Gromets Plaza - Latex Stories
Binding Agreement
by Anakha.
© 2001, Anakha - Used by permission.
storycodes: MF/f; latex; slave; cons; X
Binding Agreement by Anakha

Bonda O'Tightly loved her job as the administrative assistant at Eric Ensign's Erotiscapes, an avant garde art studio that featured multimedia fetish and bondage works by the leading artists, sculptors and photographers of New York's famed Greenwich Village. After all, where could a self-confessed submissive like her get to choose what goes on public display in a sprawling gallery like Mr. Ensign's? Then there was the boss himself: A bondage freak and woman tamer who had made a worldwide name for himself with his living Fettered Femme displays, which featured self-indentured submissive's for sale to the highest bidder.

She loved her job, frankly. She was the first one to work each day, lovingly caring for the display of living bondagettes trapped into their latex, leather and metal cocoons and others confinements. She always paid particular attention to some of her favorite exhibits, which included:

--Leather Heather's Ball, which featured a leather-sheathed maid bound up into a ball inside a three-foot high plastic ball. A feeding tube ran from her ball-gagged mouth at the side of the ball; Air tubes connected from each nostril to either side of the ball, and wires ran from each clamped nipple to the outside.
The asking price: $30,000

--The Chairperson, which featured a slave in a inflatable, head-to-toe rubber cocoon, strapped into an armless chair with 4" straps at the ankles, knees, waist, below the breast, above the breasts, at the neck, and at the chin across the bridge of the nose. A silvery metal skull cap completed the ensemble. There were blow-up valves everywhere to inflate or deflate any visible portion of the slave's anatomy, whether it be the entire head or just the mouth; one breast or both. On the forehead, between the beasts, around the belly button and at the tips of the toes, plug-in modules were attached to wires throughout the victim's body. When the suit was totally deflated, the rubbery cocoon revealed wire leads leading to each toe and finger, to clamps that were clearly outlined at the nipples, up and down the sides of the victim's body, and even inside the victim's gagged mouth.
The asking price: $50,000.

--Blind Servitude, which featured a very tall, very leggy brunette, secured to a two-foot-square, foot-thick wood platform, which had a small, powerful motor concealed underneath that drove the wheeled carriage of constriction where ever a hand-held remote control directed. To the wood platform was attached an inverted U-shaped metal rigging with adjustable rods jutting out horizontally in front and back. The victim herself was trapped inside gleaning stainless steel, thigh-high, 8"- high ballet boots, which forced her body to angle slightly forward. The tops of a pair of heavy rubber stockings were visible for about two inches above the locked tops of the boots. The brunette was dressed in a rubber maid's outfit, with a rubber-and-metal posture collar, and adjustable stainless steel rods that ran from the collar across her shoulders and down her arms, all the way to her fingers, which were laced into elbow-length rubber gloves that had their own individual, adjustable steel rods that ran from her wrists to her fingertips.

The steel contraption itself wrapped under her arms and secured with a lock in the back. Mr. Ensign had positioned the arms so that they bent 90 degrees at the elbows, and were attached to the respective sides of a rectangular, waist-high silver-and-glass serving tray. A red rubber corsellette with built-in metal stays and O-rings everywhere was laced up her back and nipped her body from below her breasts to her waist. The high-neck outfit actually ran under the posture collar and popped out about it to reveal a white lacy fringe above it that matched the white trim on the puffy short sleeves. The flared skirt was short, but would have hid most of the lacy red rubber panties the brunette wore except that the front of the skirt panel was attached to the thumb and forefinger of each bound hand, as if the slave had been ordered to pull up her dress to show off her panties.

The brunette's head was trapped inside a laced-from-behind leather helmet, which had tubes running out her tubes and mouth. The mouth tube was attached to a blow-up pump handle that hung freely from the helmeted head. It was clear the slave was a brunette because her long ponytail was tied tightly to an O-ring at the top of the main inverted-U bar, which seemed to reinforce her backwardly arched headpiece. Over her eyes were goggles attached by a series of straps that ran around the side, the top of the helmet and under her chin.

