
KINKISSIMO
by Sadie


CONTENTS

KINKISSIMO

I THE JACKPOT							5
2 THE HOTEL							15
3 THE SPUNK PITS						37
4 THE SERVICE ENGINEER					44
5 THE SPY								51
6 THE BOSS							64
7 THE NEWSLETTER						69
8 THE HOLIDAY							78
9 THE POP GROUP						86
10 THE CASTAWAYS						94
II THE ULTIMATE BONDAGE OBJECT			104

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE JACKPOT

Image 1

One Saturday night, Greg King won the lottery.

This transformed him from being a 35 year old unemployed layabout with no motivation, to a 35 year old layabout with millions of pounds to spend.

The money provided the motivation. Now he could do all the things he'd always wanted! Now he could make his dreams come true! Most of what he'd always wanted and dreamt about involved sex. So he started with a tour of London's clubs, casinos and sex-shows, and having found what he thought to be the right people-though, in reality, they found him - managed to fix himself a few weeks of non stop vice. 

When he felt like he'd had every prostitute in town, and been to every sleazy back room show that was on offer, he took stock and realised he was disappointed. The women were all either disinterested or obviously acting, and many refused to comply with his slightly more unusual requests, despite his offers of generous pay increases. He called one pimp up to the luxury hotel suite he had made his temporary new home.

"I'm interested in SM," he said. "I'd like a girl for a whole day, and I want to be able to tie her up and whip her."

"No problem," said the smooth talking pimp. "It'll cost you, though." Though money was no object, he still resented paying the exorbitant sum asked, especially when the girl he was sent was, despite her brave efforts, visibly shaking with nerves and fighting back tears.

"Don't worry," he told her, rummaging in his newly stocked trunk of bondage equipment, "you'll survive!"

But though he played with her for a little while, he was so put off by the fact she was so tense and unhappy about it, he let her go with little more than a spanked bottom.

He tried another pimp, and explained his frustration.

"Hmm," this one said. "Getting whipped is more easy, but if a guy wants to do the whipping - well, very few of the girls will do it. Try Amsterdam."

So Greg tried Amsterdam. Here he found a fair amount of stylised SM, and a few clubs that had an interesting atmosphere, but they still mainly catered for submissive males, and what bondage and punishment there was seemed half hearted and laborious, and never went beyond a certain point. He managed to enjoy a few women who he could tie up severely and fuck several times - a simple enough objective, he'd thought before beginning this quest-but they seemed unreal to him. He didn't see what he wanted to see in their eyes.

He complained to a stranger one night in a bar, after a few too many expensive cocktails.

"I want a woman who will do anything I say and take any chastisement I give her happily. I want her to offer herself up to me sexually every morning, and every evening come and tell me what punishment she has inflicted on herself that day in my honour."

"Piglets will fly!" snorted his drunk, Dutch companion.

But another drinker who'd overheard came up with a slightly more interesting comment.

"It's difficult to buy that sort of thing. You've got to find the people doing it for pleasure. Couples who might let you join in. There must be groups and secret societies. Go back to England and try to make contact with people on the scene."

Greg was unconvinced, however. He'd tried that sort of thing before becoming a millionaire, with limited success. It wasn't enough to be one of a gaggle of voyeurs watching a woman submit to her husband, who wouldn't allow anyone else to touch. It wasn't enough to gawp at posing, unavailable young women in fetish clubs. He wanted something more wanted it so much that he couldn't believe it was something money couldn't buy.

Image 2

So instead of returning to London, he went on to Hamburg, which he'd heard things about, and then Dusseldorf, and then Berlin, and then Paris, and he fucked lots of women, and tied up several, and managed to whip a few, and generally thought that things weren't that bad, though they could be better.

Meanwhile, back home, the investors to whom he had entrusted his fortune had, more by luck than judgement, trebled it already. King was en route to being not just rich, but super rich.

Man, did he intend to enjoy himself! He bought a huge villa in Spain, saw it decorated to his taste, then spent hardly any time in it at all, as a result of taking a succession of exotic holidays virtually back to back. 

Whenever possible he investigated the local SM opportunities, but everywhere-from New York to San Francisco to Bangkok-found only the tired, the jaded, the reluctant, the exploited, the coerced, and the high on drugs.

And then, one day, nearly a year after his lottery windfall, Greg's life changed - more dramatically than on that night when his numbers had come up.

He was on a cruise round the Greek islands and had forgotten about sex for a while, enjoying instead the endless sun and swimming and general laziness that accompanied luxury.

He had just climbed out of the virtually deserted pool, quite early one morning, and thrown himself down on a sunbed next to his drink, when an unimposing, middle aged, deeply tanned character in bright green swimming trunks sat down on the lie-low next to his and extended a smile.

"Mr King," he said, with a touch of Latin accent. "Do you mind if I join you for a moment?"

Surprised to be addressed by name by somebody he didn't remember seeing during the week or so of the cruise already elapsed, and a little wary, always, of possible attention from the British tabloid press, Greg nevertheless nodded an okay. He was in the mood for a little light conversation.

"I understand you have been travelling the world asking questions about a certain type of adult entertainment," said Greenpants. 

This certainly got Greg's attention, but he replied cagily. 

"Maybe."

"I can help you," the stranger said quietly. 

"Oh yes?"

"You really must trust me, Mr King. We have been aware of you since you first made inquiries in London after your lottery win. Your activities since have been observed with interest, as has the growth of your bank balance."

Greg sat up. "This is sounding a little threatening to me!"

"Please, Mr King. It is merely a case of headhunting. We see you as a potential customer of our exclusive services. And we're very selective in who we approach."

"Explain."

Greenpants shuffled. "Mr King, you are interested in bondage, I believe?"

"It seems you know that already."

"Do you see that funnel on the top deck?" The mystery man pointed. 

"Yes, of course."

"Would it interest you to know that there is a naked woman tied up inside it, and that she has been there not only for the duration of this voyage, but for the previous eighteen months?"

Greg got annoyed. "What utter rubbish! What is this, some kind of joke? Who are you?"

"Of course, I can substantiate my statement. Come up there with me."

"This is crazy! What's going on?"

"Come upstairs, Mr King. You see, there's no-one about. There is no trick."

Sighing, Greg got up, concluding that his companion probably had sunstroke and would soon be apologising for his absurd statement about the funnel. Still, Greg had to admit, it was a nice fantasy! 

He followed Greenpants up some stairs and across the deserted upper deck to the huge black funnel which was exuding its fumes relatively unobtrusively into the blue, Mediterranean sky.

"Here," the man said, resting his hand on the black metal surface. "Just a few inches behind here, she is standing."

Oh yeah? said Greg's eyebrows.

The hand on the funnel moved slowly to the right, as if feeling the rough surface for something. It seemed that a finger found a tiny depression, and to Greg's utter surprise, a little panel slid back to expose a numbered keypad.

Greenpants looked around to double check there was no-one in sight. "Now, are you ready, my friend, for your first glimpse of another world?"

But Greg couldn't answer. His mind was all in a whirl at the possibility that this was one fantasy which might be true.

His companion shielded the keypad from view as he punched in a series of numbers and, immediately, what seemed like a miracle occurred. Some sort of inner panel slid aside to transform what had looked like the solid black surface of the funnel into a transparent, perspex window onto a hidden alcove.

Within this shallow alcove stood the female image of Greg's dreams! 

Her stockinged legs were bound together with black cord, and her crotch was pushed forward - by means of being aligned against a strategically placed protrusion extending from the wall behind her - to reveal a naked, shaven snatch just an inch behind the perspex. A corset clinched her waist, and more black cord decorated her heavy breasts.

Image 3

Her arms were obviously pulled back tightly behind her back, and her head was covered with a black hood with no eyeholes, but a gap to allow the huge dildo gag strapped into her mouth to protrude. 

The dimensions of the gag were shocking, as were the height of her heels, and the number of long, sharp spikes that extended at all directions from the walls of the alcove to millimetres away from her soft, exposed flesh. You could see how her breathing brought her breasts and belly right up against the points every few seconds. It was obvious that any movement was impossible.

The final touch to the overall image was a little banner suspended between the woman's clamped nipples. It bore a rather strange legend, which made Greg laugh.

"Extremely kinky!" he said.

"Quite."

An astonished millionaire stood and looked at the image presented by the bound woman for a long time. Then he started asking incredulous questions.

"A year and a half?"

"Yes."

"What happens when she sleeps?"

Greenpants shook his head. "We use a sleep suppressant."

"How does she eat?"

"High energy implants." 

"Waste?"

"Internal storage unit."

"What about when the ship rocks about? These spikes!" 

"She just has to be more careful about keeping her balance!" 

Still Greg couldn't believe the evidence of his own eyes. 

"It's a model! A film! A hologram!"

Greenpants smiled, and entered some more numbers into the keypad. This time the perspex screen itself slid out of the way into some hidden recess, and there she was, a naked bondage object, straight out of Greg's fantasies, but without doubt very real.

"Have a feel!" he was encouraged, and reached a hand tentatively forward to cup a heavy breast.

"One moment." Another code and the spikes retreated, making Greg's exploration of the woman's body easier. He felt round her buttocks and down her thighs. He slipped a finger up her invitingly thrust forward cunt, then brought the finger up to his nose. She was real alright! He wished he could look into her eyes to see what she was thinking and feeling, but had to settle for running his hand over her hooded head. She moved slightly, now away from him but towards, as if acknowledging the caress.

He sighed. "I don't suppose I'd be allowed to...? No."

"Well, not now, but as a customer you would of course have all the appropriate codes. I used her myself the other night - quite delicious." 

Then it seemed the mystery man decided Greg had seen enough, and in rapid succession, the spikes extended again, the perspex closed, the black screen slid back, and the keypad disappeared. The camouflage was so good that absolutely no trace of the secret cavity could be seen - many a time would Greg hang around this funnel over the next few days, looking for the tiniest sign that what he had seen had not been a dream!

The two men moved over to the ship's rail and stood looking out to sea as the liner cruised on.

"There's another unit on this ship; I'll leave you to guess where. And, do you remember your hotel in Athens had a modern sculpture in the lobby?"

"Yes."

"Guess what was hidden inside it?"

"This is too much to believe."

"And that fish restaurant you ate at in Paris the other week." 

"You certainly have been watching me!"

"There was a woman stretched out along the length of the bar. Her tits were pressed up against the surface-just under your drink, actually." 

"Okay, maybe I believe you. But this isn't some fantasy planet, it's the real world. Are you telling me the general population is surrounded by hidden women in bondage and doesn't know about it?" 

"That's exactly the case."

"So aren't you running a risk, telling me?"

"That's why it's taken us a year, Mr King. The relatively few people who are interested enough-and rich enough- tend to make themselves known to us eventually. It is my job to find new customers. And check that they're genuine."

"Well you've probably found one in me, but I'm still not completely convinced. This little set up," Greg tossed his head back towards the funnel, "could be some kind of trick."

"Of course, I understand your position. This is what you should do. Go back to London and find the Paradise Hotel. You'll be expected." 

"I'll think about it."

"Mr King, believe me. You will find what you are looking for with us." 

"For a huge fee, no doubt."

"You can afford it."

"Well, we'll see."

Greenpants made to take his leave. "Oh, one more thing." 

"Yes?"

"You may be asked for a password."

"And what might that be?"

"The word on the banner - do you remember?" 

"Of course," said Greg. "Kinkissimo!"

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE HOTEL

Greg took his time travelling back to England, thinking about what had happened, and deciding it was wise not to get too excited, in case it was all some sort of con.

He'd been annoyed to find that, although the cruise took another week or so to finish, he never saw the mysterious headhunter again. Was he hiding in his cabin, or had he been taken off the ship? And he didn't even know his name, so he couldn't ask. It was all too dramatic, and anyway, he had some more questions - like whether anyone regularly looked in on the sleepless, spike surrounded woman, and how it was that she seemed to be fulfilling her strange and onerous duties willingly. After all, she hadn't tried to object or run away when the recess had been opened, and he was sure he had felt that slight, welcoming pressure of her head against his hand.

After pausing in Paris to have another look at the restaurant bar which supposedly housed another bound beauty (it looked unlikely, and he daren't ask) he decided there was nothing to lose by going to the hotel and quite a lot to gain.

The night before his arrival, however, he set aside for an extended wanking session, making the most of the anticipation and excitement of being on the verge of joining a secret organisation that catered to his tastes - making the most of it, in case it wasn't true.

The hotel, when he eventually found it in a remote part of town, was large but exceptionally drab. He wondered if he'd made a mistake, but it seemed to be the only 'Paradise' in London, so he checked himself in for a couple of nights and prepared to see what happened.

At dinner, a dishevelled old man made conversation with him, indicating that he was a regular customer, and generally boring Greg to tears with an analysis of his chances at a local art competition. Greg waited for some sort of sign that this was his contact, but when none was forthcoming, decided to say nothing. It was up to them to approach him, surely, if they wanted his money.

He noticed that all the hotel staff - from reception to the restaurant - were male, and wondered if this was significant. Nothing else happened; though, and all in all, he went to sleep that night disappointed. 

Things began to look up in the morning, however, when a shapely woman with thick red hear approached his breakfast table and asked if he was Mr King. He nodded, suddenly nervous, and followed the woman mutely when she indicated that the hotel manager would like a quiet word with him. He found himself stepping into a plush office - its decor noticeably superior to other parts of the

t you running a ing a surprisingly young and suntanned hotel manager.

"Mr King," the stranger rose and extended a hand. "My name's Dale Fisher. We've been waiting for you. How was your cruise?" 

"Rather interesting, actually," said Greg, and took the seat that was offered to him.

The woman, he noticed, remained standing and wasn't introduced. 

"I believe you have a message for me?"

"Oh, yes." Greg felt rather silly saying the word. "Kinkissimo?" he whispered.

"Thank you," said Fisher. "Just double checking, you understand. We're very security conscious. And now to business."

They talked for half an hour, Fisher telling Greg more about the secret organisation, and Greg clarifying what he would get for his money. When the sum itself was announced, Greg sat quietly and thought about it. It was obviously a carefully chosen amount - massive of course, but as a proportion of his ever growing assets, not crippling. In fact, he would probably have paid more - he couldn't think of a better way to spend his fortune - but kept this thought to himself.

But he still had to assure himself this wasn't a trick. 

"Relax, Mr King," said Dale. "We have anticipated your concerns, and won't be asking you for the money just yet. If you'll just sign this assurance of your intentions and promise of confidentiality, we'll give you a little more first hand experience straight away." 

Greg signed and Dale smiled.

"Welcome to the Kinkissimo Network!"

"Thank you. I hope it's as good as you've made out."

"I'm sure you won't be disappointed."

Greg hesitated. "There's one more question I feel I should ask." 

"Let me guess," said Fisher. "Why are the women doing it?" 

"That's right."

"Perhaps my assistant here could answer that."

It was the first time the woman, standing to one side of Fisher's chair, had been addressed. She turned to Greg.

"Money, Mr King. A three year bondage and servitude contract in return for the rest of your life in luxury!"

"One of the reasons," Fisher explained, "why you don't get many women-prostitutes even-out there in the real world doing this sort of thing, is that whenever a girl shows she's willing to move in that direction, she gets recruited by us."

"But do they regret it?" Greg couldn't help asking.

Dale raised his eyebrows to the redhead.

She shook her head. "I've done two years, and the thought of all that money I'm going to be spending soon keeps me going!"

Greg shuffled. "But you're not - well, pardon me for saying so, but you're not in quite the same situation as the woman I saw on the ship." 

Dale and the woman exchanged glances. "Why don't you take your dress off, my dear, and let Mr King see you as you really are." 

"Yes, Mr Fisher," his assistant said, and a moment later the dress was on the floor at her feet.

Image 4

Greg nearly fell off his seat.

The first thing he noticed was that the whole of her body - all the parts that had been covered by the calf length, long sleeved dress - were covered in a fine lattice of thin, incredibly tight leather straps. All around her arms, her thighs, her hips, her breasts, they squeezed and cut in to her flesh - so tight that the flesh itself bulged out in roughly square shaped lumps. In addition, every one of the narrow straps bore gold studs at intervals of about an inch, and it was clear that the studs passed through the leather and so pressed into the woman's skin, in several hundred different places all over her body!

More careful inspection revealed that the skin visible between the strap lattice was far from clear. It was marked in dozens of places and in all different directions with evidence of whipping, caning and birching - marks which Greg knew very well how to recognise.

Then there was the belt or corset - a four inch, stiff leather band, again heavily studded, squeezing the wearer's waist to far smaller proportions than had been evident while she had been wearing the relatively loose dress. Just looking at that belt was uncomfortable. You could see how it made her breathe differently-high up. And as for high up - the base of each of her breasts was encircled by a slightly thicker studded strap, and the two were joined together in the middle, which had the effect of pulling the breasts together and making them point proudly forwards.

And at the tip of each of them was a heavy, ornate metallic nipple clamp, through which the tortured nipple bulged, swollen and tinged with blue.

But perhaps the most striking element of the redhead's attire was what was going on between her legs. Her crotch was naked and shaven, and the thick sex lips could be seen clearly, extending around a grossly thick dildo, several inches of which were visible, sticking down between her thighs and attached firmly by taut chains to the strap lattice.

Greg was amazed that no evidence of having this obviously massive object stuck up into her had been betrayed in the redhead's walk, when she had met him in the dining room earlier. Even more amazed when Fisher asked her to do a slow twirl, and it became evident that an equally huge - yes, equally - dildo was similarly fixed up her arse! 

Also evident from this angle was a large flat weight hanging in the middle of her back-anchored to the lattice but supported by what from the front had seemed like a normal necklace. Realising how the pull of the weight produced a slight but constant choking effect around the neck made you look at the big black beads of the necklace in a new light - they were instruments of torture in themselves!

"I think you'll agree," Dale remarked, "that she's earning her future millions."

Greg nodded, pleasantly overawed.

"Shall we make her pay some more?" said his host.

"Pardon?"

"Would you like to birch her? I do it myself at least a couple of times a day."

Greg swallowed. "I'd love to, but I'm still scared you're secretly filming me, or something."

"Perhaps you'd just like to watch, then? Fetch me a birch, dear, and bend over the desk - there's a good girl."

How she could walk normally with those massive dildos up her Greg would never know.

When he saw the birch, he thought he was imagining things - it was the biggest he'd ever seen.

Throwing him a little smile, the redhead handed Dale the birch, then stood up against the shorter edge of the office desk and laid herself tits down along the length of it.

Extending her arms, she clasped hold of an embedded pen holder, and without further instruction split her legs and hooked her feet around the legs of the desk. She shuffled a little, as if to make herself comfortable, and the thought of her preparing herself in this way for birching twice a day was enough to give Greg a raging hard on before anything else had happened.

Fisher now reached up to take a couple of thick files from a shelf and proceeded to insert these between the girl's belly and the desk, thereby lifting her hips considerably and causing her to stretch even more. Then, seemingly ready now, he set about birching the strap-encased buttocks of the already suffering woman with spectacular venom. 

From the left and from the right the birch fell, each stroke following quickly on from the next, the flesh between the network of straps soon turning red, black and blue. She squirmed but didn't budge from her self imposed position, even though the strength of each stroke looked sufficient to sweep her from the desk top onto the floor.

