BD1-027  Project 237
Gord


A Genuine House of Gord Publication
This work is Copryright © 2000: HG Publications
All rights reserved worldwide.
No part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted, stored in a
retrieval system or translated into any language, in any form, or by
any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright
custodians, HG Publications.
Project 237 is work of fiction (in case anyone had any doubts) and all
characters, events, places and philosophies expressed within have no
relation whatsoever, to real people, the real world, or even reality. This
is an entertainment of the mind.
First edition February 2000
ISBN 1 900058 28 6 
Printed in UK and Canada for
H.G.P. International, Inc.
. PMB 1505
2 1916 Pike Place #12
- Seattle, WA 98101 USA
CONTENTS .
Chapter 1 New Arriva 
Chapter 2 Helen-Provject 237 
Chapter 3 TRANSPORTED 
Chapter 4 Cairnou House 
Chapter 5 Zarkof 
Chapter 6 Denuded
Chapter 7 Testing Time
Chapter 8 Fitting ROOM & THE GYMNASIUM 
Chapter 9 Exit Butstrope - Enter The Duo 
Chapter 10 The Tour 
Chapter 11 The Bettows 
Chapter 12 Pichard Caces 
Chapter 13 CHANGE OF PLAN 
Chapter 14 The Distisutor 
Chapter 15 GLENFADA 
Chapter 16 A Cuance OF Status 
Chapter 17 The Benches 
House of Gord © 
PROJECT 237
New ARRIVAL
“Soammes and Blackett for transfer to Holloway Prison. Williamson’s up in front
of the parole board; not much chance of parole though. Oh! and two new arrivals,
er! Jones and Cordell.” 
Wilma, head warder, waited patiently for the governor to look up.
“Cordell?” Bill suddenly took more than a cursory interest.
“Yes Sir, Diane Cordell,” her voice dropped an octave. “Project 238 if you recall.”
“Yes quite! I thought the name rang a bell, but it took so long to arrange this time,
I’d almost forgotten she was due. I suppose the Jones woman is of no use?” Wilma
shook her head. 
“No sir. Short term, simple robbery, not much shape, and anyway, she wasn’t
prepped’ by the acquisition team. I’ll get her transferred to Holloway within the
week before she has time to see too much. Meantime, I’ll keep her in solitary to
keep her out of the way.” 
Bill nodded approval and slid the Jones file to one side before opening the file
marked H.M.Prisoner / 88646 Cordell. D. 
Briefly he ran his eye over the charge and verdict sheets, smiling grimly as he
imagined the indignant wrath of the woman.
Found guilty of a massive fraud scam by hacking the computers at her bank, Diane
Cordell, first woman director of the American merchant bank Glasco-Pentland
Incorporated, although completely innocent, had collected a fifteen year sentence
for her non-participation. On the face of it, it seemed a heavy sentence for fraud,
but given the fact that presiding Judges at both trial and appeal courts were part of
the organisation, she’d had no real chance of leniency. The convenient death of a
senior bank executive investigating the discrepancies had dovetailed nicely into
the charges. Victim of a drunk hit and run driver, the director died instantly. It was
hinted by prosecution that this could well have been arranged by the defendant, and
whilst there was no hard evidence to link her to the death, it sowed the seeds of
doubt in the Jury’s minds. Meanwhile, the organisation had not only gained a new
potential recruit, but also managed to cream off a nice $84,000,000 as a bonus.
Cordell throughout, swore her innocence, and obviously, as she wasn’t actually
involved, found it impossible to reveal the whereabouts of the missing funds.
Bill rose from his desk and filed the Cordell folder in his ‘Projects’ drawer, then, as
an afterthought, retrieved the Jones file to drop into the bulging ‘Standard Inmates’
drawer. Wilma was already on her way out when he swung around and fired another
question at her.
“By the way, how is Project 237 going?” Wilma paused halfway through the door
and turned back. 
“We’ve got her in lock-down for a minor infringement. She’s been in there for
eight days now, so give it a day or two and she should be ready for the next stage.”
Bill nodded thoughtfully.
Project 237, now into its sixth month, appeared to be bearing fruit at last. It was a
long process, but then the end product was worth it. Project 237, a beautiful woman
fitted up with a multiple murder she hadn’t done, had suffered hell at the hands of
the warders. Since first setting foot in the prison, Helen Watermann - H.M.P /
88342, had been fitted with waist and cuff chains that held her hands close to her
body, and walking chains designed to reduce any movement to a slow shuffle. Any
excuse was immediately seized on by the staff of selected warders to earn her
punishments. In addition, her somewhat disabled condition made her easy meat
for the plethora of butch dykes infesting the prison, and warders would watch with
amusement as they dragged her away for their own lustful purposes. Just to keep it
all kosher in the event of an investigation into charges of discrimination, other
inmates suffered the indignity of body chains at random, but only for limited periods.
As often as not she was stripped of clothes as punishment. Freezing cold hose
baths whilst manacled to a hoist chain were her only means of hygiene. Solitary
confinement, ice-cold hosing, and lock-down played a large role in any ‘Project’
prisoner’s life.
Bill glanced at the wall clock. Ten to nine. In ten minutes 237 would be taking her
early morning bath.
Lock-down was a fearsome punishment that consisted of being chained naked and
spread-eagled in a standing position inside a special steel cabinet. With the doors
closed and locked, the incarcerated prisoner was less than a foot from the doors,
secured in total darkness.
For the entire duration of punishment, the doors never opened. Feeding was by a
small hatch set high in the door, through which the prisoner was fed bread and
water. Bathing was automatic. No one wanted to open those doors to clean out,
due mainly to the fact that all the body wastes accumulated in the bottom of the
cabinet over each twenty four hours. At nine sharp, a multitude of powerful shower
heads built into the cupboard would blast the pinioned female with ice cold water,
‘surging down her body, and eventually after half and hour, wash away most of the
previous day’s mess into a large drain hole. Some always managed to remain and
add its stench to the fetid dankness of that terrible box.
Project 237 had been in lock-down for eight days now. That on top of her previous
treatment would make her very malleable when it came to suggestions that might
bring her six month horror to an end. It was Wednesday now, so Bill marked his
calendar for Friday. A simple number 237 written in the corner meant nothing to
anyone other than the select few who ran the prison, but it would remind him that
237 was due for review.
A movement on one of the security video monitors caught his eye, and seeing the
prisoner transport vehicle entering the gates, he sat down to watch. Two women
were escorted out, and at a glance he could distinguish Project 238 even from the
high angle of the wall-mounted camera. She was tall, and shapely despite the
rather bad fit of her remand prison clothing. But there was no mistaking the haughty
look of a highly indignant woman of class.
Bill followed the progress through basic induction, and watched with interest as
they were both stripped showered and issued new prison clothes. Wilma had as
usual guessed the woman’s sizes to perfection, and whilst Jones donned an ill fitting
loosely hanging one piece dress, Diane Cordell struggled to ease a secretly tailored
version over her flaring womanly hips. Smoothing out the dress, she glared at
Wilma who had entered the camera angle from the left. Wilma simply walked
around her studying the taut rounded rump of the well filled dress, and nodding to
herself in a sort of mental back patting at getting it right. Jones was led away, and 
Wilma motioned other warders forward.
At first Diane rebelled, fiercely resisting attempts to chain her, all the time voicing
loud protests at the treatment she had been singled out for. Wilma walked forward
and gave her a stinging slap across the face.
“Quiet Cordell! Or I’ll have you gagged!” Diane stood still, her body frozen with
shock, hardly noticing as the hobbling and wrist shackling progressed. An evil
looking leather covered device was swinging suggestively from a warder’s’ hand,
and she looked keen to use it. 
“In here you do as you’re told and nothing more. Any disobedience will be punished
most severely. Now that you’ve been told once, you will not be warned again. Do
I make myself clear?”
Dumbly, Diane nodded as the full impact of her fall from power came home to
roost. Almost subconsciously she tugged ineffectually at the chains holding her
wrists snugged in to the waist. Then, as a none-too-gentle shove urged her forward,
she shuffled out of the room and into the main cell block hallway. Instantly a series
of catcalls and jeers filled the air.
“Not such a snooty bitch now are we?” The inmates loved the arrival of former
high flyers, especially when they were reduced to such humiliating restraints. 237
had been out of circulation for a long time and they were all looking forward to the
introduction of some new material. A warder slipped a steel collar around her neck
as 238 nervously surveyed the three stories of prisoner lined catwalks. Pushing her
into the middle of the hall, her tormentor clipped a lead chain to the collar and left
it dangling invitingly for the other inmates.
Diane was completely bewildered. How could this be happening in a 20th century
English jail, and above all, how could, it be happening to her?
The inmates gathered around, taunting and touching, then suddenly falling silent.
A corridor opened in the crush, and fearfully Diane turned to watch as a huge
Amazonian woman sauntered arrogantly through the throng. The Queen butch
bitch of Fallworth Prison had arrived to claim her latest plaything.
At first she just strolled around the new arrival sizing up her firm curves and ample
breasts, whilst Diane shivered in uncontrollable dread. A hand reached out and
took up her lead, and the shackled woman found herself being pulled towards the
queen dyke. At first she resisted, but the Amazon jerked her in savagely, lifting her
onto tiptoe as another unseen hand mauled her defenceless boobs and burrowed
into her crotch. Steely mocking eyes challenged her to resist further, but Diane, sensing the 
sadistic nature of this bull dyke, declined to give her more enjoyment.
Scornful contempt flickered across the leering face, then without further warning,
the dyke turned and jerked her prize after her. Stumbling awkwardly in her hobbles,
wrists working fruitlessly at her body chains, Diane was forced to follow as tears
welled up in her eyes. The catcalls, ribald whistles and jeering restarted and
continued in an endless mocking symphony as the dyke took her prize back to the
lair. Everyone there knew exactly what was going to happen to a chained and
helpless prisoner in the clutches of the prison dyke. 
Bill watched the retreating rump of the staggering Diane with some interest; a smile
creasing his face as he visualised the new tricks she would be learning once inside
Greta’s cave of lust. The big butch German had been there a long time. And
without doubt would continue to grace Fallworth for the foreseeable future. As an
ex gangland boss with a series of murders to her credit, the sentence was life without
remission on eight consecutive counts, Greta would end her days in this place, and
that certain knowledge had made her a perfect recruit for the organisation.
Even the powerful organisation couldn’t engineer her release without raising a public
furore. She was too high profile. But they could ensure that as a member she
would always enjoy new playmates and any amount of equipment required to further
her personal sexual tastes. It was a recipe for complete loyalty to the cause.
Fallworth was a top security prison for dangerous female convicts, that also boasted
an unblemished record for holding the inmates secure. There were no escapes. It
followed that once a woman vanished into the impressive Elizabethan steel studded
oak doors, she was safely out of the way as far as the public was concerned. Interest
quickly died, and another dangerous woman was soon forgotten as the state system
swallowed her forever, unless something brought their attention back to her, which
the organisation was careful to avoid. The rest of the inmates were in much the
same boat as the Amazon, but given the meager cast-offs from the queen bitch’s
lair, they were quite content to go along with the strange goings on at Fallworth.
Diane Cordell had just become such a vanishing forgotten woman. And like her
predecessor, Project 237, was about to discover a whole new range of sexual
deviation at first hand. The cell door slammed shut, and Bill leaned back in the
sumptuously upholstered chair. One of the bonuses of being a top security prison
was that any requests for new restraint equipment were simply processed and
expedited without question. No one even raised an eyebrow at the complexity of
experimental devices forwarded to workshops. As a result, Greta had all manner of
interesting ways to play with the new toy at her disposal.
He had no doubt that Project 238 would soon be sampling her latest acquisition, a
pedestal stand. It was a simple device that held the prisoner in a folded compressed
kneeling format, folded legs pulled sideways to rest alongside the torso, chin crushed
down to lie between knees. It ensured a naked, widely spread, and tautly stretched
rear region, easily available for torment or punishment, or any other usage Greta
might find enjoyable. Being poised some two and half feet above the floor whilst
held in this position was hardly going to instill a sense of security and confidence in
the latest edition to Fallworth. Bill had no doubt that the height of that offered
rear-end, strap-on dildo height for an Amazon like Greta, was no accident. He
made a mental note to visit Greta’s cell in an hour or two. The timing should be
just about right to be treated to a demonstration as the trussed society bitch pulsing
impotently to the thrusting demands of a sadistic dildo-equipped Amazon. Greta
would be intent on ruthlessly pumping the helpless captive’s body full of hard
dildo if she ran true to form. It was a crotch warming event to look forward to,
given the configuration of the new device and its tortuously cinched occupant.
Four and a half years were a long time to wait for payment from the organisation,
but it had been his choice. In all that time they had processed and delivered two
hundred and thirty six selected targets, of which he could have taken his pick. But
he had chosen to wait as others snatched up the morsels on offer.
Now he had the ones he wanted. 237 would soon be on her way to finishing school
as he referred to it, and 238 would be following her some six to eight months later.
At first he had been troubled that by framing 237, the real woman killer would go
free, but the organisation took care of that. That animal was by now some two
hundred feet below the rubble being used to fill an abandoned mine shaft in North
Wales. His killing days were long gone, and with him, any evidence that could
ever be used to clear Project 237 of wrong doing. In the eyes of the public she was
a monster who was safely out of commission.
Chapter 2 Helen – Projekt 237
“Okay! Wilma, you can leave us now thank you.”
It was two days on, and lounging at his desk, Bill allowed his eyes to wander over
the naked nubile beauty shackled before him. His mind wandered back to recently.
savoured visions of bound femininity. 238 had provided some interim enjoyment.
As expected, his return to view what was going on in Greta’s cell revealed a new
inmate well gagged with an immense ball gag and cinched down tight on Greta’s
new stand. Powerless to resist whilst cuffed and chained, the poor woman had
proved to be an easy conquest as she was remorselessly forced into position by the
tough Amazon and welded down with a multitude of powerful straps. The resultant
pathetically compacted bundle of sobbing frightened womanhood Bill saw, proved
most becoming as she pulsed powerfully in her cinches with each thrusting insertion.
Scarlet faced, cheeks bulging, eyes frantically seeking non-existent help, she was
continuously giving vent to muffled protests at each powerful injection of Greta’s
strap-on appendage. The powerful Amazon hadn’t been kind in her tightening of
the hold-down straps, and the frenzied struggles of the chain hampered conquest
only served to solicit the maximum reduction in movement that could be achieved.
238 was reduced to a series of bulging naked curvatures that defied description as
she helplessly absorbed the plunging dildo. Once contained by the basic compression
straps, the prison shackles had been removed to allow more refined and powerfully
contorted wrist and ankle bondage.
Bill was pleased with his choice, and even more pleased when Greta asked
permission to keep her new toy ‘as she was’ for three or four days. He eagerly
agreed, with a caution that the tightly bound woman must be fed and tended carefully
during that time. A few days as a twenty-four hour, easily available, pole mounted,
personal fucking facility would do 238 a world of good, providing she wasn’t
damaged through negligence. He studied the scarlet expanded cheeks, flaring
nostrils, and bulging eyeballs of the prisoner at length, then left the savagely
compressed and accessibly parcelled woman to the tender mercies of Greta. The
poor woman was clearly suffering a massive cultural shock as she jerked and snorted
helplessly with each powerful thrust thumping into her offered nether regions. Greta
was pumping away at her toy like a woman possessed, and the power of her thrusts
were such that the buttocks of 238 were flattening out like sponge rubber as the
giant German dyke slammed into her. It was so satisfying to see how her defenceless
pussy stretched and absorbed the dildo, and all the time, her mind was struggling
valiantly to accept her rapid descent from debutante socialite to a trussed and easily
fuckable item. A sex toy that could be used anytime the urge took her Amazonian
cell mate. Only a short time before, she would never have dreamed what lay in
store for her as she entered the impressive gates of Fullworth prison.
The trussed woman huffed, puffed, snorted and expanded delightfully as the Amazon
pumped her like an inflatable doll. Greta was ignoring the fact that her helpless
conquest was bulging and straining with what could only be frantic attempts to
escape the crushing bonds holding her fuck-toy so helplessly offered. a
Now, 237 had finally emerged from lock-down to add even more pleasure to his
week. Her skin was still a rosy pink as a result of a hurried hosing and scrubbing to
remove the grime and filth accrued during her long stay in that claustrophobic
metal box, but it gave her a sort of virginal quality that Bill liked. Although she
was no longer a virgin, at twenty-eight, she was a woman in full bloom.
Appreciatively he allowed his gaze to drink in the thrusting orbs of her breasts, and
mentally made a note to commend Wilma on the new body shackle arrangement.
As was standard, her wrists were manacled to the waist cinching steel chain, but an
added pair of cuffs cinching elbows tightly into contact behind her back did wonders
for figure enhancement. The ankle chains chinked softly, and glancing down, Bill
checked that her ankle fetters were securely locked to the ringbolt set centrally
before his desk. There had been one occasion when a less than happy project had
launched her shackled form at him, but a quick ring-bolt installation removed any
future replay of that incident. 237 was destined to stand where she was for as long
as he desired. 
His eyes swept up to her face, and taking his time he studied her at length. There
were still faint marks radiating from the corners of her mouth, visible proof that she
had spent her time in lock-down with a cruel mouth filling brank gag. Those leather
covered pear gags, fully expanded, were a salutary experience that few forgot in a
hurry. That was gone now, but 237 knew better than to speak without permission.
She had learned the hard way. Memories of her mouth being stretched to an
agonising gape as the screw turned and pear halves jacked her oral cavity open
were still fresh in her mind.
