsteps. One stopped at her bed. The other continued on up the stairs. Waiting until the steps were gone, the other man sat down on the edge of the bed. Slave held her breath. She had no idea which of the two was going to TOUCH her. When it came, her brain scrambled at the touch, her body jerking as if she had been on the wrong end of a welding torch.
A lithe tongue reached out and captured the lower nose ring, twisting it. Slave whimpered. Ramos chuckled, unable to keep the game going. Impotent in her fetters, she willed lightning to strike her Master, knowing she had been 'had' by the two men.
Ramos 'had' her in a much more meaningful way, spending the next hour driving her to orgasm after orgasm, her arousal feeding endlessly on the rings and bars already in her body and visions of where future adornments would go. One of those visions caused her pussy to clamp in a squeeze that Ramos thought was cutting his manhood in two.
When he had finished with her and she had used her mouth to clean the last vestiges of their juices from his still half-hard cock, he teased her, chiding her for her lack of control, enumerating the screams and cries and the orgasms. He didn't need to tell her, but he did anyway, totaling up the black marks that would keep her in punishment mode for weeks to come. The only progress she could report was that she was juicing less - at least until Ramos forced her to an overpowering orgasm.
Ramos deliberately denied her the typical feminine trait - viewing her new jewelry in a mirror. The mirrors in the dungeon and upstairs had disappeared, including the one in the bathroom she was allowed to use. He intended to keep her frustrated as long as possible. She repeatedly turned to the one thing she could do - look down her nose to see the ends of the cross rod. He had removed the nose piece engraved with "Slave," knowing that she would give almost anything to see it.
He didn't forbid her looking at the rod, but he gave her fewer and fewer chances to stare at it. A sleeping mask style blindfold eliminated her looking entirely. Ramos used the blackness to try the different hooks and rings that came with the piercing. Slave suffered. Had she dared, she would have begged for the privilege of seeing her piercings; wanting to celebrate this milestone in her career as a slave. After a couple of weeks of blindness, Ramos relented and allowed her to examine her new rings in a mirror.
Her nose piercing did mark something of a new beginning for her. Ramos continued to use her for his pleasure, but she spent more and more time in heavy bondage and painful restrictions. Her heavy ankle shackles were quickly joined by matching wrist cuffs. As she earned more and more black marks, the chains that linked her irons grew larger and heavier. The extra weight slowed her movements, wrecking any chance of improving her time in the sand ring. This earned her more black marks, heavier chains - and more black marks.
Slave loved it. Every penalty, every painful punishment, each new piece of bondage gear was absolute proof to her that her Master loved her. Actually, he did. His feelings for her kept pace with the trials he imposed on her. The thought of marrying her even crossed his mind. He crossed it off as being the result of an extra glass of whisky. He did spend some time trying to figure out how to keep Slave for himself and take her away from the Trust. That would not be easy and it would mean an end to the cushy job and the bloated pay checks that he was salting away.
Any girl with a different mentality than Slave would have long since balked, especially when Ramos started exploiting her nose piercings. He attached a thin chain just once, as an object lesson. When he released the weight of the chain Slave shrieked, following the chain down as far as she could, tugging at her chained wrists, vainly trying to pile the chain on the floor to take the strain off her nose. After that, Ramos used a slender five pound test fish line, making sure that Slave realized how easy she was to control with the lightest tackle.
One of his favorite stunts was a game he played repeatedly with slave. He would take a piece of the line and holding it before her eyes, he would break it, with the slightest of effort. Then he would tie the end to her nose ring and offer to erase all her black marks if she could break the line. They both knew that she couldn't do it, but she tried valiantly every time, tugging until her eyes flooded with tears.
She accidentally discovered that she could break the line by moving forward to get slack in the line and then snap it by jerking her head back. Ramos quickly changed the rules because she was hurting her nose, making it sore for several days afterward.