And then the strokes started falling directly from above, forcing, pressing, beating her down onto the hard wood of the desk - heaven knows how it felt, with all those studs pressing into her squashed tits.. Still the birching didn't stop, and she began to scream, but when Greg threw a concerned glance towards the door, Dale paused a moment to reassure him.

"Soundproofed."

Finally it ended, and Greg was faced with the embarrassment of being on the point of orgasm- and he'd hardly touched himself! He had never ever seen such an extensive and spectacular punishment session. 

The hotel manager-if that was what he really was-threw the birch onto the floor and wiped his brow.

"Just popping out to the bathroom," he said, and just before disappearing through a side door added; "She'll finish you off if you like." 

Alone with the freshly birched woman, Greg watched as she climbed down from the table and straightened tentatively. She wiped some tears from her cheeks and came and knelt down on the floor in front of him.

"Alright then," he conceded, and hurriedly got his cock out and pulled her head down onto it. Just a few seconds, and a glimpse of her colourful rump over her shoulder, was all it took for him to shoot what felt like huge quantities of spunk straight down the redhead's throat.

When Dale returned, Greg was sitting calmly sipping a drink that the woman had provided for him, while she was standing quietly by the desk again. Perhaps that's why she doesn't sit down, Greg thought- because her stud punctured bum's always birched raw!

"So, was that my first hand experience? Do you want your money now?"

"Good heavens, no!" Dale was genuinely taken aback. "I was assuming that you'd stay in the hotel for a few days. I was going to show you round now."

Greg grimaced. "It doesn't look like there's much to see."

"I assure you, this is a hotel like no other you've stayed at. The more interesting facilities are carefully hidden away."

"A-ha!"

"Of course, we have to function as a genuine hotel, but it's a front. Most of the rooms are empty, but it's kept just busy enough to look convincing- and it's big enough to allow Network customers to come and go unremarked. Some visitors-like the chap you were talking to at dinner last night-have come here for years without having a clue what really goes on!"

"I see," Greg was intrigued. "But I went up to the roof terrace, and the whole place is so quiet. Is it all on one floor, or something?"

"Mr King, the Paradise proper has ten floors, a hundred bedrooms, and about a thousand women in bondage of one form or another. Don't forget, every one of our customers is a multi millionaire, and they expect to get their money's worth."

"I don't understand."

"Underground! It's a bit of a cliche, but we're a secret organisation, so we've got secret facilities underground-literally. All those women are down below your feet! And if you'd care to follow me, I'll show you the one secret lift that will take you down into the bowels of paradise!" 

And so it was that Greg King was introduced to a new way of life - one he had searched the world for in vain but found beneath a seedy hotel in the outskirts of the city in which he'd been born.

It was to be over two weeks before Greg even saw the light of day again! 

At last, here's what you've been waiting for - a more detailed description of the goings on in the Paradise Hotel, and hence a better insight into what the Kinkissimo Network is all about.

Imagine you're a fly on the wall, buzzing from room to room and from floor to floor, getting a little taste of what's occurring in this secret world.

Let's start with the ceiling of the real lobby and reception area of the hotel, which is directly beneath the pavement and steps leading to the main door of the old hotel above. Hidden directly and immediately below each of these broad stone steps is a long, narrow box containing a tightly packed, near naked Kinkissimo bondage girl. Alternately face up and face down, and aligned in alternate directions, six stunning beauties lie unseen beneath the feet of unsuspecting visitors, held utterly immobile by elasticised straps, and kept quiet with massive rubber gags fixed permanently in their wide, helpless mouths. 

At significant intervals beneath the stone steps above, pressure sensitive pads have been inserted which are linked directly to little spiked metal plates resting on tits or buttocks or thighs. Some knowingly, then, but many unknowingly, the men who climb the six steps to the hotel entrance by their very weight cause misery to the suffering females below.

Often, two or more Kinkissimo customers who happen to meet on or near the steps, will stand for some time and chat-a picture of innocence to passers by, but in fact knowing that just by standing where they are standing they are causing pain and panic in those ceiling boxes below, as spikes press into sensitive parts, and gasps and groans struggle to escape through uncomfortably gagged mouths!

Pausing only to listen to the distress caused by a large party of tourists tramping out of the hotel with all their luggage towards a waiting coach, our fly flits on from these understair delights, along a plush corridor and into a small but luxurious room in which a delightfully shapely young blonde woman is getting shafted by a certain new recruit to the Network.

When he has finished, the woman extracts from a small piece of electrical apparatus what looks like a glowing cigarette lighter from a car console. In fact it is a mini branding iron bearing a tiny, half centimetre high letter K.

She offers this implement to the man, and points to a particular spot on her left calf where the sea of little Ks which already virtually cover her body comes to an end. He takes the iron with a nod and presses it carefully into the woman's skin. He had been told in advance that this was the woman who fucked each new Kinkissimo Network customer, and that he would be expected to leave his mark on her body as hundreds of others had done before him.

Recently customers had been asking the woman what would happen when the available space on her body ran out, which looked as if it was nearly the case.

Well, it won't be for a while, she always assured them. There was still the soles of her feet, her palms and her face - including earlobes and eyelids and after that they would shave her head and use her bare scalp, and there was still the odd place where a few more marks could be fitted on, like between her buttock cheeks and on her sex lips. 

Once all these possibilities had been exhausted-well, various possibilities had been discussed. They could enlarge her breasts significantly, or generally fatten her up to increase her surface area - in fact, some said they'd have done better starting with a bigger woman in the first place. Otherwise they could start again with overlapping Ks, or if the worst comes to the worst, start on a second woman.

It wouldn't be the same though, would it, the woman said to the man symbolised by her newest, still smarting, brand. The customers were impressed and turned on by the visual evidence that this one woman had fucked all those men! They looked and looked at the dozens and dozens of little symbols covering her big tits as they fucked her, and reflected on the joys of being up such a very well used cunt. It also gave new recruits an idea of the size of the operation. Thousands of men - rich men - were involved, which meant that virtually anything anyone wanted could be arranged.

Image 5

The multi-branded woman enjoyed special privileges in the hotel. She was a bit of an advertisement, so she was allowed to wander - naked, of course; she never wore clothes - around the various public rooms, displaying herself to the guests and playfully challenging them to see if they could locate the particular little K that they had burnt into her in their turn.

She was usually given a sleep suppressant - used commonly by Kinkissimo to maximise the usage time of the women - but when she did sleep it was in an all glass case, suspended in the middle of one of the lounges, so that the men could study her from all angles, and try to count the Ks!

Back out into the corridor, and what's this strange apparition coming this way? It's a walking bottom-the effect achieved by having a woman with particularly juicy, big buttocks bent completely double and walking along with her fat naked bum uppermost.

Let's get the fly to buzz around and have a close look at how she's done up.

Her long legs are laced into black thigh length rubber boots which are specially stiffened so she can't bend her legs at the knees. The heels are about seven inches high, and her ankles are connected by a hobble chain around a foot long. Her upper half - except it's no longer upper - is also squeezed into stiff black latex and pulled completely down against her legs as a result of the way her arms are wrapped around the back of them and strapped up tightly. Her big latex covered breasts are squashed somewhere down against her knees, and her head is pulled up-so she can see where she's going-by means of a chain attached to a hook at the top of the hood she's wearing.

Her face is free and her expression is serene. She's been in this position for a year now and has got used to it. Of course, since she doesn't have use of her hands, she needs help with a lot of things, but she now finds it possible to perform many activities - getting in and out of bed, for example - on her own.

Image 6

She is one of several 'walking bottoms' in the hotel and other Kinkissimo establishments, whose purpose it is to wander about the public areas, thereby making their inflated, very prominent posteriors available to anyone who should wish to make use of one.

Kinkissimo customers are usually keen on whipping arse, and having the bottoms wandering about means they can often get a whip or strap out and indulge their pleasures - whether they've just come across one in a corridor, or specially asked for one to be sent up by room service. 

When not otherwise engaged - being whipped - walking bottoms can be employed on a number of other tasks. Some are used to help carry laundry around the hotel - huge piles of fresh linen can be strapped onto little tables laid across their buttocks.

In fact they are often used to support tables - gaming tables, for example, when two guests are playing a board or card game. On some occasions the bent double woman supporting such a table can be seen joining in an intelligent conversation from down at the level of the guests' calves, or she can be asked to keep score. Of course, since she can still walk, these gaming tables have the advantage of being able to follow guests around from room to room, whenever they desire a change of scenery. And should the game remain uncompleted, the table can of course be asked to stand in a corner overnight, or until the guests next feel like resuming their game.

Since someone remarked that the walking bottoms looked like ice-cream cones - a big white round bit on top of a darker, vaguely conical tapering bit - one or two of them have had their lower parts wrapped around with stiff brown sheeting, and these often stand in the lobby area of the hotel, the sole purpose of their existence to be a visual joke! Recently these ice-creams have been turned into double 99s, with the insertion of two massive 'chocolate effect' dildos into - well, I'm sure you can work out where!

But back to the more conventional walking bottom, struggling stiff-legged, hobbled, and high heeled around the third floor corridors, as she has been doing uneventfully for the last four hours.

A guest is wandering back to his room after lunch, and catches sight of the juddering buttocks proceeding along in front of him.

"Hey, you - bottom!" he calls out.

The bottom stops and turns around.

"Yes, sir?" comes a voice from almost at floor level.

The guest looks down, feeling a bit strange to be having a conversation with such an unusually positioned head.

"Can you come with me to my room?"

"Yes, of course, sir?" says the bottom's owner, and allows herself to be ushered into one of the sumptuous bedrooms.

While there are, of course, no real windows at this subterranean level, a less claustrophobic effect is achieved by having films showing, at strategic apertures, of beautiful daylight country scenes. These change appropriately with time to spectacular sunsets and night time cityscapes; but this particular guest prefers the more secretive 'under- ground' atmosphere and has switched the simulations to 'adult'. A convincing picture is therefore being presented at the two false windows of groups of half naked young girls trying to clamber into the room, frequently squeezing their tits against non-existent glass in the process. They call out - begging the guest to let them in, squealing and shouting out like pop fans, wanting only to be allowed to come into his room for a moment. To kiss his feet, to rip away bits of his clothes to keep as souvenirs, to throw themselves on the floor with their legs straining open as wide as possible, while they beg and plead for him to fuck them - or perhaps even just to stand over them and spunk onto their youthful cunts. Yes, even just for him to look at their intimate charms for a moment would be enough! All these things their flushed, pleading, unreal faces make quite, quite clear.

Ignoring these images - she is familiar with all the variations - the walking bottom girl stands in the centre of the room, waiting for instructions.

These soon come - the guest, a large middle aged man - has been with Kinkissimo long enough to know what he can expect.

"Turn around on the spot," he tells her. "I want to see you from all angles."

So, with careful little movements of her feet, she spins around in one place, soon getting dizzy, but making an effort not to lose her balance. 

"Faster," he says. "And jump up and down more so your bum wobbles."

The room spins round faster as she runs in circles on the spot, aware of her bouncing buttocks, thinking of what they look like and trying to make them even more appealing and bizarre.

"You look lovely," the guest says, and she has just managed to utter a polite thank you when she feels the first whip stroke land on her spinning behind.

She keeps moving and the strokes keep falling, from a long cat-o-nine- tails, which spreads out over the whole area of naked flesh in a pattern varying with her position at each stroke. He seems to be hitting her randomly, but because of the speed of her rotation and the spread of the whip, approximately every other stroke catches her exposed cunt and makes her flinch with extra sharp pain.

"The other way," he instructs after a while, and she reverses direction, concentrating on not falling over and trying to breathe as deeply as possible - difficult in such a tightly doubled up position.

"Enough," the guest says eventually, and she stops, relieved, her bottom well marked now - not that she can see it.

"Would you like a drink, dear?" he says next, stooping to offer her a sip of wine.

"No thank you, sir," she replies, though she is gasping. 

There are rules about refreshment.

"Did you enjoy your punishment?" the guest now feels like indulging in a little gratuitous humiliation.

"No, sir."

"Good. Was it painful?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was it the most painful whipping you've ever had?" 

"Um, no sir."

"Why don't you ask me to whip you harder than you've ever been whipped before."

"Please sir, I beg you to whip me harder than I've ever been whipped before."

"What, another ten or so?"

"More, sir. Thirty at least."

"Thirty? That will be hideously painful, won't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's the most you've ever had?"

"Well, all in one go, sir, a hundred."

"Mm. If I wanted to whip you a hundred times, I could, couldn't I, bottom?"

"Yes, sir."

"Two hundred times?"

"Yes, sir."

"Three hundred?"

"Yes, sir."

The bottom doesn't hesitate in her replies. She knows - they both know - that this exchange is probably being monitored on video. If he were really to whip her three hundred times, somebody would be called in to decide whether to stop it. Factors influencing the decision would probably include how well the woman had coped with punishment in the past, whether they could spare her if she was out of action for a while, and, most importantly, how long the guest had been a Kinkissimo customer, and how much he was paying.

I think we'll leave the bottom to her fate as a whipping object, though - leave her as the guest hesitates, torn between the desire to keep thrashing her, and to shaft her violently up her upended fanny.

 Instead, let's call in at the Hall of Wanking Women.

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This is a large, lounge like room, containing several beds and couches, and adorned with rich furnishings and lewd tapestries, set off by carefully designed subdued lighting. At least ten women lie or sit around in this room, not interacting with each other, but each apparently lost in her own world of pleasure as she writhes and groans, pleasing herself with a hand, or with the aid of a variety of sex toys. 

Men desiring a little gentle stimulation simply wander into the 'hall' and take a little stroll around the wanking exhibits, or settle down in a comfortable chair to watch and listen to and smell the subtle and intoxicating signs of female arousal.

Every few minutes, a woman will orgasm - rubbing herself violently perhaps, or working herself off on a thick dildo. Whether or not she is being observed in the flesh (she is certainly being observed on camera at least some of the time) she will buck and twitch and squeal in the way men like, then subside once more into gentle stimulation and caresses, starting immediately to work towards her next climax.

The Hall of Wanking Women is a pleasant, calm little oasis in the midst of frequently more eventful and strenuous activity. The guests appreciate these little touches.

A small sign on the wall near the entrance gives an idea of how the management wish this room to stay.

Only gentle whipping, please, it says.

Now let's pop briefly into the Ice Bar, a drinking lounge favoured by many of the hotel regulars, and see what this strange structure is that's standing in the middle of it.

It's a huge perspex dome, some twenty five feet wide, with a little counter and stools running round the edge of it, so customers can sit and drink while looking at what's inside.

What's inside is a beautifully landscaped ice sculpture - a veritable work of art. The whole dome is refrigerated to allow the permanent display of a series of miniature hills, mountains, valleys and rockfalls, all carved out of ice. Towards the centre of this frozen vista is a mini lake of ice cold water, fed by a tinkling icicle-embellished waterfall, and surrounded by 'fields' of loose, soft, white powdery snow.

But all this, of course, is only a backdrop - a habitat - for the dome's real contents; three utterly naked young ladies - blue with cold, shivering uncontrollably, and each endowed with huge full breasts, the nipples permanently puckered and upstanding from the cold.

One of the women is half embedded in a frozen mountain of ice. Her head and breasts are free, as is her jutting out bottom, but the specially carved ice holds her immobile by her arms, waist and legs. If you look very carefully between her thighs, you can just see that two thick protrusions of ice extend into her lower orifices, ensuring that she is well and truly chilled both inside and out by her predicament.

A second naked beauty lies playing in the snow - making impressions of her tits in the loosely packed drifts, then scooping the powder entertainingly over her legs and bottom. Though her teeth are chattering, she keeps her expression fixed in a smile and glances provocatively at the men looking in at her from the warm bar outside.

The third woman is sitting immersed in the ice-cold lake, with her head directly under the waterfall - which has thoroughly drenched her long blonde hair.

She scoops up ice and snow periodically in her hands and deposits this in the water around her, to ensure it is as cold as cold can be.

If she sits still long enough, ice will start to form on the surface of the water, hiding her bottom half completely, but usually she changes position before this happens, to keep any audience she may have entertained.

Sometimes she crawls into the little lake frontwards so her arms and torso are immersed, with her head straining up for air, while her legs and bottom remain out on the snowy shore. Alternatively, she experiments with thrusting her crotch beneath the waterfall, or dipping just her breasts in the water, while her colleague in the snow piles drifts of it around her posterior, anchoring her temporarily in place, and creating an impression of a strange being - half mermaid, half snowman. 

"I wonder what they eat in there?" asks a newcomer to the hotel, absently.

His drinking companion indicates a bank of dildo shaped, variously coloured protrusions at one side of the dome. "They suck on those nutritious phallic ice lollies over there."

"What about the one in the ice?"

"The others kiss-feed her, I think." 

"Nice!"

The Ice Bar reflects a common theme of the Kinkissimo Network - contrast.

In the same way that any of the variously restricted and suffering women at present being whipped, caned or otherwise tormented in the hotel rooms all around might say to their Masters, "My pain is your pleasure, sir," the women of the ice sculpture understand perfectly the purpose of their present existence. As the customers sit comfortably in the bar, sipping drinks, chatting, whipping the occasional barmaid's bottom, and admiring the frozen curves within the ice exhibit, the women in the dome shiver and shake and suffer - extensively and permanently by specially designed contrast.

Their discomfort is the customers' comfort. 

Their suffering is the customers' pleasure!

(This ice display was so much admired by hotel guests that occasionally it, or rather, the concept of it, went on tour.

A number of different 'ice cages' were designed, featuring variously sculpted mountains, streams and waterfalls, and were of such a size to be easily transported by refrigerated trailer (and sometimes airplane) to Kinkissimo establishments worldwide. Each generally featured three women, who were usually only installed when the cage reached its display destination, but sometimes, if they had actually to be built into the blocks of ice for artistic - and erotic-effect, travelled inside the frozen cage.

A special drug was administered to the ice sculpture women in such cases, to avoid ill effects, but this was usually withheld or limited once the sculpture was on display-after all, as has been remarked, there was little point if the women looked comfortable. They had to look cold!

They had to be suffering!

On one occasion, Kinkissimo managed to get an ice sculpture accepted into a conventional modern art exhibition - once the management had been assured that the women participating were highly paid models who didn't object to their treatment - and it actually attracted a fair amount of publicity. It was soon withdrawn, however, when feminist activists infiltrated the gallery's security and sabotaged the refrigeration equipment, leaving the three women swimming round in a tank full of deep water for a day before anyone realised this wasn't quite how the exhibit had been intended!)

Were our fly a human being it would now be not only exhausted but aroused by all it had seen, and before exploring further might feel the need to obtain some sexual relief. Let us follow it one more time, then, to the very lowest floor of this subterranean pleasure house - to the basement. Here are located some of the finest examples of a feature-an attraction highly appreciated and often discussed by Kinkissimo customers all over the world - the Spunk Pits.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE SPUNK PITS

The basement floor of the Paradise Hotel is completely given over to three Spunk Pits.

The layout of the huge room resembles that of, say, a small sports hall, with rows of plush, tiered seating surrounding a central rectangular area on all four sides.

Towards the centre, however, the atmosphere changes to that of zoo, as the pits are sunk into the floor and surrounded by a railing, and are variously sculpted inside with little pools and rocks and platforms, just like you might find in an enclosure for seals or penguins or bears. 