The goggles came with multicolored, lifelike soft-plastic eyes that could be screwed in and out with ease to change color or look of the slave's expression. It didn't really matter to the slave what color the lens were, for the leather helmet itself had no eye openings. In fact, it had extra heavy pads over each eye, which shut out all light. Heavy pads also cocooned each ear, and held built-in speakers tightly against the victim's head, keeping out all sound each for those sounds transmitted by a small remote-control radio system. The inverted-U pole was about 4" in diameter, and from it ran poles that shackled the slave at the ankles, knees, elbows, and back of the head. Another pole section jutted out the back, down, under the slave's dress, and up under her dress. Bonda made repeated mental notes to ask Mr. Ensign where the pole ran once it disappeared, but never did ask the question.
The asking price for this living art: $100,000.

Bonda never got to talk to the victims inside. Mr. Ensign freed each for an hour every 8 hours, but did so only when Bonda wasn't around. Who are these women, and where did they come from? That was a question she never got answers. It was one of the few frustrations of the job. Bonda really only had two problems with her job. The first was that Mr. Ensign's displays always looked at his captive maidens from the male perspective, and he rebuked her efforts to have women artists consult on the designs or concepts.

The second problem was, he paid Bonda so little that she would never be able to realize her dream: to graduate from the prestigious Essenem School of Erotica and Fetishism and open a rival gallery. In essence, Bonda was a slave to her own fetish. She could quit Mr. Ensign and work for a higher-paying gallery elsewhere, or she could juggle the books from time to time and accumulate enough cash to pay for her education. She took the latter course. And that's indirectly how she ended up here, at Mistress Sally Sadrista's School for Slaves, ready to submit to her personalized bondage training.

For Mr. Enisgn was not only a brilliant artist, but also a shrewd businessman. It had not taken him long to figure out that Bonda had been fiddling with the books. He gave her a choice -- either he went to the police or she signed away her future and signed documents to become one of his Fettered Femmes.
"Mistress Sally, sir," she said to her boss. "I couldn't take jail. I will sign anything you want." Mr. Ensign smiled.
"You will be my first $1-million artwork," he said matter-of-factly. "You will become Bonda, the Princess of Self-Discipline."
"Yes, Mr. Ensign," Bonda sighed, half-shaken, half-thrilled.
Mr. Ensign grinned.
"The time has come, lass. Let's take a little trip."

At the end of the little trip, Bonda O'Tightly stood outside Mistress Sally's school, waiting for the mistress to answer her knock while Mr. Ensign watched from his limo at curbside. Finally, the porch light came on and Mistress Sally answered the door. Bonda turned and waved at her boss, as did Mistress Sally. Sally was smiling; Bonda was whimpering. Mistress Sally ushered Bonda inside, to a brightly lighted anteroom. Bonda noted the contrast in their outfits: She wore a Plain Jane, three-piece, cotton-and-polyester, off-white business suit with skin-colored nylons and 4'' heels, topped off with a short jacket and thin cotton belt that all but hid her figure, while Mistress Sally wore a skin-tight, neck-high, knee-length black rubber dress with sultry dark stockings and 6'' heels.
"You are probably aware from my many visits to the gallery that I help Mr. Ensign's slaves learn the proper level of servitude," Mistress Sally said, putting her arm around Bonda. "Say good-bye to freedom. Enjoy the freedom of total servitude. Welcome to my house of humiliation."

As she talked, the mistress guided Bonda to another room, where a second woman awaited. The woman wore black rubber panties and a neck-to-crotch leather harness, rubber stockings, 6'' black leather heels, and was bound with her wrists tied behind her. Her breasts were covered with black rubber cups, but around each breast she had a square metal-and-wood contraption strapped into the harness The contraption could clearly be adjusted to clamp down on her breasts and force her bosom to thrust forward unnaturally.