Ramos decided it was time to make some heavy duty bondage equipment. He could easily buy it, with the Trust's money, but he had an itch to design his own, adding a personal touch to Slave's ongoing training. With his forge already in operation, he thought it would be fun to fix up slave with some new movement problems. He had long since discovered that Slave's appetite for fucking increased in direct proportion to the amount of hardware holding her in place. If she could have seen into his mind to discover the plans he was thinking about, she would be bouncing like a rubber ball, urging him to hurry and finish them so she could try them out.
Ramos did some research in the phone book. A couple of calls established a source and Ramos left in his pickup for a trip to town, leaving Slave locked in her cell. An hour later he returned and made several trips to the basement with the strips of steel he had purchased. She watched him, plainly puzzled, as she could see no direct connection. After unloading several hundred pounds, he had an impressive stack in one corner of his shop.
He moved Slave to the fetters hanging from chains close to the forge. This would ultimately serve several purposes. She could watch as he fabricated the steel, she was readily available for measurements and most of her questions would be answered.
Ramos decided that Slave needed something to keep her from getting bored. With a length of rope he made a harness around her waist and her thigh. He left her right wrist in the hanging cuff, and placed a glove on her left hand. He duct taped her thumb and all but her little finger into the palm of her hand, then tied her wrist to the harness. When he was through, the very tip of her little finger on her "wrong" hand could barely reach her clit. Slave had a puzzled look on her face, but she couldn't risk punishment to ask.
Ramos, for a change, was ready to tell her. "Would you like to have an orgasm?"
Slave smelled a rat, but she immediately said, "Yes, Master!"
"My work might bore you, so I've decided to give you a day of orgasms. You asked for one. To earn it, you will have to have four climaxes in each hour. As you can see, I've made it difficult. Enjoyment has to be earned. As you will see in a moment, the cost can be rather high. Now, go ahead and start."
Slave obediently crooked her little finger and pressed it on her clit.
Ramos leered at her. "Breaking the rules already? Start rubbing!"
Slave suppressed a groan as she awkwardly pushed and prodded her clit with the gloved finger, each touch making the little bundle of nerves scream in agony.
As any woman knows, masturbating with the wrong hand is difficult, let alone with the virtually uncontrollable little finger, which seems to have a mind of its own. Putting that finger into a vampire glove - covered with dozens of sharp pointed tacks - meant that slave would have to exert every ounce of willpower and every bit of energy to first control the finger and still exert enough friction to bring herself off without slicing her clit to bits. She refused to think of the commitment that her Master had made for her. Somehow she had to get through this first orgasm, then worry about the others later. Resolutely she touched herself, winced, and tried again. She knew she was getting off on the pain, so she pressed harder.
While the fire built up, Ramos used the wait to measure Slave's neck, after removing her collar. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that she was about to get a new collar. From her vantage point she could see that she was not going to be a happy camper. The steel strips were as thick as the irons already on her body. A collar that massive would weigh a ton!
Still, not every girl gets a collar all her own. Slave basked in the special attention she was getting. Worrying about the weight would get nowhere. Her focus was on the very tender clit that she was mistreating.
Ramos measured everything a second time. Growing up, his carpenter father had told him repeatedly, "Measure twice, saw once." He marked two strips and then turned on the cutoff saw, slicing the ends off. He put both of them in the middle of the now roaring fire and dragged the coals around and on the strips to heat them. He use the waiting time to caress and fondle Slave, working her into a raging arousal that left her panting.
She watched with divided interest, since his work was destined for her neck. He lifted one of the strips and covered the other one again. Taking the glowing metal to his anvil he hammered it into a half circle, with the ends bent out. It took three trips into the forge before all the work was done, alternating with the other half of what now obviously was a collar. He punched holes through each half, then inserted the shaft of a hooked ring, peening the end smooth inside the collar, repeating on the other half. Holes were punched in each end and two square nuts were welded to the ends.
He looked both pieces over carefully before plunging them into the water tank. He dried them with a piece of waste cloth and examined them again. He stopped and used a portable grinder to smooth off a rough edge. Then he walked over to Slave, showed her the two halves and then closed them around her throat. He screwed two bolts through the ends by hand, then used a socket wrench to tighten the bolts firmly. His measurements were exactly on the mark. Slave discovered there was even a shallow dip in the collar, protecting her throat from undue pressure. One of the rings hung down her back and the other in front, inviting a leash.