The eyes looked back at him briefly, for a while mirroring the residual anger and
defiance in her. But then they dropped as she came to terms with the inescapable
truth that she was beaten. They could do anything they liked to her and she had no
rights of appeal.
“Well Watermann, you do seem to be having problems settling in here.” Bill picked
up the punishment sheet and made as if to peruse it. There was no need. He was
fully aware of every detail of Helen’s punishment history. He made a few thoughtful
Hmms and Arrhs! then looked back to the statuesque woman.
“It would seem that you having something more than a strong aversion to prison
life Watermann. In fact I would go as far as to say that perhaps you could do with
a little psychiatric help in order to adjust.” He glanced up and caught the fleeting
look of fear in the woman’s eyes, but she resisted the urge to speak. Bill allowed
_ that to churn around in her mind for a moment or two and then rose and walked
around the desk. Placing himself squarely in front of the shackled woman, he
locked eyes as he spoke. -
“Not what you may think Watermann. ... Not at all what you may think.” The eyes
registered puzzlement. -
“You may have realised by now that Fallworth is not the normal run of the mill
high security prison, and of course you would be right. In fact, we er—! Shall we
say divert resources to people who can pay well, or work within the organisation.
You are one of those resources. Or at least could be,” he hastened to add. “The
choice is yours really. I can have you committed to a mental institution for
investigation, or you can opt to go of your own free will.” He paused to allow that
to sink in. 
“Now, you may be asking yourself why you should opt to go voluntarily when you
know that you’re perfectly sane. Maybe I should explain more clearly. If you
refuse, the treatment you have been getting for the last six months just continues.
As I said I could commit you anyway, but if I do that, you will be going to a state
mental home, and I will have to call in two independent psychiatrists in order to
have you certified. You will appreciate that course of action will expose us to a lot
of risk. However, if you choose to go of your own volition, I can place you in a
special facility, and we don’t need strangers around to question the decision.”
Helen’s lips started to move as she voiced a question, but her voice was stilled at
his caution. “No, don’t speak now. Just think about it for a while. I have a few
_ things to do, and then when I get back I’ll answer any questions and then ask you
for a decision. In the meantime, I’ll just leave you to enjoy a reminder whilst you
mull it over.”
His hand rose and one of those dreadful expander gags forced its way into her
reluctant mouth. But she knew better than to resist.
Helen’s lips re-formed into an enforced silence as the screw turned, but she refused
to give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort as the pear stretched her mouth
to breaking point. He smiled and left her to suffer. Twisting her body, she watched
as he exited the office and left her anchored in place. Conscious of the other inmates
awaiting the Governor’s pleasure, peering through the glass office door and
sniggering, she felt her blatantly exposed buttocks quivering uncontrollably as she
tried to sort out the turmoil of her thoughts.
The governor finally returned half an hour later, yet busying himself with papers
on the desk, he seemed in no hurry to return to his unwilling audience. Eventually
he raised his eyes to an impatient Helen, then remembering that she was fully gagged,
he rose and moved over to remove her silencer. .
“T’ve no doubt you have a few questions Watermann?” Helen nodded as she
exercised her aching jaw, and upon receiving a wave that indicated she should
continue, she put her first concern into words.
“How long will I have to stay at this place?”
Bill smiled.
“Forever my dear. Forever!” Helen registered shock, then recovering with admirable
strength of mind she pressed on. There was a decision to be made and she needed
all the answers before making it. Z
“But what will they do to me. Who wants me? Why me?”
Bill rose from the desk and moved round so as to sit on the edge nearest to her.
“In the first instance, life won’t be a lot different from Fallworth. You’ll have to be
trained, and that means a lot of time in restraints. But I would add that they will be
a different kind of restraint to the ones you’re used to here. They’ll be much more
confining, but shaped and carefully manufactured for a specific purpose. In answer
to the second and third questions, I want you. I chose you from thousands of other
possible contenders.”
Bill waited in silence as his revelations sank in, aware that she was carefully studying
his own form and passing her own mental judgement. He was forty-five years old,
but a solid well formed forty-five with all his hair. She seemed to accept that.
“So what will you do with me if I agree, if I do all this training?” It was obvious
from her manner that his answer would only be confirmation of her own conclusions.
Bill smiled broadly again as he answered.
“You'll be my sex slave of course, my personal tie-up toy girl. I’ll do what the hell
I like with you.”
Helen pursed her lips as she considered all the options; new questions forming as
the scenario of her possible future as an object to be used at will took form.
“Does that mean I go home with you one day?”
Bill, dashed her hopes of an escape instantly.
“No Watermann, it does not. You will always be kept at the center, but in my
private suite. I’ll come and go as I please, but you will always be there whenever I
feel the need to use you. If you’ve pleased me, you might be allowed to live in
relative comfort. If not, there are many ways to store a sex toy, and none of them
are comfortable.”
Helen’s worse fears were realised. She would still be nothing more than a prisoner,
albeit one used for sex by a man instead of a butch dyke. The instant retort that
would suggest he should move away in jerky sexual movements froze on her lips
as he held up a hand and continued.
“However, unlike Fallworth, you will normally be living an executive suite with all
the luxuries of a five star hotel. You’ll be free to do as you please within the
grounds and buildings as long as I don’t need you. Providing you’ve pleased me. I
might add that you would also have company after a while. 238 is being processed
now and should be joining you within eight months. I would also add that you are
one of the lucky ones. Most of the other members don’t have suites. They have to.
book the main facility suite before they can enjoy their pets. Which of course
means that whilst not in use, their tie-up toys are kept either in cells, cages, or some
other storage arrangement.” ; -
“238?” Helen’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.
“Yes! 238. You’re 237, or at least you will be if you make the right decision.
Otherwise it’s Fallworth for the duration, or the certainty of spending the rest of
your life in a strait-jacket, living in a rubber room at the state mental hospital. I
hear the male nurses have a lot of fun with strait-jacketed inmates. It seems that the
crotch strap can be dropped real easy, whilst the rest stays on.”
He glanced at a desk monitor thoughtfully and then selected a security tape replay.
It was turned away from her, so after rewinding to a particular spot, he spun it.
towards her. :
“238! Your future partner.” Helen stared down at the screen and saw a statuesque
woman undergoing the same humiliating induction and body chaining she had
endured herself so many months ago. Bill returned to his chair and leaned back to
await her reply.
Helen stood silent and thoughtful as all the ramifications of her choice ran through her
mind. If she stayed, life would be hell for the rest of her life, and first
hand experience of straitjackets had taught her that tough canvas clothing was definitely
hard on sensitive female skin. However, if she took the offer, there was at least a chance.
of a more comfortable existence. What difference was there to a male intruder in her
pussy when for the past months she had regularly been subjected to having a dyke’s dildo.
shoved into her. It took some five minutes for her to come to terms with the limited
range of options, but finally after taking a deep breath, she spoke out.
“Okay! I’ll take the offer. I have no real choice do I you bastard.” Bill smirked to
himself. At least she’d retained her fighting spirit, and that was important to him.
He had chosen his target well. Not for him the subservient, slavish female. He
wanted a fiery recalcitrant feline for his toy. All the more fun to bind and take such
a woman. He pressed the call button, and Wilma entered a few minutes later.
“237 has decided to take our offer Wilma, please be so kind as to release her wrists
and arms so that she can sign the release for voluntary mental assessment at the
Cairndhu facility.” Wilma swung up the key bunch swinging from her belt and
quickly unlocked the various cuffs and links. Glowering at both of them, Helen
eased the cramps in her limbs and then took the offered pad with the release form.
For a second or two she hesitated, then seeing Wilma almost willing her to refuse,
she scrawled her signature and consigned herself to a life as a concubine.
Wilma clearly showed dismay at this loss of a plaything. She herself had enjoyed
Helen on more than one occasion and she would miss her. But then again, 238
would be coming on line soon. Just as soon as the queen dyke in cell 87 had
finished with her.
Bill just watched as Wilma went through a practiced routine that would prepare the
new conscript for shipment to the special facility. The wrist and elbow cuffs went
back on, noticeably tighter as Wilma expressed her displeasure at the loss. Then
some street clothes appeared from a closet. First there was hold-up stockings, and
with one ankle released at a time, Helen stood on one leg as they were smoothed
on. A pair of relatively high stilettos came next. High, but not high enough to be
- considered odd in everyday street wear. The hobble chain was replaced with a
slightly longer version, and its center link lifted and connected via another chain to
the cuffs straining her elbows back. :
The next item had Helen shrinking back as far as her floor shacked ankles would allow.
It was a double pronged steel crotch strap that was obviously designed to connect to
her waist chains. She shook her head in disbelief, but the governor gave her reason to
question a refusal. ;
“Not all of our employees are trustworth when it comes to women who are incapable
of retaliation Waterman. We do our best to select them carefully but then the lure of
what you have on offer would corrupt a saint. Wilma here suggested the idea; .. and I
urge you to accept the chastity strap as a matter of common sense, seeing as you are
going to be in transit with at least one man for a number of hours.”
Helen thought it over, and then reluctantly stood still as Wilma slid the device
between her trembling thighs and eased the monstrous orifice fillers into place.
The front one wasn’t so bad, but her bottom hole was relatively virgin and untrained
in permanent dilation. At first the pain was extreme, but then as her sphincter
muscle grew to accept the inevitability of the violation, she felt the pain ebbing
away. A loud snicking noise advised her that the double crotch filler was there to
stay, held firmly in place by locks of some sort. 
A final item was a drop-over cape that reached down to the mid calf. The clerical
style neck hid the steel collar, and hands poking from the slot pocket holes gave
Helen the appearance of an off duty nurse. It was obvious that she was manacled
beneath her garb. But then a woman being escorted by two prison officers would
raise no eyebrows if she were seen to be restrained. - i =
With a breezy ‘see you later’ from the governor, Helen was taken out and parked in
the main hall to wait for the hospital transport that would take her to the special
facility. Realising that this would be their last chance to torment the chained woman,
the other inmates took the opportunity to give her a thorough mauling.
Across the way, an open cell door supplied the pitiful image of a well-used 238 still
on the pole stand. Greta had left the door open deliberately, and rotated the poled
woman to face any lookers on. With her gagged face drawn forcibly upward by the
gag strap secured behind her hair drawn into a tight pigtail and used to supplement
the straining position, 238 presented the audience with her tear streaked face. She
could do nothing other than to perform a continuous display of Mmmpphing scarlet
cheeks and wildly ranging eyeballs as she endured the never ending pussy pumping
action of Greta’s largest ribbed strap-on in her other end. The gathering throng
prevented Helen from seeing more as Diane Cordell continued the woman’s
traumatic introduction to her future role in life. It was clear that there was no
escape for the powerfully bound woman, and given time, Greta could avail herself
of all of the three openings presented to her by a woman secured in this manner.
She had all the time in the world and 238 couldn’t move a muscle in her own
defence as she was ruthlessly pumped and plundered in the succulent opening of
Greta’s first choice. That was just how Greta liked her unwilling playthings. Offered,
and completely helpless.
Helen knew she would eventually tire of the sport, and then 238 would host three
powerfully expanded pump up plugs in her openings and no doubt be carried and
out to the center hall of the cell gallery and exhibited so as to serve as an example
of Greta’s craft. ;
Helen considered herself lucky. Her somewhat less contorted initiation had terminated with 
her inflated to bursting point by the pneumatic plugs, and then _
Greta simply pushed her out of the cell in her prison chains and left her to be
tormented by the other inmates.
Tearfully, ankle shackled to another ring-bolt and her mind replaying the events
leading up to her present situation, Helen endured as her cape was lifted up and tied
above her head. Her vulnerable tightly chained body was immediately subjected to
all manner of finger abuse and tit squeezing. All the time, unseen and yet clearly
heard through the cloth were the sounds of an ordeal that could just as easily be
hers if her new owner Bill Nealy chose to have her mounted on a similar device.
Helen mentally thought herself lucky that the new stand hadn’t been available for
her induction. Diane Cordell was suffering far more public abuse than she ever
had. ;
Helen’s body jerked convulsively. Someone outside the cloying dark confine of
that cape had found a long length of rubber or elastic, and amidst the cheering
encouragement of others, was stretching it and allowing the twanging end to lash
wickedly at her naked bottom.
In an effort to drown out the noise, pain, and humiliation, Helen allowed her mind
to wander back to a time ten months previous. A time when she had enjoyed the
attentions of high roller diplomats and prospective rich husbands vying for her
hand in marriage. As personal assistant to the Bolivian Ambassador, life had been
good. Life as a bank executive was even better. But those days of personal power
and esteem were long gone.
The stinging elastic nipped at her bottom for the umpteenth time, and as it broke
into her thoughts, she heard the voice of Wilma calling off the hounds. Her ankles
were unshackled. Stumbling in her dark world, Helen felt herself being led forward
towards the double door security exit system. Behind her, the explosive muffled
gasps of pole mounted Project 238 faded as Greta pumped madly at her captive for
the tenth time that day.
Helen’s thougltts returned to her own plight. Wilma would be enjoying having her
so blatantly exposed, yet strangely for some reason the tenseness caused by her
humiliation caused her bottom to mince more than she would have liked. Or could
it just be that it felt that way because she was so horribly vulnerable? 
They entered the first door and the smooth click of a well oiled lock told Helen that
they were between two locked exits. Wilma’s hands suddenly gripped her bottom,
and for a second time that morning, the helpless ex debutante stood impotently as ;
lecherous hands explored her nubile body. 
“I’]l miss you 237, but not to worry. 239 has already been selected, and she’s mine.
I’ll have her in here within the month.” There was a pause as the hands enjoyed a
‘ last grope.
“Time to go.” The busy fingers left her body and Helen felt the cape being _
unfastened. Seconds later bright light blinded her momentarily as the cape was
smoothed down and her ruffled hair rearranged by her jailer. Wilma gave her
bottom a last pinch, and unlocked the outer door with a piece of uncharacteristic
parting advice.
“Do as you’re told 237, and you’ll have a reasonably good life. Believe me. You’re
well out of this place, and to be honest I didn’t enjoy some of things we had put you
through. Now go, before I get all sentimental or something.”
Helen stared at the tough warder in amazement, and for second saw not a vicious
bitch who she would like to throttle, but a woman who understood and felt
compassion. She wasn’t allowed to dwell on it as Wilma spun her shackled form
and pushed her forward.
Chapter 3 Transported
Walking forward, 237 hesitantly approached two white-coated officers waiting
patiently by the open doors of an ominous looking van with barred windows and
darkened glass. One was a man, the other a hard faced woman The leering looks
left her in no doubt that they were in on the whole deal and fully aware of her
hidden bound nakedness. There was no point in even bothering to search for help
from that quarter. Helen felt some relief as the ever present hugeness inhabiting
her lower openings reminded her that she was safe from being used whilst in transit,
but had no doubts that a third body mauling was par for the course. Suddenly her
thrusting boobs felt very vulnerable despite the concealing cape. :
Unable to mount the steps due to her hobbles, Helen was cradled by the two officers
_ and lifted into the van. Working quickly with a practiced ease, they ushered her to
one of the austere unpadded stool seats positioned centrally in the van and sat her
down. There was no back rest, merely a round flat disc to rest her butt on that was
poised atop a round steel central support column bolted to the floor. The elbow
cuffs gained another chain connection as a permanent stool attachment prevented
her from rising, and another link at the base of the shaft locked to her ankles pulling
them back under her seat. Then the cape was allowed to drop and hide her
immobilised form. Any hope of an escape during transit had been swiftly nipped in
the bud. 
Miserably Helen sat perched uncomfortably as the van crew moved forward and
took up the seats at the front. The van lurched out of the yard, and swivelling her
head, Helen watched as the massive gates of Fallworth closed behind her. There
was a mixed feeling of relief and fear as the home that she had endured for half a
year said its good-bye. Her attention was snapped back to the van crew as the
woman rose and moved back in her direction with a look that was something less
than charitable. :
“T think a little on-route entertainment is in order here, don’t you Jim?” The driver
laughed and nodded as he surveyed the rear view in an internal mirror. Leering at
her pleading face, the female co-driver fished a handkerchief from her smock pocket
and prised open the prisoner’s mouth. Gleefully she packed Helen’s face to bursting,
and then reaching down, lifted the hanging cape. At first she merely scooped it up
and left it arranged around the neck in loose folds, busying herself by dragging her
prisoner’s long hair up into a pony tail that sprouted from the top of her head.
Helen watched helplessly as another forage into her pocket produced a short length
of cord. She placed the cord in her teeth to free both hands, and then bringing up
the cape, gathered both hair and cape into a single tight column above the top of her
head. Helen could feel her twisting it, and yelped through the wadding in her
mouth as both hair and cloth became a single entity. A few jerks told her that the
cord was being used to secure the resultant mass into one unit close to her scalp.
More movement followed, but Helen wasn’t sure at first what was going on. It was
only when her cape hooded head was jerked upward that she realised that the whole
cape had been twisted into a cloth rope and fastened to some overhead fixing.
There was a sound of tearing nearby, and as a tight band clamped down over her
lips, she recognised it for the sound of a roll of sticky tape. Ruthlessly, the codriver applied several turns, cinching the head enveloping cape into her cheeks and
crushing the wadded handkerchief deeply into her mouth. -
“What do you reckon Jim?” Helen heard her assailant call out to the driver. There
was a brief silence as the other obviously considered her revealed and helpless
form. :
“Nah! Make a job of it Rachel, use that new cord in the glove box.” Helen could hear Rachel 
rummaging, then felt her presence nearby as she returned.