"Bonda, meet Tyrenna Knotts, my chief assistant," Mistress Sally said. "Ty is into some mild bondage tonight, her reward for a brilliant day of humbling our gagged little group of girls. She will help with your training, and I must tell you she prefers much more severe methods of dealing with her trainees. She's famous for her Hog Ty, which is her own version of the classic bondage position." Bonda's mouth dropped.
"What have I done?" she asked herself. "More importantly, how bad can it get?"
She would soon find out.

BINDING AGREEMENT, Part II

As the three women headed down a long hallway, Mistress Sally defined the rules of her school: "Absolute, immediate servitude." That was it. The mistress stopped, turned to look directly into Bonda's eyes, and said: "Trust me, you don't not want to know what options there are for any failure to obey this rule. Do you understand?"
Bonda nodded affirmatively. "Repeat the rules," Mistress Sally ordered.
"Absolute, immediate servitude," Bonda blubbered, with Tyrenna echoing the words behind her.
"Very well," said Mistress Sally. "Go in here, strip, and dress yourself in your first punishment garment. I will free Ty to help you." Bonda scurried into the room, which was nothing more than a barren, 4-foot by 6-foot rectangle with hardwood floors, a single folding chair, and a closet. She sat on the chair, dropped her purse, took off her heels and began shedding her clothes. Tyrenna watched, her arms folded.

Bonda stopped when she got down to her bra, panties, and nylons, looking briefly at Tyrenna. Before Tyrenna could state the obvious -- "take it all off" -- Bonda sighed and removed the rest of her clothes. She wondered what awaited her in the closet. She didn't wonder long. She opened up the door and gasped. Inside was a metal, body-length, body-shaped cage, a old-fashioned metal chastity belt, a full-headed, black rubber hood with hoses and pumps everywhere, and a metal trunk marked "open me first."

Tyrenna nudged her inside the closet and Bonda stumbled toward the trunk. She opened it slowly. Inside, she saw nothing but rubber, leather and metal, all wrapped in individually numbered clear plastic bags, each with its own written instructions inside. The first bag contain a black rubber inflatable dildo. "Guess where I go?" the instructions asked rhetorically. "And please inflate me to capacity with my hand pump." Bonda knew what to do and she did it. She pumped and felt the plastic swell to the point she could barely keep her legs together. When she stopped, Tyrenna reached for the pump and squeezed another six times.

Bag number two had a similar device.
"What are your options?" it asked.
Bonda did what she had to do. She pumped harder this time. Still, Tyrenna gave the pump an extra six squeezes.

Bag three had yet another device of the same shape.
"What's left?" the instructions asked.
Bonda opened her mouth. Once again, Tyrenna gave her a hand pumping to full inflation.

Bag number four, thankfully, contained a simple leather strip and lock.
"Pull the pump on item number three through the opening and secure the two ends behind your head with a lock. Make sure you make the fit as tight as possible."
Bonda did as directed, firmly securing the device deep inside her mouth. She pulled the two ends and prepared to lock the leather behind her. Tyrenna slapped her hands and pulled the ends another two notches tighter, forcing Bonda's cheeks to bulge over the top of the leather strip. Then Tyrenna handed Bonda the lock and allowed her to proceed. The lock, Bonda noted, was not a key lock, but a combination lock, as were all the other locks she'd see this night.
"Gee," said Tyrenna, " I sure hope someone wrote down all the numbers for these combinations."
Bonda moaned behind her gag.
"What do you care, girl," Tyrenna snapped. "From now on, your on SGT."
SGT?
"Slave Girl Time," Tyrenna laughed.

Bag five was a two-piece leather panty with adjustable straps and a lock that securely trapped items one and two into the appropriate spots.

Bag six contained rubber stockings; bag seven held a red 5-inch leather posture collar; bag eight held a rubber bra with slits to allow the tips of Bonda's breasts to peek through. All were secured by locks. Next came metal ankle, knee, wrist and elbow cuffs, all locking, all with four attached rings. The last little bag in the chest seemed harmless enough: It contained four self-locking rings about an inch and a half in diameter.
"Attach where appropriate," the instructions said.
Bonda was puzzled.
"I will have to help you with these," Tyrenna said, grabbing the rings from Bonda.
"First, put your ankles together."
Click.
Bonda's ankle cuffs were locked together. Next came the knee cuffs. The wrist cuffs were secured behind her. As, of course, were the elbow cuffs.
"From here on, dear, you'll have to rely on me."