Ramos opened a cupboard and pulled out a camera. He peered at the viewfinder, moving about until he had her framed, then pressed the trigger. The basement lighted up for a moment. Slave blinked, not at all sure that she wanted to be photographed wearing nothing but her vampire glove, shackles and a collar. She would learn later that the entire collar manufacture and installation as well as her painful masturbation had been captured by a video camera. Ramos was sure the Trust would get a hoot out of that.
Slave was standing on tiptoe, the maximum floor contact allowed. She was sure that the weight of the collar had stretched her arms several inches, but her heels still did not reach the floor, so any stretching would have to be chalked up to a vivid imagination. At the moment that imagination was in overdrive as she visualized punishments involving her new collar.
Ramos was an expert at using weight as a penalty for whatever transgression Slave had committed. Right now she was deciding how much a chain, running from her collar to, lets say an ankle, would weigh, and how much more it would slow her down. There was only one collar, but there was a second ankle, available for a second set of links. She mustn't forget that she has two wrists. Shorter chains, but still a monstrous weight! As she glanced from ankle to ankle, to wrist and wrist, Ramos was following her eyes, reading her mind.
He had plenty of chain to choose from. Trust money had paid for an assortment that ran the gamut from delicate links to massive chunks of metal once destined as anchor chain. But even the smallest chains had a tensile strength measured in thousands of pounds. At his whim she could be barely restrained or helpless under the weight of a mound of iron. What if he made her walk in those big chains? In her ballet boots! She could feel his whip warming up.
Just when she thought she had guessed his plans, Ramos crossed her up. Rather than adding a new chain to her collar, he left her leash hanging from the collar ring and installed a heavier chain between her ankles. Even if she couldn't read his mind, she was becoming fairly expert in assessing the weight of her chains. Looking down, she figured that the new chain weighed about 20 pounds to the foot, while the old one only - "only" - weighed 15 pounds.
In minutes she was booted and harnessed and whip started on her endless rounds in the sand ring. She recognized the additional weight at once, and her heart sank as she realized that she would be lucky to complete 10 rounds, let alone beat her record. The chain dragged through the sand, resisting at every step. Trying to coordinate her little finger with her moving thighs was especially difficult.
Slave was on her last legs. She had finished the ordeal of the sand bed, thanks to the whip that bit and snapped at every exposed bit of skin - which, considering that Slave wore only her boots and the cursed vampire glove - covered a lot of territory. A surplus orgasm had halted her in her tracks on the ninth round. It was permitted, but she paid for it anyway, the tip of the whip punishing her for stopping, exploding first on one nipple - then the other - two real screamers. The whip noise was muted, but Slave provided the sound effects.
The pain from her much abused, and still being abused clit had suffused her whole body. Her breathing was a losing battle against the tightness in her chest, the air sighing in and out of her open fish-out-of-water mouth. She was riding a crest of endorphins that blatantly fed the flames of her arousal, turning pain into pleasure. Her mind was chanting, 'I am a pain slut. I live for pain.' The words caught the rhythm of her finger and matched it pulse for pulse.
The finger was numb, dead, lifeless, but it continued to press and rub and drag and caress the grossly overexcited pearl that now was dark beet red, the myriad of tiny scratches melding into a lighter colored web that encircled her clit.
For that matter, her hand was numb, her arm as well, but the self torture proceeded on pace, almost as if she had a robot arm that never tired. Ramos kept his amazement to himself, but he carefully gauged the amount of stress she was under, ready to pull the plug when it overwhelmed her.
Slave was showing subtle signs of exhaustion. She was soaked in sweat, almost out on her feet, but the smile of satisfaction never left her face. Ramos had set her a goal of four climaxes an hour. She had ripped off an even dozen the first hour, not counting the momentary ones. By the second hour she was on automatic, firing bursts like a machine gun, almost as fast.