Unable to move or voice a complaint, Helen could only squirm as Rachel went to
work with what could only be described as copious amounts of thin strong nylon
cord. The woman was an artist, and worst of all, endowed with a female intuition
as to what would be most effective in completing the humiliation of her captive
modelling subject. An hour passed before the hard working Rachel spoke again,
other than a steady succession of grunts as she heaved cinches tight
“How’s that Jim? That more to your taste?” Helen heard a whistle of approval.
“Great! Hey! Rachel you’re really getting good at this.” His voice trailed off and
Helen could feel the unseen eyes studying Rachel’s masterpiece.
Starting at the ankles, she had enveloped the seated woman in a series of flesh
biting cinches that progressed from feet to the tip of the cape suspension; she had
created a veritable macramé masterpiece of trussed womanhood. The marching
rise of two-inch spaced cinches had only faltered twice in their advance. Once to
allow Rachel to ease each cord under the seated thighs adding extra tightness to the
ballooning curvature of Helen’s stool compressed buttocks, eased backwards so as
to allow most of the taut stretched lobes to hang over the back of the stool. Super
tight thigh cords would ensure that she couldn’t move forward. The other delay
was upon reaching the ample swelling orbs of her thrusting breasts.
A series of root cinches and some extra wound on turns converted those normally
coned protuberances into painful spherical aberrations. But Rachel had quickly
reduced the bulbous interruption of bodyline by returning to her liking for body
encircling cinches, and adding two extras, one just above, and one just below the
daggering nipples. Heaving on the cords, she cinched the blood-pressurised tits
into crushed bisected blobs of abused femininity. 
The cords then marched onward, covering the throat in a giraffe woman series of
coils, then over the cape covered head in a neat weave of webbed nylon cinches
that welded the covering cloth to a perfect facial profile. Six or seven turns around
the hair yanking closure at the top of the head and then up the twisted cape-hair
hybrid rope to finish at the roof fixing. 
But Rachel didn’t finish there. She affixed long cords to the waist secured wrists,
and running them across the palms, taped both cord and hands into a single
homogenous unit on each side of the fettered woman. The cord extensions were
then taken outwards and secured to either side of the van, bending Helen’s wrists
back painfully against the cuffs and forcing her sheathed hands to point sideways
from the cinched effigy of her captive form.
Rachel gave the bulging lobes of Helen’s bottom overhang some hearty slaps, then
turned her attention to the cruelly cinched tits. As a final check she produced a
cattle prod and studied the reflex result as Helen jerked spasmodically to the stabbing
bite in her exposed rump. Rachel had done a good job. Despite her titanic muscle
contractions, Helen simply pulsed violently in the rope cocoon holding her captive.
“Not a twitch Jim! Not bad Eh?” Jim apparently agreed as the prisoner exhibited
only a rather exciting writhing that availed her nothing in the way of relief or escape.
Jim suddenly paused and turned up the radio.
“Hey listen a second Rachel.” Both of the crew listened intently, and despite her
own predicament, Helen was able to overhear as well. Apparently a bad crash on
the M74 North of Carlisle had blocked the motorway. AA and Police were advising
all northbound traffic to divert to other routes.
“But were still hours away from that Jim, won’t they clear it before we get there?”
The listening prisoner gleaned from the conversation that they were heading up to
Scotland. Her heart sank as she envisaged several more hours at the mercy of this
crew. Jim’s voice interrupted her thoughts and dealt her a shattering blow.
“Probably, but then we have the perfect excuse for taking the scenic route don’t we
Rachel. I mean who can blame us if we turn off early and commit ourselves to the
long route?” Helen heard Rachel giggle as a reply.
“Sounds good to me Jim. How much longer?”
“Oh! I reckon six hours at least with this old banger before we even reach Mallaig,
then there’s the ferry to Rhum; at a guess I’d say we’ll be at the institute in about
twelve hours.”
“Better and better. Looks like this trip could turn out to be one of the better ones
after all.” Helen felt the woman close to her and felt a hand clasp and squeeze her
right boob maliciously. She could feel the tremble of excitement in the marauding
fingers as the sadistic woman contemplated a six hour bonus in which to torment
her helpless captive.
“Hear that sweet cheeks? We get to look at you for a whole twelve hours, all neatly
packaged up like a Christmas turkey and nowhere to go.” Rachel jabbed with the
prod and chuckled as Helen jerked and convulsed in her bonds.
Although it was December the 20th, Helen didn’t feel in the festive mood at all,
and even less enthused at being the decoration in a van crewed by lusting bondage
nutcases. Her stifled mewing calls for mercy fell on deaf ears as Rachel moved
back to her comfortable front seat and adjusted a second mirror so to savour the
diabolically uncomfortable creature in the back without getting a cricked neck.
Rachel nudged her driver mate, motioning silently to the back with her head, and
Jim looking up to his own mirror was treated to an excellent display of writhing
superbly trussed prisoner. Helen was testing her bonds, but with no success at all.
Rachel had certainly done a job on her. She looked so pathetically helpless, perched
up there like a naked secretary on a typing stool, and despite the movement of the
van, she was rigidly contained by the savage bite of her bonds. =
“What was she before they convicted her Jim?” Jim shook his head indicating that
he didn’t know. Reaching down into the door pocket he withdrew the prisoner’s
documents and handed them over. at aR
“Have a look yourself, it’s all in there. I doubt anyone at Cairdhu will worry about
the seal being broken.” Rachel lapsed into silence as she broke open the envelope
and read, occasionally passing snippets to her mate. 1 mt ss
“Oh! Great, one of those society bitches, and a real high flyer according to this.
Engaged to Lord Wittingham-Wendell before her fall from grace. Not so high and
mighty now are we sweet cheeks.” Rachel had swivelled her head so as to ensure
that the tightly bound prisoner could hear. “Wonder what Lord Whatsit-Wendell
would think if he could see you now all done up like an oven ready turkey. I
reckon we should take some pictures Jim, I’m sure the Lord would like to see what
happened to his nearest and dearest.”
The silent 237 responded by going a deeper shade of pink as she flushed with the
crushing humiliation of her plight. Rachel laughed loudly as her ineffectual straining
merely produced a delightful creaking sound from the prisoner’s over-stressed bonds
“And to think that you’re completely innocent sweet cheeks. That must be the
hardest cross of all to bear. Little Miss Perfect all trussed up and on her way to
being converted into a sex toy. I’ve heard about what they do at Cairndhu, and this
little bondage prank is nothing to the things they’re going to do to you there. You’ll
be nothing but a bundle of cinched-up female holes to fuck once the doctor gets his
hands on you. We had to transport 193 to her new owner. Or rather we carried a
pre-cast square block of trussed woman that only had her folded butt showing. We
had a lot of fun with the prod and some dildos that day. Seeing as she was destined
to be kept like that on a permanent basis there was no way she could ever tell
anyone.” A groan of appreciation came from the driver as he remembered fucking
the disembodied female butt to his heart’s content. 237’s mewing grew a little
louder and continued until Jim drew in to the Preston services.
Jim shifted his position and tried to re-arrange the stiffy that was growing rapidly
in his trousers. ns .
“Time for a bite to eat I think. I’ll get the motorway patrol to keep an eye on the
vehicle whilst we’re away. Curly and Mike are on duty now and they’re expecting
us.” 
Curly and Mike were actually waiting for them as they drew to a stop in the restaurant
car park. 
“Hi guys, got a nice little package for you to look after. Rachel’s been having a bit
of fun but I’m sure you’ll find something to interest you.” The two burly coppers
needed no second bidding and were half into the van as Mike threw a question at
Jim. -
“What project number is this then?” 
“237. Why?” 
“I was just wondering when ours was due. We chose her last spring so she’s all
booked up and the frame up is ready. Trouble is, if we start using the computer to
scan arrest records; somebody might get suspicious.” Jim nodded in understanding.
“What’s yours booked in as?” 
“284. A school teacher, single, just out of training college.” Curly fished out a
well-worn photo of a young nubile woman in a shower, obviously taken secretly at
some gymnasium or other. “She does aerobics and Yoga, you should see the
positions she can get into. After we saw that solid block project you transported,
we decided to have the Doc compress ours into a really small package before casting
to make her easy to carry around.” Rachel took the photo and studied it. Her crotch
immediately started to moisten as she imagined the shapely prim and proper
schoolteacher cinched and contorted into a ball of fuckability and then cast into a
solid block of resin. The woman in the picture looked so fresh and innocent and
could have no idea what lay ahead for her.
“Hmm! Reckon you’ll get her sometime next year. Ours is due before yours and
she’s only just going to appeal court. The next one through is 238, and she’s already
booked as the governor’s spare. Greedy bastard took two by all accounts, but then
I suppose he’s waited long enough and he’s earned it. This one is his number one,
so don’t fuck around with her too much.” Mike grinned and waved before eagerly
vanishing into the van.
An hour later the van crew returned, refreshed and full of coffee and a hearty meal.
The coppers seemed reluctant to leave, and on finally getting rid of them and entering
the van, they could see why. The boys in blue had been having a lot of fun.
237’s bottom was scarlet, and in some places actually showed finger wealds as a
result of some heavy handed spanking. Her breath was coming in wheezes, the
well cinched bosom heaving from recent exertions to escape from the horror of her
transport mode and the horribly unwelcome attentions of her temporary minders.
The bursting cord bisected tits also bore all the hallmarks of extreme mauling; wet
turgid nipples told of some seriously embarrassing suckling. Rachel noticed that
not only had her own rope work been tightened up, but some additional cross
cinching between the upper arms and back had drawn the shoulders even further
back so that Helen’s prominent strained shoulder blades were almost touching.
“T see the lads looked after you then sweet cheeks. You can always rely on the law
to help a lady in distress.” Her tone was mocking as she ran her hands over the rigid
tightly parcelled prisoner. “Ah well I suppose we’d better get moving there’s a
couple of snow covered mountain ranges to get over yet.”
Unseen by the bound woman, she tossed Jim a warm parka jacket and then donned
one herself as he grinned wickedly at her. The van rocked into motion and Helen
was unable to suppress a shiver as a blast of cold air hit her. The bastards had
wound the windows down and were sniggering at the prospects of higher altitudes.
At 2300 feet the crew were really having fun as they looked back at the violently
shivering blue tinged naked prisoner. Parked in a desolate spot high in the Grampian
mountains, they had thrown open the back doors and were having a cup of coffee
as they stood and admired the view. She looked so helpless with all those cinched
bulge’s bedecked with goose bumps and quivering delightfully. But Rachel wasn’t
the cruel heartless bitch she made out to be, and she relented by taking a leather
paddle into the back of the van and warming her prisoner by a novel method. Bill
stood out in the snow sipping his coffee and watching the rear view of the tightly
corded prisoner as she jerked with each splatting impact.
Buttock cheeks glowing, and hot from the struggles of her own ineffectual straining,
Helen could no longer feel the cold as she was left to endure the rest of the road
journey as an enjoyably novel decoration. Physically they left her alone, but Rachel
took her full measure of enjoyment from humiliating the prisoner by constantly
remarking on her plight or how ridiculous she looked in her present turkey trussed
predicament. Even without a mirror, and sightless due to the head-covering cape,
Helen was made fully aware of the intricate nature of her bindings and the visual
effect on all who saw her. Rachel took great delight in describing each and every
feature of her tightly bound anatomy in great detail. She enjoyed watching the
results as the cinched secretarial figurine squirmed with crushing embarrassment.
Chapter 4 CAIRNDHU HOUSE
The ferry crossing proved to be uneventful, and after a short drive a very relieved
and extremely stiff and cramped 237 was finally removed from the van, but not
until Rachel had invited all the on duty staff to come and admire her handiwork.
Seething with anger and embarrassment, Helen remained stiffly presented as the
van rocked with a steady stream of voyeuristic admirers. Unable to respond in any
way, she could only endure in silence as the multitude of voices discussed her like
a piece of meat, prodding, squeezing, and slapping to their heart’s content.
Eventually Rachel ran out of newcomers to display her handiwork to, and with
some reluctance she removed the cruel cinching cords and dropped the cape. Helen
strained against the body chains still holding her in check and spat out the
handkerchief. 
“You bitch! You lousy rotten bitch! If I ever get my hands on you I’II——!”
She left the rest unsaid as her tormentor continued to release her from the stool.
But Rachel didn’t intend to let her get away with that outburst without having the
last word.
“You never will Miss High and Mighty. Ina few weeks you will be fully converted
into a grovelling shag for the governor. Your days of doing anything to anyone are
over.” She jerked her prisoner upright by the lead chain and dragged her hobbled
form from the van. There was no lifting this time. Helen had to hop down and just
hope she landed right.
Trailing behind her temporary keeper, the prisoner shuffled across the wide gravelled
turning bay in front of the main entrance doors, her gaze taking in the surrounding
grounds with an eye to any future escape.
Cairndhu House had been an experimental psychiatric institution for some years
now, and locals kept well away. That, and the high surrounding walls made it a
natural venue for the clandestine usage it ran as a sideline. Based on an island and
set in some 200 acres of prime rural grassland, there was plenty of room for an
expanding business. As with most large estates of that period, it was completely
encircled by a massive wall. Beyond the forbidding eight-foot fortification, Helen
could see that it was set within a forested area. No doubt that was the reason for her
cape. Any nosy news-hawk with a long lens would be able to get some interesting
pictures from the security of those trees.
She wasn’t to know that at this very instant, a belt of woodlands a mile deep had
just been purchased by the organisation and would soon being ringed by high security
fences, camera surveyed and dog patrolled twenty-four hours a day. That, plus the
fact that it was surrounded by some of the most dangerous waters off the British
mainland made it a pretty escape proof place.
They entered the main hallway, her stilettos echoing loudly on the highly polished
oak floor, in stark contrast to the squeak of her transport crew’s soft-soled sneakers.
Jim pressed a bell push on a solidly secure barred barrier, and after a few minutes a
short bespectacled porter appeared. ;
“237 for Doctor Zarkof.” The weaselly little guy took the offered file through the
bars and scribbled on the release note before handing it back. Fishing a huge bunch
of keys from his smock, he opened the massive barred gate and motioned for them
to pass the prisoner through. 
Rachel gave Helen a shove, and as she moved forward, threw a parting taunt.
“Thanks for the show 237, we enjoyed it immensely.” Helen glared back at her
tormentors, and then was jerked clear by the neck chain as the door swung shut.
The clang of closing sounded like a death knell as the last road to her freedom
vanished forever.
The van crew watched her being led away by the porter, then left, no doubt each
eagerly looking forward to the day when their own selection passed through that
barred gate on her way to training. 
The halls and stairways seemed endless to a woman who was hobbled, and weasel
face took every opportunity to slip his hand in/one of the pocket slots of her cape
and have a good grope as she shuffled along. He particularly enjoyed groping her
ass as she struggled to mount staircases, obviously aroused by the feel of a hard
working female butt. For the second time since being stuffed full of dildos, Helen
felt relieved that his exploring fingers were prevented from doing more than
wandering across her external nakedness. She owed Wilma the head warder for
that bit of foresight. Perhaps the battleaxe wasn’t such a bad type after all.
At the end of what must have been the tenth hallway, they arrived at a heavily
studded door marked ‘dressing room.’ The weasel opened it and ushered her in.
Almost before she realised, the door had closed behind her and he had gone. Fora
while she stood alone, unsure as to what was required of her, so she took the time to
study her surroundings. It was instantly clear that this room offered no avenue of
escape. Heavy bars at the window and electronically operated numerical number
pad locks ensured that all exits were secure. Apart from that there was little to take
her attention. The entire room was lined with tall lockers, and the only other object
was a flat plate like thing hanging on four chains from the ceiling. 
Her attention was diverted as a sound behind a second door alerted her to the arrival
of a newcomer, and she watched with trepidation as two female orderlies entered.
Whilst one went straight to the lockers, the other steered Helen over to the hanging
plate. On closer inspection it became obvious that it was designed to split into two
equal halves, and she stayed silent as the orderly unclipped retainers and allowed
the thing to hinge open from one side. A tug on the lead drew her closer, and lifting
the opened plate, her new antagonist placed it around her neck and closed the two
halves. There was a click, and Helen found herself pilloried by the hanging device.
“What are you going to do—?” Helen’s voice trailed off as the orderly faced her
and put a finger to her lips. It was only then that she realised that like herself they
were probably unwilling residents at Cairndhu House. Both of the women had
their mouths sealed by laces. Pierced lips and eyelet inserts provided the means to
lace them up tight and preclude any form of speech. Tiny locks through the bifurcated
ends of the laces prevented them from simply undoing them. Somewhere behind
her the other muted orderly operated a hidden winch and the pillory rose until
Helen was held erect and impotent. At last the body shackles started to come off.
For the first time in weeks, Helen luxuriated in the feel of freedom, albeit a somewhat
limited variety given the neck pillory. 
She stood still and unresisting as her ankles were unfettered. Already she had
mentally conditioned herself to compliance with these two women. They were
apparently just as much prisoners as she was, so there was no point in taking out
her anger and frustration on them. Besides, it would be a pointless gesture in the
circumstances. As well as she could, given the obscured downward view from a
neck pillory, she stood silently as her new clothing was brought closer, eyes widening
as she saw the nature of the garments. Boots, basque, and collar, plus another two
items she couldn’t recognise. But that wasn’t the reason for her amazement, it was
the material of the apparel that was unusual.
Without exception they were all designed in a pre-formed flexible transparent acrylic
material, probably mass-produced on an extruder press. At a guess they were a
quarter of an inch thick; and obviously could exert powerful compression, thus
shaping a woman to the desired contour.
The basque went on first, and Helen gasped out loud as it drew her in with vice like
certainty. It was a full basque in that it reached up to cup and enclosed her ample
breasts, but as it drew in, she became aware that an unseen area of each thrusting
boob was unconfined. It would seem that the powerful garment had at least fourinch diameter holes over each boob.