The contrast in the room extends to the lighting. High up in the tiers it is dark and intimate, so that the few men who are sitting scattered in the higher seating feel as if they are in a cinema, or a theatre - spectators slightly removed from the events below. The pits themselves, though, are brightly lit and painted white and pale blue inside, so they are very stark and prominent, and their contents very clear and obvious. 

The leftmost pit contains three pale-skinned women, completely naked. The rightmost holds three naked black girls. The central pit - the largest-houses five girls of various shades, in various states of undress. One, for instance, is wearing a short black dress, torn open at the top to reveal her tits, while her colleague is dressed in a skimpy red nightie. The others are in their underwear - a selection of exotic lingerie including bras, basques, stockings and panties.

All these women are at the moment lounging around in the bottom of their deep pits just like seals - to keep the zoo analogy going. The one in the nightie, for example, is lying half submerged in a shallow pool of the creamy liquid which, apart from the women, is the main feature of the pits. One of the black women, meanwhile, is sliding down a little slope into a somewhat deeper pool of the liquid. She makes a big splash and remains sitting in the pool, submerged just up to the level of her nipples. Two of the white girls wrestle a little on a slippery platform, sliding about and slipping out of each other's grasp as a result of their bodies being coated with a slippery film.

Like zoo animals, then, the eleven girls laze around in their deep homes, sleeping and resting and playing. But if you sit and watch a little longer, you will see some quite un-zoo-like behaviour. The girls appear to have a particular affection for and interest in the white liquid with which they are surrounded. They seem to enjoy grinding their bodies into it, and smearing it all over their skin. Periodically they will scoop some of the sticky stuff up with their hands and deposit it on top of their heads, or over their faces.

Sometimes they will splash it onto their fannies, and here and there they can clearly be seen to lick it up-from their own or their colleagues' bodies, or directly from the floor of their enclosures. Those with clothes on seem to enjoy splashing it down their cleavages, or scooping it into the tops of their stockings. Every few minutes, each of the girls will immerse herself almost completely in one of the deeper pools of the stuff, then pull herself out onto a surrounding surface with a look of deep happiness and contentment.

So what is this milky white liquid the exhibits appear to enjoy playing in so much? Of course, what could it be but male spunk - gallons of it! And how did it get there? If we sit in our seats just a little longer, we shall see.

Men stroll into the basement throughout the day, in varying states of arousal. Some come for a quiet sit after they have orgasmed, but many call in when they have reached a high. state of arousal and wish to deposit their loads in an interesting way.

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For this is the purpose of the Spunk Pits - to enable men to indulge in that widely enjoyed practice - spunking over the body - more specifically and usually over the face, tits or pussy-of an attractive naked or near naked woman. Preferably one who enjoys it as well, as these do. 

This is what happens when a customer approaches the edge of one of the pits and the girls within catch sight of an uncovered, stiff prick. 

They all squeal with pleasure and anticipation, and scamper over to be as near to the cock as possible, like so many penguins flocking towards a bucket of fish at feeding time. The pits are quite deep - the walls are about ten feet high to ensure the girls can't clamber out and attack the customers in their enthusiasm - and so a man standing wanking at the edge of one will be looking straight down at a squabbling mass of female flesh, the women pushing and shoving as they attempt to be the recipients of the man's precious seed.

"Here!" they will cry, holding their tits up, and getting down on all fours to thrust their bums in the air. "Spunk on me! Spunk on me!" 

The man will watch and wait, while the women wriggle provocatively below him. Cunt lips will be pulled suggestively apart, mouths will be stretched wide open, and tongues will flicker and lick at lips in the crudest, most whorish way imaginable.

"Please, Sir, spunk on my pussy!"

"No, spunk in my mouth, Master. Here, on this tongue, please!" 

Pushing each other out of the way in their eagerness, genuinely desperate to have fresh spunk splattered all over them, they will jump and stretch up, and prostrate themselves below him, till at last he gives in to their begging and lets his load shoot down into the pit, and over the whole bunch of them.

They scream with pleasure, and steal and lick the spunk from each other's bodies where they haven't got enough of it themselves. Then they call up to their male audience above, in plaintive voices. 

"More, more!"

And so the days progress, with several men spunking onto the pit women each hour, helping to keep them constantly splattered and slippery. While they tend to rub it into their fannies and bottoms when it lands on these places, they often let it be when it graces their tits or faces, as they know how the men like to see it covering them in lumps and trickles.

One of the black women has lain relatively still in one spot for most of this particular day, and her big dark tits and exotic face are plastered with the output of some twenty guests.

Oh, how the men love adding to this visual celebration of extreme sluttishness. How eagerly they watch to see where their own spunk will fall - on a nipple, in a navel, on an eyelid?

The half clothed women are favoured by many as even more erotic. Observe how the creatures pull their pants down from behind, or hold their bras out, or beg you to target their stocking tops. What man could resist those delicious cries; "Please spunk down my pants, Sir"; "Oh, Master, I beg you to drench my flimsy dress with your come!"

It is from millions of orgasms over several years that the spunk in the pits has accumulated - and the levels in the pools and puddles rise almost noticeably every day. Soon that bath in the corner of the central pit will overflow. Soon every slippery surface will become covered, forcing the girls to paddle and then wade through the sticky white goo. 

Eventually, perhaps, the spunk level will rise to the height of the girls' necks, forcing them to move around on tiptoe, or swim in it, only their heads and ever-open mouths still visible, and still calling up to be spunked on!

While the Spunk Pits in the Paradise basement are a major and well regarded attraction of the hotel, they are by no means the only ones in existence. On one of the higher floors, in a public area by the lifts, is a mini version. Here what looks like a large laundry basket in fact hides something like a large white sink inside, and houses two rather more tightly packed women wallowing in several inches of accumulated spunk. Lift the lid, and a light goes on, like in a fridge, revealing the scantily clad maidens who will gasp and groan and beg as they roll around and present themselves before you, pushing their faces and their tits as close as possible to your erupting cock, and begging fervently to get drenched!

Units like this basket have been known to be hired out to Kinkissimo customers with large establishments of their own, but other types of Spunk Pits can be found in public places all around the world-carefully hidden, of course, and accessible only to those in the know.

So, deep in the labyrinth of a Moroccan bazaar, for example, you might find an Arab hoisting up a trap door to reveal some exotically veiled slave girls playing with bowlfuls of suspiciously sticky liquid; while issuing from beneath a certain flowerbed in a certain park in Moscow, you might hear cries in the night, as hidden naked sex toys call out their thanks to those who have recently defiled them.

And finally... Also popular within Kinkissimo are an associated attraction which I'm sure requires no further explanation - the Piss Pits!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE SERVICE ENGINEER

Tony consulted his schedule as he sat at traffic lights. Five calls, all central. Not too bad a day.

He parked his van close to the first address and picked up a mobile phone and confidential phone book.

"Hello?" said a voice when he'd dialled.

"Mr Sidney Hemmings?"

"Yes."

"Here to service your unit, sir. Is it a good time?"

"Er, yes. Come on up."

Tony grabbed his 'toolbox' from the back of the van, and sailed into reception, smiling. He was waved through, and soon found his way to the right office.

Mr Hemmings had a young secretary called Julie. She was sitting at her desk typing when Tony walked in, and blushed a little by way of welcome.

"Hiya, gorgeous," Tony said. He perched on one end of her desk and began to flirt. "When are we going to go out for that drink then?" 

Julie giggled. She rather fancied Tony, but he had the air about him of a boy her mother wouldn't approve of. Not that this put her off - it just made her feel shy and tongue-tied.

She enjoyed his banter for a while before remembering her job. "I'd better tell Mr Hemmings you're here."

Tony admired her youthful posterior as she hurried over to her boss's door, then got up for a little wander around the extremely ordinary office. Year planners and postcards on the walls, shelves overflowing with files and papers. Nothing at all remarkable to be seen. 

"Ah, Tony." It was old Sidney, emerging from the inner office at his secretary's side. "Time for another service, is it?"

"Yes, sir. Shouldn't take more than half an hour, or so."

"Very well. Julie, why don't you pop down to the common room while Tony here sees to your PC. I'll give you a ring when he's finished." 

"Okay - thank you." Julie reached for her handbag and disappeared with a stifled grin.

Sidney crossed to the outer door and locked it, then looked Tony in the eye. "Don't be too long - I've got visitors later."

"No worries. Had any problems?"

"No. Been performing fine. Maybe a bit of slack at the top." 

"Okay, I'll have a look."

"I'll be next door. Let me know when you're done."

With this, Hemmings went back into the adjoining room but, Tony noticed, left the door slightly open. Most likely he would be having a peak at what was going on through the crack.

Fair enough. It wouldn't have bothered Tony if he'd asked to stay. They often did.

Working quickly, he cleared everything-files, trays, telephone, PC and printer-from Julie's desk, then felt carefully in one bottom corner for the discrete switch that would reveal a keypad. A few seconds later, the whole surface of the desk was sliding smoothly aside to expose the unit he had come to service.

She was lying on her back, tied firmly to the bottom of the shallow compartment that the special desk surface hid so well. Her tits were about in the position where Julie's word processor normally rested, and her face was just under the end of the desk that Tony had deliberately sat down on earlier. Her arms were bent back and disappeared down into two of the desk's thick legs. Her legs did the same from the knee down, passing out of sight into cavities in the desk's other two legs. Her thighs were visible, spread wide to expose bare crotch stuffed with dildo. Her mouth was packed tightly with a hard rubber ball and taped over with a thick black strip. Her pretty eyes, blinking against the light, looked up at Tony with urgency and relief. 

This was the secret that dominated the life of Sidney Hemmings, a longstanding Kinkissimo customer; that built into the very structure of his secretary's desk at work, another female servant lay, tied up and helpless, her only purpose to provide pleasure by her secret presence during the busy office day, and more directly at night, when Hemmings would often pop back into the office to make full use of her permanent availability.

At this desk Julie sat all day, never suspecting that another woman's breasts were quivering gently just below her keyboard. Never knowing that whenever she thought she was alone in the office, she was not, and that when she held private conversations on the phone with her best friend, her desk was in fact listening!

Visitors to the office didn't give the desk a second glance - it had been designed to be unremarkable. Only once, a cleaner, who had moved the desk rather suddenly to deal with a stain on the carpet, had thought she heard a strange noise coming from inside it-something like a muffled grunt.

She had looked around her, wondering for a moment about rats and mice, about which there had once been an unsubstantiated rumour, but then quickly put the sound from her mind. She was of a superstitious nature, and unexplained noises in deserted offices were not something she wished to dwell upon.

Hemmings' colleagues sometimes joked about him and Julie behind his back, meaning that he was far too old and conventional and proper a gentleman to make any attempt at pillaging his pretty young secretary.

Little did they know!

So Tony, who was privy to many secrets, stood looking down on the spreadeagled form before him, making professional decisions about requirements and priorities.

"Hello, love," he said cheerfully. "How're you doing?"

The unit, who had been well schooled not to make the tiniest sound during the course of her normal duty, now decided she would take the opportunity offered and began to struggle in her bonds and complain loudly through her massive gag.

"Now calm down," said Tony, rummaging in his box. "I've only got half an hour, so I can't let you out for exercise this time. In fact I've got to tighten your arm restraints. Apparently they're a bit loose." 

At this, the unit began to thrash about even more, but all this served to do was to demonstrate to the engineer that there was indeed too much play in the bonds. He looked up an electronic code, and the arm bondage was soon adjusted automatically to be tighter, the added strain clearly visible in the painfully stretched woman's shoulders. 

With another electronic gadget, Tony located the unit's internal energy and waste implants, and quickly did what he needed to do to replenish them. Then he passed a different instrument all over the unit's surface. This, by emitting little pulses of electricity, ensured that her muscles remained healthy and in good working order, despite her long term immobility. She calmed down with this treatment - it obviously relieved some of the aches and pains she had been suffering. Finally, Tony smeared a little special cream on the crotch and armpits, which would keep unsightly hair from growing.

This was the first essential part of his service over. The second involved the little flexible rod he now removed from his toolbox. The servicing of Kinkissimo women always included punishment; customers couldn't be relied upon to do it properly, though some were very much better at it than others. With an expert hand, Tony laid the vicious little rod, which acted as a mini-cane, into all the parts of the woman's body which were exposed - her breasts, her belly and her thighs. After the required hundred strokes, she was nicely marked - fulfilling the aesthetic element of the punishment.

"There now," Tony said to her. "That, as you know, was to remind you to stay nice and quiet and obedient, just like it says in your contract - right?"

Tear-filled eyes looked up at him, and, fractionally, the unit nodded. 

"Don't fret," the engineer added, putting the rod away. "Only a year to go and you'll be rich!"

One of the problems with Tony's job - yes, it was a problem when it happened so often-was that punishing women aroused him. Often, he would try to hold on, or relieve himself with a quick wank, but in this case, since he still had some time, and since he liked these particular tits so much, he expertly unscrewed the connections that kept the dildo in place and climbed onto the desk for a fuck. This was perfectly within his job description - in fact it was encouraged, though he had learned early on that it just wasn't possible every time. The mind was willing, but the flesh couldn't take it.

It was over quickly-speeded up by the awareness that his performance was most probably being watched through the door by a randy old man.

Zipping up his overalls, he prepared to close the unit up again and get on his way. Except that the woman was still moaning and jerking about, in an obvious attempt to communicate.

"Oh, alright then," he conceded. "Since you didn't get any exercise, and we've still got five minutes."

After screwing the huge dildo back deeply inside her spunk-sodden cunt, he removed yet another futuristic gadget from his box and pressed it onto the woman's clit and sex lips. He flicked a switch and watched the woman's almost immediate convulsions as she climaxed violently.

Units such as this didn't get many opportunities to have orgasms. If whoever was using them didn't bother - or left them entirely undisturbed, as was often the case with particularly rich customers who had several units in their homes or offices - they would spend months, if not years, without sexual relief.

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While some of Tony's engineer colleagues liked deliberately to prolong such frustrations, personally he liked to think the women he serviced enjoyed his visits. It gave him a feeling of power to reflect on so many bound and gagged beauties looking forward to seeing him - hoping that when he had finished whipping them he would use his little gadget to bring relief to their stretched and neglected pussies. 

Restoring the desk to its usual state, and quickly piling the office clutter back on top of the hidden, post-orgasmic creature within, Tony checked his watch, and walked over to the inner office to take his leave of Hemmings. Sidney, however, was sitting in a chair, facing away from him, but obviously and strenuously involved in some very personal business!

Without a word, therefore, Tony left the office - a final pat on the surface of the desk serving as a goodbye to its contents.

He bumped into Julie in the lift. She had summoned up some courage and was doing her best to get him to repeat his offer of taking her out for a drink, so she could playfully accept.

It was no use, however. Not only was Tony sexually spent at that moment, he was already deep in thought about his plans for the rest of the day.

Which of his next two calls should he make first - the one at the railway station, or the one in the department store basement? And how many more units could he fuck that day? Should he go for the bird in the paper factory, or save himself for that lovely plump little thing down at the dockyard?

Decisions, decisions!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE SPY

This letter was intercepted by Kinkissimo security: "Charles! It's me, Trish! I bet you've been wondering what on earth's happened to me, but I hope you haven't called the police or anything. We were right, Charles! Everything we'd guessed is true. Kinkissimo exists - it's a huge secret network, funded by hordes of the richest men in the world. This is going to be absolutely the biggest story the paper's ever known! Prepare yourself for fame and fortune!

Look, this is the first chance I've had for a year to get anything down on paper. I'd love to call you to explain but I haven't been anywhere near a phone for months. You'll never believe what's happened to me, but when I get out of this we can expose the whole thing. I'm telling you, just one or two photos of the things I've seen would do it.

So start preparing copy, and I'll give you as much detail as I can, but sorry if it's scribbled because I'm terrified I'll get caught - I've crept into this stationery cupboard, and somebody could come in at any time. I can't imagine what they'll do to me if they find out I'm a reporter, but I have to take the risk. I wish I could get near a fax machine, but I'll just have to put this letter in a mail tray I've seen and hope for the best. Hopefully nobody'll look twice at our mailing address.

Charles, let me emphasise one thing. If you get this letter, come and rescue me! I need rescuing. What I've been through is unimaginable, and I've got enough for the story now. I don't want to stay here one day longer than I have to.

It's true that the women sign up for a three year stint voluntarily, but I'm sure many of them regret it, and there's no easy way out.

I got approached in New York after the leads we'd set up worked. I was taken somewhere by private jet and had no choice but to submit immediately to a test of whether I was serious about joining or not. 

As you know, I'd read up about bondage and all that, and was prepared to be brave, but what they did to me-well, it was a pretty huge shock. 

So there I was, on the very same day that I'd been calmly eating breakfast with you in a New York cafe-standing, shaking, in this barn-like room, waiting to hear what it was I had to do to prove myself. 

First I had to pull on these shoulder length gloves made of a network of laces, criss-crossing my hands and arms in hundreds of places. I thought they looked quite pretty, till the men I was with started pulling the laces tight at the top and the awful things became ultra tight, cutting into my flesh till it bulged. Then they did the same with my legs, making me wear a sort of cross between boots and stockings, which got laced up really tightly all the way up the back.

I had already had to go through the embarrassment of taking my clothes off in front of the three men who were involved, but of course I had to pretend this meant nothing to me, as I was supposed to be a hardened prostitute. I'll never forget the way they inspected my body though, taking measurements and filling out this checklist, as if I was some sort of object they were buying.

But I was telling you about the test. When they'd done my arms and legs, they forced my tits into a sort of lattice bra, again made of laces that got tightened from the back. Next a garment like a big pair of knickers did the same to my bottom, and then a wide strap got put around my waist and pulled so tight I thought I wouldn't be able to breathe. Finally they blindfolded me and put a gag in my mouth-I'd never experienced this before and it was awful, though I realise now that by Kinkissimo standards it was a tiny one.

Image 11

I was just wondering how things could possibly get worse when my arms were suddenly pulled back behind me and I felt them get strapped together in several places, so they were completely out of action, and left my tortured tits sticking out unprotected in front of me. 

Then they were fixing one end of this long iron bar to one of my ankles, and I nearly died when I realised the other one would be attached to the other end! It was impossibly wide! I could hardly stand in my high heels, with my legs so far apart, and yet they made me walk around like that! And I couldn't even put an arm out to steady myself, or see where I was going!

As you know, Charles, I'm a very independent woman, and I'm not used to being made to feel so vulnerable and helpless. Still, all in the course of duty, I suppose. See how loyal I am to the rag?

Mind you, what happened next was enough to put my professionalism to the test. If I hadn't experienced it myself, I wouldn't believe such a thing was possible! It's opened my eyes to the sorts of things that happen in this world, I can tell you.

Suddenly I heard some rustling that sounded like vegetation - leaves and branches, or something. In the next instant my mind exploded with panic and discomfort as something soft that tickled and burnt touched my skin.

Stinging nettles!

I was being half stroked, half beaten all over with a huge bunch of nettles! Immediately I felt the urge to scratch myself in a hundred places, but there was nothing I could do to relieve the itching. I couldn't use my hands, I couldn't even rub my legs against each other. In desperation I fell to my knees and onto the floor, and squirmed and wriggled against it, in a attempt to get some relief. Still the nettles were being rubbed against me, however, and to add to my confusion and embarrassment, the men present started to laugh at my desperate antics.