The pure pain orgasms continued into the third hour. After a particularly long string he stopped her, reaching over and grasping her little finger, wincing as the tacks stuck his fingers. Slave snorted, caught short. She let loose a wail that would raise the fur on a wolf, fighting his grip, accidentally pressing the tacks deeper into his fingers, wanting to continue. When she saw that she was finished, she collapsed, landing with a thump on the floor.
Ramos tried to catch her, but was unable to do more than soften her fall. He knelt between her legs, shoving her boots to either side. He saw her clit.
Without thinking he leaned forward, taking her clit between his lips, his tongue laving the abused flesh. Slave reacted as if he had aimed a blowtorch into her center. She nearly broke his nose as she reared up, a super orgasm arching her body so that only her heels and her hands touched the floor.
Ramos ducked out of the way, then caught her as she collapsed. He moved over her, got his mouth near her ear, "No more orgasms. That's enough for today."
Slave whimpered, disappointed, still hot, still on the verge of a megaton release. Her slave training kicked in. Master had ordered her to stop. Master must be obeyed. She almost let her defenses down, but threw them up again when a climax broadsided her, nearly escaping, a slip that would bring the Master's wrath down upon her.
Her energy was at zero. She lay, sprawled in a lost world like a worn out rag doll. Her glazed eyes stared into deep space. Ramos let her lie, his gut telling him that she would be all right. She would need her strength later on, for what he was preparing for her. He busied himself at the forge, heating, hammering and cutting, all for his amazing slave.
It was more than an hour before she moved. Dimly realizing her obscene position she automatically closed her legs. She shrieked, flinging them even wider, the ballet boots thudding as they hit the floor. A muscle in her thigh twitched and cramped. To her horror she felt her sleeping climax awake with a roar, fed by the pain in her thigh. She gritted her teeth and fought for control. Panting with the effort, she brought all her reserves to bear and once more controlled her body.
Ramos watched her with interest, curious to see if there were long term effects of her mistreating her clit. He could see the knotted thigh muscle, just under her smooth skin and realized some of the pain it was producing. Swiftly he walked over and picked her up like a feather, standing her on the leg. He massaged her thigh with one hand, feeling the knot unravel, until the bump was gone.
Slave had not closed her legs, the other one sticking out to the side at an odd angle. Gravity took over and the leg dropped an inch or two. Slave grunted with pain. Ramos picked her up again, eliciting another groan, and laid her gently on the dungeon bed. She groaned again, studiously keeping her legs spread to the absolute maximum.
Ramos was torn between wanting to experience more of her multiple orgasms and treating her so that she could dare to move. Reluctantly he walked to the medicine cabinet and brought back a spray bottle of a numbing compound that would sooth her clit.
He warned her, "I'm going to spray this anesthetic on your clit. The cold is going to shoot you through the roof, so hang on."
Slave clutched the sheet beneath her with an iron grip, her knuckles turning white. Had she dared she would have begged him not to do it, or at least wait, but Ramos was not about to delay. Things had gone a little farther than he had intended, and his first concern was to relieve his slave's pain. He realized the irony, as he pressed the valve on the spray can. He devoted much of his time making things painful for her, but now he was deliberately reducing her pain.
Slave was thinking along much the same lines, but from the pain receiver's point of view, rather than that of the pain giver. She didn't see much of the irony, since her makeup thrived on almost any pain. Even her menstrual cramps could bring her off.
The ice cold mist rolled between her legs, aiming for her clit like a homing beacon. The contact was so intense that Slave fainted. Ramos let her sleep until he had thoroughly wetted her clit and the area around it. Then he broke a capsule under her nose, bringing her to her senses.
She looked up at her Master, her eyes sending a message of devotion.
"Thank you, Master," she whispered.
"Try moving your legs."
Obediently she raised her head and watched as the two boots moved toward each other. She winced, still tender, but she brought her legs together until her thighs touched.
She looked up at him, the question obvious in her eyes.
"You can talk."
