Continues from chapter twenty
Although home to the Initiation Ceremony due to its symbolic location, Level 3 is generally concerned with the more mundane matters of existence. Most everything associated with the necessary, if somewhat boring everyday affairs of maintaining a large building and its sapphic cult of inhabitants is delegated and dispatched by its more-than-capable Warden. It is here that one reports for cleaning duties, for all the tools and tricks of the trade congregate within. It is here that one comes for assistance should a hinge be loose, a window cracked, a vent stuck. It is here that bills are paid, supplies ordered, taxes filed. In general, if something needs to be done and it is beyond the capability or dignity of a higher Warden, it is here that they must come to beg for assistance.
I love Warden 3 and admire her amazing range of skill-sets. She can repair a toilet in one moment and recover a hard-drive the next. I suppose you might call her plain looking and she doesn't fuss much with her appearance but I think she's attractive. Indeed she does seem to have a certain magnetism, not merely because people need her services but because they generally feel good in her presence and comforted by her command of a given situation.
I shuffled onto her domain hoping she'd be nearby and wasn't disappointed. She was seated on the floor not ten feet away, a partially disassembled office chair lying on its side next to her. "Storage Room 3 please, down the hall to your left, second door on the right," she'd barely looked up from her task and didn't seem at all surprised by the arrival of a monster in chains. I set out in due haste, six inches at a time. I wasn't sure if it was my exertions in attempting to cover ground quickly or an actual slackening of my supply but by the time I reached the unlocked door I was having a little difficulty getting enough air. I had to push the door open with my cart since it was insistent upon shutting again which it promptly did once I was inside. There was some empty space on the nearest shelf which seemed appropriate so I kneeled down to complete my mission, having just barely enough slack to grasp first one, then the second box and transfer them to the shelf. My final package was almost flat however, and I had to fall to my knees to humbly retrieve it. This was more awkward than the previous time because of the addition of leg irons to my ensemble and my knees struck the hard floor with a painful thud. No matter though, just a bruise or two: most importantly I had the liberty of completion within my grasp with its soon-to-follow rewards.
It took me several aborted efforts before the seriousness of my dilemma began to really sink into my big rubber head. I couldn't get up. With my arms restricted to my waist and my ankles so close together I couldn't forge the leverage necessary to regain my feet, nor could I reach the doorknob. My breathing definitely seemed more difficult but that might have been simply panic. I had no way of alerting Warden 3 to my predicament and had no idea how long it would be before she came looking for me. In fact, she might very well simply move on to another task in another location and assume that I had left on my own. Storage Room 3 might be the end of my appointed rounds.
I tried to bang on the door to attract attention to my plight but my soft rubber hand combined with a limited wind-up resulted in little thuds so quiet even I couldn't hear them. I aimed my left handcuff towards the target hoping metal on metal would reverberate but the thick rubber folds of my sleeve kept getting in the way...though I did manage to tighten the noose about my wrist to the point of pain. I looked at my pushcart, noting the black padded bumpers on its front two corners and cursed its thoughtful designers. Finally, a possible plan of escape came to me and I hastened to execute it.
I crawled into a position where I could push the cart backwards towards the door and did so. The metal handle-bar by which it is steered was unprotected and I slammed it into the door repeatedly, creating a considerable ruckus. I banged out the universal SOS as best I could: three quick knocks followed by three slower ones then three again rapidly. I was sweating inside my prison and having more and more difficulty getting enough oxygen. After four or five cycles I rested and listened. Nothing.
I looked at the flat box that had been the cause of my incarceration. It had slid off the pushcart and onto the floor during my pleas for help. An impulse came over me and I crawled toward it. After no inconsiderable effort I was at the base of the shelf where I'd deposited its two companions, determined to somehow complete my mission or die trying. Tossing it up that far seemed bound to fail, yet somehow I must succeed. I leaned it upright upon its edge against one leg of the shelving unit and gripped the other with both hands, threatening to strangle the thing in my monstrous grasp. Inch by inch I worked my way upwards, panting heavily, refusing to release my choke-hold. My knees slowly lifted from the floor and my burden increased, as did my will. Finally at some point I was able to leverage my legs into a position to assist and they pushed valiantly until I was gleefully upright, panting heavily into my gasmask and sweating profusely. I could reach my final delivery now and placed it where destiny had wished me to. I waddled off in supreme satisfaction.
The Dominatrix adjusted a clamp on the underbelly of the bulging black rubber bag and nothing seemed to happen. Then she disappeared behind me and I felt the faintest vibration of my nose-tube but nothing else. "My work here is done for now, prisoner, and I'll be leaving you in peace. I'm sure you've tired of my endless banter anyway and could use some time alone," she spoke as she removed her giant white rubber apron and surgical mask. We both looked at her perfect hands, expecting the flawless white to be shed but the Cheshire within her had resurfaced. "Perhaps I should elaborate a bit first." She approached from between my legs until her hips brushed my thighs and my tubing danced between us. Reaching out, my breasts were greeted by an alabaster embrace of delight as she coddled and cradled them lovingly. "You are going to be filled, my pet, but very gradually," her slow massage intimating the message. "Drop by drop, drip by drip." She pushed forward, my inner thighs relishing the attention and my nipples aching for first contact. Her wonderful hands slipped down to my waist only to return with more passion to my orbs, massaging them more forcefully. "Sensory deprivation for some, sensory overload for others," she continued, then squeezed both my teats simultaneously in heavenly white embrace, pulling and stroking until they needed so badly to be sucked. Softly, graciously, the hands wound down their performance, enacting a denouement without the preceding climax. I was glad I'd attended the show, but was left wanting more.