Soon they hoisted me to my feet again and to my absolute horror I felt little sections of the nettle plants being tucked under the laces of my new costume. Up and down my legs and arms, on my bottom, and all over my tits, the stinging leaves were left pressing against my naked flesh, causing utter agony and panic at the knowledge that the awful itching would go on and on and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Now I felt a collar being put round my neck, and several nettle branches were even inserted under this - all around my neck and right below my chin. And I couldn't believe it when I felt leaves against my cheeks - they were even adorning my gag straps with the stuff.

A chain was attached to the collar and I was led across the room - legs wide, and body flexing and twitching in my itching misery - to a place where the chain was hooked on to something up above me. I heard the sound of some machinery being switched on, and the chain suddenly pulled me forward by my neck. I found myself following it-round and round in circles, like some sort of animal, I was being forced to move mindlessly around in a circle by a machine.

I was struggling desperately with the leg spreader and afraid of falling over and being dragged along by my neck. The nettles were hell, but worst of all was having that horrible gag in my mouth, making it difficult to breathe and not allowing me to speak out and demand that this torture stopped, and that perhaps this test had already gone far enough to change my mind.

Endlessly I walked round and round, with my legs embarrassingly wide, and though I was blindfolded, I could tell that my tormentors were still there watching. At last the machine stopped, and I heard footsteps approach me.

"Now you're getting a little taste of what Kinkissimo is all about," I was told. "But the test is far from over yet. You did consent to it, if you remember, though I suppose if you've really had enough at this point, we could consider letting you go."

Despite being offered the very opportunity to escape from torment that I'd just been hoping for, of course I remembered what I was there for -to get the best story of my career - so I took a huge mental breath and let my head drop to indicate that I was prepared to proceed.

Image 12

"Very well," the man said. "This is what we've got in store for you. The test is composed of four parts, and you've had the first one - to be put into strict bondage and made physically uncomfortable.

The next part concerns punishment, which you will become very familiar with if you join Kinkissimo. Twenty strokes of a cane on your posterior, and twenty strokes of a whip on your tits. Right here and now, as you're standing there so nicely presented. Two of us will see to you at the same time-alternate strokes from the front and from behind. Of course you won't be able to see them coming, and you'll have to keep still with that collar and chain round your neck - but we only want the sort of woman in Kinkissimo who can handle this type of thing. 

Part three is about endurance. After your bum and tits are nice and sore, with the nettles causing havoc to the fresh weals, you'll be left over- night on this machine. No sleep for the wicked - seven or eight hours of walking round in the dark and cold with your legs wide open should help you to decide what you want from your future.

Then finally, in the morning, a sex test. We've got twenty or so young lads lined up to sort you out, and we shall be watching carefully to see how you cope with that sort of fucking.

When they're all finished, we'll tell you whether your application to join us has been successful!"

I could hardly believe my ears. Forty strokes! All night! Twenty men! If this was just the entrance test, what on earth would life within Kinkissimo be like? As far as I was concerned it was a very difficult test! I'm not surprised they didn't tell me the details till after I'd been offered the option to leave.

I wondered at all the other women who must have gone through it before me. Of course there was no knowing how many it had put off, but if Kinkissimo existed - as I was absolutely convinced it did - hundreds of women must have gone through what I was about to go through and still decided to go for it.

Unless, I suddenly thought, they were on to me, and were treating me differently in an attempt to put me off. This was the first of many times I've wondered about this possibility. I do seem to get very harsh treatment, but then it's difficult to judge how it compares with that of others.

I've been so careful, though, I don't know how they could possibly know, and I keep thinking-surely they wouldn't have let me anywhere near them if they were on to me, and realised I was after a story. It must be safe, or I'd never have got this far.

Anyway, I won't go into the detail of that first terrible caning and whipping, or that long hideous night with the nettles, or the onslaught of fucking I suffered. Obviously, I must have passed the test, because I was in! Everything was going according to plan-only I didn't realise how difficult it would be for me to contact you, or how long it would be before I got the chance to send in my report. I thought I'd get some time to myself, and just have periods on duty, or something, but it's not like that. It's absolutely full time.

What I've been through in the last few months is utterly amazing, Charles! My first few weeks were spent in this one room, being 'trained', as they called it. I was chained to a bed by my ankle and had to spend my days obeying the instructions of a string of men who came in for long 'sessions', where they instructed me in minute detail what I had to do sexually- the exact pattern in which I licked their balls, for example, or the exact way I was to groan and sigh as I masturbated - and also in terms of accepting punishment.

This included things like learning to keep absolutely still while being caned. It was awful, because the more I got caned, the more I wanted to struggle and escape, but instead, I had to quash every natural impulse to twitch, because the caning wouldn't stop until I was sufficiently still. The slightest movement and I would get another stroke - on and on till I thought it would be impossible to achieve what they wanted.

There was a lot of training on my facial expression, too. I would have to keep smiling and looking happy while they whipped me. One day, I had my breasts bound with wire and the nipples clamped painfully, and yet I was forced to sit and have a polite conversation with this one guy, while a second slapped my tits about with a strap and yanked heartlessly at the nipple clamps.

I thought it would never end. The pain got worse and worse, but they would both be scrutinising my face for the slightest sign of objection, and I had to keep pretending. It was a pretty quick way of leaning to act, I suppose. Never mind what you're thinking, it's what people see that matters.

Sometimes I broke down on this face training, and started to sob that I couldn't go on. When this happened they threw me on the bed and whipped me, then told me we'd have to start all over again. Even when I slipped for a moment - winced slightly, or closed my eyes for too long -I got a dreadful whipping.

All this tells us something about how these people operate, though I suppose it's possible people might still go through this sort of thing willingly for the money. When, later, I saw other women smiling happily while being punished, it looked so genuine. Did they really not mind, or had they just been trained well, as I had?

I'm telling you, it took all my efforts not to go mad in that room. Sometimes I would get tied up in the most impossible positions and left for hours and hours. Like once my legs got hoisted up way above my head so I was virtually resting on my shoulders and my bum was up in the air. Every couple of hours someone would come in and whip my arse and pussy till I was sobbing with pain, but I'd been told that every time the door opened I had to shout out, "Please whip me, please whip me," even though all I really wanted was to be released and left alone. 

I was naked most of the time, except when they used rubber and latex garments as a form of bondage. I remember being forced to pull on this tight rubber catsuit that had been lined with nettles - how I hate, hate, hate them - and then struggle into a stiff body bag. They left me overnight-sweating and wriggling away in a private hell - and then in the morning, before I was allowed to take the catsuit off, I was forced to run on the spot for a solid hour, getting ludicrously sweaty and tired.

I would soon be looking fondly back on this exercise, however, because when I finally left that awful room, it was to be plunged into my first 'bondage assignment'.

Plunged literally, as it turned out! I was taken to a hotel-not specifically a Kinkissimo one, but a big, posh, famous one - which had a large indoor swimming pool attached to it, and this had one of those water- level bars beside it. I've seen them before, on holiday. There are stools under water, so people swimming can slip onto one and sit and have a drink without having to get out of the pool.

Well, I was taken in there one night when the pool was drained, and got the shock of my life. The five tall metal pillars which each had a stool on top of them housed a Kinkissimo woman - squeezed into a tight cylindrical canister, her arms behind her back and her mouth full of gag. Before I knew it, one of the women had been hauled out and I had replaced her shut away in the dark underwater pillar, with the knowledge that people would be sitting right on top of my head sipping drinks, and that only some of them would know I was there. "See you in a week," they said as they locked me in, and left to turn the water on!

A week? It seemed inconceivable, but little did I know that this was only a small taste of what I would be expected to endure in future! I've spent most of this past year on four or five different bondage assignments, interspersed with brief periods of continued training more whipping and fucking with phenomenal attention to the detail of my performance and behaviour.

I've come into contact with real Kinkissimo customers, I'm sure. I've been given to men who have taken me somewhere and had their way with me overnight. On these occasions I've always looked for a chance to escape or contact you, but I'm always not so much watched, but incapacitated. I've been tied up and put in the boot of a car, or bundled into a bag and carried away like a piece of luggage! I'm always restrained somehow while I sleep.

Image 13

At times I've really wondered how on earth I've got into this - doing things with strangers that most prostitutes wouldn't do - but then I think how I could be the one to expose all this, and become world famous in the process, and I get my commitment back! Journalism is in my blood - whatever else I'm doing, I'll always be a reporter at heart. 

The worst thing has definitely been the boredom of the long bondage assignments and the frustration at being unable to get away and do the job I really want to be doing. My patience has been sorely tested. 

I especially get annoyed when I'm in a place where no-one can possibly get to me. Earlier, I was hidden away inside a tree in a park, and there at least seemed some purpose in that, as occasionally I would get visitors - men opening up the secret panel at night, and looking at and playing with me.

But this last one! You must know Tower Bridge in London. I think you even drive over it to work sometimes, don't you Charles? Well, guess what? Up above the road level, hidden cleverly in special compartments in the overhead structure of the bridge, are at least two immobilised women - and I've been one of them!

There's no way anyone can get up to us - the only point of it is to amuse the customers. Some photos get taken when they install us, to prove we're there, and then our sole purpose is so that rich men around the world can be titillated by the fact that they know the hidden secret of a famous monument!

They did something to me before each assignment so I didn't need to eat or piss, and I was stretched out in this metal tube - held in place by clamps around my wrists and ankles, so I could hardly move. I had a tight corset round my waist and straps tied around the base of my tits, but otherwise I was naked. My mouth was gagged and I'd been warned against trying to shout out for help. They told me I would be checked on regularly, but they must have done it from the outside or through a spyhole, because nobody opened the compartment up for what felt like months.

The only thing that changed was the temperature-from sweltering hot some days, to freezing cold as the weather changed towards winter And sometimes there was a more pronounced vibration when they opened the bridge up to let ships through.

I wonder how many people who passed beneath me knew I was there? I was facing downwards, and I would imagine the scene below - perhaps some rich guy's yacht going through the open bridge, while he pointed upwards and told his cronies the secret.

I often thought of you, travelling to work wondering what had become of the paper's star reporter, and having no idea that she was being used as a bondage object right above your head!

Never mind, it has all been in the call of duty, as I keep reminding myself, and now I've written this, I'm sure I'll be out of here soon. 

One thing I've been wondering about, Charles, is how you found out about Kinkissimo in the first place. They seem to be so careful and well organised, you must've been very lucky to get whiff of it. It was your enthusiasm that inspired me and made me so keen to take the assignment.

Though now I think of it, it might have made more sense for you to do the infiltration as a customer.

Hey, don't tell me you are a customer, and you've set me up? Sorry, just joking! I know you wouldn't do a thing like that, not after all the years we've worked together.

So come and get me quick, buddy. You know how much I need this story to get my promotion. I promise to go easy on you when I'm your boss!

Love, Trish.

P.S. I think I'll be inside a post box on Oxford Street from next week."

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE BOSS

Greg King was now richer than ever and very much involved with the Kinkissimo Network.

He had made some discrete inquiries about how the whole thing was run, and discovered to his surprise that no single individual was in charge. The three aging men who had first set the organisation up took decisions by means of an informal committee, but no one seemed to be giving it direction - coming up with new ideas and pushing for improvements.

To cut a long story short, amazingly soon after joining the Network, King had bought his way to the top, and to all intents and purposes was running the show. No one was going to argue with his ideas - which were good-or his money.

"Does Kinkissimo stand for anything?" he asked one of his underlings, soon after he had gained control. "The actual letters, I mean."

"Well, no, not that I know of. I guess it just came from the idea of 'very kinky'. Like a musical term - you know, 'fortissimo', very loud, or 'pianissimo', very quiet. Started off as a bit of a joke, I heard someone say."

"Well it stands for something now. What do you think of this?" 

"Go on."

"King's International Network of Kinky Immobilised Sex Slaves for the Interest of Men Only."

"Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm thinking. How about - for the Induction of Male Orgasm? Or perhaps it should be Inducement."

"Yes! I like it better. We'll get some signs and literature printed - and have it always in capitals."

He grabbed a pen and wrote it out on a note pad.

KINKISSIMO
King's 
International 
Network of 
Kinky Immobilised 
Sex
Slaves for the 
Inducement of 
Male 
Orgasm

"You ain't seen nothing yet!" said Greg.

Immobilised, Greg thought to himself one morning. Immobilised. Well, maybe it's stretching the definition, but I reckon you can be largely immobilised, but still have to move certain bits in certain ways. 

In his newfound situation of being able to indulge all his wildest bondage fantasies, he was getting a little - just a little - bored with unmoving, tied up womanhood. Within Kinkissimo he had exhausted, if not all, then a good many of the possible options.

And then he'd had this new idea, and now he was looking for opportunities to put it into practice.

In certain places around the world, he had noticed on his travels, little tourist trains trundled along the streets between attractions, saving the feet of weary visitors, and bringing in a little money in the process. Washington DC had them, for example, and many coastal resorts ran tourist wagons along the sea front.

He was interested in these vehicles because they went relatively slowly, and their workings could easily be obscured from view by advertising placards. Wouldn't it be amusing, he thought, if while the distracted tourists assumed they were being conveyed by wheels and electricity, in fact what happened when the driver pushed the appropriate button was that a few dozen cleverly bound and hidden Kinkissimo women were prodded into action - forced to run along beneath the carriages, rows of rapidly pattering feet propelling the train forwards at a leisurely pace.

He worked with a designer to make his dream a reality, and soon had a fleet of such vehicles in operation. Washington DC - to those in the know - would never be the same again!

This became the first in a series of 'movement' projects.

Soon, the mile long conveyor belt in the crumpet factory he had recently purchased, was in fact being moved round on the backs of women crawling along in a long dark tunnel on all fours.

Under the dough vats, through the cutting machines, round the ovens, right past the unsuspecting legs of elderly female factory workers, up to the packing machines, then back through the service channels, where the engineers kept the crawling women going with a lot of prodding and whipping, and often extracted one or two to add some entertainment to their tea breaks. Round and round all day - crumpet helping to make crumpet!

Then he had some escalators in the local shopping centre discretely converted to woman power. Shoppers frustrated by the occasional breakdown could never have guessed that it was due to the ranks of rubber-clad women below getting so exhausted from their endless exertions that, for a few moments, even the rapidly falling automatic whips couldn't get them to keep going.

Neither could they have guessed that, in some supermarkets, on some checkouts, a half naked woman lay installed beneath the trundling processions of food and other goods being unloaded from people's shopping trolleys - her legs pedalling away on demand to keep those little conveyor belts moving.

There was no doubt about it - Kinkissimo had entered a new phase of growth!

As a special treat for himself, since he was, after all, the boss, Greg had a piece of equipment designed for his own use (it got built into the corner of his office) which he called the Pussy Wheel.

This was basically like a small ferris wheel with a diameter of about six feet, rotating vertically around a central core and consisting of a framework of slats to which were attached eight bent-double women -feet and heads towards the centre and kept out of sight by a partition at the level of their waists, bums and pussies.

Greg would usually have this rotating slowly while he worked or chatted to some visitor - a procession of smooth white buttocks and shaved pink pussies rising and falling as the silent motor spun them endlessly around.

He particularly enjoyed using the Pussy Wheel for punishment, be- cause of the excellent way it presented not just one but eight successive bottoms at just the right height to receive the lash. It meant, for example, that he could stand in one place beside the wheel, and by setting the speed of rotation to match the frequency of his strokes, practise his caning technique for long periods at a time, and get each target bottom in a mess eight times more slowly than if he was just using one stationary woman.

It also provided him with a wealth of pussies to fuck, one after the other -and he did like variety!

The wheel could be set to progress one notch at a time, so he could stand and fuck one cunt for a few seconds, then quickly move onto the next, just to keep things interesting.

He liked the idea of the cunts coming to him and not the other way around!

He could even sit or lie down and use the pussies at a different angle. After a while, he perfected his technique and kept the wheel rotating notch by notch just at the right speed to provide him with one pussy per thrust. What a way to fuck! Many times, he could have been found standing in the corner of his office, pulling out and thrusting in, pulling out and thrusting in, one snatch after another, a new one coming up to greet him at just the right moment every time!

Greg got to like the idea of using lots of different pussies, and decided to make the most of his new position at the top of the tree.

He'd always remembered the woman in that first Kinkissimo hotel he'd visited, who had fucked every single Kinkissimo customer. (She was still going strong, incidentally, though she had, as predicted, had to be fattened up till she was over twenty stone, to provide more surface area. Who knew where it would end!)

Now it was time to turn the tables. Greg made arrangements for all existing and new Kinkissimo women to be brought to him in rotation. It gave him the greatest possible pleasure, when he thought of all the thousands of female sex slaves who were working and suffering for him around the world, to know that he had fucked each and every one of them!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE NEWSLETTER

Extracts from top secret newsletter distributed to Kinkissimo customers monthly:

UNITS NEWLY INSTALLED
FOR YOUR PLEASURE THIS MONTH 

(For instalment photos, complete form on back page, quoting relevant reference number/s)

4623 Inside false rock in tiger enclosure at San Diego Zoo. 
4624 Inside base of equestrian statue on Boulevard Montparnasse, Paris.
4625 Beneath main podium on conference platform at Prince Albert Conference Centre, Sydney.
4626 Suspended in centre of advertising airship operating over central London.
4627 Squashed inside Monopoly machine in amusement arcade on Brighton Pier.
4628 Inside box controlling traffic lights on corner of 8th Avenue and 35th Street, New York.
4629 Behind cinema screen in Fantasia porn cinema in Amsterdam. 
4630 In corner of first class baggage compartment of high speed Hamburg to Munich rail link.

Image 14

4631 Underneath public counter of Eighth National Bank headquarters, Tokyo.
4632 Hidden behind inner wall of public toilets in Sverno park, central Stockholm.
4633 Under the passenger seat of London black cab number 886A.
4634 Inside unleaded petrol pump number 6 at the service station on April Street, Glasgow.
4635 In a hole beneath the very centre of Wembley stadium football pitch.
4636 In the hollowed out trunk of the old oak tree on the green, at the village of Robinstown, Nottinghamshire.

Coming soon:

A pillar of at least twenty tightly bound women positioned one on top of the other and compressed into a pipe running up the centre of the famous CN Tower in Toronto.

SPECIAL EVENTS

The Chatswell Chase

The owner of Chatswell House extends an invitation to all members of the Kinkissimo Network to attend the annual 'Chatswell Chase', which will take place on the last Sunday of next month.

For those who don't know, Chatswell is a superb stately home in a rural part of middle England, with massive grounds - made up of beautifully landscaped gardens, spectacular water features such as lakes, fountains and waterfalls, and acres of interesting woodland, intersected by pretty pathways.

The aristocratic owner - a high profile individual with, needless to say, a particular requirement for discretion - has been a Kinkissimo supporter for many years, and has a number of permanent bondage units 

installed at the house (including several cleverly hidden amongst the antique collections which are regularly on view to the public). 

