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Locks and Bars by Francine Whittaker

EXTRACT FOR
Locks and Bars 
(Francine Whittaker)


“Pony. Tegan. Five feet seven inches. Hmmm. Great tits,” Dylan remarked as he laid the clipboard aside and took a few moments to manhandle the generous and yielding breastmeat.

He smiled as, despite her stubbornness and very best efforts to remain detached from an ordeal he always tried to make as humiliating and severe for them as he could and as pleasurable for himself and his colleagues as the job description promised, under his lustful gaze her nipples began to harden, darkening to an attractive mocha shade.

“Look at you! You love it, you tow rag of a whore. You’re gagging for it and you can’t help yourself.” He switched his grasp and took each hardened nub between finger and thumb, pulling and squeezing, manipulating them mercilessly until he extracted whimpers of desire from her. Then with a broad smile he wrung them viciously, laughing as the whimpers turned to a cry of pain. “You think that hurt? You won’t know what hit you by the time we’re through here today.” 

He wandered over to one of the bins and returned with a selection of equipment. Firstly, he yanked her ponytail and pulled it on top of her head where he secured it with a metal clip, scraping her scalp with its teeth as he did so. Then he scooped her remaining hair back from her face and used a second clip to hold it, finally covering her entire head with a tight-fitting rubber skullcap, he used its straps to buckle it beneath her chin. Next, he held up a pair of crocodile clips and, using his own finger, demonstrated how the sharp little tines punctured the skin before fitting them to her engorged nipples.

Aaaarghh!”

“Don’t make such a fuss. That didn’t hurt! Open your legs. No, wider,” he waited until she had complied, and added, “now this will hurt!” With that, he closed a second pair of the evil little clips to her labia, laughing as her agonised cry burst from her throat and set the metal frames vibrating.

Unable to protect her most tender regions with her hands, instinct made her close her legs and cross them tightly over her tormented quim.

“I didn’t say you could close them!” he bellowed, driving his hands between her tightly crossed thighs and forcing them apart. “Open them like before.”

Devastated by both the pain and the pure eroticism that she was supposed to deny but that nevertheless set her shaking until it had engulfed her, she did as he asked. He grabbed the metal spreader bar from the desk, fixed it between her ankles and used the attached, heavy-duty manacles to keep it in place. Lastly and with a hand flat against her belly, Dylan shoved her the few steps backward to the desk, cupped a hand over her delta and squashing the wicked clips against her cunt, he tipped her back over it, and standing with his leg against her thigh he prised the clipped labia apart and without preamble thrust his fingers inside her warm channel.

“Ha! I knew it. You’re soaking wet. You sluts just love it, don’t you?” he laughed as her insides squelched noisily.

Slaves were not permitted to speak unless given permission and so she held her tongue.

“I said, ‘you sluts love it, don’t you?’ Answer me, bitch!”

“Yes, Master,” she said, using the correct form of address for all the men, “we all love it. Thank you, Master Tranter.”

You’re not supposed to love it, you stupid American tart. It’s for us to love it and for you to submit.”

He pulled his fingers free and laughed again as ponygirl and master were momentarily joined by a string of girl-juice that sparkled in the harsh, overhead lighting. Walking around the desk, he climbed upon it and with his knees either side of her head, he opened his flies and extracted his stiff cock. Aiming its shiny helm straight at the mouth below him that opened automatically to receive it, he drove his shaft down her experienced throat and began pumping. The biting of clips on her nipples seemed to double in intensity as they jiggled and the chain which joined them jingled prettily as he roughly kneaded her breasts. He climaxed much too quickly – for both of them – and she had no choice but to gulp down his hot discharge as he withdrew. He cleaned his helm by wiping it across her cheeks, smearing them with quick-drying spunk, then got off the desk and tidied himself before going round to the other side.

A disembodied male voice came to them through speakers that she had not yet glimpsed during all her sessions. Nor had she spotted before the monitors that the other technicians watched.

“Great show, Dylan. Man, we enjoyed it in here!”

“Not as much as I did in here,” he laughed as he grabbed the clips that still dug into her breasts and used them to pull her to her feet. “Time to get on. Thanks to this stupid bitch we’re running late.”

He hurried round to stand behind the desk once more. He operated a switch and there was a metallic shuddering sound as with a jolt one of the scaffold-frames was separated from the others. Slowly, with a whirring noise it began to move slowly away from the stack and along an overhead track. When it came to a stop nearby, the technician took her elbow and guided her roughly toward it, laughing as her steps were hindered by the spreader bar.

He made her stand with her toes curled over the pole that formed the bottom of the frame. A chain hung from the centre of the top and using the clip at the end, he attached it to a ring embedded in the top of the skullcap to keep her head upright. He unfastened her hands and dragged up her arms, before using the chains that hung from the top corners and the attached leather wrist restraints to secure her hands in position. Next, he removed the spreader bar and anchored her feet in place by using similar chains and restraints in the bottom corners. He wrapped a protective covering over her collar so as not to damage it, then moving his hands rapidly he made her scream with renewed pain as he plucked the clips from her nipples and labia, leaving neat little puncture marks. Without speaking to her again, he returned to the desk where he flicked the switch that set the frame moving along the track again. On the conveyer belt the blue training rope moved at the same rate, disappearing through the special opening as in the nick of time the partition folded back to allow her to enter the next room. Behind her the partition closed again.

Her surroundings were as frigid and clinical as reception, and at first glance there seemed to be nothing in the room apart from a white-walled booth. As she moved jarringly along the track, another technician appeared with a hand-held device.  By depressing a button, he stopped the frame. With a leer he approached her and in a way that was as cold and clinical as the room itself he examined her, pushing his fingers first into her clutching vagina, and then withdrawing them roughly and driving them without lubrication into her rectum.

Aaaaargh!”

“Bit tight there today,” he said as he plucked his finger free from her back passage. Moving round to stand in front of her, he pulled a face of mock concern. “I’ll have to have a word with Mistress Adria, see if she can’t get that loosened up a bit for me. You see, I’ve booked your services for an evening drive. I thought we might head off across country and take a picnic.”

While it sounded lovely, Tegan knew that what he really meant was that she would be bridled, with a dildo up her backside to hold the tail proud, and harnessed between the shafts of the big-wheeled traps and would wait for him to come across the stable yard with a specially prepared picnic basket. Then while he sat in comfort with the basket beside him, he would whip her constantly to run her heart out as he drove her on, pulling the trap until he decided she should stop, after which he would hitch her bridle to a tree while he sat in the grass with the picnic basket which would probably contain a bottle of something alcoholic for himself along with his edible treats, and a few implements of discipline with which to amuse himself with her while she remained in harness. If she were lucky, she might get a drink of water and a lump of sugar before they headed back.

“How do you fancy that, Tegan?”

“Very much, Master Freud,” she answered since she had no choice in the matter anyway.