Tyrenna reached for the metal chastity belt, which was hinged on one side and secured with three locks on the other side. It wrapped around Bonda's bound form. As Tyrenna locked the belt on Bonda, Bonda felt the built-in studs in the back of the belt push firmly against her buttocks. "You'll learn to take your lumps," Tyrenna giggled. Tyrenna was not through. The two sides of the belt were secured by a two-inch-wide screw that ran from the front to the back. Tyrenna struggled to wedge it between Bonda's tightly fettered legs. The bolt wedged right up against devices one and two. Tyrenna grabbed a huge wrench and began to fasten the front to the back. As the screw turned, it rubbed against both of the previously installed devices, while at the same time pulling the studs deeper and deeper into Bonda's buttocks. When the bolt was fastened as tightly as possible, taking all the slack out of it belt, Tyrenna stepped back. "Congratulations," Tyrenna smirked. "You're the first slave I've had the opportunity to screw. Was it as good for you as it was for me?"
Bonda twisted in her bonds.

The studs hurt. Her crotch was pressed so tightly against the bolt that her skin could feel the indentations of the threads.
"Now I'll help you with your hood," Tyrenna said. "You obviously don't have a head for such things."
The one-piece hood was rolled over Bonda head, crushing her hair tightly against her skin. As the hood was rolled over her eyes, she saw built-in heavy rubber pads where the eyeholes would otherwise be. As Tyrenna pulled the hood down further, Bonda saw nothing. The pads shut out all light. Tyrenna paused and positioned the hood before pulling it over Bonda's nose, inserting a rubber tube into each nostril.

She pulled and tugged the hood down further, stopping again where the pump end was held in place. She unscrewed the pump, pulled the hood all the way down Bonda's chin and tucked the ends inside her posture collar. Bonda then felt the gag pump reattached and pumped six more times. The sides of her mouth were pressed cruelly against the gag strap. Then Tyrenna inflated the three other pump bladders welded into the hood, and when she stood back, she saw that Bonda's rubber headpiece was shaped completely round.
"Perfect," she said.

Of course, Bonda could not hear her. The heavy pads over her ears pressed harshly against her outer ears, shutting off virtually all but the loudest sounds. Bonda felt Tyrenna secure four cables -- two in the front, two in the back -- to her chastity belt. She heard the faint sound of the winch as she felt herself lifted by the belt, two feet off the ground, and pushed into her cage. Like the chastity belt, the cage was hinged. When Bonda was positioned correctly inside her toes pointed severely downwards and locked into ballet-style metal shoes, her posture collar reinforced by a like metal brace welded into the cage, Tyrenna shut the cage and locked it with six locks.

Bonda felt for her bonds. There was a three-inch bar at her ankles, below and above her knees, above and below the chastity belt, around her forehead, and from side to side at the top of her head. She felt the cage spin around. It spun two turns in one direction; then three turns the other way. Suddenly, Bonda heard Tyrenna's voice.
"We have put speakers into your ear pads so you can hear us when we want,"
Tyrenna said. "You will spend your first punishment period here. But we want to to remain perfectly still, because I don't want you getting dizzy in the cage. To avoid that, I am attaching breast cups to you. You will feel both breasts sucked into these metal and rubber cones." Bonda felt her left breast being sucked away from her body. It was worse than a nipple clamp because the force of the suction extended her breast to the point it ached. She could not pull away. The cage fit her perfectly. She could only wiggle her fingers. And she wiggled her fingers as the same treatment was used on her right breast. The breast pumps were attached to a flat metal plate that extended out parallel to her body, pulling her chest out dramatically forward, increasing her pain. Although she could not see,