She was still pondering the visual effects of that revelation as they fitted the boots.
Calf length, and unlike her travel shoes, endowed with heels that would test her
balance skills to the limit. She estimated from the feel and a slackening of the
pillory’s upward pull that they had raised her some six inches from a flat foot
stance.
One of the unrecognisable items turned out to be an armsheath; and with a sigh of
resignation, Helen surrendered her short period of arm freedom to the grasp of
complete upper limb control. The cinched cords of her travel mode had been quite
severe, but this device yanked her shoulders back to an excruciatingly torsioned
extreme. Helen was convinced that one more tug on the laces and her jutting profiled
shoulder blades would meet in the middle of her back.
The pillory yoke eased down, and after removing it, one of the orderlies fitted her
collar. Not a straight edged Fallworth type security collar whose sole purpose was
to restrain. This moulded neck stiffener was more in line with a hospital neck
support, minus the comfortable padding. Helen found herself forced to hold her
head erect and still due to the strict confining profile of the encircling shaper. Of
all the transparent clothing, this was the only item to have its see through qualities
substantially impaired. The basque had a small black square, that after fitting, she
assumed would be positioned somewhere at the base of her spine. A thin almost
invisible wire ran the full length from that square to the upper edge. But the collar
appeared to be endowed with a series of thin wires embedded in the inner surface
and a small metal box attached to the front below her arrogantly thrusting chin.
The second unrecognisable item turned out to be a helmet, although after first fitting
it was removed and replaced with a smaller size. Helen, towering in her new
footwear could see the orderlies struggling to fit the thing, and with some
understanding of their own unwillingness in the whole affair, she obligingly bent
forward to make their task easier. There was no avoiding the inevitable, so she felt
she may as well assist these other reluctant participants and make their lives a little
easier. The one facing her flashed a look of appreciation, then moved out of sight
to complete the lacing.
Staring down at her booted legs, Helen grimaced as the plastic head cocoon drew
crushingly inwards, reshaping her features to a predetermined shape that was the
facsimile of some long forgotten model. It came as some surprise to find that her
mouth was unadorned with any speech stifling device, but her relief was short lived
as a matching transparent expanding pear gag was dangled on a loop from her
neck. It seemed she was to remain vocally active for the present, but that ancillary
addition appraised her of the fact that it may only be a temporary condition.
The orderlies backed off and checked her over. Swivelling her body, Helen was
able to survey the results herself as a six foot wall mirror came into view. Despite
the crushing humiliation of her plight, she was still curious as to her image.
It was a shock to say the least. She was fully clothed, and yet at the same time,
naked as a Jaybird. Every detail of her powerfully sculpted figure was on display.
In a way it was worse than being naked. Crushed and moulded into an hourglass
shape, tit extremities extruded through the cunning apertures, balanced on high
heels and calves sculpted to perfection; she was a blatant sexual beacon of desire.
‘She turned her body to appraise the side view and was shocked by the exaggerated
extravagance of her jutting bottom. The cut of the basque was superbly crafted to
frame and enhance her juicy rump in a most provocative way. The basque and
fittings converted her into a lewdly exhibited, helpless sex object. The pear gag
dangled ominously under her chin. Clearly she was soon to be a silent sex object.
Secretly she had to admit that the devilishly uncomfortable collar and helmet added
a haughty look to the complete ensemble. Overall, had the circumstances been a
little different, she would have approved of her overall appeal to the opposite sex.
Perhaps the shoulder dislocating armsheath was a bit overkill, but given her present
status as an unwilling trainee sex slave, the designer might be forgiven for pandering
to that extravagance in restraint. She had to admit, from a male point of view her
entire front region was blatantly offered and completely defenceless with her arms
so effectively out of action. Her eyes caught sight of the little box under her chin,
and for a second or two she pondered its function.
A click interrupted her thoughts. Turning, she saw the door open and one of the
two orderlies motioning for her to leave. The other vanished, and Helen resigning
herself to whatever was awaiting her, obediently walked out into the passage. The
orderly led the way, and a little self-conscious at first, 237 blushed as passing staff
stopped to stare.
It was a feeling that soon passed. The ribald jibes that had been her lot on first
arrival were replaced by hushed tones of appreciation. Slowly she became aware
of a reverent awe as they surveyed her new image and despite the fact that she was
stringently bound and completely helpless; Helen felt a sort of power in her bearing.
She began to strut arrogantly, experiencing a strange pleasure in the fact that the
male staff was agog with lustful feelings. The missing orderly reappeared, and
took up station on her other side. He mouth was unlaced, and Helen suspected she
had been to see Zarkof to receive new orders. Without warning, Helen feltatentative
hand caressing her flexing left buttock. Awkwardly she swivelled her body to stare
at the offending owner, and was surprised to see a look of embarrassment that she
had been tempted. For a second they stopped, and trying to analyse some complex
feelings of her own, Helen suddenly smiled. 
“Help yourself! Looks like we all have to take any pleasure we can around here
‘whenever the opportunity arises.” The blushing orderly looked relieved. As they
continued, Helen felt both of them taking up her offer, and secretly she was amazed
to discover that she liked the sensation of benevolent female hands on her body.
The hands gripped tightly on her exposed buttock lobes, and Helen had to admit it
was a novel and not unpleasant feeling to be led around by her undulating ass
cheeks. One hand grew adventurous and the fingers ventured to her pouting ass
ring. At that Helen drew the line and pulled away. The unlaced orderly grinned.
“Perhaps later then 237. When you’re not in any position to object.” The inference
was clear. Once she was completely incapacitated they could, and probably would,
molest her at will.
The orderlies pulled her to a halt as they turned into a long grandiose hallway with
huge ornate double doors at the far end. One of them lifted the expando gag from
her neck and offered it up to her mouth with a beseeching look. At first Helen
refused the invitation to take the device in, but the persistence of imploring looks
got the message over. Against the rules, these two orderlies had allowed her to
remain ungagged until the last minute. Now it was time for them to pass her on and
she had to been in the full designated dress mode. Reluctantly, she opened her
-generous mouth and allowed the insertion, grimacing slightly as the turning of the
outer handle expanded the device to awesome dimensions that stretched and filled
her mouth completely. The orderly cast an apologetic look at her and added a few
final turns, then reached up and caressed a thrusting unconfined boob cone. The
hand withdrew and an over-strap completed the silencing of her forcibly filled
mouth, crushing and sealing her lips with awesome finality under a flexible
transparent lower face cowl.
Helen gasped involuntarily; the sound exhausted as a snort from her nostrils as the
unsolicited hand returned, covered a hard jutting nipple and sent vibrantly stimulating
sensations through her body. This was not the brutal demanding grasp of a butch
dyke. It was something different that Helen found herself unable to equate it with
her normal heterosexual preferences. With something akin to shock, the fettered
woman found herself enjoying the tentative manipulation of her wantonly offered
boobs. It was exciting to be so stiffly presented and powerfully contained, vulnerable
to any assault the women cared to vent on her body. All too soon the hand moved
away, and she was urged towards the ominous doors. There was a nervous knock
by her attendants, and smoothly the great portals swung inwards. Helen felt a last
departing pat on her bottom and then she was inside and the doors closing behind
her.
She found herself confronted by a white-coated figure seated behind a massive
mahogany desk, seemingly intent on several graph sheets that he was comparing
with a monitor to one side. As if suddenly noticing her presence, the hunched
figure looked up.
Chapter 5 ZARKOF
Helen was pleasantly surprised. Somehow it seemed a benevolent face, creased
with laughter lines and obviously a face of extensive experience in life. Half-eye
specs rested on a prominent nose ridge, and a shock of unruly hair gave the man all
the appearances of an eccentric professor. As it turned out, it was a shrewd and
accurate appraisal.
“Come my dear, come over here and let’s have a look at you.” There was a heavy
accent and Helen by virtue of her diplomatic experiences instantly placed it as a
Russian or at least Baltic State accent. There was something vaguely familiar about
the man, and yet she was sure they had never met.
Suddenly, the accent and name connected. Doctor Zarkof, head of KGB
interrogation medical unit. Basically, in western terms that meant brainwashing
department. His expertise at mentally crushing and then rebuilding captured agents
was legendary and had been the topic of conversation at many diplomatic functions.
Rumour had it that Zarkof had rebelled against his work and after some hectic and
dangerous brushes with the Russian hierarchy, had vanished from the face of the
Earth, presumed terminated with extreme prejudice by the KGB. 
It now seemed that they were all wrong. Helen started from her reverie, as she
perceived the professor studying her intently. 
“It would appear that my fame has preceded me Miss Watermann.” Helen nodded
as much as the collar would allow her. “Well don’t let that worry you. Times
change, and so do personal views. My past experience is of great use to me, but for
entirely different reasons now.” He paused and rose from the desk, his eyes studying
her superbly displayed contours with unashamed appreciation. “Excellent!
Excellent! I must compliment you on your exquisite shape Miss Watermann.” His
eyes strayed to her face and fixed on the gag. “Oh! I’m so sorry about that, but Iam
afraid you must be silenced for now. Besides, I find it enjoyable to see a woman of
bearing robbed of her voice. That in collusion with the removal of freedom and
personal privacy is all part of your training.” His eyes moved purposefully downward
to emphasise the availability of her exposed mons. A hand vanished from view and
Helen felt her lush pubic hairs being stroked. “And that must go as well.”
A feeling of complete helplessness welled up in Helen’s body as she contemplated
the removal of her last vestige of privacy. With her pussy denuded, she had nothing
left to disguise the vulnerability of her charms. The professor was speaking again.
“Now Miss Watermann, I have much to tell you, but first I must attend to more
pressing matters. Perhaps you would be good enough to entertain me whilst I
work.” Helen stared at him with uncomprehending eyes. 
“T want you to go over there and put your back to the wall, march across to the other
opposite wall and then return. You will continue to do that until I tell you to stop.”
He looked her straight in the eye and Helen just stood still and made it obvious that
he could go to hell. A split second later searing pain surged through her body and
she staggered, nostrils flaring and screamed into the gag. The professor held up a
tiny remote controller that had been concealed by his other hand. Instantly Helen
understood the items that marred the completely transparent format of her costume.
There was some sort of shock device in the box at her throat, and the pad on her
spine was an opposite electrode. A simple press of the button on that controller and
excruciating current would surge from her neck to the base of her spine. It was a
diabolical device that used all the potential of her spinal nervous canal to exact
maximum punitive effect. Her eyes widened and sent beseeching messages, but
received no messages of benevolence in return.
For a second or two her eyes flicked frantically to and fro seeking an avenue of
escape. There was none, and she steeled herself to accept the inevitable, maintaining
her refusal with a falsely projected look of bravado. The professor’s thumb notched
a knurled wheel around and the thumb jabbed down again. -
Helen gasped, her breasts heaving, only after several breaths realising that she was
on her knees. The blinding flash of pain had robbed her of support. Every muscle
in her body was gripped by massive cramping sensations. In effect, the current
passing through her central nervous system scrambled the brain’s control and pitted
muscle against muscle in a powerful overall contraction. The current abated and
Helen slumped in her bonds. She glared upward as the steely-faced tormentor
showed her another six settings on the controller.
“Your first lesson in obedience 237. I would prefer that I don’t have to use it too
often. I don’t like inflicting pain on women.” He mused quietly to himself as an
afterthought. “Maybe a little discomfort and torment, but not pain.”
Helen felt an icy chill pass through her. The benevolence was completely gone.
Zarkof was an expert in human psychology, and he’d sucked her in as easily as
reeling in a hooked trout. His voice was hard, completely free of any hint of
compassion despite his mumbling, and Helen knew that if she didn’t obey he would
subject her to intense pain until she did. 7
Raising herself with some difficulty and standing on wobbling legs, Helen tried to
regain her composure, and then moved over to the wall as ordered. Standing back
to the wall, she hesitated, but a warning loaded with menace from her tormentor
urged her on.
Zarkof watched for awhile and then modified her reciprocating route with some
precise instructions.
“Come to a halt at the end of each walk 237. Stand to attention for a couple of
seconds, then about face, wait, and then commence the return march. I’m sure
you’ve watched the guards at Buckingham Palace, so emulate them.”
Helen complied as best she could, but Zarkof was insistent that it was done right.
He stayed with her and corrected each mistake until she was perfect, then returned
to his desk and left her to the parade endlessly back and forth. Occasionally he
would look up, and with his hand resting on the controller for emphasis, adjust any
slacking in her performance with sharp commands.
“Push those tits out 237, straighten your back, and get the knees up. That’s better,
now point your toes out slightly as you march I want to see those buttocks rolling.”
It wasn’t so much a march he wanted as a blatantly sexual swagger.
Once she was order to stop. But the relief was short and humiliating. Zarkof
merely wanted to oil her buttocks so as to enhance the erotic display. With buttocks
cheeks slithering sensuously together, her ordeal recommenced as Zarkof nodded
his approval.
The morning dragged endlessly on, and tired to the point of exhaustion after her
overnight travelling, Helen found herself desperately needing rest. The ferry trip
had been the only section of the trip that had afforded her any sleep, albeit a somewhat
restless sleep due to being trussed like a turkey. Now the loss of rest was beginning
to tell. Wearily she marched on, not even allowed to stop when the friendly orderly
entered with the professor’s morning coffee. She caught the eye of the passing
woman on one of her endless laps and saw compassion and pity. Zarkof must have
caught the look as well. He called her back and handed the frightened woman a
riding crop. ”
“You know the rules 102, no fraternising with new recruits. Now 237 can suffer
for your failure to observe the rules. Two dozen strokes as she marches and don’t
spare her or you go back into the tank for a retraining session yourself.” He turned
to the prancing figure of Helen and issued a second warning. “Don’t falter 237 or
I increase that to four dozen.” 
The orderly positioned herself midway across the room and as Helen approached
she could see moist eyes. The girl wasn’t going to enjoy this any more than she
was. She passed the waiting figure and caught the rise of her arm in her peripheral
vision. A split second later a line of fire burned across her left buttock. She keened
through the expando gag, but continued onward despite the crippling throb in her
abused rump. The return trip added a second fiery stripe to her jostling right lobe.
And so it went on. It was a calculated and highly effective chastisement that made
full use of the intervening time of her continued march, then built expectant dread
as she marched back towards the deliverance of the next stroke.
Jerking and jostling with each addition to the burning fire in her cavorting backside,
Helen somehow managed to struggle through. After twelve strokes she lost count,
but Zarkof’s voice appraised her of the fact that the full quota had been administered
after an interminable period of lashing pain. “You may leave 102, but leave the crop in the 
usual place before you go and report for a grade 2 punishment session.” 
102 matched the marching woman’s pace and with a shaft of pain lancing through
her tight butt hole, Helen absorbed the powerfully thrusting whip handle into the protesting 
sanctum of her asshole. The orderly left without daring to meet her
eyes, and Helen pranced on, whip waving from her mincing ass cheeks as Zarkof
leaned back to enjoy the view. Her tear streaked face seemed to excite him even
more. 
He was obviously enjoying the spectacle she was providing, but it wasn’t until he
returned from lunch that she was able to consider her demise for herself. A button
somewhere on the desk activated two wall panels at opposite ends of her patrol,
and suddenly she was confronted by huge mirrors at each end of her march. A
clever misalignment allowed her to not only see the front view as she approached
the mirror in front, but also to appraise her own animated rear as a reflection from
the far mirror. 
The tears flooded her eyes as the undeniable evidence of her humiliating performance
confronted her. The basque was squeezing her generous boob extremities outwards
in provocative taut globes, nipples thrusting and purpled by the pressure, and her
wasped waist added even more flare to her already shapely hip line. Her fleshy hip
curvature and shapely upper thighs were exploding outward in an impossible
feminine caricature of absurdity. The rear view was even worse. Supplemented by
the whip impaled peaches of a pronounced well oiled glistening bottom extrusion
that cavorted and minced provocatively as a result of her instructions to exaggerate
the roll. Zarkof seemed to read her mind. > : -
“Get those hips swaying 237. I want to see you walking like a bitch on heat.”
Helen accelerated the hip rolling, buttock-mincing gait as instructed, and watched
as he crossed to the doors and locked them. Fearfully her eyes flicked to the reflected
image of her own rear, afraid that she may not be producing the wanton whore
image he was requesting. Shocked at her own success in such unladylike carriage,
she saw her own rear almost beckoning to any one who would take up the offer.
Like a bitch on heat her super animated rump was sending clear messages that
offered her for a thorough screwing. Mesmerised by the sheer poetry of mobile
rounded curves, she concentrated on perfecting her slut like prance to a fine art.
Zarkof moved a chair forward and placing it slightly to one side of her path, sat
himself down. Helen tensed herself, fully expecting to feel the whip retracted prior
to another dose of whipping. Her next turn revealed a sight that crushed her spirit
to dust. Zarkof was sitting with a massive erection sprouting from his open fly,
calmly wanking himself as he watched the display. The bastard was using her as
an instrument of masturbation and she could do nothing other than to perform or
suffer the consequences. The controller was clearly visible in his free hand, and
she had no doubt that he would use it if she dared to object.
“Tits out 237! Tits right out! Swing the hips; I want to see you trying to crack
walnuts with that ass. Cease the static turns, do a mark time turn. And get those
knees up as you do it.”
Tears rolling down her cheeks, Helen performed as ordered until a curt wheezing
command ordered her to halt in front of his chair.