Amazed, she almost stuttered her question. Being allowed to speak was a first.
"Master, what happened? Why is my clit so sore?"
"Take a look at your left hand."
Anticipating that it would be snubbed short by the chains that always held her, she was surprised when the hand suddenly appeared before her face. The curious lack of bonds took a back seat while she tried to figure out why her hand was a taped lump, with one finger sticking out.
"Rub your nipple with your finger."
Again automatically she raised her right hand and found the nipple..
"No, your left hand."
About then she noticed the glove on that hand and finger, but she didn't get the connection until she swiped the turgid nipple.
Ramos sighed, melodramatically. "There you go again. You don't remember saying that earlier today?"
"Ouch? No, Master?"
"Why do you think your clit is so sore? If you need a hint you can rub your nipple again."
She actually did start to reach for her nipple when it dawned on her. She had read something about vampire gloves, but had never seen one.
"You mean? I did that to my clit? OhmyGod! Is it bleeding?"
"Yes, you did, at my order. No, it's not bleeding."
"I don't remember anything between the time you hung me beside your forge until you sprayed that gunk on my clit."
"You don't remember the 3,284 orgasms you had?" Ramos couldn't help chuckling as belief momentarily crossed her face until she realized that he was pulling her leg.
"Well, it seemed like that many. You were firing bursts of multiple orgasms as fast as you could produce them."
"Master, did you... touch me down there... with your tongue?"
"For some reason, that, I remember. I was just coming up for air and you scuttled me on the spot."
Ramos took her hand and began unwinding the tape. He announced, "I'm going to keep this handy, just in case a certain slave forgets her place and tries to be a bad girl."
"Umn, Master, that will keep me in line permanently." Her somewhat impish grin didn't fit with the promise.
"Tell me, is there any pain that doesn't arouse you?"
"Master, if there is, I've never experienced it. I had my first orgasm when I was ten and broke my arm."
"Okay, time to stop talking. Back to slave mode."
It took two days to get Slave back up to par. Healing ointment and another spray job got her to the point where she could walk, although her legs refused to come together at first. Ramos growled and grumbled, complaining about having to wait on his slave instead of the other way around. Slave was secretly pleased that he took such good care of her at the same time that his words spoke against her.
Ramos did his best to make the lesson last. He built a shadow box and mounted the glove in the box, fixed to the wall of her cell, with a small spotlight that shone on it 24 hours a day.
The next step was a different version of the vampire glove. He made a rubber tube to fit her finger and attached a piece of fine grit sandpaper to it. One look at it and Slave started backing away. That too went into the shadow box, causing many a sleepless night for Slave as she pictured herself ordered to rub her clit, "Harder" to expiate some rule infraction. She had been warned that to be caught frigging herself would mean she would continue under his watchful eye, but wearing the glove. It was enough to put a pain slut right over the top, but Slave was able to hold the line at 95 percent of the peak.
While Slave got her strength back, Ramos worked long hours at his forge. He ran out of the steel strip he was using and had to go for a second load. To her considerable surprise, Slave was invited along for the ride. Actually it was an order, "You're going too."
She opened her mouth, but as usual thought better of it, but she made a point of looking down her front, past the two big tits with their permanently erect and stiff nipples and all the way to her boots, without encountering a stitch of clothing. 'I'm going like this?' she wondered to herself. The look on his face would spawn lightning bolts if she hesitated.
With a rattle of her chains she followed him to the garage. He dropped the tailgate of the pickup and motioned her to climb in. At the front of the box a small dog kennel was bolted to the floor. It turned out to be a squeeze fit for Slave, who barely got all her parts inside, her head jammed in the corner away from the door. A heavy tarp landed on the roof, dropping down on the door, cutting off all light inside her cramped quarters. She grimaced as she remembered worrying about clothes.
Ramos warned her to be absolutely silent whenever the truck was stopped, or if she heard someone else with him in the cab. Her response was somewhat pained, as she barely had room to breathe.