It was perhaps an hour after she left that I first started to notice changes. A little gurgling from within and a slightly fuller bladder was about all though. Whatever potion she had added to my enema didn't seem to be affecting me much yet, unless it was helping me tolerate a somewhat intolerable situation. Before going Warden 7 had activated speakers within the pads holding my head and my ears were accosted with what could be described as electronic leaf-blowers, one on each side in a different sequence. The volume wasn't overly loud and I was all but able to ignore them after a time but they left me feeling more on edge and fearing what a louder setting would be like. I stared mindlessly at the dozens of burning suns and awaited the next unpredictable eye-drip: I wasn't really suffering at all.
It was perhaps two hours after she left that I first began to realize how much the lavender powder was altering me. Its effects were slow to unfold and hard to define but at one point I caught myself enjoying my reaction when a drip startled my left eye: it was as though I was in two places at once, observing myself from afar while still strapped in place. The strange thing was that the observer relished the distress of the observed. Normally I haven't a sadistic bone in my body but the undeniable pleasure I derived from the reaction was almost sexual. A time later a little cramp welled up in my filling bowels and as one of me squirmed in muted pain the new me smiled and could feel a moistening between her outstretched legs. Things were getting weird.
It was perhaps three hours after she left that I first realized that my bladder had become a constant presence. Unable to ignore it for more than a few moments after an eye drip fell or a cramp gurgled, one of me suffered its increasing pressure whilst the other delighted wantonly in the discomfort afforded. I couldn't really tell how full the black rubber enema bag was but it still bulged noticeably in its lower section, each drop adding to the pressure within me and increasing the dosage of the powder that had me relishing the added infliction. I found myself longing for more extreme affronts and was unarguably fully lubricated.
It was perhaps four hours after she left that I first noticed an increase in the volume of the electronic leaf-blower cacophony. How much it had risen or for how long I wasn't certain but it was definitely louder and more troubling. Under normal circumstances one might close a window or press one's fingers to one's ears to stop an aural assault but no such options were available to the helplessly secured victim. Watching her suffer was a delight whose new boundaries were unknown and I relished it in lustful joy. When the overhead beacons of Hades suddenly snapped into a much brighter configuration I nearly came, as her heart leapt in fright, the increased heat bringing sweat to her pores almost immediately. I wanted more and the Dominatrix reappeared on cue, her wide Cheshire smile beaming.
I sat on my empty pushcart in the loading dock, trying to breathe calmly and slowly. Warden 3 was nowhere in sight when I left her realm and presumably hadn't heard my urgent pleas for help. I was definitely running low on air now but somehow expected our Matron to arrive at any moment. I looked out into the parking area and wondered if perhaps I should have closed the big bay door after Chauffeuse had left. Then again, I hadn't been told to do so and she said she would be returning later so I dismissed the idea. Not that I had enough energy to get up and do it anyway, I was slipping farther and farther away and drifting into snippets of dreams mixed with reality. Warden 10 was celebrating our union with a kiss, the Nurse smilingly offering us a gift. Dozens of pink rubber slaves lifted me with a hundred black leather hands and tossed me into the air and I floated gently down into the back of our driver's van. Surrounded by piles and piles of boxes awaiting delivery I tried to move but they moved instead, pushing against me and holding me motionless from all sides. Standing in profile, the backlit silhouette of Chauffeuse was beautiful beyond words as she finished adjusting the belts of the magnificent strap-on that issued from her crotch, jiggling black rubber thrust upwards towards a starlit sky.
"123!" the Warden of Sublevel 2 seemed shocked as she woke me. "Oh, you gave me a start, you should have a least an hour's air left unless you've been wasting it." She helped me to my feet and led me back to the change-room, supporting my limp form. "No one sent me keys for your accessories, they must be attached...yes here they are," she unlocked my wrists and belly chain, then the leg irons. I wondered what I would have done if I had known they were there. When I was half out of the orange rubber monster's thick skin Warden thankfully paused to unstrap my gasmask and I inhaled deeply and repeatedly for the first time in eons. "What have you been up to 123? You seem to have emptied this tank to almost nothing." I recounted my exploits in Storage Room 3 while we finished removing my gear. She seemed pleased by my tale though it was frequently interrupted by the longest and deepest yawns of my life, as though my body was trying to reset the oxygen levels in its system. "Dinner time dear, I hope you've got enough strength to feed yourself," our Matron led me to the elevator and I smiled, knowing that neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night could stay this courier from her appointed goo.
Continues in chapter twenty-three