“Run on the spot 237, knees high, and rotate slowly as you go.” Helen complied,
slowly rotating so as to afford him an all round view of her flexing helpless body
and the humiliating springy shaft waggling in her rump. On the fifth turn she
suddenly felt her mincing bottom cheeks lubricated by a hot oily substance and was
revolted by the thought that he had actually ejaculated on her body. He seemed to
have aimed for her mincing buttock cleft and scored a direct hit.
“Keep going 237. Let’s see you rub that in.” Helen shuddered as she was ordered
to anoint and massage herself with his sperm. The revulsion quickly waned as she
prayed that his spent lust might mean an end to her ordeal.
“Halt 237! Excellent! You have promise!” Breathlessly, Helen brought her
aching body to a standstill and stood with chest heaving as he stuffed his dwindling
shaft into his trousers and rounded on her. She could feel his excess seed running
down the cleft of her bottom and felt the first drip splash onto her anklebone.
The benevolent face was back, but Helen had no illusions as to the real nature of
this man. He had what he wanted for now, but when he required more she would
be made to supply whatever lecherous fantasies that he requested.
Zarkof seemed to become businesslike and sitting down at his desk he beckoned
her forward and had her stand stiffly at attention in front of him. As soon as he was
satisfied he began to enlighten her as to some of the forthcoming events in her
predetermined and unavoidable future.
“For the next two weeks you’ll be undergoing a series of measuring and fitting
sessions,” he glanced at a sheet in the folder and raised eyebrows. “Extensive
sessions by all accounts. Our friend Mr Nealy, or should I say, your new owner,
would appear to have a vivid imagination and some rather bizarre tastes in the
arrangement of his women folk for his sexual preferences. Unfortunately, you are
going to be the one who has to bring his fantasies to life.”
He glanced up at her with a smirk.
“Lucky you 237. However, as I said, there is a lot of specialised equipment and
clothing required, but in between fitting sessions we’ll be toning you up and getting you ready
for training proper. I have you scheduled for the 18th of January in my
department, so there is plenty of time to get you in shape and our Miss Bulstrode is
an excellent physical training instructor. The training you will be undertaking is
quite harrowing; it’s essential that you be in peak condition before you attempt my
special sessions. I can assure you that if you co-operate we’ll do our best to get you
through with the minimum trauma. At the end of that, if the conversion is successful
you will find life a whole lot easier with plenty of time to yourself. Unless of
course Mr Nealy’s demands are heavy at the outset.” The leering eyes reappraised
her virtually naked form. ‘Given your superb body, no-one could blame him for
pigging out on a good thing. At least until the novelty wears off.”
Helen hardly heard the last bit. Her mind got stuck at the bit mentioning ‘conversion.’
It had an ominous ring, given her knowledge of Zarkof’s expertise in the field of
mind bending. Her mind came back into focus as he continued.
“But first perhaps we should show you your new home. That at least should give
you something to look forward to. You’ll be staying there until my training starts,
and then we’ll be taking you down into the holding cells. I like my subjects to be
completely controlled, and dare I say it, all resistance ruthlessly crushed. I’ll have
you kept and kennelled like a dog, and for my personal enjoyment, I’m afraid you’ll
be spending most of the time trussed into the most delightfully revealing
configurations between processes. But don’t take it personally, its all part of your
reprogramming. 102 and 144 have been assigned as your permanent assistants,
and if there is punishment due, they are the administrators of that too. But don’t be
too hard on them for that. They have no choice. As loyal assistants their
indoctrination is far more testing and indeed painful than yours will be. They have
a lot to fear for disobedience. In fact 102 is paying for her earlier lapse right now.”
He spun the swivel mounted desk monitor around and Helen recoiled at the distant
scene of punishment.
Obviously, each and every female in the place had her own personal form fitting
wardrobe, and punishment equipment for indentured assistants who erred was 
included. 102 was naked and completely immobilised in a contour hugging
transparent full body casque. Unlike Helen’s costume this one appeared to be 
manufactured in a non-flexible acrylic Perspex that must have been vacuum formed.
The entire torso and head was sealed inside a crushing inescapable case that 
demanded a full back prayered arm format in order to contain the entire upper 
body. Both legs were similarly contained in integral Perspex sheaths. It was the 
manner in which they were configured that took Helen’s breath away. From pointed
toe to pointed toe, 102°s arrow straight limbs were arranged to a diametrically opposed 180 
degree spread and held firmly in place by the inflexible transparent
case. The only area of the woman to be uncovered were the rising mounds of her
bottom and the central crotch region that reveal six inches of sensitive inner thigh
and her horribly vulnerable cleft region. The all encompassing casque appeared to
be locked into a framework that held the unfortunate woman two feet from the
ground in a face down mode that was angled downward at some ten or fifteen
degrees.
With an obvious flare for architectural excellence the designer had created a frame
that supported her by two needle sharp points that interconnected with her pointing
toes. A third more substantial point of support that was a huge phallic gag, penetrating
the mask of her facial containment and vanishing deep into her throat. Behind this
Perspex crucifixion was a diabolical machine equipped with three whippy canes,
two arranged for a downward tandem strike on the unprotected rump, and the third
positioned for upward operation that would impact the tender flesh of her mons and
cleft.
As Helen watched, the machine slowly reset as the canes drew back, and then at a
predetermined tension simultaneously unleashed searing retribution on three
vulnerable and completely defenceless areas of her womanhood. Even from the
distant view provided by the camera, 102’s impotent frantic squirming could be
clearly seen through the stiffening medium of her appalling containment. She was
prevented from achieving the minutest level of relief due the stupendously rigid
encapsulation of her body. Her nether regions were unable to move even a millimeter
and were superbly tautened by her configuration to a level that ensured exquisitely
enhanced sensitivity.
Zarkof flipped views and they were instantly treated to a close up facial view.
102’s eyes were bulging out; her face scarlet with the pounding blood as her body
tried to cope with unbearable levels of pain. Mentally timing the explosive cheek
expansion and eye popping reaction to each triple blow, she reckoned that 102 was
taking a strike once every ten seconds. Another switch of channels gave them a
technicolour view of a massively swollen pussy and two jerking buttocks that were
painted with livid welts. The strain of 102’s leg configuration was immense, as
was clearly depicted by the strumming sinews of her inner thighs and the gaping
mouth of her abused pussy. Even the normally tight puckering rosebud of her
bottom hole was elongated into a horizontal oval by the sheer strain of the position.
The exposed region was a mass of violently reacting muscle exertion that availed
the offered woman not one iota of relief from her punishment. 
Helen turned her eyes away as the defenceless offered buttocks reacted to the next
strike, exploding into frenzy of demonic activity as the poor women sought to escape
from the searing bite of her punishment. Every inch of the transparent containment
was a flurry of insanely thrashing effort, but 102 couldn’t even twitch in her defence.
Zarkof smiled to himself. ; .
“Don’t worry 237. It’s her first offence and I’ve ordered that she only have the
machine on for twelve hours. Normally she would receive a full twenty four hours,
but in this instance we’ll leave her to think about it for the remaining time.”
Helen couldn’t hide the shocked look in her eyes. Twenty-four hours encased in
that diabolical mould? Zarkof saw her disbelief and confirmed that it was the case,
at the same time turning up the sound. A muffled sobbing wail permeated the
room, but it was obvious that long before the first twelve hours were up, 102 would
lose her voice. Already her gagged screams showed signs of cracking as the vocal
cords rebelled at this unprecedented use. It was pretty clear that the last six hours.
of caning would be silent mouthed futile pleas for mercy.
“Of course this is just for a rule broken whilst you are training my dear. Once that
is over 102 and her partner will be yours to do with as you wish. I noticed a certain
affinity between you, and I’m sure you will benefit from each other whilst you are
not actually required for services.” Helen mentally vowed to repay the woman with
her affection once she got the chance, and again experienced a strange glow at the
thought.
Zarkof clicked the monitor off, and Helen inwardly heaved a sigh of relief as the
sounds of torment were curtailed. It was bad enough knowing what was happening
to 102 without hearing the agonising recital of inescapable punishment. Zarkof
indicted the door, then gave her a sharp warning. -
“You're a tart 237, a classy tart. Do you understand? I’ll be right behind you and if
I don’t see that ass performing you know what to expect. And remember, your tits 
are public property around here so keep them out on display.”
Chaper 6 DENUDED
Without bothering to look at him or acknowledge the commands, Helen commenced
her buttock mincing hip rolling gait and headed out of the doors in the direction he
indicated. The recent coating of well-worked male fluid had become tacky and was dragging 
at her performing bottom. Zarkof halted her and applied more oil,
then ordered the glistening bottom mincing cock raiser back into motion. Staff
dotted around the place sniggered as boob thrusting female gyrated her way past
and offered congratulations to the Doctor.
“Nice one Doc!”
“Not bad for the first day.” 
“Can’t wait to see her fully trained!”
Zarkof bathed in the compliments and repeatedly ordered Helen to march on the
spot whilst the staff were invited to grope and squeeze her performing rump or oil
- herup again as she became dry.
All the comments were pretty much the same, and Helen found her earlier thoughts
of power over the staff slipping away. Ina few short hours the Russian had reduced
her to a chauvinistic male concept of a tarty submissive fantasy woman, and she
was powerless to object. The tears returned as she swaggered along with her
slithering sliding display of rump flesh. It was just as well dogs didn’t understand
humans; otherwise they would feel exactly how she did in the face of those
comments. Zarkof called a halt as they came to a side door and peered in.
“Mr Williams, just thought I’d see if you could fit one in for a shave seeing as we
were passing.” 
Helen stared past him into what appeared to be a barbers shop, and saw a row of
seated male members of staff waiting, one seated in the chair having his hair cut.
Mr Williams paused in his work and glanced around.
“I’ve got a few to do, but if you leave her I’Il do her as soon as this lot is finished.”
Zarkof nodded and led her in. Helen stood trembling with trepidation as Zarkof
brought her to a halt at the center of a room filled with staff. Some helpers came
forward, and they immediately began to strip her out of the acrylic costume and
replace it with calf-boots, hood, and an armsheath. Zarkof watched the procedure
and then took her leash of her once they were finished. 
“I’ve got a couple of things to do as well, so I’ll call back for her later. Shall I put
her on the shaving bar?” Williams nodded.
“If you would Doc, I can carry on here then.” He turned back to his clipping and
Zarkof led his charge over to a bar that was situated directly in front of the waiting
men and positioned Helen with her back to the avid audience. An inverted square
cornered ‘U’ shape of chrome steel tube rose from the floor and provided a horizontal
top bar at waist height. Helen was forced to move close up to it.
He nudged her legs apart with his foot, and as she achieved a spread of some three '
or four feet, reached down and snapped on ankle cuffs situated at the base of each
steel leg. Moving to the front, he gripped a ring set into the top of her helmet and
pulled her down over the bar, only relenting as she achieved a full hairpin fold.
There was a loud snap and Helen found her helmet-encapsulated head securely
connected to a ring bolt situated centrally between the legs of the ‘U’. A ratcheting
sound and an awesome pull on her head appraised of the anchor’s adjustment
qualities as she was pulled tautly down with her hip fold biting into the bar.
Before she could react, even if it were remotely possible, the palm mated tip of her
-armsheath was pulled up and connected to another fixing somewhere above. Helen
gasped as her arms were pulled away from her body and shoulders creaked under
the strain. Zarkof patted her quivering, taut, upward thrusting rump and then she
saw his legs vanish from sight as he left her for shaving. 
Staring between her legs, she could see the flushed faces of the seated men studying
her hugely displayed crotch, and she steeled herself to the humiliation of a long
exposed wait as Williams worked his way through the queue. For a while she
strained at her bonds, but relented when it only succeeded in raising a forest of
erections in the watchers. Stiff dicks were hardly a good thing to have around
when she was fastened in such a vulnerable position. 7
“Beats reading a magazine while we wait,” remarked one. The others laughed
loudly at the joke. The bulging eyeballs were suddenly distracted, and beyond her
field of vision she heard the other customer rising from the chair. -
“Next!”
Williams turned ready to start on his next customer.
“Ladies first Bert, where’s your manners? We can wait.”
Williams shrugged. It made no difference to him when the woman was shaved.
She was there until the Doc collected her anyway. 
Helen inwardly died as the impact of the rescheduling dawned upon her. Not only
did she have to suffer the eyes of the waiting men in this most undignified position,
but also they would now all be able to watch as she was denuded of her final furry
barrier of privacy. In addition she would have the ignominy of her blatant display
further enhanced by the freshly shaven nudity of her thrusting pussy.
Cringing with embarrassment, Helen flinched and then squirmed as Williams set
about the task of lathering her up. Working with a flourish he used the foaming
brush to great effect, obviously enjoying the freedom to work it into such a
prestigious society pussy and titillate the jutting clitoral trigger of her womanhood.
The final insult came as he upended the brush and plugged the fine bone handle
into her ass ring. That raised a laugh amongst the spectators.
The barber moved around into her field of vision, obviously he wanted her to see
him stropping the open razor, and he grinned widely at her as she trembled with
apprehension. —
“Now then young lady, let’s see what you’ve got hiding in the bushes there.” Helen
tensed involuntarily as the razor descended and she felt a harsh rasping feeling on
her sensitive mons. The razor reappeared in her vision as she could see the barber
wiping the first trimmings of her luscious bush on to a white towel. Helen strained
against her bonds, but finally gave up as Williams administered a sharp slap to her :
thrusting bottom and warned her to keep still. :
Rasp! Wipe! Rasp! Wipe! Inch by inch her totally vulnerable sex mouth was
being shorn of the silky down, steadily revealing the pristine pinkness of a woman
just into full maturity; a woman in full bloom and ripe for the picking. Williams
grabbed her slippery clitoris and stretching it out he used it to apply surface tension
to the outer edges of her pussy as the razor did its work. The watching males were
reduced to mouth gaping eye popping silence as the full glory of her tight smooth
peach-like love lips were revealed. Helen’s was one of those rare wondrously
perfect smooth edged slits that just begged to be bulldozed apart by a stiff marauding
male invader. But then neither 237 nor the newly incarcerated 238 back at Fallworth
knew that their selection had been partly because they both owned such delights.
Hidden cameras secreted behind hotel bathroom mirrors had produced clear shots
of them both at some time or another as they bent to dry feet or whatever after a
refreshing shower; neither aware that they were being filmed as they bared all to a
voyeuristic camera lens. It was all in the prisoners’ folders. At least twenty still
shots of both of Bill’s new pussies. 238 had even been caught using a vibrator on
herself. It was all there, a most thorough dossier of all their most intimate secrets.
Had they known it, 238 was at that very moment face to face with the vibrator shot
that had been pinned to the prison notice board for the enjoyment of the others.
Williams finally stepped back, and Helen felt the cool breeze created by his
movement fan her love lips with a new super sensitive awareness. She couldn’t
control the unsolicited twitch, and the men were entranced as her pouting pussy
blew them a kiss. 
“Hey! Bert, do you think the Doc would mind if we had a quick dip?” Williams
frowned and admonished them.
“You could try, but remember this shop is on security video and she’s a Gold Star
Project. You know what that means. Women only. No men to dip their wick.
That pussy is the personal property of Bill Nealy and don’t you forget it. Besides,
the whole contingent of duty staff will be watching this on the monitors, so there’s
not much chance of you snatching a crafty poke is there?” -
Helen died as she overheard the fact that hundreds of eyes had watched her
depillation. 
“Can we just touch then?”
Bert shrugged. “I suppose that’s okay, but no finger reaming; this is a reputable
establishment.” He reached out and plucked his brush from the stretched butt hole,
and instantly a dozen hands battled to stroke and pet the tremulously pouting pussy.
Unable to move a muscle or voice any kind of protest, Helen endured as her ultra
sensitised denuded crotch was explored with searching fingers. Someone gently
gripped her resilient labial mounds and eased her open. Gasps of appreciation rose
from the admiring throng as they stared deeply into her love shaft.
“Wow! Look at that Ted. That’s the most crimson pussy lining I’ve ever seen, and
look at her clit. Have you ever seen such a hard clit? That bloody thing is like a
rivet.”
The inspection went on, and unable to control her natural protective urges, Helen
felt a muscle spasm attempting to close her most private region to public scrutiny.
The reactive convulsive effort translated as a bottom clenching contraction.
“Hey look at her asshole. Did you see that, it winked at me? How would you like
to shaft that little darling then?” The exploration moved sites and centered on her
frantically clamping anal ring as fingers traced and prodded the puckered iris of her
- most private portal. In despair she gave up and finally relaxed as they lusted after
something they were banned from having. The strange feeling of power was
somewhat resurrected. She had something they would give an arm to sample, and
yet they were prevented by the rules from ever realising that dream. The bottom
stroking and squeezing continued, the hands changing as one or the other was called
to the barber’s chair. But at no time was the pinioned denuded rear left unattended
until the Doc returned. 
Released from her folded stance Helen straightened stiffly, and stood stoically as
she was re-dressed in the acrylic uniform. If anything, the male helpers managed to
draw the basque even tighter. She struggled to cope with the increased compression,
but the Doc gave her no respite and prodded her into action after re-oiling her
bottom with some shaving lotion offered by the barber. 
_ “Come on 237 move yourself, and don’t forget to get the tits right out and the ass
waggling. Now that you’re a proper tart with a shaved pussy, it should come easy.” 
Helen minced her way out of the salon amidst ribald laughter as her scintillating
rump sent shards of light flashing from the glistening animated mounds of her
desirable rear. 
The trip to her quarters was a long and humiliating trek, but finally they arrived,
and with some surprise, Helen found herself in a spacious multi roomed suite of
luxurious taste. Things were looking up. This was a definite improvement on her
cell at Fallworth. She crossed to the window, but was sharply reminded that even
here she was required to move in the manner dictated. Annoyed, but fearful of the
pain a refusal would entail, she switched on her motorised ass routine for his benefit.