Bonda could feel the breast pump tubes being wrapped around her body once and secured to a fixed platform at the bottom of the cage. While she could swivel the cage from side to side ever so slightly, she had no urge to do so. If she swiveled left, her right breast was extended. If she went right, her left breast was extended.
"Now, before I go, I thought you should take a little dip," Tyrenna said.
Bonda felt her cage being directed on an overhead track to another room.
"Take a deep breath, dear, because your going to have to hold it for a couple of minutes," Tyrenna said. Bonda did. She felt plugs inserted into her breathing tubes and felt herself lowered into a warm liquid. She was lowered in over her head for several seconds. She was about to panic when she felt herself being lifted up again, the gooey liquid sticking to her form.
"You have been bronzed in latex," Tyrenna said as she unplugged Bonda's breathing tubes.
Bonda squirmed.

Her form didn't give. She couldn't even wiggle her fingers now, although her cage could still turn on its swivel, and observation she nipples made as Tyrenna none too gently examined her mummified form. She had become a living statue. Again, she felt her form moving along the track overhead, this time feeling Tyrenna guiding her through several turns as they went from room to room. Then she felt herself being pulled up and up into the air.
"You are hanging 20 feet over the center of our foyer," Tyrenna said. "You will be the first slave our visitors see when they enter. I hope you're not afraid of heights. Hang in there."
Bonda groaned. But no one could hear it.

BINDING AGREEMENT, Part III

Bonda was alone in her bound, blind, silent prison. She felt her body perched on the screw of the chastity built and tried to wiggle to see if she could arouse herself. All she aroused was the renewed sensation of the threads pressed against her pussy, and those two throbbing monsters wedged inside her. She concentrated on her fingers. She could not wiggle one. She concentrated on her toes, severely pointed downward so that they nearly bent backwards. She sucked on the invader in her mouth. She imagined this as an engorged lover. She tried to move her tongue around it. No luck. She tried to bite it. Figures, she thought. That spot is reinforced and too hard to bite.

Finally, she concentrated on the air valves in her nose. She breathed in, then out. In, then out. In, then out. As she breathed, she could feel her nipples strain. She tried to swivel her cage. Her nipples pulled in rhythm. She was almost panting. Was it her breathing, her nipples, or what? Her crotch felt warm. She tried to clench her hands. She felt the bumps on her buttock and she was clearly panting now. She was turned on.
"I'm a slave," she thought to herself. "I'm really a slave. How exciting!"

She tried to work herself into an orgasm, but the harder she tried, the more frustrated she became. She was a sweaty, panting slave. She wiggled and squirmed wherever she felt any room. Soon, her latex cocoon was swinging forward and back, from side to side. Unknown to her, Mistress Sally and Tyrenna happened to be passing through the foyer at that very moment, dragging another slave off to a punishment room.
"Think she's freaking out up there?" asked Tyrenna as she played with the exposed nipples of the bound beauty beside her.
"No, dear," said Mistress Sally. "I think she's playing with herself. We'll have to expand her punishment in the morning," the mistress said, holding her hands out far apart in front of her.
"Oh no," said Tyrenna as both women laughed and dragged their rubberized slave toward her next predicament.

Meanwhile, inside her latex prison, Bonda was hot, sweaty, tired and really, really horny. She was too tired to try anymore, though. She tried to resume normal breathing. As the sweat poured from her, she felt herself go almost slippery inside her hot little home. M-m-m-m. This isn't bad, she thought. Maybe I can get some rest. She started feeling herself breathe in shorter, shallower breaths. She was almost dozing when she felt a cramp in her leg. She tried to reach. No chance.
Her nipples were itching. She could do nothing. Her puss itched. Her hair was wet with sweat and the sweat touched her lips. She tasted its salty tang. Those bumps in her buttocks were starting to feel like needles.
"Please," she thought, "let me down. Let me scratch."

No one could read her thoughts, though, and her thoughts and fantasies were her only company.
She thought how exciting it would be for her to be let down from this bondage high by a dark, handsome stranger who would wash her, towel her, wrap her up in rubber again and ravage her. That only made her sweat. And the more she sweated, the more she itched. My nipples, she thought. Oh, how they ache. It's as if my master has decided to lead me around, bound up, with my nipples on a leash. Could that be done, she wondered? Would he take me to am S/M bar and tie the leash to the bar?
Once again, she got hot.
And once again, she itched.
And once again, she dreamed.