The idea of a chase - or hunt - of this nature on his property, is one which our colleague admits dates from his days as a reclusive teenager, wandering around the extensive grounds with nothing but an active imagination for company. It is his great pleasure to share the realisation of his early dreams each year with like-minded colleagues. 

On the specified date, the house and grounds will, of course, be closed to the public, and guests will be required to submit to a number of security checks. Latecomers will be admitted, but are discouraged. Note that places may become limited (in which case a second event I will be organised), so please register your interest as soon as possible. Accommodation can be arranged at the house or nearby, by special I request.

The provisional program of events for the day is as follows:

0900 Arrival of Kinkissimo guests at Chatswell.
0930 Reception and welcome in the Great Hall.
0945 Security measures come into effect - all access gates locked, electrified perimeter fence activated, prearranged air exclusion zone comes into force, to ensure complete privacy. 
1000 Delivery of three lorry loads of naked, handcuffed and hob- bled young women (at least one hundred and fifty).
1015 Instructions for the chase read to all participants in central courtyard.
1030 Women released into grounds.
1045 Tour of house, antique collections, and bondage units.
1115 Demonstrations of methods of capture, bondage and transportation on the lower lawn.
1145 Issue of whips, securing and carrying equipment, and 'captured' body stamps.
1200 Buffet lunch in the marquee.
1230 Twenty horses brought out from stables for those who prefer to work from horseback.
1300 The chase begins!
1400 Ceremonial impalement of first captive on stone phallus of statue of satyr in the rockery.
1430 First count of women brought in so far to drenching pens beneath the Willow Tree Fountain and in pond below water- fall.
1500 Refreshments by the lake.
1530 Second count of captured women in drenching pens.
1600 Release of dogs to help search for remaining women on the loose.
1700 Procession of fettered women around the grounds and into central holding area.
1730 Insertion into stocks and mass whipping of first twenty women caught.
1830 Winner of chase declared (guest having captured highest number of women single-handed).
1900 Prizes awarded to woman having remained at liberty longest (free breast enlargement - booby prize!), and woman judged to have hidden in the most clever or amusing manner (slightly longer hobble chain next year).
1930 Feasting, flogging and fucking!

Previous years' winners of cleverest hiding place prize - were found: 

- In the middle of a holly bush thicket.
- Underneath an upturned patio tub near the greenhouses. 
- Inside a compost heap outside the gardener's shed.

Image 15

- Towards the top of the monkey puzzle tree by the stables. 
- Buried in sandy soil on the far side of the vineyard. 
- Completely submerged in the lily pond - nose protruding through a duck's nest.
- Underneath one of the visitors' cars in the car park.
- Inside an ants nest in the woods.

BONDAGE RECIPE NO 603

Ingredients:
2 buxom women
2 dildos
2 buttplugs
4 pairs handcuffs
At least 1 metre of heavy steel chain
1 padlock
4 nipple clamps
4 500g weights
2 gags
2 blindfolds
1 whip
Curry powder

Method:

1 Strip women naked, and add dildos.
2 Cover buttplugs with curry powder, and insert.
3 Stand women back to back.
4 Handcuff left wrist of one to right wrist of other, and vice versa (hence arms crossed).
5 Repeat with ankles/crossed legs.
6 Pull chain tightly around waists of both and fasten with padlock.
7 Attach nipple clamps, and suspend one weight from each.
8 Garnish with gags and blindfolds.
9 Whip vigorously and evenly for twenty minutes.
10 Leave to stand for six hours.

THE BANGKOK RUBBERISED
BONDAGE EMPORIUM

Our Far East correspondent reports on one of Kinkissimo's newest establishments.

It's late morning and a huge group - though somehow the word 'herd' seems more appropriate - of silent women is ushered into the centre of a massive hall by several men with whips. Each of over three hundred women is dressed identically in a tight black catsuit of thick rubber. The suit has built-in high-heeled boots at one end and a hood at the other, which covers eyes and ears, but not mouth. Holes leave tits and buttocks exposed and it is clear that private parts are also accessible through a slit.

The women live in these suits permanently. They have just been sleeping in them and are about to be put through their daily, whip- driven exercise routine which generates so much sweat that the insides of the suits become saturated with moisture, which in fact helps to keep the thick rubber supple.

After the hour of exercise, the women are herded into a feeding chamber where they feel their way - for of course they can't see - to rows of spouts which provide them with a carefully measured intake of liquidised food.

Image 16

Then they crouch over the hygiene channels, get cleaned by automated bidets, and return to the main hall, ready for another sixteen hours of service in the Bangkok Rubberised Bondage Emporium.

This huge building is located in a part of town where no-one asks any questions, and is guarded by a private security service which ensures that only those with the right credentials gain entry.

In the case of one-off projects such as this, services are made available to non Kinkissimo members - in order to exploit the not quite so rich markets - but entrance fees are still prohibitive to many, and great care is taken not to betray the existence of the wider organisation to all visitors.

Inside the building there are bars, and a few public attractions, but the main feature of the operation are the three levels of rooms or cubicles arranged around all four sides of the main hall, and accessed by metal frame stairways and primitive paternoster lifts.

A visitor strolls along one of the walkways lining the walls of the hall and 'window shops', making his selections from the huge colour photos plastered over the front of each little room. The photos portray what can be obtained within, and where necessary, captions give more information.

Each visitor purchases a variable number of tokens on arrival, which he can use to gain entry to the rooms. A room with a photo portraying one rubberised woman tied down to a bed with her legs wide open might, for example, cost him just two 'sex tokens', while a room portrayed as containing two women tied together in an intricate suspension with whips made available would require him to relinquish four or five.

A green light above the door to each 'pleasure cubicle' indicates which are vacant. A time limit of twenty minutes applies to each visit, though double or treble periods can be purchased in advance, simply by inserting double or treble the required number of tokens in the slot on entry.

There is much gossip between the men as to how the contents of the various rooms met with expectations, and those which are particularly popular sometimes have a queue forming outside - though the management are quick to spot such fads and rapidly change over a few more cubicles to offer the same service.

The Emporium is always busy. It is a sex supermarket - there are hundreds of options, and the little rooms offer complete privacy. A visitor can browse for hours, getting himself excited by the wealth of erotic images being displayed to him and knowing that in the case of every photo, however bizarre, the real thing exists right behind it, and is available for him to witness in person - and, of course, to touch, whip and fuck.

Employees of the establishment keep an eye out to make sure two or more men are not slipping into a cubicle which only one has paid for. They are allowed to share their twenty minute experience if they so desire - numbers at a time are only limited by the size of the rooms, which take about six at a squeeze - but have to ensure they pay their entry per person.

The employees also check that doors are getting closed quickly, so no- one gets more than a momentary glimpse of the actual contents of the rooms for free.

This journalist was highly privileged to witness how the hundreds of bondage cubicles were set up early in the day. The rubber-clad women I climbed up the stairs then spread themselves out along the walkways | - they had become very familiar with their environment over the months or even years they had been in it. Coded figures on the doors revealed to their probing fingers which particular bondage position the room they were standing outside was to offer, and, at a signal, they all entered the cubicles and set about putting themselves in the required restraints.

Image 17

There wasn't time for the staff to assist everyone, but they did do the rounds, checking that no limbs were still free or incorrectly tied down, and that straps had been buckled tightly enough.

Within a few minutes, the herd of women had fixed themselves into place and become a range of sex accessories - a varied array of tits, bums and holes for visitors to use and enjoy.

Here's an example of what, say, ten sex tokens could buy you. First try a relatively standard upright, spreadeagled option. Enjoy a slow fondle. Play with the vulnerably exposed breasts. Inhale the sweet pungent smell of the rubber.  Experience the tremors and gasps resulting from the exploration of pouting sex lips.

Next warm yourself up with a little spanking. Choose a position with a jutting naked bottom uppermost, and indulge! Spank till the much- spanked bottom is even redder than when you started, and till the recipient of your attentions is squealing through her gag. Then move to a cubicle supplied with whips, and whip a rubber covered back just as hard as you like.

Five tokens left? Plenty enough for, perhaps, a lesbian sex show - three women strapped down in a triangle, immobile except for their busy tongues, working away endlessly on each other - followed by an expertly timed twenty minute sucking off, or perhaps a good hard fucking of a nicely presented cunt - in any one of dozens of settings and positions.

My own visit culminated in a stupendous explosion of lust followed by the great pleasure of watching my copious output dribble out of one carefully positioned pussy straight into the stretched open mouth of the woman strapped up tightly beneath it!

The Bangkok Rubberised Bondage Emporium is highly recommended. For details, contact your local Kinkissimo representative.

NEWSFLASH!!

Readers may remember our report last month on immobilised sex unit number 2003 (secured in 'extended rope sausage' style) who went missing from her position beneath the bandstand in London's Regent's Park; it is assumed she was discovered and abducted by a gang of youths who were in the process of vandalising the stand.

The unit was, in fact, found three weeks later, with all systems still functioning, in the very same park - obscured by a huge pile of autumn leaves which had blown over her, and, luckily, kept her from public view. She seems to have suffered only extensive fucking and some mild chastisement, and has now been reinstated inside a nearby boathouse.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE HOLIDAY

"Hey, Frank, it's me, Trevor-I'm back! It's been a month, but it feels like longer. I'm sorry I didn't write to you while I was 'on the road' but, well, as you can imagine, I was rather preoccupied. I hope you got the postcards, though. We did actually get to see a lot of the 'real' sights of Europe, though I can't say that was the main reason for my trip. 

How are you doing, anyway, mate? You must stop working so hard. How much money can you make, for heaven's sake? I hope you're at least finding time to make good use of Kinkissimo. Hasn't life changed since we joined? For the better, I trust you'll agree.

Well, look, you asked for an account of what this 'special interest' holiday was like, so I thought I'd jot something down about it. You mustn't forget, though, as a general rule, take anything I say and multiply times ten. I mean to say, I'm not one to exaggerate - if something seems bizarre to you, I'm not lying, it's really true. Not only that, it's probably an underestimate. But then you know Kinkissimo as well as I do, so you understand what things are like.

It's really had an effect on me, this tour - it was so fantastic. I might go on another one soon. I could learn to live like that. Being driven round pretty bits of the world while gorgeous women - but, look, I'd better start from the beginning.

As soon as I got the brochure, I was intrigued. Kinkissimo is branching out into all sorts of things now. Have you seen, you can even go mountain climbing or wind surfing with a bondage theme? The mind boggles

But I chose one of the standard coach tours. Nine European countries in four weeks, staying at top class hotels, and travelling in a luxury coach with only sixteen passengers on board.

The coach was really comfortable, and specially designed to be the focus of all sorts of activity. Just you wait till I tell you! It had windows that you could see out of perfectly, but not in through at all (we kept testing this at first, to make sure), so what went on inside was totally private.

Anyway, when we got to the meeting place, the sixteen of us were invited onto the coach and introduced to the two male drivers - very personable, reliable chaps - and the two women who were to be our escorts.

Have you seen the selections in the brochure? Well, mine were numbers 3 and 7, and I got my first choice - I think everyone does. It's only for the first week, though. There are three changes of staff as you go round, to make it more interesting, though I certainly had no com- plaints on that front!

So, these two utter stunners - one blonde, one dark haired - got on and introduced themselves as Bimbette and Nymphella-though in public, we had to call them Susan and Jane!

They were wearing smart red two-piece suits, just like conventional tour guides, and I think I was a bit disappointed, though of course they have to look normal because they're actually showing us round real sights and checking us into real hotels.

That's the wonderful thing about Kinkissimo - the way it's all normal and respectable from the outside, but just below the surface is this incredibly kinky, way-out, erotic world!

Well, I've given the game away, I suppose. Just as I was thinking that these two women who were politely telling us about safety exits and seat rotation weren't going to be all I'd hoped - they began taking their clothes off!

They waited till the coach was underway, and then started the most amazing striptease, to wonderfully raunchy music blaring through the coach's sound system. They threw themselves onto the floor of the aisle, and swung from the luggage racks (literally honest!), and gradually exposed lovely kinky underwear which, they informed us cheekily, was their real uniform!

Bimbette was wearing a red lacy lingerie set with a tight little corset, while Nymphella had on a black leather peephole bra and leather crotchless panties. Of course, their underwear changed every day, so we always had a little surprise when they first took their tour guides' uniforms off every morning. Kinkissimo thinks of everything! 

Well, after that first striptease, the girls got more and more whore-like in their behaviour, and started sitting on our laps to kiss us all hello and let us play with their tits, and then crawling round between the seats giving us blow jobs. We were to get very used to this sort of thing, but that first time, everyone was so excited, the girls got grabbed and fucked on the floor in one grand introductory orgy.

Between them, they'd had the lot of us before we even reached the first rest stop! At which point, of course, they got dressed and proceeded to order drinks for us in a cafe, as if they were just two normal girls in a normal job - not Kinkissimo sluts who'd spent the last hour getting banged in their underwear by about eight guys each!

Back on the coach, they stripped off and started passing themselves around again, this time encouraging us to spank them as hard was we wanted.

Now, imagine a half naked woman draped forwards over the backs of two seats on a coach. Two men in one pair of seats pulling her pants down and spanking her buttocks, which are jiggling away invitingly with the vibration of the coach, right in front of their noses. And at the same time, the two guys in the seat in front grabbing at her tits and seeing if they can get her head down to their cocks. Then she moves on - climbing over the seat backs one after the other, so everyone gets a chance to spank and fondle her, four at a time!

The girls also opened up some storage trunks towards the front of the coach, and showed us all the whips and paddles and bondage equipment that was available for us to use on them.

What a holiday, Frank! You're going to wish you'd been there. 

Basically, each day the girls took it in turns to get trussed up in some sort of phenomenally uncomfortable bondage. For example, Nymphella would, with our help, get Bimbette into a tight rubber bondage suit (I'll never forget the fun of helping to squeeze Bimbette's big, soft tits away behind a tight zip!), wrap her tightly round with rope, put a hood and gag on her, and hoist her up onto one of the luggage racks. There she'd stay all day, while Nymphella took on the rest of us, alternating getting her bottom whipped, with showing us round a ruined castle, with sitting on top of the video monitor at the front of the coach (which was always showing nothing but porn) with her legs wide open, wanking. 

The following day, it was her turn to spend some time in bondage- stretched out along the back seat, tied down with at least twenty tight leather straps, and partially hidden by people's jackets and bits of hand luggage and shopping, which had got thrown on top of her. When we got back from a lovely lunch in a panoramic restaurant by a lake (during which Bimbette - or rather, Susan - had had great difficulty sitting still due to the fact that she'd received about thirty strokes of a cane during that morning's journey) we found both drivers standing over Nymphella getting themselves off - one between her tightly clamped thighs, one between her bound together tits.

The drivers often joined in with our games on the coach - the one that wasn't driving at the time, that is - and were quite helpful with some of the more strenuous tasks, such as hoisting up a curled-up Nymphella with a pulley so she hung, swinging, all day from the ceiling of the coach, and on another occasion forcing Bimbette into the tiny punishment box that fitted below the driver's seat. 

One of my favourite ideas was the suitcase.

One of the girls would get squeezed into this regular looking piece of luggage usually in her uniform of underwear, but sometimes in a rubber catsuit or bondage bag. We would fall about laughing as we took turns to sit on top of it, to force the top down, and sometimes it needed two of us to bounce up and down on it for a while before it would shut. Then suitcase and contents would simply get put in the luggage compartment of the coach, next to, or maybe underneath, some of the other bags. There our poor tour guide would stay all day, serving only to arouse us as we sat above her, playing sex games with her colleague.

People would see the drivers hoisting this case around, but no-one could have guessed it had a live woman in it! I can hardly imagine how shocked those poor old Spanish peasant women would have been if they'd known.

Of course, the worst thing about being in the suitcase must have been the heat, especially as we got closer to the Mediterranean. Gosh, how we enjoyed those pleasant afternoon dips in outdoor swimming pools, dwelling on how incredibly hot and sweaty that cramped up girl must be getting in the coach's hold!

But what really got me off was that, sometimes, we would specially pretend that the step down from the coach's door was broken, and instead, we'd use the case with the woman in it, lying down flat-each one of us taking his time stepping up or down onto it to make sure she had a good feel of our weight, and the world looking innocently on! 

When the tour reached Southern Italy, and we were on our second set of guides (Fanny and Bubbles), we got invited onto the luxury private yacht of a local Kinkissimo customer, for a bondage party. 

The food was excellent, the wine supply endless, and the host charming. He was more than a customer actually - he was involved at some senior level, because he knew all about recent developments and was brimming with new ideas which he discussed at rather too great a length. I liked him, though - especially when he invited us all person- ally to visit him whenever we were in that part of the world. 

How do you fancy it, old chum? A long weekend sometime? 

It's worth it just to see the women he's got installed on that yacht! It's got a glass-bottomed bit, and guess what you see when you go down to the viewing lounge and look out through the windows at the fishes? No less than three women breathing through tubes fed through the hull, but totally submerged and strapped up close to the boat like captured whales.

One has flippers on, and a kinky rubber wet suit with strategic holes. Another is naked and attached by chains. I'm sure I saw those barnacle things you get living on the bottoms of boats actually stuck to her rump, but I suppose they might have been artificial. The third woman has her legs stretched out wide and her fanny pressed against the glass - just in case anyone gets bored studying the more conventional marine wildlife!

Our host was telling everyone that sometimes, at night, dolphins would come alongside the yacht and fuck the women, but I think this must have been a joke.

He had another three women kept spare in one of the lifeboats, and these got let out and given some exercise-like climbing the rigging with their feet and hands tied (we were miles out to sea by this time), and chasing each other round the deck while strapped into funny positions and wearing tip-toe boots.

Fanny and Bubbles got twenty lashes each while tied to the mast, then wrapped up in a coarse fishing net and thrown into the tiny brig, where they spent the evening entertaining some of our host's other guests - and not enjoying it too much, from the sound of things.

I really had a good time at that party. Well, I was soon pretty drunk, but I remember one of the women sucking me off, and I'm sure I got to thrash two side by side bottoms at once- unless it was double vision from the booze!

While we were on an autobahn in Germany, we stopped at a service station, and by complete chance bumped into a Kinkissimo lorry - a huge haulage trailer, painted red but with no logo or identification on it. We'd never have realised what it was, but our drivers recognised the truck's driver, and since it was getting dark and relatively quiet, several of us took turns at climbing in through the back of the truck to see what it was carrying.

It had a cargo of women. Stacked in racks, each lying down stretched out on a bondage frame, they were stuffed full of dildos at one end and gags at the other, and tied tightly in place at the wrists, ankles and waist. They could still wriggle a little though, and moan, and it was amazing to stand between the stacks of them and watch and listen to that huge quantity of struggling, pulsating, squirming, groaning flesh all around you.

The truck driver explained that the women were on their way to a new Kinkissimo Pleasure Park in England, and that they were arranged in batches according to the size of their tits. He slid out one of the ones from the top-of-the-range stack, and we all slapped her watermelon- sized tits about a bit for fun.

Later, one of our drivers told us a story about this one trucker who'd decided to make a bit of money on the side by letting hordes of his trucking mates sneak into his trailer and wank all over what was inside. He'd been promptly sacked when found out, of course, though none of the participating men seemed to have caused any problems by going to the authorities or press. The cargo itself, apparently, had to be hosed down thoroughly before use. The bigger-titted elements of the consignment in particular had got encrusted with a thick layer of dried spunk! 