A view from the French window revealed a large private walled garden, well tended
and beautifully planned. Well if this was to be her residence for life, she could do alot worse. 
Returning to the suite itself, she was somewhat perturbed by the plethora
of rings and fixing points in every room. But that was to be expected given the role
she was going to be trained in. Her only hope was that she could learn to live with
the demands that such arrangements might place on her form. Zarkof intruded on
her thoughts.
“] think you are pleased are you not 237?” Helen nodded curtly. “Well then I must
leave you now. I'll be back in the morning and we can take you down to start
measuring up and exercising, but for tonight you have the evening to yourself.
Make good use of it and relax, because tomorrow is a busy day.” Helen raised her
eyebrows and Mmmphed through the gag, at the same time raising the sheathed
arms behind her back. The inference was clear. Surely you’re not going to leave
me like this? 
“Sorry! I haven’t got the time. Your other orderly will be in later, she’s allowed to
ungag you but the rest stays until morning. However, I will turn the television on
to give you some entertainment in the meantime.” He used the remote, and instantly
the room filled with the sounds of suffering. Helen spun around to see 102 still
under punishment, and by the time she had turned back, Zarkof had gone, and the
remote had gone with him. Helen was committed to a program of salutary warning
as she watched 102 receive something she could well end up experiencing herself
if she failed to perform as ordered. Zarkof was truly a bastard. She started to walk
towards the bathroom and was halted by a shattering impulse of retribution from
the built in punishment device. A voice rang out from hidden speakers. Oo
“Tits out, ass into gear 237.” It wasn’t Zarkof, but another male voice. Helen
staggered to her feet with the realisation that she was being monitored at all times.
Zarkof had warned her not to be lax so she only had herself to blame. Thrusting out
her sculpted boobs she minced over to the bathroom, at the same time wondering if
they would be watching her have a pee. Another consideration was the act of
peeing. It would be the first time she had attempted it alone and whilst bound in
the stringently posture forming attire. No doubt the watchful staff would get a big
kick out of seeing her stiffly erect and postured whilst sitting and peeing.
Helen considered waiting, but the forces of nature refused to be delayed. Ten
or minutes later she was listening to the ribald comments of her unseen voyeurs as she
; squatted over the crotch-washing device and let the machine perform a standard
hygiene routine. : _
Much later, the screaming 102 ended her twelve hour chastisement. The sounds of
her distress ebbed to a distraught whimpering as she began the long haul to morning
in her excruciating strained format. Relieved of the perpetual sounds of suffering,
Helen flopped to the massive sumptuously upholstered bed and settled down. The
punishment device sent a bolt of energy through her.
“On your face and ass up in the air 237. Remember you’re a bitch on heat and we
want to see you flaunting that butt and your nice shaved pussy on show at all times.
We want to see it all on offer and you begging for a for a good fucking.” Her secret
admirer was still watching. ; ; ‘
Muttering dire threats behind her gag, Helen rolled over and after some wriggling
and foreshortening of her form, managed to achieve a format that left her rump
sticking up. The humming speaker clicked off and within minutes, despite her
unorthodox posture she was fast asleep, long before the orderly arrived to ungag
her, 
Seeing that she was out for the count, 144 decided not to disturb her and left her as
she was. Instead she merely treated herself to a secretive crotch rubbing as she
studied the hillock of Helen’s mandatory bottom display. Carefully she blocked
the slumbering form into position with pillows each side, and thrust a rolled one
under the raised hips. It was a kindness really. If Helen rolled over in her sleep she
would be awakened by the punishment device and ordered to reassume the position.
Unable to resist, 144 leaned forward and, nuzzling into the rump cleft with her
nose, she extended her tongue and gently caressed the smooth peaches of Helen’s
denuded mons. The sleeping woman moaned softly, and 144 smiled. She reached
for the oil and massaged a heavy dose into the offered bottom. Then reluctantly,
she obeyed instructions and eased an anal prod deep into the presented bottom,
pushing in until the ring on its end was flush with her taut opening. The slumbering
woman moaned softy as her subconscious rebelled at the invasion. 144 paused
until she settled back into deep sleep then connected the armsheath to the prod with
an adjuster and tightened up. Helen had no choice but to maintain her arched back,
bottom thrusting pose, even if she woke up. The sleeping woman groaned as the
effects of tensioning penetrated her deep sleep, but 144 just smiled and left Helen
to the dream she had just initiated with her sensuous slithering touch. Pausing at
the door she indulged in a little crotch rubbing of her own ‘V’ as the rump thrusting
spectacle of the superbly helpless Project 237 impinged on her lustful thoughts. It
was only just starting. The trauma suffered so far by that captive woman would
soon pale into insignificance as her training moved on.
Chapter 7 A TESTING TIMEHelen awoke early and was amazed to find that she had slept soundly regardless of
the encumbrance of her tight revealing costume. She wriggled to shift the bodyblocking pillows and rolled off the bed and rose stiffly. She found herself
subconsciously straining against the armsheath as a compromise to a normal morning
stretch, then noticed the dull ache of a well-filled and stretched butt hole. Fora
second or two she contemplated forcing the dildo out, but then decided that it might
be messy. Besides, it was probably fastened into place and impossible to remove.
Seeing the sunlight streaming through the windows she began to move over for a
look outside. Instantly she jerked stiffly erect as a bolt of energy passed through
her body. She cursed, glared around in search of the hidden camera and then minced 7
across the room with a swaggering gait. The door opened and 144 entered. Helen
noticed at once that her lips were unlaced, and was surprised to hear her speak.
“You must come with me 237. Doctor Zarkof wants you to perform a little task
before breakfast.” Helen shrugged, and followed as she led the way out, only realising
after they had passed along the first hallway that she had automatically adopted the
required tarty swagger. Zarkof’s training was already conditioning her.
144 led her to a large room in the east wing. Upon entering, Helen stopped dead in
her tracks as she came face to face with the spectacle of 102, still ensconced in the
punishment casque. 
“She’s due for release in an hour, and Doctor Zarkof has ordered that you service
her with your tongue whilst we prepare breakfast.” 144 looked her straight in the
eye and then indicated that she should get on with it. 
“Best you do as instructed 237, or you know what to expect.”
Helen remembered the ever vigilant cameras and the built-in punishment device
incorporated in her restraints. Her eyes went back to the massive swollen half
melon that was the abused pussy of the whimpering captive. The least she could do
was supply a little soothing to that horribly tormented mound. It wasn’t as if she
hadn’t done it before. The Queen Dyke at Fallworth had insisted that she learned
quickly. 144 reached up and wound the expando gag closed then retracted it and
hung it around her neck. Helen gratefully exercised her jaw, then moved over,
knelt behind the offered crotch and lowered her face towards the scarlet whip striped
bottom. Her tongue snaked out, and tentatively she dragged it down the tight swollen
cleft, relieved to hear a soft moan of appreciation instead of pain. 102 liked the
soothing touch. Reassured, she began lapping away at her task, occasionally
worming her wriggling tongue into a rapidly moistening love slot and working the
diabolically captivated woman into a writhing mass of responding arousal. 144
nodded her approval.
“You’re good at this sort of thing. Do me a favour. If I end up like her at some
time, make sure you get a chance to do the same for me will you?” Helen paused in
her work.
“Tf I can, it'll be a pleasure.” The insistent buttock flexing contractions in front of
her face demanded a return to work. Helen smiled as 144 turned to go, then dipped
her tongue back into the juice dripping cleft of 102.
102 was duly released, and Helen taken for ablutions and breakfast. Bathing was a
pleasure. Zarkof had decreed that the armsheath stayed on for the present and so
her luxurious foam bath was attended by 144, now with her lips re-laced, but still
capable of some very interesting techniques with a sponge. Helen lay back as the
busy woman massaged her body with soap suds, washed her hair, and finally towelled
her down with a soft fluffy bath towel. Life at Cairndhu House seemed a mite
better than Fallworth, so far. Breakfast arrived on a tray, and with 144 watching
silently, a ravenous Helen tucked into the excellent fair with gusto. The coffee was
fresh ground and piping hot. It was a far cry from the mush that passed for food at
the prison. 
Helen was feeling good for the first time in months. She sat quite contented as 144
groomed her hair and then applied make-up as she sat at the well equipped vanity
table. The style was hardly to her liking, but she refrained from mentioning it. 144
probably under instructions from Zarkof, so it was natural for her to be made up
cheap and tarty. Gaudy lipstick and an overkill of eyeliner and shadow were tools
of the promiscuous woman. Then it was time to go. The gag went back in, but
Helen was relieved of the armsheath and equipped with a full set of body fetters.
Wrists tucked into her waist and shackled, elbows clamped together behind her
back, she rose and followed her orderly, again falling straight into the required
walk, despite the fact that she had been stripped of that diabolical punishment device.
_Catcalls and ribald comments followed their progress, but she found she was getting
used to that. Besides, she was now confident in the knowledge that they could
touch but not sample the goods. It made her feel good to know that she was raising
a whole plethora of cocks and yet still be regarded as the untouchable, with the
exception of a grope and squeeze here and there. 
Her pussy still felt naked without its fur, but even that sensation was diminishing
now. In fact she only remembered when a jaw gaping male stood rooted to the spot
with his distended eyeballs fixed on her mincing crotch. For the first time since
arriving at Cairndhu, Helen found herself thinking that she might actually be able
to come to terms with her new role in life. That didn’t mean she would like it, but
it might just be bearable. She dismissed the musing of her mind. It was academic
_ what she felt. The die was cast and Helen Watermann was now sex object 237
whether she liked it or not. :
144 ushered her into a room occupied by several non-indentured staff, obviously
these were organisation members. They wasted no time in getting to work and led
her directly to a massive square frame set in the middle of the room. 
Her body shackles were removed, and new padded clamps affixed to ankles and
wrists. These were in turn connected to wire ropes dangling from all four corners
of the square. A winch whined somewhere in the background and Helen found
herself being pulled out into a perfect spread-eagle. The staff not concerned with
her initial preparation simply stood around chatting, as if the sight of a beautiful
naked woman being opened up for viewing was an everyday occurrence. The
whining continued, and more than a little concerned that no-one was paying attention,
Helen found herself being lifted clear of the floor and tensioned into a vibrant star
of stretched womanhood. Just short of her arms coming out of the sockets, the
winch stopped. 
It was as if the switching off of the winch triggered the waiting team into action.
They all moved forward together and in a well practised routine began to take
. measurements of every single millimeter of her body. The strange thing was that
they continued with everyday office chitchat in between calling out sizes to a
; clipboard wielding supervisor. Helen felt like a shop dummy hanging there. She
gasped into the gag as two relatively large phallic devices were inserted into the
vulnerable holes displayed by her wide spread crotch. With amazement she listened
as measurements were taken to determine the distances from hole to hole, ass to
waist, pussy to waist and so on. Such precise dimensions didn’t bode well for her
future and she wondered just what sort of equipment her ex-prison governor had
decreed would be her wardrobe.
Suddenly the pussy plundering insert began to expand; steadily inexorably she was
being stretched open as the thing increased its girth. Her gagged cry rose in a
proportional manner, as did her frantic straining against the unyielding wires holding
her stringently starred. 
“That’s about maximum,” advised a voice close by. Obviously the level of her
objections was used as a guide to determine the maximum size her relatively virgin
pussy could take before it tore her straight up the middle. Helen’s relief was short
lived as her butt hole underwent the same scream test. :
Aching with fatigue and groaning through the gag, Helen hung miserably as the
bustle of activity went on. Mouldings using special mould boxes had been taken
from her limbs torso, and head. She endured as her mouth was relieved of the gag,
only to have a mould bag stuffed in, and then have it pumped full of quick setting
flexible foam. 
These people were thorough. Apparently, even her oral cavity was to be fitted with
customised hardware. 
At lunchtime she was simply left as she was. The crew vanished, and their subject
left ready for resumption in the afternoon. 144 put in an appearance and after
removing the expando gag that had been replaced, she fed her with some welcome
snacks. Helen asked if she could ease the strain on the winch, but the girl
apologetically shook her head, and with an impish smirk, used the control to tighten
Helen up even more. She didn’t speak although the mouth was unlaced again. It
was more than she dare do to lower the tension whilst measuring and fitting was
underway. If things didn’t fit as a result, she would end up doing a double act with
102. With the feeding finished, 144 reinserted the gag and wound it tight. Her fear
of doing a double act with 102 resulted in her giving the gag an extra turn that even
the men had felt was over the top. Helen could do nothing as her mouth filled to
explosion point with the unyielding fully expanded pear gag.
“Perhaps now I can touch your precious little ass ring, 237, without you objecting.”
Helen clenched her bottom as best she could and grunted past the expando gag, but
was powerless to prevent the delicate fingering of her puckered rear orifice.
Quivering with effort she fought against the pull of the winch, but it was hopeless.
Again she protested as loudly she could, but 144 ignored the muffled admonishment
and played to her heart’s content. For a quarter of an hour, she traced around the
flinching ring, teasing, pressing so as to give the impression that penetration was
imminent, but never actually progressing to the point of insertion. 
Zarkof arrived shortly after she had finished her game, and if Helen had considered
144’s activities a liberty, it would be hard to find words to describe Zarkof’s actions.
His hands were everywhere at once, and Helen struggled ineffectually as she was
given an extensive all-over grope. After a while he paused and ordered the silently
watching 144 to her knees with her back to the spread-eagled woman. Helen looked
on with horror as he flipped out a massive erection. 144 knew what to do and took
the throbbing beast into her mouth. 237 couldn’t avoid the show, and watched
appalled as the hard working head bobbed away, suckling and swallowing on his
manhood. But Zarkof ignored her look of disgust and concentrated on the lustful
view of herself. Helen’s spread-eagled body was supplying the fuel for his
voyeuristic enjoyment.
“Tense your pussy 237. Let me see you trying to entice me to fuck you.” Mindful
that she would soon be back in her transparent punishment rig, Helen did her best
to pout her pussy, offering herself as best she could by arching forward in the tight
restraints. Zarkof leered lustfully as he exploded into the busy mouth working
diligently on his dick. It would seem that Helen’s resentful look whilst performing
a blatant offering of her body had fanned the fires of his arousal to an inferno.
144’s head bobbing ceased, but dutifully she remained still with his waning manhood
buried in her mouth. Zarkof glanced down as if only just realising that she was
there, and after a thoughtful look, he prodded her up and pointed to the starred 237.
“Get under her and service her until the team come back. And no slacking, I’ll be
watching on the monitor.” 
Without bothering to rise, 144 shuffled across on her knees and positioned herself
below the smooth shaven crotch. The height was perfect and with her head tilted
back she laid into the task with a zealous enthusiasm.
Helen bit back the instant swooning response orchestrated by the flickering tongue,
and glared back defiantly at the grinning Zarkof. He just smirked. Already the
body was betraying her as her skin flushed and the jutting nipples on her breasts
hardened and swelled with arousal. No matter how hard she tried, her lower body
conspired to react to the stimulation with uncontrollable muscle contractions. Zarkof
laughed and left them to it.
Forgetting that cameras were still observing her, Helen succumbed to the raging
heat in her crotch. She could feel her love lips drooling with the secretions of
desire and had no illusions that the luckless 144 was awash with her sticky
outpouring. She consoled herself with the thoughts that she too would soon be
suffering such tribulations and allowed her body to respond. 144 sensed that her
fettered target was near a climax, and reaching up through the spread legs, she
cupped both madly clenching buttock cheeks in her hands and drew the straining
237 tightly onto her busy mouth. The sensuously trained mouth closed on Helen’s
clitoris and began sucking it like a kiddie’s lollipop, occasionally diverting to jam a
reaching tongue deep into the leaking love cleft.
Helen bucked and writhed in her bonds as the effects of a massive orgasm racked
her form with cataclysmic shudders, but the tongue continued its work. From one
orgasm to the next 144 maintained the punishing tongue lashing, in mortal fear of
what failure might entail.
Helen was still erupting when the team returned, and almost screaming with
frustration she felt 144 instantly cease her task and leave her halfway into her next
muscle-tearing convulsion. Sobbing uncontrollably, 237 hung tear faced as the
team resumed without giving her a second look.
The evening arrived, and with it 144 and a very sorry looking 102. Her punishment
had resulted in a pussy so sore that she was walking bow legged. They busied
themselves fitting the original transparent rig back on the hanging 237, then lowered
her down and slipped the armsheath back into place.
As she stood, body tensing against the pulling of tightening laces, Helen took the
ungagged opportunity to speak to her orderlies. A remark by the team earlier had
appraised her of the fact that the fitting room security camera was temporarily out
of commission. At least for the moment they were safe to have a few words without
fear of punishment.
“I’m so sorry for that beating you took 102, I hope you don’t blame me. I didn’t
know.”
The girl shook her head, unable to answer with her lips tightly laced. 144 spoke for
her.
“No she doesn’t blame you, and by the way, what I did for you this afternoon was
in repayment for you giving her some pleasure earlier. We’ve become very close,
102 and I. We look after each other whenever we can, so I appreciated you doing
what you could to help whilst I was unable.” 
“But I was ordered to do it,” Helen remarked. 144 nodded in understanding. :
“TI know, but there is a lot of difference between the service rendered to order, and
one freely given as a gift. I suspect you found that out this afternoon when you half
drowned me.” 
Helen grinned as she remembered the event with a warm sensation in her crotch.
“Hmmm! I thought you were going a bit over the top for a regulation job.” They
locked eyes in mutual understanding. 