She thought of the shower scene from Psycho. But instead of stabbing her, her attacker wraps her up in the shower curtain, and binds her head in a bathing cap and gas mask. Then he takes a feather duster and a vibrator and toys with her nipples and pussy. Then he binds her to the pole with electrical tape, from head to toe, still wrapped up in the plastic, with her nipples still available. Too much, she thought.
"I'm getting too hot and too frustrated," she said to herself.
She wiggled and fussed and finally cried. Her tears ran to the tip of her nose. Great.
Now her nose itched. Once again, far below her, Mistress Sally and Tyrenna were passing through, this time on their way to retiring for the night.
"She really is having fun up there, isn't she." Tyrenna said as she watched the cage rock and twist.
"No, dear," said Mistress Sally. "I think she's learning a painful lesson."
"What's that?" asked Tyrenna.
"Well, you could say she's made her bed," Mistress Sally said, "and now she has to sweat in it."

Once again, the women giggled as they headed down the hall, leaving Bonda to her bounds.
And up above, Bonda's mind was racing.
"Are my eyes open or not?" she thought to herself. "I can't tell. Everything's dark. Am I really experiencing this, or is it all a dream? If this is a dream, why don't I wake up and get Vito, my faithful vibrator." She rocked back and forth. "This is no dream," she thought. "I really am hanging her, helpless, with nasty things everywhere, and no way to play."

And so it went.
Bonda got no sleep.
Bonda got no orgasm.

All she got was one sensation overcoming another, with an infrequent cramp to annoy her in ways her buttocks bumps and pointed toes and restraints and gags and nipple pumps didn't do.
"I'm really a slave," she'd tell herself, and she'd get aroused again. She'd breathe deeply, quickly, erotically. But for naught.
Would this be her permanent slavery? Probably not. She was sure her captors would devise worse. And indeed they would. For as the thought about the possibilities, she felt herself being lowered to the floor. "Thank God," she thought. "Maybe I'll be free."

When the base of her cage hit the floor, she heard Mistress Sally's voice through her earphones.
"We have a wonderful day of self-punishment lined up for you, with paddles and clamps and a tongue depressor," Mistress Sally said. "But Ty is a little tied up right now, so I thought I'd treat you first to our own version of a blow job. Are you ready?" Bonda shook.
"Left you speechless?" Mistress Sally asked. "Very well. Let me explain. We're encasing you in a heavy rubber body bag that will totally enclose you, except for two air holes. Then we will inflate it. As the air goes in, you'll feel your latex cocoon press even tighter against your flesh. Then we well let you hang up high again, dangling there, trapped inside a bell-shaped balloon. The shape is appropriate because, well, you'll find out."
Bonda moaned into her muzzled mouth. She felt the balloon lifted around her and pumped up and up and up. The hard rubber had little way to give, except at Bonda's expense. Her latex prison pressed against her everywhere, putting extra pressure on every crack and joint.

As she was lifted back up into the air, she itched everywhere, especially her pussy, her nipples, her butt, her head, her knees, her....well, everywhere. As she was lifted up and up, her bell-shaped bondage balloon swayed from side to side, so it looked like a bell being wrung in a cathedral. She could hear Mistress Sally's voice in her ear pieces.
"Someday we'll have to fit you into the rubber-and-metal clanger suit we have and let you feel the sensation of having your striking form striking the side of a real bell every hour on the hour. But for now, I know you're itching to get on with your self-punishment. So just amuse yourself up there until Ty comes for you -- if she comes for you -- I do hope this isn't her day off."

Up in her bell bondage, Bonda twisted and whined. She was so close to an orgasm. So close. She rode the threads of the bolt on her chastity belt. She squirmed around on her pussy. She twisted her nipples for a response.
"Oh, lord," she said, "if I could only move a little more and sweat a little less. "
She sucked on her gag.
Try as she might, she couldn't make herself.
 

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