The trip was long, dull, boring and seemed endless to Slave. Besides loading steel, Ramos drove to several other stores, each time leaving her alone in the parking lot. As long as she remained silent, she would be all right. A cry at the wrong time could cause real problems.
When they got home, Ramos unloaded the steel strips and all his other purchases before allowing Slave to back out of her cage. Once out of the truck she had to both kiss his feet and kiss the pavement as a sign of her obedience. She knelt, waiting for orders, enjoying the outside air. Moments later she followed her Master on hands and knees as he went into the house.
A few days later, Ramos had run out of ideas. This was something of a milestone, as he had reproduced, copied or invented practically every metal restraint that had ever been made. Slave was taken for the grand tour. He had lined one wall of the dungeon with hooks and hanging from them was a collection that if purchased would have run into six figures.
The tour turned into a quiz show, with Slave as the star. Ramos would point out each piece with his coach whip, then require her to name it and describe its use. While this was not as hard as it sounded, thanks to Slave's extensive research into bondage, there were still pieces where she was hesitant or unsure of either name or use. Ramos used his pointer to good advantage, driving home each new lesson, so Slave was accumulating some painful welts.
Slave correctly identified the Yoke, the Fiddle, the Bilboes and the Branks, but she stalled at the Spanish Stirrups. This piece of metalwork, also known as the Scavenger's Daughter, and is sometimes referred to as the Little Ease, although that title belongs to a jail cell too small for the prisoner to stand or lie. This apparatus consists of a steel collar that locks on the neck. Attached to it are two steel strips with bands holding the wrists at the half way point and bands to hold the ankles at the ends. The inmate is seated on the floor, with the legs drawn up to meet the bands, which resemble an inverted "V." Because it was the first piece that she missed, Ramos informed her that it would be the first she would try.
He swept his hand along the wall, saying, "You will soon be intimately acquainted with each and every restraint, and as I find new examples, you will learn their capabilities as well. I doubt that you will find one on this wall that you can escape from. There are a few, such as the collars, that would allow you to leave, but when they are used, there will be a second, or even a third restraint that will keep you from straying."
"I'm not worried that you will try to escape. You already love your chains too much to ever leave. Your goal is to live with pain, perhaps even constant pain, to satisfy your sluttish mind set. You have found it here, but leaving would end that source and you would be on your own again."
Ramos was careful not to even hint that he was aware that she was already falling in love with him. He knew that she had already passed the point where she could have turned and gone back. She was his, willingly. From now on she would accept anything he did to her, no matter how cruel. He was sure that she had limits, but so far there was no indication that he had come anywhere near a limit. He did need to be careful to avoid any more problems like her overzealous mistreatment of her clit.
If he had permitted Slave to speak, he was sure she would express the identical sentiments. Ramos had studied her long enough to read her eyes, read her body language and read her actions and reactions. His report to the Trust made interesting reading.
Slave moved slowly along the wall. At first she touched each piece, but she found this was a surefire method of triggering a climax. Instead she pointed to each item, but it was still a struggle. Ramos got a mental picture of her coming every time as he locked her in a new restraint. It would add to her list of black marks and ultimately to his enjoyment in punishing her.
She stopped when she came to a large object sitting on the floor against the wall. Ramos tilted the piece and moved it away from the wall. Slave admitted she didn't have a clue as to what it was or how it worked. Ramos had expected that because he had modified it from a photo he had seen on the Internet. It was a stand, on a fairly wide base, with two rods that came up at an angle and then went straight up to a curve that extended more than a foot. Attached to the rods at the base were shackles. Well above them there were two sets of large tubes welded to brackets that in turn were welded to the rods.
Nearer to the top there were two more, somewhat smaller tubes attached to the back of the rod. He called it a Body Stand, and then pointed out the loop on the end of the top curve.
"Just the right height to clip your nose ring."
Slave groaned from her toes, a deep base. She failed to catch a sneaky little climax that had hidden just inside the door. Body Stand indeed! Her mental picture of herself in the device, legs spread wide, helpless, exposed, available for any devious torture her Master dreamed up was just too much for one mind to control.