“Glad to be of service. Unfortunately you’re on your own next week once you go
in for conditioning; and God help you.” She left it at that and offered up the expando
‘gag.
“Time to gag you up and get you back to the suite. I’ll be laced up again by then so
‘we won’t be able to talk again for a while. Now remember, when we leave this
room we are back on camera, so ignore anything I do. I have my orders to keep you
working on perfecting the walk.” Helen nodded, hoping that 144 didn’t take her
job too seriously. 144 gave her a last check over, easing the armsheath laces a little
tighter, and giving the expando gag another half turn just for good measure. She
‘seemed satisfied and gave 237 a pat on the rump as a signal to get moving.
‘Mincing her way out, Helen jumped as a riding crop nipped painfully at her bum
and turned angry eyes at her orderlies. But 144, despite the insistence that she pep
up her butt rolling, gave away her real feelings with mirth showing in her eyes. She
was playing to the cameras. 237 went along with it and complied.
“Come on 237, you look like a back-street whore on an LSD trip.” 144 pulled her
to a halt and yanked the basque laces in until Helen thought her sides would surely
meet in the middle. She could hardly breathe and knew without sighting in a mirror
that her rump must be extruded into a pair of half footballs. The crop sliced across
the quivering taut lobe of her left buttock. 
“Get going tart. Now let’s see what you can do. These men have no idea how to
lace a woman up properly.” 237 moved off with 144 close behind, the crop adding
forceful persuasion to the regular deportment adjustments as 144 added instructions.
“That’s it, now swing those hips from side to side. Clench your ass a bit and let’s
see it mincing.” Helen felt the whip thrust longitudinally into her bottom cleft.
“Now grip that and carry on. If you drop it I’ll give you ten strokes.” Helen clenched
her ass tight and carried on, surprised that the addition of something to hold helped
in her mastery of this evocative walk. She could imagine what it looked like to see
her tight extruded bottom in motion and had no doubt that the muscle clenching
would add even more profile to its curvature. 
“A bit more side to side swing, and more rolling hip gyration: Perfect! Now maintain
that at all times.” They entered a quite section of corridor and 144 sidled up alongside
and spoke from the corner of her mouth. oe
“Wow! 237! You’ve really got me on the boil. I bet that lot in the control room are
wanking themselves stupid. With that make-up job and your new walk you look
terrific. I think I’ll lipstick your nipples tomorrow as well.” Helen cast an
admonishing look at 144, but the woman just grinned. “ But after we’ve got you all
trussed up I think. I’m going back behind again now, I don’t want to let 102 see all
the action.” She vanished from sight and for some inexplicable reason, Helen
suddenly felt very self-conscious with the thought that two women were watching
her performing ass. The crop was removed from her bottom clamp and nipped at
- herona regular basis before it was returned to her care, and Helen couldn’t help
feeling that 144 was enjoying herself.
Chapter 8 FITTING ROOMS AND THE GYMNASIUM
True to her promise 144 lipsticked Helen’s nipples, and even managed to gain
another inch of waist reduction on the basque. But seemingly, it was the last time
she would wear this one. After the previous day’s traumatic measuring, she was
advised that today was fitting day for her own personal version. The mould shop
had worked overnight by all accounts. 
Overall it looked the same once they had fitted it, although this moulded version
took into account her rib cage structure and various other parameters that allowed
her waist to be reduced still further. Despite the awesome compression it felt more
comfortable than the off-the-peg induction basque. Other innovations were the
fact that both collar and helmet were moulded at the same time so that her whole
upper body was enclosed in a single form-fitting see through unit. The boots had
also gained an inch in heel size, but an experimental stroll around the fitting room
surprised Helen in that her required deportment came more easily. The next
moulding was less well received, and a half-hour later, 237 found herself testing
her own personally crafted punishment casque. Her legs were twin columns of fire
as her relatively unstretched sinews struggled to cope with a full sideways splits,
and as she had surmised when sighting the unfortunate 102, there was absolutely
no movement possible once the casque closed around her. Even her mightiest
effort failed to produce even the smallest degree of movement.
Fearfully she contemplated the vulnerability of her crotch and bottom region as the
team fussed around behind her. The head-down mode made it all the worse.
Inverted, and with her most sensitive parts thrusting upward, Helen felt the full
impact of complete helplessness as two inserts were shoved in to check orifice
division measurements with her legs at full sideways stretch.
“Hmm! The side stress has reduced her separation by an inch to my reckoning.
Make sure you correct that on the B2 design, and also the A6 device. They’ll
probably produce the same effect.” Fuming inwardly as the team discussed her like
a chunk of machinery, she was relieved to hear someone actually make a personal
_ remark that classified her as human.
“She’s got a superb pussy this one. Look at that. Even at full stretch this thing is
resilient and pretty tight.” The intruding measuring probe was worked in and out
several times. Fingers squeezed and poked at her fleshy mons, and one even tweaked
her jutting clit. Then someone noticed that their attentions were having an effect.
“Oops! We’d better stop that she’s getting rather moist.”
Unable to make the slightest sound with her massively plugged mouth, Helen tried
to pass on the message that they were welcome to continue. As long as she was in
this extremely testing position, Helen felt she might as well attempt to glean some
enjoyment from the experience. She tensed her pussy and managed to cause the
probe to move through a slight arc and then tried some bottom clenching against
the pole jutting from her ass.
“Now look what you’ve done Malcolm, the bitch is on heat and asking for more.
Leave her alone a while and let her cool off. In fact, let’s take a quick coffee
break.”
Furiously, Helen used the only morsel of her body capable of any movement. The
two deeply implanted measuring probes waggled and beckoned as she urged her
crotch and bottom muscles to respond. But to no avail. The team just sat down and
watched, discussing her monstrously effective constraints with typically detached
appraisal.
“Nice stuff that Acrylic Ultra 2. Look at her go. It really shows off all the slithering
movement as if she was nude, and yet she can’t even twitch. Look! See how her
tits are all moulded and pulsing as she breathes, and there go her toes. If you watch
carefully you can just about see a movement inside the acrylic. If it wasn’t for her
ass and pussy twitching you’d never know it was a live woman in there would you?
I’m glad we downsized the original size estimates. The squeezing really looks
good and it enhances the bulging effect in her butt and pussy.”
Someone agreed, and Helen found herself getting hotter and hotter as every intimate
detail of her encapsulated form was discussed at length. She fought the containment
with maniacal strength, but Ultra 2 was up to the task of holding her exactly as she
was. There was no escape. 237 would remain as a contorted completely controlled
sex object until someone out there released her. '
A buzzing vibration travelled through the tough acrylic, and Helen found herself
being re-aligned as someone had the test rig swing her around. After much discussion
about the best view, 237 ended up head to the floor, torso vertically upward, and
her legs horizontal to the floor. That seemed to please everyone. As she was
slowly pirouetted on her head, the team was able to discuss all her neatly arranged
acrylic moulded profiles at great length.
Helen just got hotter and hotter as the incredible humiliation of her impossible
plight was remorselessly pressed home. Her boiling pussy was leaking streamers.
of love juice that were running down and streaking the acrylic to the amusement of
her tormentors. 
“We'd best cool the bitch down.” Helen felt her form lifted, the teasing inserts.
removed, and then was deposited on a floor mounted rod that located in a socket on
her head encapsulation. There was a rustle of paper, and in no time at large sheets.
of brown wrapping paper were being wrapped around her outer casing. Cellotape
dispensers were squeaking all around and steadily her entire encapsulated form —
was wrapped and banded. 
“That should cool her off with nothing to see.” 
Like a huge parcelled letter ‘T’ 237 was left silent and incapable of any form of
movement or means of communication with the outside world. The voices faded,
and in a fit of total despair, Helen realised that she was alone in the room. For two
hours the neatly packaged woman waited, a silent and completely immobilised
ready wrapped gift package for some lucky male. It was with some relief she heard
them return. The experience served admirably to give her a salutary lesson in total
control. Had she seen the stamps and scrawled address that some joker had added
to the packaging she would have been even more aware of her complete conversion
to a parcelled object of pleasure. She wasn’t to know that it was far from a joke, as
she would one day find out. ; mh
The day dragged on a she was tested with various mouldings, some that defied
fathoming, and were probably part of a more complex device. Others like the new
sleeping couch she would start to use that night, were easy to work out. However,
it would seem her walking trainer rig and the couch were all that she would use
until emerging from Doctor Zarkof’s lair. The rest of the moulds and all her new
clothing were reserved for the sole use of her new master as soon as he took
possession of the remodelled 237. Until that time 237 simply had to live with her
ideas of what these things could do to her until the time came to find out the truth.
Fitting was finalised the next day. Now it was the turn of Miss Bulstrode and her
physical fitness program. Exercise had always been on Helen’s itinerary in the
past, so in a way she was looking forward to that. Given the night she had just
spent on her new bed, it would be a welcome relief to be allowed to get the kinks
out of her body. 
The bed had turned out to be a diabolically uncomfortable padded bench affair that
hardly fitted into any ideas Slumberland may have had on orthopaedic posture
control. It was the work of a genius in the art of presenting a woman for use at all
times, but bore no resemblance to any comfortable sleeping arrangement Helen
had ever seen. 
Strapped face down in her walking rig, Helen discovered that her butt was raised
high by the elevated centre section, and tightly compressing straps over her upper
thighs and waists ensured that her back was arched and hips flaring in a most
provocative manner. The thigh straps, unlike all the others that simply passed
straight over her body, disappeared between her thighs and met at a central anchor
point. Once tightened, they had a dual effect of pulling her down, and at the same
time crushing her thighs outward, thus opening her crotch cleft for viewing; and
any other pastime that came to mind. Her new owner had deliberately requested
the legs together format as opposed to a more normal spread wide type. Bill like to
feel the woman tight and resisting as he drove into her, and this configuration ensured
that Helen would provide the correct feeling, whilst the strap gaping thighs ensured
that she wouldn’t be able to actual prevent entry. Besides, a woman’s buttocks
formed more of a rounded sumptuous cushion when thrust upwards as a closely
mated partnership. 
But obviously the males of modern times were getting lazy. A pussy that was
perfectly presented but still dry was out of the question. 20th century man wanted
everything ready to go without all the hassle of daubing her with lubricants. 
Holes in the bench beneath her tits supplied the remedy. Once she was securely
strapped down and her basque extruded boobs projecting through the apertures,
Helen felt the soft caress of something like rabbit fur on her nipples. That was bad
enough. But when a small motor hummed quietly into life and began brushing her
throbbing turrets, she quickly found that her dry pussy became well oiled.
That was how she had spent the night. Half aroused, tormented by ceaseless wet
dreams that never actually got to climax, and strapped solidly down in a pose that
had only one purpose, other than to administer a sound spanking. The strapping
prevented any movement at all, and despite her best efforts to work against the
crotch spreading thigh straps, Helen failed to reach a conclusion in the throbbing
needs that the busy rabbit fur pads generated. 
Bill Nealy had decreed that she should be ready for action any time of day or night,
and that meant a woman slick with juice and craving sexual release. Once he was
in residence, she would always be there, waiting, ready and lubed, should he awaken
with a stiffy that needed deflating. Best of all she would be only too eager to let
him plunge into her body. In the meantime, she was even denied that small 
consolation. Until training was over, that was all she would be, a ready oiled panting
pussy with no one to service her. Still it gave the night staff something to look at on
their security cameras. The only real drawback was the hourly testing to see if she
had achieved any freedom. A two-second jolt with her built in punishment electrodes
proved her restraints were adequate and at best only produced a delightful quivering
convulsion in the visible bottom. 
One other thing that worried her but remained an unresolved puzzle, was the box.
like cabinet below the bench. 102 had deemed to inform her it was a tool box that
went with the bed. She had declined to offer a description of the tools, but merely
smirked and added that all would be revealed in good time. Helen was hardly
reassured by the sly wink she gave 144. 
With 237 strutting her provocative, and by now well rehearsed rump rolling walk,
the orderlies indulged their licentious thoughts as they drove her onward toward
the gymnasium. 
Helen had come to accept 144’s crop slicing goads as part of the training she was
required to enforce, unaware that Zarkof was already completely happy with her
performance without striving for more. Both 102 and 144 were having a field day
at her expense, and given the generally boring routine of their existence, forcing a.
helpless trainee to exhibit herself like this was a welcome relaxation that gave them
both nice warm vibes in their crotches. They both knew that the time would come
when 237 was left in their care, fully trained and often at their mercy due to be left
secured in one form or another. It was therefore exciting to watch the superb bottom
that would one day be theirs to use as they wished. But first they had to get this
woman through training, and if that meant helping a bit, it would all be to their
advantage in the end. 237 minced onwards, completely unaware of the lustful
contemplation being generated by her gyrating ass. She was also in not cognizant
of the fact that her minders had gone way beyond any parameters of torso shaping
required by Zarkof. 104, unbeknown to the technicians producing her acrylic basque,
had altered the measurements to a size three inches less than that deemed possible
by men. Both women were very pleased with the result. 237’s hips and butt were
and explosion of female curves below a wasp waist that was almost surreal. Helen
simply accepted it as yet another Zarkof overkill that she would one day become
accustomed to.
They reached the gym after some five minutes of walking through the sprawling
expanse of Cairndhu House, and with the usual pat on the ass, 237 was ushered in
and left to the mercy of new tormentor. She eyed the approaching Bulstrode with
some trepidation. An ox of a woman with a no nonsense glare that boded ill for the
future. 
She came to a halt before her newest unwilling recruit, and after eyeing Helen up
and down, pulled her over to the treadmill. 
“A little warm up first I think, get those thighs in tone and get your circulation
going.”
Stiffly controlled by her new personal walker training rig, 237 had no choice but to
mount the flat rolling road as instructed. Bulstrode quickly dropped a bar down
that extended from the front of the device and snapped a waist-cinching clamp
around the basque. There were no other connections. They would have been _
superfluous anyway. With sidewalls on both sides, Helen had no chance of stepping
off.
The belt wound up and she found herself walking fast to keep herself from stumbling,
and a sharp slap across her buttocks reminded her that the ass-rolling walk was to
be maintained even in the gym. At first it was difficult to get her rump moving with
such alacrity, but finally she got the measure if it. Bulstrode nodded with approval.
“Right ten minutes at that to warm you up and then we’ll get you up to a run.” She
turned on heel and headed back to the office leaving 237 to her own devices. Helen
thought about the predicament of being forcibly walked and then decided that it
would do her no harm. Given what she had to face in the future, exercise would be
a welcome relief from the enforced immobility of restraints.
Bulstrode returned just as Helen was getting a nice sweat on, and after a quick
appraisal of the striding woman, she wound the belt up. Helen found herself at a
. pretty fast run before she really knew what was happening, and with the added
handicap of high heels and a crushed waist, decided that perhaps she had been a bit
hasty in her acceptance of the exercise. 
She was kept at it for another five minutes, and as she struggled to cope, Bulstrode’s
_ face took on a deeper hue as she flushed with arousal. Helen’s heart sank. Another
sex mad bondage freak that would be sure to extract maximum pleasure from her
trauma with little thought to the cost to her. | 7
The treadmill as it turned out was a minor event. Bulstrode had watched her rump
rolling activities on security video and was searching for new and more interesting
pursuits for this shapely female. A workout weight contraption seemed to provide
what she was looking for. 
The orderlies were called back in and Bulstrode had 237 stripped of her transparent
acrylic rig. Whilst they were doing it, she disappeared to select a sweat suit for the
event, returning with a thick neoprene garment that sported a single leg sheath,
open butt, and attached mittened sleeves designed to hold her arms tightly to her
side. Loops arranged around the body of the thing promised additional external
strapping to ensure her continued enclosure. 
It took Bulstrode and both orderlies another half-hour to get her into the thing, and
Bulstrode contemptuously rejected 102’s suggestion that she had chosen a size or
two too small. Finally after much stretching and packing, 237 was squeezed into :
the crushing confines of the suit and the laces drawn tight. They were already taut
with the cocoon suit still gaping two inches at the rear, but Bulstrode insisted that :
the gap should be closed. The straps were added and teetering on the single heel of
a double foot stiletto, Helen wheezed and gasped as the two orderlies strained at
the laces and reduced her down to a taut rigid parcel of rubber contained female.
The straps took a while longer as Bulstrode demanded that they be seen to be tight.
The tension required to produce indented proof of tightness in an already compressed
female form took some doing; but finally they managed it. :
Bulstrode walked around the column of rubberised woman inspecting everything
minutely, and reaching up, added three more notches to the strap over Helen’s
mouth. 237 looked as if her bisected cheeks were about to explode over the tight leather band.
The mewing protest was scornfully brushed aside.
“Quiet women, this is nothing compared to some of the outfits you will be wearing
after training.” She pointed to the upper thigh and waist straps. “Three more notches
at least on those 144.” Ten more minutes and the two sweating orderlies finally
managed to achieve what was demanded. :
“Excellent! First class!” Helen felt Bulstrode testing the resilient extrusion of her
naked backside, and judging by the way the exploring hand slid around the
sumptuously sculpted curves, she could visualise a projection that so far had been a
unattainable. 7 = 7
“Right! Get her on to the apparatus and we’ll get her working.” The orderlies
picked up the stiff compressed package and carried her horizontally to the bench of
the workout gadget. She was placed face down with the end of the bench at her
waist and mated legs jutting out between the two shining vertical weight sliders.
Flexible steel bands descended over her upper torso, and Helen groaned as they
were tightened down, compressing her crushed boobs and welding her to the bench.