It was such a wonderful trip, Frank. I haven't done so much shagging and whipping in such a short space of time for years. I'm pretty shagged out now, I can tell you. I reckon each of the sixteen of us fucked at least one of the two guides every day, and at nights, they had a rota for which of us they would sleep with. You could either get one of them to yourself for a night, or you could team up with one or more of the other men and share each other's turns. Most of us did this, so on top of what went on during the day on the coach, you'd be in on some sort of gang-bang on most nights. Those poor girls must hardly ever have slept! I've never seen women get as fucked as they were! The age range of the customers was quite young, and some of the guys seemed to have endless supplies of energy.

One night in this posh hotel in the South of France it turned out that eight of us were sharing one of the girls, but we were a bit worried about getting caught out at the hotel, so we took her down to this deserted beach-it was a gorgeous warm night- and fucked her senseless on the sand.

That's what I call a holiday! Moonlight on the water, warm sand under your fingers, and your cock deep inside this beautiful bird, who's naked except for elasticised punishment straps around her waist, the bases of her tits, and the tops of each of her thighs. We stretched her out and pinned her down for each other, which was a real turn on. And then I managed to get a second go - up her arse in a double penetration with this other bloke. We really made her work hard - two in the mouth as well, one in each hand, and the last two rubbing themselves off between and all over her tits!

Then at my suggestion, since it was one of my earliest childhood fantasies - we buried her deep in the sand with just her head sticking out, and left her there all night!

The whole coach load of us went back to the beach early in the morning, before breakfast, and were just in time to see her trying to scare off a dog which seemed intent on lifting a leg against her conveniently protruding head.

I suppose it gave us the idea. Yes, I have to admit we did something pretty unpleasant. We all stood round in a circle and pissed on her head, before digging her out.

Then she had to plunge into the freezing cold sea to wash the piss and sand off her- and stay there as a way of hiding while one of us strolled back to the hotel to fetch her something to cover up in.

We sure made the most of those girls - but then, that's what they were there for! A career as a Kinkissimo tour guide is about getting used-and used and used and used, and then used some more!"

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE POP GROUP

It was a good three hours before the scheduled start time of the concert when Topaz called an end to the chat she was having with her colleagues, and slipped into her private dressing room with a sigh. 

Outside, the road crew were setting up the lighting rigs, and, as she could hear occasionally, doing some sound tests.

No doubt they would also be testing all the equipment, she thought. 

Topaz had always, for as long as she could remember, wanted to sing. As a child she had stood on a chair when alone in the dining room, and mimed away happily to her favourite pop song, using a pencil as a microphone, and reaching out to the imaginary arms of her adoring audience of fans.

She had pursued her dream, taking singing lessons, developing a soft rock style with some college musicians, and attempting to get invited to the right parties.

But reality was a bummer. She was one of flocks of similarly inspired young girls, all with some looks and some (usually less) voice, searching desperately for fame and fortune.

She lost her virginity to an agent, slept with dozens of roadies, and made it known that she was available. The world being as it is, this strategy did to a certain extent act in her favour. The trouble was - all the other would-be starlets were doing the same thing! 

Topaz didn't give up, and made her act more risqué. She dressed in leather and flashed her ample tits on stage, and suddenly she was getting noticed, and music papers were writing good things about her.

Then, something strange happened. Just as Topaz was being welcomed into the image-hungry world of rock and pop, she disappeared completely from the scene. The leading journal went so far as to bemoan it as 'the future's greatest loss', but it wasn't long before her name was completely forgotten. There were too many contenders ready to take over her slot.

As for Topaz, well, somebody - an organisation - had made her an offer she couldn't refuse. We can all guess who, I'm sure.

She sighed again as she crossed to her dressing table, and let the robe she had been wearing drop to the floor. The offer hadn't been exactly what she'd had in mind when she started, but it had been a sure thing. Obscene amounts of money, an immediate world tour, a guaranteed huge following of adoring, male (as her fantasy ones had always been) fans, and most important of all, and genuinely what continued to inspire her - the opportunity to sing, and to be wild and creative on stage.

So now she was lead singer of an underworld band of four young women, called KISS with three hours to go before yet another performance in front of a capacity crowd.

It was time to begin her preparations.

She had had a shower earlier, so the first thing she now had to do was shave.

Using an electric razor, she attended carefully to her armpits and lower legs (the latter out of habit, for they would be covered by boots) and then, with the help of a mirror, her crotch and cunt.

All her various costumes left this part of her anatomy exposed, so it was important that her pubes and sex lips were nice and smooth and hair- free-to make sure everyone could see them clearly, and give her that much admired blatant but vulnerable look.

She enjoyed shaving herself. She did it very slowly and gently, and occasionally let her fingers linger over those soft, intimate body parts. Next, she spent at least half an hour on her hair, which was dyed silver, applying huge quantities of mousse and gel in order to get it looking sufficiently spiky and spectacular. After this, she painted her long nails with black nail enamel, and while waiting for it to dry, did some stretching and bending exercises, which would help to make her body as flexible as possible, and prepare her for the exertions of the concert. 

The following forty five minutes or so were dedicated to make up. Loud stage make up-lots of it. A thick layer of near-white all over, then streaks of variously coloured blusher on the cheeks. Extra long, extra thick false eyelashes, lashings of silver and blue eyeshadow, and broad bands of black eye liner, used liberally on the eyebrows as well as round the eyes themselves. Finally, glossy black lipstick - a special formula- tion that would stay put and be entirely smudge-proof for eight hours at least. One thing Topaz had got used to recently was waking up in the mornings with black lips - they had become virtually a permanent feature of her face.

Now she was ready to make a start on her costume.

She began with the black, thigh length boots she virtually always wore on stage. They were very high heeled, and very tight. They took forever to lace up, but she was used to this sort of thing, and had learnt patience. Once they were on, gripping her tightly all the way up and down her legs, she felt transformed already into the creature she became on stage. 

She walked up and down, looking at her long, leather covered legs in the mirror, and getting used to the precariously high heels. She felt flushed with excitement when she saw how very naked her shaven pussy looked compared to the thick leather at the tops of her thighs, and hurried on to the next element of her costume with enthusiasm. 

This was a pair of shoulder length, black rubber gloves, with the fingers cut out, so her black nails would protrude exotically. The gloves were very difficult to pull on, but she liked to do as much of her costume as possible alone. She would probably need help soon enough.

A stiff black corset was next, gripping her belly quite low, but rising at the back to leave her buttocks exposed. She had been given a machine to help her get into this on her own. You stood up against it and hooked the special laces at the back onto some metal protrusions. Turn a dial, and the machine automatically pulled the corset as tight as you wanted and sealed it closed.

Topaz always did this in front of a mirror, so that even if she was feeling that the corset was as tight as it could possibly go, she would be influenced by the eroticism of her image in the mirror, and be tempted to let the machine pull her in even tighter, because of how good it made her look.

Then she moved on to another item of clothing which she had got used to wearing, on stage and off, and which she called her tit strap. This essentially replaced a bra, and was very effective at lifting tits up and pushing them together in a very provocative way. It was a very simple strip which went under the tits and then round the back of the neck, pulled very tight. It only really worked on very big, heavy tits otherwise it slipped off over them at the front - but still, it was so effective at getting tits in a nice position, she wondered why more women didn't employ such a simple device. She had been known to use a long scarf as an improvised tit strap while out and about during the day. It worked very well under conventional clothes, bringing the tits up into a jutting forward position, but of course it did mean that the nipples were rather prominently displayed, and she sometimes forgot that most women tried to hide their nipples, rather than have them clearly visible through clothes.

With her waist constricted and her tits nicely lifted up and squeezed together, she practised some tit shaking movements - wobbling them about from side to side, swinging them round, and making them vibrate like huge mounds of jelly. She usually spent at least an hour a day on tit shaking practice. It was one of the things her fans expected of her.

Another such thing was the huge black anal dildo which she always wore on stage. What a shocking thing it was, as thick as a fist, and chained in place, deep inside her, by a tight link to a hook at the bottom of her corset.

Again she had a device that helped her. The dildo stuck out from a special seat at the right angle, so all she had to do was put a bit of lubricant on the end of it, then force herself slowly backwards and down, till all ten inches or so of it were firmly in place up her arse, and the tight chain could be hooked easily to the corset.

This evening, as she was about half way down the dildo, there was a knock on the door, and one of the crew came in to tell her it was half an hour to the official start time.

He was one of the youngest roadies on the tour and his eyes opened wide as he stood and stared at the thick black rod disappearing up the star's bum. His own rod stood upright at the sight, making a tent in his loose trousers.

"Cor," he said, grabbing himself with both hands as the last few inches of the dildo sunk out of sight, and Topaz stood up with it fixed inside her. "Can I fuck you? It'll only take a minute."

"Go on then," said Topaz, whose contract specified that she wasn't allowed to say no to sex, and stood back against the edge of the dressing table with her legs wide open so that the young man could easily get his rampant prick into her.

He'd been right-he only lasted a few seconds, and Topaz was soon left alone again, mopping up the gallons of youthful spunk which were threatening to stain the tops of her boots.

Next to call on her was her agent- the very same guy who had made her that fateful offer and whipped her away from the real world to this rather unreal one.

"Doing okay, gorgeous? The crowd's roaring for you already, can you hear? Loads of soldiers in, apparently, and this whole car factory from down the road." He advanced on Topaz and very casually removed his cock from his trousers and stuck it up where the roadie's had just been. Topaz's agent always fucked her immediately before and immediately after every concert. Well, the whole crew usually fucked her after every concert, but in general left her pretty much alone beforehand. They knew she had a lot of preparation to do, and had to be at her very best for every performance.

"I'm fine," said Topaz, while getting shafted. "What about the other girls? Has somebody helped them?"

"Of course. They're all ready."

He finished quite violently, and a bottle of perfume and some nail varnish remover toppled off the dressing table onto the floor.

"Shall I help you with the final stages?" the agent asked, after he'd pulled out of her. "No - leave it," he added, as Topaz went to mop the spunk up again. "It looks good."

"Okay," she said, resigned, and throwing the tissues aside, went to open a drawer.

As lead singer, Topaz was allowed considerably more movement than her three colleagues - we'll come to them soon. In order that she could leap around the stage and throw herself on the floor and shake herself about in her favoured headbanger style, she was allowed to get away with only two forms of restraint-handcuffs holding her wrists together tightly behind her back, and a leg spreader some two feet long, attached to her ankles.

The agent helped her with these more unusual elements of costume, and then walked with her to the side of the stage.

"Oh, don't forget these things," he said, brandishing two ornate nipple clamps, and Topaz consented to this familiar torture by swinging her prominent tits in his direction.

The audience of men was howling, her colleagues were waiting, ready, and everything was set up for another wild night of prancing round and singing in bondage. What a way to be a star!

It was usual to be late on, though, and the agent beckoned to the stage manager and one of the lighting technicians.

"A bit more spunk, I think," he said, and pushed Topaz forwards over some spare speakers.

It was a good twenty minutes before Topaz finally staggered on stage, to shouts of "You're on! Go for it!" - the spotlight blinding her immediately, but clearly showing her audience (many of whom brought binoculars with them) the huge quantities of spunk dripping down from between her widely stretched legs.

Image 18

She plunged immediately into one of the group's most well-known numbers, called 'Let me!' These were the lyrics:

Let me feel it, let me take it;
Let me see how stiff I'll make it! 
Let me fondle, tickle, squeeze it; 
Do my very best to please it! 
Let me kiss it, stroke it, love it; 
Wave a juicy cunt above it! 
Let me suck it, let me lick it,
Let me show you where to stick it!!

So what of the other three members of 'KISS' - the world's only pop group of Kinky Immobilised (at least partly) Sex Slaves?

A great favourite with the fans was Sapphire, who always appeared on stage in complete and bizarre bondage, and provided backing vocals throughout whatever was being done to her.

She started off this evening bound ultra-tightly with blue rope to a pillar at one side of the stage, a microphone extending down from the top of it to amplify her genuinely sweet, mellifluous voice.

Later the pillar would begin to rotate from a point half way up it, so she would be first slowly then much more quickly spun round and round, in time with a synchronised light show.

Sapphire had long blonde hair (with blue streaks in it) and was sometimes allowed to wear a flowing white dress which got torn off her one way or another. She was modelled on a romantic damsel in distress, and the men loved her-loved to see her in distress, that is. The rescuing impulse had somehow gone astray!

On keyboards, and actually providing a small element of the music (most was pre-programmed on a massive synthesiser) was Crystal, who always played in a heavy, box-like suit of shiny metal. Her legs were squashed into a single metal column, and she couldn't move around at all. She was carried into position at the start of the show and fixed by a clamp onto the floor. Her head was completely encased, except for the tiniest eyeholes, and only her huge tits, and lower arms were free. She stood still the whole night, playing simple tunes and cords by touch on the keyboard in front of her, and suffering the indignity of having things thrown at her all through the performance, as the audience indulged in the tradition of trying to score a hit on Crystal's exposed tits with, say, a soft tomato.

(Crystal had an interesting history. She was in fact or had been - a highly successful nude model and porn star. Her face was actually so strikingly beautiful that she had decided at the ripe young age of eighteen to exploit it. Several rather unscrupulous men had helped her along the way, and one had insisted that she get some implants to make her already large breasts significantly larger. This had resulted in her having those perfectly - obscenely - top heavy proportions that drive some men so wild. A tender, slim-waisted, spindly-armed young beauty, but with such heavy, adult tits on her front that-well, it didn't matter whether they were plastic inside or not; whenever men laid eyes on them, all they wanted and longed for was to see them wobbling beneath their chests as they fucked her, or to have them rubbing against their pricks, just begging to be spunked over.

Crystal didn't regret the operation. It had undoubtedly helped her career. Her tits were now beautifully rounded, and stood out forwards without the slightest hint of a droop. They were wonderfully squashy, though, enabling her to spend the whole of a fifty minute video, for example, just kneading and massaging them and pushing them together-turning viewers on so much that even this early offering was an immediate success and sold extremely well worldwide. 

There was something about the way she held her petite little hands in fists to cover up her nipples - something about the contrast of her slim little fingers and the gross mounds of flesh behind them - that, combined with the sweetest, most innocent face, made millions of men long to possess her.

She began to make loads of money. There wasn't a single men's magazine anywhere which hadn't exhibited her carefully-shaved cunt to its readers, and before long she was getting those tits spunked on pretty regularly as video companies queued to feature her in their films.

She did just about everything possible on film. She got gang-banged, and had thousands of close up shots taken of her rear end experiencing double penetration. She masturbated, she had other big-titted women make love to her, she got pissed on - and, of course, she sucked and sucked cock endlessly.

The world clamoured for more, and before long she was getting tied up and spanked and then whipped in front of the camera, and underworld pictures of her in severe bondage were selling for unbelievable amounts. In fact she became so phenomenally successful, that her fame spread to the 'real world', and she soon had reporters chasing her everywhere, begging for interviews, as well as members of all sorts of 'moral high ground' groups who wanted to challenge her on why she wasn't ashamed of herself, and how she could bear to be so exploited. 

Crystal didn't feel exploited - she felt successful. She had set out to make money from her face and her body, and had succeeded. However, she wasn't sufficiently eloquent or thick-skinned to put her case, and ended up being caught by tabloid photographers, in tears, or trying to hide from public scrutiny.

The time came when she was so tired of and distraught by all the unwanted attention, that she tried to 'retire' and live a normal life. 

But she couldn't go out anywhere in public. She only had to walk down the street, and men would stop their cars and virtually force themselves on her, while women stared and pointed and shouted insults.

It also transpired that she had, after all, been exploited to the extent that all the money she had earned over the years and entrusted to the care of her promoters had fallen into the wrong hands, and largely disappeared. Finally, the man she thought she'd loved had gone to the papers, disclosing intimate and true - details of how much she'd enjoyed fucking lots of different men, and how much more easily she'd reached orgasm when in tight bondage.

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Kinkissimo rescued Crystal. It gave her the sanctuary and anonymity she craved. Behind her iron mask she regained custody of her face, and was able at last to hide and to return at least to being just one of many women on display for their tits, and not that one special one that everyone either loved or hated.)

The final member of the band was in drums. That's right-in, not on! The drumkit was played by computerised robot, and the human element of it - Pearl - contributed only aesthetically, by her naked hog-tied presence inside the foremost bass drum.

Her massive tits vibrated prettily with all the commotion around her, and her bottom was so arranged that the action of the drumsticks above it was transmitted directly to her soft flesh. Towards the end of some of the concerts, her gag would get taken out. The particularly rhythmic, explosive way she had of shouting and screaming as her drum-bottom was increasingly heavily thrashed by robot, gave the group's music that special quality all of its own!

When KISS played, it was more than a concert - it was a sex show. 

Topaz's antics alone were highly erotic and shocking.

She had a microphone shaped like a dildo. As she sang, she would lick at it provocatively, and frequently take the end of it into her mouth and do some headbanging with a difference!

If she kicked a switch with her foot, the microphone would drop down to crotch level, and she would delight her fans by taking it into her pussy and working herself off on it - in time to the music, of course. 

What strange noises reverberated through the hall at such times! The amplified, mysterious squelching and squeezing sounds from inside a cunt!

Topaz made a point of trying to climax on stage during concerts, and the crowd went wild every time it heard the regular thudding sound made by her vaginal walls convulsing in orgasm, against the microphone.

As the evening progressed, things got even wilder. A few lucky members of the audience got invited on stage and were actually allowed to fuck Topaz while she sang - during a slow number, admittedly.

Then a couple of the crew came on and started laying about with whips - mainly concentrating on Topaz, but also paying plenty of attention to the bound Sapphire, and poor Crystal's vulnerable and much abused tits. Even Pearl got a bit of a whipping - also on her tits, which fell forwards out of her drum onto the stage. Thus presented, they also got stamped on a few times by heavily studded boots. Not a good place to have your tits lying about - the floor!

Topaz, though, warmed up on adrenalin and full of energy, was determined to prove that nothing could beat her (mentally, that is), and spent the last few tracks submitting to a frenzy of whipping while she sang-not just from crew and audience members, but also from a series of punishment machines that got wheeled on stage at appropriate moments.

She screamed and roared her lewd lyrics, and spun and shook her tits defiantly as ranks of lashes fell on them.

On the very last track the caning machine that was thrashing her bum developed a fault and went into overdrive, driving Topaz into momentary oblivion.

Her fans wouldn't have it, though, and she had to drag herself up off the floor and back onto the dildo microphone for a twenty minute encore.

When at last she came off stage, and the rampant roadies descended on her with raging pricks, she heard her agent shouting in her ear. 

"Brilliant, love, brilliant! It'll make millions!"

She looked up at him, not quite understanding. 

"Did I forget to tell you?" he smiled. "Tonight's performance was being videoed. Cameras at all angles! Lot's of close ups! Wow, Topaz, that film's going to make a lot of men happy. Remind me to send you a copy!"

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE CASTAWAYS

On a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific, there lived a gnarled old man, in a wooden shack on the beach, and with only some chickens and rabbits for company. His name was Peter - though he didn't know it, having been shipwrecked alone at the age of five with no possessions and few memories - and he had spent his entire life on the island, surviving on berries and coconuts and shellfish (and chickens and rabbits) in genuine Robinson Crusoe fashion.

Not knowing that there was anything else in the world that he was missing, he had in fact passed the decades in relative happiness and peace of mind. The sea and the sky and the trees and the flowers were beautiful, and he spent his time hunting and gathering, and walking along beaches, and singing to himself in the hauntingly atonal way he had developed, and carving birds and fishes out of bits of wood, and building new shacks, and (sorry to shatter the pristine illusion, but this is a sex book) wanking.

He had no images, even in his memory, of women-or other men for that matter to arouse and inspire him, and not the slightest idea that relationships and love could exist. But he was a human being, and his body did things when stroked and touched in certain ways, and the pleasure he gained from masturbation became his solace, his reason for living, his religion almost.

He would lie every evening in the shade of a palm tree, gazing out to sea, not even understanding that there was anything beyond the horizon, and wank and wank and wank. He had no cares, no responsibilities, no problems, and lots of time. Many a hassled senior executive would have envied him greatly.

In a strange quirk of fate, some sixty years after a current had borne his infant form from the wreck of a ship to this tiny, uncharted haven, it did the same with a large crate floating alone on the surface of the sea after a private aircraft had crashed into the waves in a similar location. 

Peter found the crate washed up on the beach one morning, and approached it with great caution and curiosity.

As he came hesitantly nearer, he noticed that it was rocking slightly, as if something inside was moving around, trying to get out, and some strange noises could be heard, which sounded just a little like his singing - on a bad day.

For a long time he did nothing, paralysed with fear and uncertainty. He actually walked away and left the crate for a while, thinking that if he came back and it was gone, he would no longer have to face the problem of what to do about it.

But it wasn't gone. It was still there, and still rocking, and still emitting noises.

It was made of wood, and had a hinged lid, which had almost come undone on impact with the water. Now, as its contents struggled and kicked, the lid burst open, and a very strange creature crawled out onto the sand.

It was mainly white, with two smooth round things at one end and at the other, two long black parts and a fuzzy bit. There were some funny black straps and metal bits all over it, but Peter had never even seen metal and couldn't at all work out what the thing could be. It looked somehow familiar, and yet he didn't understand it at all. He stepped back, scared, as it struggled and thrashed around on the sand. 

Yes, it was a Kinkissimo woman, the sole surviving part of a special consignment heading for the west coast of America. She had been strapped into the tightest possible bondage for the journey, ready to be hurriedly taken out of storage at the other end and put straight to use as a 'walking bottom' in a new Kinkissimo motel.

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She was wearing tight black leather boots, stiffened all the way up, so she couldn't bend her knees very easily, and with five inch, stiletto heels. Her ankles were chained just three inches apart, with special metal cuffs which fitted tightly round the outside of the boots. Her wrists were also handcuffed together with heavy pieces of metal, and the chain which held them close was interlinked with that between her ankles. In addition, another chain attached to hooks on her boots at knee-level made sure her legs stayed closely together all the way up, and similarly, this chain was attached to one extending between tight straps just above her elbows.

All these restraints had been locked on and could only be removed with a special little key, which was now at the bottom of the ocean, together with everything else which had been on the plane.

As might be expected, her buttocks and private parts were completely bare and exposed. Her bum was stretched taut by her position, and her sex pouted out backwards, ready for easy access. Her anus, which had been specially stretched with a course of gradually expanding buttplugs over the last several months, could quite clearly be seen, pointing skywards.

Her breasts, which were quite large and pendulous, were squashed outwards by her thighs, so they hung down on each side of her bent double form, like huge, bouncing waterbags. Her waist was cruelly constricted with an ultra-tight, whalebone reinforced corset. This again was locked on, in its tightest setting, with a massive padlock - added mainly for effect - the key to which was also adorning the sea bed somewhere.

Kept firmly in place by smaller padlocks was the bridle of chains that passed around the woman's head, partly hidden by her shortish, curly hair, and the jaw-breaking gag that filled her widely stretched mouth. This was of heavy duty rubber, and was so huge that there was no way it could come out without at least four of the tough little chains being broken or undone. It was designed for long term use, and had a hole through the middle of it which could be used for feeding and watering. It was at that moment the most distressing part of the woman's bondage, as she so desperately wanted to be able to talk to this man she perceived as her rescuer, to find out where she was, and how soon he could get her out of her present predicament and to somewhere safe and civilised.

Oh, one final part of her bondage-pretty standard on a walking bottom - was the short chain that linked the bridle, at the top of her head, with a hook on the back of her corset. Walking bottoms needed help with keeping their heads up, so they could see where they were going! 

This was the ultra-erotic package of femininity that got washed up on Peter's island, and which now lay thrashing on the beach, trying to get to its feet.

Still confused, Peter looked and looked at it, registering that it was alive, but not really understanding that it was human, and that it shouldn't actually be in its present position. After a long time, he started to touch it, first at arm's length with prodding fingers, then more slowly, turning it over and exploring the various bits of it as if it were an animal he had caught in one of his traps.

In fact his mind might just have started to go in the direction of wondering if it was edible, if he hadn't suddenly realised he'd got the most stupendous hard-on! There had to be something in the genetics, or in the hormones, or somewhere. The struggling thing was definitely turning him on.

So, after first checking to see if there was anything else in the wooden crate - there wasn't- and dragging this up the beach a bit for future inspection, he grasped the woman by a booted foot, and dragged her along the sand, all the way to his little hut, where he deposited her in the space in front of where he usually sat and wanked, and had another good feel of her, all over.

Peter's mind worked in its own rather strange way. He could see that the naked bits of her were flesh, just like his own, so he did realise that she was something else very like him, a thought which excited and pleased him, and spoke to his forgotten loneliness. On the other hand, he was totally unfamiliar with the leather straps and metal chains and padlocks, and thought that they must be something which was part of her, something that she needed, since there didn't seem to be any way in which they came off.

It was to be some time before it slowly dawned on him that perhaps these things shouldn't be there, and that she should be a long, straight being like he was, not a doubled up one, but in any case it didn't make any difference. He didn't have the tools or the materials or the skill or the understanding to ever free her from her bondage!

The woman herself lay at his feet, exhausted and shaking, and suddenly very scared as a possible scenario flashed through her mind. No - surely it couldn't be that she'd become stranded on a desert island in tight bondage, with no-one around but one simple-minded old castaway with whom she couldn't even communicate? No! Life couldn't be so cruel!

Peter was in fact very kind to her. This was, after all, just about the most interesting day of his life. (Though the day that he'd discovered that some rabbits occasionally split off into lots of smaller ones had also been good!)

After a lot more sitting and watching and thinking, he got some water in a coconut shell and poured it through the hole in the woman's gag. (Her name was Laura, by the way, but nobody had used this for a good few years, either.)

For a second he'd wondered if the water should go in one of the holes at the other end - that is, he mistook her unfamiliar pussy for a mouth - but luckily her nose and eyes had set him straight.

Laura was so grateful for the water that she lay still and tried her best to beam looks of gratitude and desperation to the old man. It seemed to work, as she got some more, followed by coconut milk, which, though she couldn't taste it - you couldn't taste anything with a huge chunk of rubber pressing against your tongue and palate (except rubber, that is!) - she at least knew it contained some calories and was therefore the first food she had had in about three days.

Peter was getting more confident, and by pushing and hoisting her around for a while, managed accidentally to get her on to her feet.

Her heels sunk immediately into the sand, but by keeping herself on tip-toe, she just about managed to hobble a little way towards him in what she hoped would be taken as a friendly gesture.

It worked. He began to stroke her in a way that was obviously affectionate, though as he chose the side of her booted calf as the site of his attentions, she couldn't actually feel anything. It was the thought that counted, however!

When he accidentally pressed her too hard and toppled her over, he began to realise that it was impossible for her to get up on her own, and soon lifted her onto her feet again.

He did this a few times, getting to understand what she was and what she could do by observation, and oblivious to the fact that she got physically hurt as well as embarrassed each time he laughingly pushed her over.

While she was lying on the sand - face and tits down, and struggling to roll over onto her back - he offered her water again, and in the absence of any sign of other people, she did her very best to appear grateful. 

This was to be the basis of their relationship-she resentfully dependent on him, he realising this (the dependency, not the resentment) and enjoying it.

She tried tracing words in the sand with her fingers - 'Please untie me'. But he didn't even understand the concept of writing, never mind the right language. She tried shuffling around his limited possessions to find some clue of contact with the outside world, but found nothing but primitive containers, and woven mats, and stores of fruit.

She experimented with walking away from him, to try to indicate that she needed to go elsewhere, that something else was required. But, though he let her struggle for some distance along the beach, he soon came after her and turned her round again, seeing her repeated attempts to change direction as something akin to a game.

It had not escaped her notice that he was naked - this primitive state was what had first filled her with despair - nor that he had a major erection which he tugged on occasionally. She was rather confused at why he hadn't fucked her yet - most men would have by now, if they'd come across her in the same situation. It was only after some hours of his infantile playing with her that she realised that he might just possibly not know how!

She laughed inwardly at the irony of it. A Kinkissimo walking bottom stranded with probably the one man in the world who'd never even seen a woman, and didn't have a clue what to do with her!

There was one priority, however, and that was to stay alive. So, calculatedly, she waited till she was standing near him again, back at the shack, and when he chanced to point himself and his willy in her direction, quickly backed up to him and onto him, easily accommodating his cock, which was just at the right height, in her experienced pussy.

At first massively shocked and scared, Peter stood and looked at how part of him had disappeared inside this strange new thing he had found - his eyes wide with horror. But then he realised what he was feeling, and his jaw dropped with wonder.

Gently, Laura rocked herself backwards and forwards against him, and nature soon took over, as he realised how good it felt to move rapidly in and out of her warm, wet hole.

Nothing had ever felt so good! Nothing had prepared him for the happiness he felt at having discovered it. At the age of 65, poor castaway Peter lost his virginity to a highly refined sex object and rich man's plaything from the other side of the world!

Coming once wasn't enough. Having discovered the wonders of pussy, he fucked and fucked for hours, interspersing his new-found pleasure with bouts of joyous singing and leaping around, and also of feeding Laura with more coconut milk and fruit juice, as if he realised now how precious a thing she was and how much he wanted to keep her.

When darkness fell, he could hardly sleep, afraid that he'd wake up and find her gone, and that the whole thing had been a dream.

He made sure he had an arm thrown over her all the time, though Laura was so exhausted and relieved to at least be out of her floating crate, that she fell asleep easily, without thought of escape.

And so the strange duo settled down to an even stranger existence. 

Peter fed and fucked Laura, and Laura tried and tried to communicate with Peter about getting freed from her bondage. She made little progress, but never gave up. He was her only hope.

One thing she became endlessly grateful for was that she had had her tubes tied. The thought of getting pregnant in her present predicament hardly bore thinking about!

Peter liked to take her with him everywhere he went, but as she could only manage such tiny steps due to her shackles and high heels, he experimented with other ways of carrying her about.

Sometimes, if he was walking along the island's sandy beaches, he would drag her along behind him by the chain that kept her head up, which wasn't exactly comfortable for Laura. After a while though, he learned to grab her by a foot or by the chains that kept her hands and feet so close together, and drag her or lift her bottom down. 

When he climbed up with her into the forests and hills at the interior of the island, he would hoist her in this way onto his back, and this position she found relatively comfortable, though it rather depended whether he'd remembered to leave her head facing outwards or sideways - sometimes she spent such journeys with her face bouncing against Peter's naked, sweaty buttocks!

He was very scared about leaving her alone, especially after he had put her down on a slope one time, and ended up watching her roll and roll down it into some thorn bushes at the bottom.

If he had to leave her - while he climbed a tree to get some fruit, for example, or waded into the sea to do some fishing - he got in the habit of hooking her high up on the branch of a tree, or digging a hole in the sand or the earth, and 'planting' her in it, either feet or bottom first. She sometimes thought that it was pure chance that he didn't end up covering her head on these occasions!

He tried to care for her, though, in the best way he knew how. When he came back once to find a snake creeping around her dangling form, he removed and killed it with great violence. And whenever he decided to eat some raw animal or fish - he didn't seem to have discovered fire or cooking, other than eggs fried in the midday sun - he fed her tiny pieces of raw meat patiently and lovingly, washing them down with water each time she choked on them, as she often, unsurprisingly, did! 

He fucked her without fail at least three times a day, and though he didn't have the slightest concept of how to please her or even that she could be pleased, her body adjusted to solely vaginal stimulation, and she managed to orgasm whenever he lasted long enough.

Occasionally she would try to show him the importance of her clit by rubbing herself on some convenient tree trunk or stone while he was watching, but he never got the message, assuming she was merely scratching.

There came a day when he discovered that he could also fuck her other, smaller hole, and a long period passed during which she began to fear he would never go back to her cunt, and that she would have no orgasms at all. But he must have enjoyed the lubrication of the wider channel, for he did eventually revert to it, and only used her arsehole about every third or fourth time.

All things considered, Laura found her new life tolerable. Remaining in bondage was the most frustrating thing, but she often reminded herself that she would probably have been in the same get up for a couple of years anyway, and at least here she was only being used by one man, not dozens, and that, one who didn't seem to be inclined towards whipping - or at least, hadn't thought of it yet.

Peter was happier than ever, especially when he discovered, with total lack of conscience, that he could use his pleasure thing to help him work, as well as just for fucking and company.

The platform of her bottom was useful for tying bundles of branches and banana leaves to, when he collected these for his bedding or for his rabbits to eat, and he found he could get her to drag huge nets full of coconuts slowly home as he moved around a wider area to collect them.

Laura never complained - well, she couldn't really. She tried refusing to move when laden down, but Peter started to prod her with a stick, and she was so scared that she would inadvertently teach him the concept of punishment, that she did her very best to struggle on without his needing to prompt her any further.

She encountered one quite serious problem when her hair first grew so long that she would trip up on it, every time she took a step. A few difficult days passed, dragging along her coconuts through the woods, alone, and falling down every few minutes, only to struggle in panic to her feet again, and try even harder to tug her load quickly down to the beach.

At last, though, Peter saw her difficulty, and hacked at her hair with a knife, till it was just long enough to fall constantly and irritatingly into her eyes, but at least no longer dragged on the floor.

He also found her useful as a portable stool, and often sat on her bottom as he gazed out to sea, or used her as a step to help him reach into a tree for some fruit, or work on the matting at the top of his shack. 

What a sight they would have made if they'd been rescued - a chain and leather encased bondage object standing with her head in a bush while a little old man stood balanced on her naked buttocks, trying to steal some honey from a bees nest, and even occasionally jumping up and down on his human stool in order to reach a little higher. 

Only they weren't rescued. Years passed and little changed, and soon Laura only cried herself to sleep once or twice a week.

There was no doubt about it, though - Peter eventually ended his life much as he had spent it - extremely happy. One evening, after he had fucked his shipwrecked companion one last time, he peacefully closed his eyes and expired. And poor Laura missed him.

So what happened to Laura the walking bottom after Peter died? Well, she survived, though her food gathering was endlessly time consuming and incredibly laborious.

And then? Well, how about some alternative endings? You can decide which you like best.

Ending 1: Laura lived completely alone on the island for another forty years. Several centuries later, her doubled up skeleton, surrounded by corroded bits of metal, gave a bunch of futuristic archaeologists some- thing to puzzle over - and eventually reach the wrong conclusion about. It had to be something to do with primitive burial rights, didn't it?

Ending 2: Less than a year later, she was rescued by a naval helicopter, immediately freed from bondage and whisked back to civilisation. She spent three months in physiotherapy learning how to walk properly again, then bought a penthouse in Los Angeles, where she wrote an account of her experiences (which, of course, nobody took seriously). 

Ending 3: Just days after Peter died, she was discovered by a band of twenty five modern-day pirates and smugglers, and spent three years being fucked and whipped senseless by them as they sailed around the globe, before eventually being returned - still in the same bondage-to Kinkissimo, for a huge ransom!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

THE ULTIMATE BONDAGE OBJECT

Still Greg was getting bored! Still he felt there was something missing! 

"I want that personal touch," he complained. "I want the most submissive and masochistic woman in the world - one who really enjoys it - and I want her to be utterly and completely devoted to me." 

"Not asking much!" his colleague remarked wryly. "I suppose she has to be beautiful as well?"

"Of course! She exists, I know it," Greg persisted. "Out of all these women we've enticed with money, there must be one who's getting a kick out of it-who wants to take it further. Get somebody onto it for me. Devise some sort of test. Brief the recruitment boys - maybe she's not with us yet. Put adverts in the press if you have to. Anything - just find me that woman!"

His colleague, who was in fact Dale Fisher, the young hotel manager who had first introduced King to the Network, was very inspired by this request and took it upon himself to fulfil his chief's ultimate dream. He gave the matter a lot of thought.

He started by reviewing the records of all current Kinkissimo women, looking for some report or sign of a different attitude - something special.

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A few interesting occurrences caught his eye, such as when one woman had voluntarily agreed to six subsequent breast enlargements at the specific request of a customer, resulting in a figure so top-heavy that she couldn't walk, but had to drag herself around the floor instead -precisely the customer's objective. She had obviously been money- driven, though, and Dale noticed that a private conversation had been recorded between her and another woman, in which she vowed that on leaving Kinkissimo she would immediately spend some of her new- found fortune on a reduction in breast size down to normal.

He also spent a lot of time wandering round peering into the faces of various of the women, looking for some spark of true fanatical masochism, but to his ongoing disappointment, he found none.

He spoke to some of them, asking them how they would feel about much increased suffering. They either burst into tears, thinking this was a threat, disbelieved him, saying they didn't think it possible to be suffering more than they were at that moment, or, on just a few occasions, implied they might consider it if the money was right. 

From this last category, Dale selected five or six women and subjected them to a two week long test of pain and endurance such as they had not believed possible.

They all failed his test. However much money he offered them, they all begged to be returned to normal bondage and servitude duties, which they resumed with new vigour, having been made aware just how much worse their lots could be.

Outside of the organisation, Dale interviewed dozens of money-grabbers, all to no avail. No-one was prepared to be the head of Kinkissimo's personal pain and punishment slave - the very thought of it sent all to whom it was obliquely proposed into paroxysms of panic and horror. And then, one morning, the most unexpected thing happened. 

Dale was sitting in his office, worrying, when he got a call from security. 

"Package for you, sir - special delivery."

"Oh? I'm not expecting anything," he said. "Has it been scanned?" 

"Yes, sir. Seems safe."

"Okay, I'll come down."

In the postroom, he cut through the brown paper and tape himself, and found himself looking at a large box with a lid, on which had been written, 'Please pass on to Mr Greg King, if appropriate.'

He lifted the lid - and despite all his experience of women in bondage, was completely taken aback by what was beneath it.

She was curled up-doubled up, wrapped up, impossibly squeezed and contorted-into a ball. All that was recognisable as human was a mouth, two protruding nipples, just a few inches apart, and close below them a shaven cunt-the legs and buttocks so stretched apart that a tight little arsehole was also exposed to view. The rest was a mass of thick rubber - the smell of it was overpowering once the lid of the box was off- leather straps with buckles, rope, chains and padlocks.

Dale could hardly work out where her arms and legs must be. He had never seen a position so extreme and obviously uncomfortable. No part of her could move - she was the personification of bondage itself! 

He noticed that a strap which at each end was wound tightly around the bases of her huge, rubber and chain covered breasts, formed what appeared to be a carrying handle. He grasped this and hoisted the whole bondage ball out of its box and onto the floor.

The bondage ball then began to speak. "Excuse me. Have I reached Kinkissimo?" 

"You have. Who sent you?" Dale asked.

"Nobody, sir. I mean, I sent myself. I heard that Mr King was looking for a special slave, and I wondered if he would consider me." 

Dale could hardly believe what was happening. Could this be the dream woman he had been seeking?

"Who are you?" he asked her, in the sort of tone one might use to address a stranger with supernatural powers.

Her reply was breathtaking.

"I am the Ultimate Bondage Object."

Greg was even more flabbergasted than Dale, when the ball of com- pressed, chained femininity was lifted onto the desk in front of him. He hardly dared hope, however, and proceeded to subject the special delivery to a gruelling interview.

"I'm surrounded by submissive women. What makes you think you're any different to the rest of them?"

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"Nothing, sir. I'm sure I'm the very lowliest of all your slaves and sex objects. I just beg to serve you in any way you see fit." 

"How much money do you want?"

"Oh, nothing, sir! I wouldn't expect to be paid!" 

"What are your limits? What wouldn't you do?"

"Nothing, sir. I'm sure I would do anything for you. Anything at all to please you and adopt my proper position in life."

"And what exactly do you aspire to? What would your position be?" 

"Oh, nothing, sir, really. I am unworthy. Only I suppose I would like you to see me as the ultimate bondage object - the one you can do absolutely whatever you like to, and who will never complain. I will do anything to prove my commitment, sir, and expect no reward." 

Greg and Dale looked at each other. Then Greg addressed the ball again.

"Very well, I will accept you on trial, but you will constantly be being tested, and I will if I want to discard you at any moment. Since it seems to be your favourite word, I shall call you 'Nothing'. Is that a suitable name?"

"Oh, it describes me perfectly, sir."

"Tell me, how long have you been in your present bondage?"

"Well, I had myself posted about three days ago, sir. I thought second class would be adequate."

"Anything to drink or eat in that time?" 

"Oh, no sir."

"And toilet arrangements?"

"Well, I've been holding tight since I first started wanting to go, last night sometime."

"And when were you last whipped? I assume you're used to punishment."

"Oh yes, sir. I whipped myself for two or three days before being fixed into this. So that I would be substantially marked when you came to take this rubber off me. I wanted to please you, Mr King!"

"Hm. Well, you're mine now, Nothing, and I don't intend to spare you. You will stay exactly as you are for a further two days, at least. Shortly, I will put you away in my filing cabinet, here, but first, I will have Dale whip your pussy and your nipples several hundred times, so that we can see what sort of noises you make, and whether we like them. Then you can suck us both off, and maybe I'll tell the security guards that they can fuck you during the night. Now I think of it, I believe they run a football team of some sort-perhaps they'd like to put in some practice with you as the ball! Since you've chosen to keep your eyes covered, I shall do the same, for several weeks at least. And don't expect to get away with your cunt and arse remaining empty like that for long. I'd much rather see them stuffed and stretched with huge dildos." 

Greg suddenly noticed that, though her phenomenal state of restraint made even this difficult, Nothing's chest was heaving with huge sobs. He felt a flood of disappointment. So he had scared her. So she wasn't what he had hoped, after all.

"What is it, Nothing? Have you changed your mind?" he said heavily. 

"Oh, no, sir," she replied, her lip quivering. "I'm just so happy that I've found you at last!"

It was in fact three days before Greg had Nothing cut free from her bondage. He had decided to be ultra severe from the start, to assure himself that she really was his dream come true.

He loved the way she sucked him, and loved the way she yelled when he whipped her nipples. When he tried her pussy he thought it was the most delicious he had ever been in, and her tight arse was even better. 

He had fucked her countless times before he'd even seen her 'unwrapped'. The thought of using her that way - still curled up the way she'd come, with just her pouting fanny and willing mouth available for him to get to know - drove him wild. So did the fact that she had- as far as he knew-never even seen what he looked like. They were at opposite ends of the spectrum and had been drawn together to form what promised to be a unique partnership - and yet, if he found he didn't like the look of her, he could reject her, while she was committed to serving him, however hideously unattractive he might have been.

When he did peel the rubber off her- there turned out to be several layers of it - he was more than pleased with her body, which was the perfect shape-long, lithe legs, full buttocks, tiny waist, and big, proud breasts and, as she had promised, was nicely marked!

When he first went to look into her eyes, he found himself almost scared for a moment-but he needn't have been. Everything he had ever hoped for in terms of adoration, devotion and humility were clearly to be seen in their moist, brown depths.

He fucked her and fucked her, in every position he could think of, and also whipped her and whipped her, with every type of implement he could find.

She screamed and wept and screamed and wept, always begging for permission to please him one more time, always venturing to tell him just how happy she was that he had so far accepted her, and how much she wanted to prove herself by being ever more servile.

Once or twice, he licked her to orgasm, which was something he hadn't done to a woman for a long time, and she was so ecstatic at this that he was quick to assure her it wouldn't happen very often.

"You must never, never seek to please yourself," he told her. "Only I will give you orgasms, and part of your perpetual punishment will be that you won't get very many of them. I may endeavour to keep you very aroused, but I will be furious if I ever catch you having an unauthorised climax! Always remember we're on opposite sides of the coin- and pleasure is strictly on my side!"

For several weeks, Greg neglected many of his other interests and spent his time tying Nothing up in every Kinkissimo bondage position ever devised.

"If you want to deserve the title of Ultimate Bondage Object," he said, "you will have to experience every conceivable position. We will have to expand the limits of possibility."

He worked with Dale and a few other trusted assistants to get Nothing into about three different bondage positions every day. He personally took a photograph of every one, and kept these in a treasured box.

Sometimes, he was so absorbed in this experimentation that he genuinely forgot that Nothing hadn't had anything to eat or drink for days. She herself would never have ventured to remind him.

He considered having her supplied with energy implants and a waste control unit, but rather liked leaving her in the natural state, just so as to maximise the number of ways in which he could torment and deprive her.

After having exhausted a good many of the options on the bondage front, Greg began to settle on a few of his favourites, which included several ball-like positions which reminded him of the magic day when she had arrived out of the blue. He particularly liked the idea of the carrying handle, which he often had fixed between her nipples rather than the bases of her breasts, and he took to carrying her round with him in this way wherever he went.

Kinkissimo staff and customers became quite used to seeing him walking briskly along a corridor swinging a curled up Nothing by her nipples like a briefcase, or depositing her by his feet while he had a meal, for all the world treating her-swinging her around and dragging her about - like a piece of baggage.

Then, for a while, he experimented with having her carry him around - on her back, like a mounted pony girl, or on her front, in which case she had to learn to move quickly backwards, or on a seat perched on top of her posterior, when she was set up as a walking bottom. 

Every single day he flogged her in some way or other, and every inch of her was usually covered with red and blue marks of some description.

On occasion Dale Fisher would suggest to Greg that he perhaps give her a break for a few days, and restrict himself to whipping some of the other women, so that her skin could regain some of its original smoothness, but Nothing herself was always distraught at this suggestion.

"Oh, please, Master," she would beg. "Please whip me again today. What have I done that you shouldn't want to whip me any more?"

So he usually continued with his habit, though it was often the case that whipping was the only attention she would get-when he had her in the same stringent position for several days in a row, for example. He did have an international organisation to run, and a slave such as Nothing couldn't expect to be fucked or even spoken to every day!

Time passed and Greg came to take Nothing for granted, which was as it should be.

He did have some interesting conversations with her, during which it transpired that she had lots of ideas of her own, and would appreciate having the opportunity of trying them out.

For example, she begged and begged to be allowed to surprise him daily, when he came home from work, with some new bondage position or punishment which she had spent the day preparing for his pleasure.

Since this was so exactly what he had always wanted from a woman, he only kept her begging for a few weeks and throughout several dozen punishment sessions before granting her request.

She had, of course, all Kinkissimo's materials and funds at her disposal, and seemed to have plenty of creative ideas to experiment with, so the enterprise was - from both points of view - a great success. 

Every day, while her Master was out on business or pleasure, Nothing set to work in a specially set aside suite of rooms in his sumptuous home. With great care and attention to detail, she would prepare herself and the equipment she was going to use, and as the day wore on-usually, as soon as she had everything ready-she would set herself up in position so that she was ready to surprise Greg at whatever time he happened to come home.

The most significant factor in all this was that she worked unaided. She became so skilled at putting herself in bondage that Greg sometimes couldn't work out how she'd done it. He had never been so aroused as he was by this woman, who spent each day struggling to tie herself up and fix herself in some inescapable position, then waited patiently and painfully, completely trusting that her Master would eventually come home and release her.

In the first week, for example, he had come home to find her wound round with rope and hanging from the ceiling by her tits (Monday), squeezed inside a metal tool box - with the tools still in it - which she had padlocked shut through a hole (Tuesday), lying, tied to the taps, in a bath full of ice cubes with the shower running cold on top of her (Wednesday), standing to attention in a mock military uniform - including a thick coat exceptionally unnecessary with the central heating full on - and a rucksack full of sand on her back (Thursday), dangling upside down by one ankle from a light fitting, her head in a tank of water, and breathing through a tube (Friday), pressed between two slabs of concrete lined with gravel (Saturday), and tied onto a six foot model phallus and busily engaged in licking its massive knob all over (Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday - he'd liked that one so much!).

As the weeks passed, Nothing's daily bondage scenarios became more varied and more extreme.

She began to use machines to inflict punishments on herself, once she was in position. Stretching machines, and whipping machines, and machines which kept her moving in one way or another, like treadmills and rotating wheels and vibration devices.

She would sometimes program them so that whatever punishment they inflicted gradually increased in speed or intensity - or both-with time. This was specially so that Greg always knew that the later he chose to come home, the more his poor, devoted punishment slave would be suffering.

Of course, as he became more and more used to seeing the most bizarre bondage and punishments imaginable-at home and within Kinkissimo - he enjoyed stronger and stronger images, and so often deliberately lied to Nothing about what time he might be coming home, or even stayed out all night-perhaps with another woman who would have no idea of what was really on his mind as he made passionate love to her. 

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One early morning he came home from such a liaison to find Nothing hanging from a frame entirely by clamps attached to her nipples and sex lips. When he removed her gag - one of the really massive, spiked ones she often chose to use - she told him she'd been like that since ten o'clock the previous morning. As she'd handcuffed herself twice over behind her back, she had no possibility of escaping, and struggling only resulted in more pain from her sensitive parts.

The thought of her pain-filled, sleepless night, sent Greg straight into erection and soon shooting all over her contorted but uncomplaining face.

When months had passed, Nothing asked him, very respectfully, whether he would mind if she involved other men in her pursuit of creating erotic images for him.

He agreed, and from that time on, Nothing arranged things so that she was always ready in her bondage position by noon each day, and in the afternoons, a stream of men were let into the bondage apartment, where they were basically allowed to do what they wanted to Nothing's self-restrained form.

Sometimes Greg would come home early in the afternoon to find, for example, a circle of men standing round Nothing's upturned bum, all laying into it with their belts, or some whips and straps and paddles that she herself had provided, while at the same time her mouth was constantly full of cock, as she sucked all the men off in endless succession.

Usually, though, Greg would leave it a good few hours before returning. He grew used to the idea of hundreds of men fucking and whipping and spunking on Nothing every day.

The possibilities now seemed endless, but still Nothing sought to please her Master by injecting some more variety, and next asked him if she could use other Kinkissimo women to create bondage situations which, when he saw them, even Greg would never have dreamt up. 

She now laboured harder than ever to devise and prepare spectacular bondage 'pieces' featuring varying numbers of women, and usually with herself as the stunning centrepiece.

There were several which Greg particularly remembered. In one, ten or twelve gagged, blindfolded, corsetted and heavily shackled Kinkissimo women were draped over and tied to a circular bar - their bums facing outwards so that the many dozens of men who continued to stream through Nothing's bondage rooms every day could have easy access. 

A chain stretched tautly from each woman's neck to some part of Nothing's anatomy, as she stood on a raised pedestal in the centre of the circle-her feet chained down and her arms stretched upwards towards the ceiling.

Some of the chains linked up with her waist, some with her thighs, some with straps round the bases of her breasts. The feature of the arrangement was that as the male visitors fucked away at the circle of women, their jerking was transmitted via the chains to Nothing's body, resulting in her being pulled and yanked and wrenched around from all directions, depending on quite how vigorously the women were being ravaged.

Of course, the men were also supplied with whips so they could each chastise Nothing's stretched out, jerking form as they took their pleasure.

On another occasion, Nothing set up a complicated suspension harness where she herself formed the living cross-bar from which three packages of whippable, prodable, fuckable womanhood hung and swung. The women's weight was supported by straps at Nothing's thighs, waist, and shoulders, and her body was strengthened by being locked onto a framework of rigid iron bars.

A favourite of Greg's was when Nothing got six women running round on the edge of a circular, revolving platform, whipping each other regularly in a 'Mexican wave' of bullwhip strokes. Nothing had built herself into the floor of the platform, and so was forced to endure the endless patter of stiletto heeled footsteps as one woman after another ran over her legs, her bum and her back. Her head was protected by being hidden in a metal-covered recess, within which the ongoing clatter of heels reverberated extremely loudly and ceaselessly as the day wore on.

Sometimes, though, Nothing kept things simple, and these efforts Greg also appreciated.

One late evening he came home to find her kneeling alone in the centre of the room, encased up to the neck in a big, black rubber sack, her head tipped back. All around the room were tables covered with empty glasses and overflowing ashtrays - evidence of the hordes of men who had passed through it during the day.

But what was it that had Greg gasping with erotic delight, and pulling out a rock hard erection?

Deeply embedded in, and projecting upwards from, Nothing's mouth was the spout of a big, red, plastic... funnel! The diameter of the cone was at least a foot and a half; she had chosen the widest one she could find to maximise the number of men who could use it at once, of course!

Nothing looked up at Greg with utter devotion as he became the 364th man that day to accept her blatant visual invitation and spill his copious seed into the channel leading directly down her ever-receptive throat! And so at last there came a day when Greg King became aware that he was happy that he had achieved his dream.

Crawling out from between the two tightly strapped up- and down- Kinkissimo women who had recently become permanent features of his bed, he enjoyed a breakfast brought to him on a tray balanced on a walking bottom.

Then he used another bottom - the one which usually stood in a corner with a tube permanently up her bum from which protruded a selection of punishment implements to take his regular morning exercise, administering a hundred lashes with a heavy leather whip. The bottom was allowed to try to run away as he whipped her, thus ensuring that it wasn't just his arms that got the exercise, as he chased her around the room.

Then he would fuck someone - often Nothing, who usually spent the night in some type of bondage on the floor at the foot of his bed - but sometimes some other restrained female object, perhaps one forming part of an artistic creation Nothing had composed for him the day before.

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Then he would take a shower, assisted by the chained up toilet slave that was a fixture in his bathroom. After she had patted him dry with a soft towel, she would kneel down in the bath while he pissed on her, or, if he had to sit down, squirm at his feet and lick them, while he prodded her and buffeted her with the toilet brush.

Nowadays, Greg's days consisted of altogether pleasant engagements, such as attending meetings to discuss new ideas for bondage models, seeing his accountants to decide how best to invest or spend the massive amounts of money he was making, and perhaps taking a new Kinkissimo member to lunch, or personally showing a group of them around some knew facility, so that he could enjoy watching their reactions.

On this particular day, he approved with Dale Fisher plans for a new Bondage Pleasure Lounge, which would be hidden away in a remote corner of the city's main airport, reviewed the drafts of the latest edition of Kinkissimo's illustrated catalogue of immobilised sex slaves for rent, which this year would include a worldwide 24 hour delivery guarantee, and in the afternoon and evening was keynote speaker and guest of honour at a conference and dinner organised by Kinkissimo to celebrate its recent successes and review, in special video workshops, some of its most interesting ideas over the years.

After this, he strolled through the city alone, enjoying experiencing the continued carefully preserved secrecy of Kinkissimo by visiting a tiny whipping parlour not ten yards from the entrance to a government building, followed by a spunk pit which everybody else thought was just another out-of-order automatic toilet on a street corner.

At the end of the day, as was always the case now, he would head home wondering what amazing set up his Ultimate Bondage Object had thought up for him, and been suffering in, during the day. Tonight, as usual, it was quite spectacular.

Nothing was perched several feet off the ground on a double dildo pole. Two fist sized phalluses were buried deep within her often- stretched cunt and much-invaded arsehole, and were in fact supporting most of her weight. Her legs were stretched out backwards and wide to corners of the room, where each was linked by a chain to huge metal springs which kept up a horrendous tension on them, and served to pull her down ever harder onto the dildos.

An automated caning machine had been positioned close to Nothing's bottom and the sharp thwacks could be heard loudly and regularly as they fell heavily on unprotected flesh.

Her arms had been stretched similarly to her legs to the two opposite corners of the room, and again two heavy-duty springs pulled at her body, keeping it at full stretch and quivering with tension.

Splayed as she was in this diagonal position across the room, her massive overblown tits hung down heavily in front of her, their pull much amplified by the unbelievable, football sized weights that dangled from clamps attached firmly to each nipple.

Two even bigger weights hung from a belt drawn impossibly tight around Nothing's waist, and the overall downward force on her upper body was further supplemented by a ball and chain pendant around her neck, chunky lead earrings, and iron bars tied into her hair. Her head was held up and back, however, by a heavy-duty elasticised strap which linked her chin with her waist belt at the back.

In addition to all this, Nothing had adorned every exposed part of her skin-which wasn't being beaten - with hundreds of pegs and bulldog clips. They pinched her up and down her arms, on her stomach, and on the huge mounds of her breasts.

It had taken her the better part of an hour to put them all on herself, prior to attaching the weights, chaining herself to the springs, and clambering up onto the dildo pole.

As a final touch she had caused herself further discomfort by affixing a huge clamp over her nose, rendering it useless for breathing, and stuffing two spiked balls into her cheek cavities, not only to stretch them painfully and make breathing even more difficult, but so that her distorted face looked humorous and humiliating from the observer's point of view.

Erotic as this spectacle was, Greg was too shattered to be hugely aroused.

He walked up to Nothing and pushed at the breast weights gently, so they swung.

"Very nice, my dear. How long today?"

"Oh, since mid-morning, Master. I knew you were going to be late tonight, so I thought I'd make it a long day."

"Shall I let you down then, or would you like to stay like this all night?" Greg asked.

"Oh, all night please, Master! And I didn't turn the caning machine up to maximum - I thought you might like to do that before you went to bed."

"Thank you, how thoughtful."

He amused himself by moving a few bulldog clips from her breasts to her ears, and to both sets of lips, before turning a dial on the machine, as she'd suggested, and pausing to watch how the canes now fell on her purple bottom nearly twice as often.

"Goodnight, Nothing," he said, turning off the light-very aware at that instant of how lucky and happy he was.

"Goodnight, beloved Master. Sleep well," Nothing gasped. And then went back to screaming.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