_ There was some fiddling going on down by her legs, and then a sliding sensation
that travelled from ankles to thighs, first at front, then the sides, and finally up the
back of both legs as far as the opening at her bottom. With some surprise she
realised that her legs had become stiff rigid columns as a result of steel rods that
had been inserted into guide pockets in the rubber enclosure. There was more
fiddling, the clank of weights, and Bulstrode instructing 50 pounds to be loaded.
“That should be enough for the first day. Now connect her up and we’ll get started.”
Helen felt a steel clamp going around her ankles and grimaced as it was ratcheted
tight. The orderlies stepped back and she could see Bulstrode’s feet as she checked
over the gear.
“Right 237, lift your legs.”
Helen strained to move her mated legs upward but only managed a few inches _
before the weights dragged them back down with a crash bending her at the waist
and pulling her legs down to 45 degrees. :
“Seems we need a little inducement here. Listen carefully 237. I’m going to switch
on the machine here. You have 10 seconds to lift your legs to 10 degrees above
horizontal and trip a limit switch or else suffer the consequences. Once you get
there you hold it for ten seconds and then lower. Any infringement of timing rules
earns you punishment. Got that? Ten second to get up, ten seconds hold, and then
down. Oh! One other thing, down slowly. Drop the weights and you trigger the
punishment if the impact is too great. I’m switching on now.”
There was a click. 
Helen strained with all her might and finally got the weights moving. She had
already sampled ‘the consequences’ of her walking rig, and had no illusions about
Bulstrode’s being any less painful. 
Buttocks quivering, back arching against the steel retainer bands, Helen managed
to hit the top limit, she gritted her teeth and held on, but eight seconds later succumbed
to gravity and let the load drop. 
Instantly, her exposed bottom exploded with a fiery burn as two canes whistled
down and impacted on quivering nates. At the same time her breasts sizzled with
searing agony as metal strips inside the bust of the sweat suit fed high frequency,
low amperage current through her encapsulated tits. She screamed against the
gagging strap and forced her body to respond as she powered the weights up again.
This time she held it, and then lowered. The bite of retribution was withheld and
Bulstrode commended her. 
“Well done 237, keep it up.” She waved the orderlies away.
“You can go now. I’ll call you if I need you.”
Bulstrode watched them leave and then turned back to 237 who was by now getting
into a muscle burning rhythm. Alone with the spectacle of Helen’s muscle cracking
rump exertion, she slipped her hand down inside her tracksuit and began to play
with her leaking mons. It was so enjoyable to see such a superb specimen of
womanhood crushed into inescapable confinement and then animated to provide
such exotic contortions. She quickened the probing fingers in her crotch and reached
out to a timer with her other hand.
“I’m speeding you up 237. I think we'll go to 5 seconds.” 7 “
Helen keened loudly through the gag strap but mentally readjusted her timing to
comply with the new demand. Bulstrode groaned and spasmed as the flexing
backside attained new heights of muscle tensing exertion. Like a sleek black seal,
237 was flexing and straining most delightfully. Meanwhile, Bulstrode just watched
and treated herself to another two orgasms before addressing the straining prisoner
again.
“Tea time 237. I’ll be back in half an hour to see how you are doing.” The begging
sounds rose to an all time high. ;
“NNNNNrrrr! MMMMMMrrrr! EEEEEEsssss! NNNrr!” But the superbly
contained female form continued to perform without faltering despite Helen’s
desperate pleas for mercy. Despite colossal efforts to escape the merciless cinching
constraints, Helen finally had to accept that she must perform or suffer.
“Don’t be a big baby 237. It’Il do that lovely bum a world of good to get some real
muscle into it.” 
Helen cried and begged through the gag, but to no avail. The feet turned and
vanished from her limited view. She could hear the footsteps receding across the
huge gym as she strained and flexed, and then to her utter despair heard the squeak
of a door as she was left on her own and at the mercy of an unfeeling, uncaring
machine. For a second the crushing realisation caused her to loose concentration
and she paid the price as pain lanced through her straining body. She recovered
and managed to get her rhythm back, almost forgetting that it was a five second
setting not ten. 7
Jerking and flexing like a demonic ductile black sausage, Helen struggled to maintain
her task. Above and out of her sight Bulstrode leaned back in her chair, feet on 
desk as she sipped her tea. The elevated gymnasium office gave her a perfect view
of the events below, and putting down the cup she began massaging her clitoris as
the superbly working bottom performed below. The fact that 237 was alone with
her diabolical plight added spice to the scene. _ ae
Sweating profusely, crushed by the overwhelming elasticity of the suit, and banded
to excruciating levels of constraint, Helen battled on. She was oblivious to the fact
that her exercises were all going to be carefully orchestrated to give her tormentor
maximum lustful enjoyment from the sight of her bound and helpless form. Zarkof
had given Bulstrode a free hand, despite the fact that he was well aware of her
leanings towards the sadistic domination of other women. It was a carefully
considered move that he hoped would help to prepare 237 for the immensely difficult
task he had been commissioned to train her for. He had already received a prospectus
from Bulstrode and approved of every exercise she recommended, much to the
surprise of Bulstrode. She had fully expected most if not all of her proposals to be
either turned down flat or modified. But Zarkof figured 237 was going to need all
the help she could get in the way of preparation. 
102 and 144 were allowed to return after their tasks were done. Bulstrode had
exhausted her own immediate sexual demands and didn’t mind them watching the
tormented woman in action. 
Standing directly behind the rubberised form they were able to fully enjoy the
magnificent view of 237’s enforced erotic display. They were powerless to
intervene, so they felt they might as well enjoy the spectacle. Bulstrode spotted —
them indulging in their own crotch rubbing and chose to ignore it. She could hardly
blame them for succumbing to the magnificent sights and sounds of a beautiful
bound woman placed under such fiendishly contrived duress.
Bulstrode called the orderlies over, and producing a special pressure sensor, she
fitted the device between Helen’s madly clenching buttocks. It was positioned by
a thin probe that slid into her secretive anal orifice and pressure pads that nestled
between the pulsing walls of Helen’s traumatised buttocks. The dial gauge facing
outwards leapt to an indicated 6 pounds as 237 involuntarily squeezed it with her
next uplift. Bulstrode turned on the watching orderlies.
“Make yourselves useful. Keep adding weights, 5 pounds at a time, fifteen minutes
in between each addition. When the gauge reaches 16 pounds pressure we’ ll keep
her at it for half an hour, but come and call me. Got it?”
Both of the girls nodded and watched as Bulstrode ignored the explosive pleas for
mercy as 237 overheard the extent of her torment, as she turned up the electro
shock and cane impact strength with an almost gleeful intent.
“NNNNNNNNNNNRRRRRRRRRRRR!_EEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSS!
MMMMMRRRR!” 
Helen’s face grew scarlet as she ineffectually pleaded and begged, then the clank
and jerk of another weight pushed her frenzied pleas even higher. The pressure
gauge notched up to 8 pounds and stabilised at that. 144 stole a glance at the
retreating Bulstrode figure and then treated herself to a feel of the rapturously —
powerful sensation of a captive bottom that was pulsing and lifting 55 pounds every
5 seconds. 
It took one hour fifteen minutes, and an all-up weight of 75 pounds for the gauge to
top 16 pounds, and to be honest, both orderlies had enjoyed the task of adding
weights and watching the curving rump achieve even more staggering profile with
each addition. Moving to the front they had apologised for what they had to do, but
immediately nipped back to the rear and grinned as they stacked more weights onto
Helen’s fettered ankles. 
Bulstrode popped back in to watch progress at 60 pounds, and after cinching the
gag strap even tighter to keep noise levels down, she attached a chain to the top of
the helmeted head and drew Helen’s head back to a neck breaking angle. Instead
of being face down to the bench, 237 found herself staring straight ahead.
“That’s better. Now we can see you enjoying yourself.” 
What she really meant was that she could get a better view of Helen’s suffering.
For some reason the vision of those powerfully cinched cheeks and her wildly :
pleading eyes painted a lurid picture of completely controlled and helpless torment
that was hard to match. 
A clank heralded the load stepping up to 65 pounds and Bulstrode almost creamed
her knickers as the sounds of pleading became one continuous wail.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMnnmnmmnmmnmmnmnanmmm!
MMMMMMMMMMMMrrrrrrrrr!
Added to the constant chink of moving weights and creaking overstressed banding
straps, 237’s exercise all added up to an excellent spectator sport. Bulstrode dallied
a while, and savoured the shiny glittering animation of the rubber sheath. It fed her
lust to imagine the trauma of a powerfully contained woman as the motive force.
Somehow there was nothing quite so satisfying as to see rubber in motion whilst
wrapped around such an exquisitely shaped suffering form, and Helen’s task mistress
enjoyed herself by stroking and squeezing every straining inch of her sleek rippling
form. Occasionally she would find a hold down strap or suit binder that was a
fraction loose and ruthlessly tightened them up.
Bulstrode completely lost control as the flexing black cocoon suddenly faltered,
then stiffened and convulsed as canes lashed down and electrons surged through
the concealed tits. 
Gasping and almost staggering with loss of leg control, Bulstrode steadied herself
against the apparatus as her orgasm ran amok. 237’s eyes were bugging out, her
body quivering with electrically induced muscle paralysis, and her cheeks expanding
as she made a desperate attempt to escape the torment. But the containment held
her with ease. The current switched off and Helen instantly urged her form back to
a steady bottom straining cycle. The pressure gauge was reading 12 pounds. She
was doing well.
Bulstrode returned when she was informed that 237 had reached and maintained 16
pounds. After confirming that for herself by watching the horrendously clamping
bottom muscles over the specified half-hour, she sent the orderlies away. -
“Okay! You’ve had your fun, you can go. I’ll wind her down.” Both orderlies
showed a flash of disbelief, but they obeyed anyway. .
As soon as they were gone Bulstrode turned back to the massively straining 237
and bridging her cinched down torso, she sat straddle legged across the convulsively
active woman, instantly feeling the blowtorch heat of lust in her crotch as the titanic
writhing struggles massaged her superheated pussy. Reaching out she placed both |
hands on the humping buttocks. It was a dream come true. Since the day this
superb specimen had arrived she had fantasised over the images of her rump on the
monitor screens. Now they were hers to work and feel as she saw fit. For another
fifteen minutes Bulstrode just sat and absorbed the pulsing glory of those magnificent
straining ass cheeks through her finger tips, then reluctantly rose as she sensed that
237 was finally reaching breaking point
| “Right 237! One last supreme effort and then you’re finished. I’m turning the _
punishment to full just to give you incentive, then we are upping the weights 20
pounds in one go for a short burst.” 
Helen screamed and begged against the gag as Bulstrode ratcheted her down tighter
for good measure. She could do nothing as the controls were increased. An
incredible 20 lbs more thumped onto her ankle connection.
MMMMMMMMRRRRRRRR! NNNNNNNNNNRRRRRR! NNNNNNNNRRR!
The restraining straps groaned with overload as Helen thrashed and fought to escape
the torment. Every fettered inch of her rubber-sheathed form was alive with
- Herculean efforts to escape even as she worked at maintaining the rhythm of her
5 task. The buttocks leapt into massive profile as she struggled to avoid the crippling
punishment of failure, and the bottom gauge flicked to an incredible 26 pounds
buttock gripping pressure as a result. But Bulstrode hardly noticed. Having
unshipped her ponderous tits from the tracksuit, she bent forward and whipped the
gauge away before lowering her turgid nipples into the clenching vice of Helen’s
pumping bottom cleft. Her hand reached out to the timer control.
“Timing going down to 3 seconds 237.” 
“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNRRRRRRR! MMMMMMMMMRRRRRR!
The apparatus began to shake and vibrate, but Helen’s muffled screams for mercy
fell on deaf ears as she was powered up to a demoniac level of activity. Bulstrode’s
rubber sheathed toy was bucking and flexing beautifully, and all notion of the effects
: on the human content were swept aside as her blood pounding boobs were
pummelled and pounded by vibrating frantically working buttock lobes. It was
sheer heaven to hold such power over this superb woman. Turning her glazed eyes
forwards, Bulstrode saw the black ovoid of Helen’s head, the upper section almost
a separate entity bursting upwards from the cruelly cinched confines of her broad
gag strap. The head was moving slightly despite the massive constraints and arched
neck, and without thinking of the effect, Bulstrode gripped the chain holding 237’s
head upward and pulled it back until the movement was completely eradicated. It
was perfect. Now 237 couldn’t move anything other than magnificent fleshy pulsing
hemispheres that were working hard on her demanding tits. She could feel the
woman straining at her head leash, but the tormented captive was powerless do
anything other than fulfil the task Bulstrode had set for her.
Fortunately she was so close to climax, 237 had only completed thirty Herculean
lifts before the gasping Bulstrode exploded with volcanic ferocity. Helen could
feel her forcing the monstrous orbs into her flexing bottom crevice but could nothing
as she was utilised like an unfeeling massage machine. Powerless to doing anything ;
other than perform, she strained mightily and felt her buttocks crushing and mashing
the boobs like soft putty. But her strength was failing rapidly. »
Drained and incapable of any further effort, she dropped the weights a final time.
Bulstrode heard the crash and moving at great speed, dragged her bulk out of the
path of the descending canes. Unfortunately, still breathless from her explosive
climax, she was a little slower in reaching the off switch, and 237 had already :
endured fourteen cane strokes and an equal number of searing energy bolts before
the punishment was removed. The sight of Helen’s punishment triggered another -
massive orgasm in Bulstrode as she watched the quivering electrically stiffened
form absorbing the bite of the canes. Contracted into humped tremulous muscle
tension, the recently exercised bottom was a delicious sight as it twitched and
convulsed under the onslaught. For a second Bulstrode stayed her hand on the
switch, then relented and watched as the quivering form collapsed into her bonds.
Bulstrode moved back to a very grateful gasping prisoner and patted her
affectionately on the bare rump.
“Terrific effort 237! Magnificent! I really enjoyed that.”
Helen was too far gone to appreciate her compliments, although the following
comment that she would find something even better for the next day stirred some
unpleasant thoughts in her exhausted form. But Bulstrode was in a teasing mode,
and leaning down she stroked the bulging cheeks with her finger, taunting her captive
maliciously
“I think we’ll give you five minutes rest and then get you working again shall we?
Like that would you?”
237 keened through the gag and cast beseeching eyes at her tormentor’s fingers;
they were toying with the controller switch. Desperately she watched as the switch
toggle moved halfway, moved back, then went a bit further with each tease. She
knew that Bulstrode was in a position to do anything she wanted. It was obvious ;
she wanted to throw the switch and reanimate her bound girl toy, but seemed
undecided about the long-term effects. The relief was indescribable when Bulstrode
finally let go the switch and began to disengage the hold down clamps. Once they
were all off she called for the orderlies. ; ;
“Leave her in the suit for the rest of the day, and overnight. Just strap her down
over the sleep bench and let her sweat a few pounds off.” ;
237 mewed weakly, but offered no resistance as she was born away like a black
Egyptian mummy. 
Chapter 9 EXIT BULSTRODE – Enter the Duo
Helen spent a restless and uncomfortable twenty hours, sweating profusely inside
the sheath, and terrified by the prospect of another day in the gym. Morning, when
it finally came, brought a gloriously welcome release as the orderlies arrived to
remove her from the sleeping bench. But they seemed in no rush and treated
themselves to a finger reaming session in her offered pussy. They proved to be
experts, and soon had her humping against the securing bands, frustrated to the
point of madness and dripping with copious secretions of love juice. Then, they
left her hanging on the precipice of orgasmic relief. 
“Better get used to being used like this 237, because your new owner will be using
you for his pleasure whenever and wherever he pleases, and he won’t care whether
you made it to orgasm or not, so long as he did.” 
The rubber sheath and its attendant leather strapping took a while to strip off, but
finally an exhausted Helen lay naked on the floor. They carried her to a hot tub,
_and as she languished in the soothing waters tended by her helpers, the spectre of
Bulstrode returned to haunt her. She turned to the girls and saw that for a change
their lips were unlaced. . 
“My God! What will that bitch do to me today?” 102 looked at her partner and
shrugged. 
“Not a lot I should think. She had an accident last night.” Helen sat bolt upright in
the tub and then groaned as her sore muscles taught her to take care.
“An accident? What sort of accident?” 
fleeting instant during the meal she toyed with the idea of making a break for it
whilst still free, but the spectre of a few days in that horrendously traumatic Tee
shaped punishment casque quickly quelled that notion. Somehow she had the distinct
feeling that the day would be testing, but might even be enjoyable, in a funny sort
of strenuous way. How wrong she was.
By 9 a.m., Helen had ceased to exist and in her place was a tightly bound and
gagged Project 237. As had become standard, the converted sex toy was tarted up
with gaudy lipstick, rouged cheeks, overkill eye shadow. The leashed apparition
was wearing a new rig as she swaggered her way towards the gym. Helen knew
that several rigs had been produced from her original fitting sessions, so it came as
no surprise. Ata glance it just looked like the original she had been fitted for, albeit
a different colour. This preformed plastic moulded body shaper was black, as was
the under-suit of ultra tight latex that was custom made and for all intents and
purposes a second
The new stiff pre-formed torso section continued down to a point some two inches
below the top of her thigh-buttock line. A cutout at the rear ensured that her
curvaceous rump was still exposed. The fact that her butt was latex sheathed offered
little protection and certainly no increased modesty. Strangely, tight latex seemed
to have the effect of making her feel her even more vulnerable and exhibited.
237 moved in the direction indicated by her keepers, but the smooth hip rolling,
rump gyrating gait she had perfected so painstakingly over several days, was
somewhat impaired by stiff buttock muscles. Nevertheless 102 advised her to try,
despite the fact that the electrical goad of previous days was missing from her new
rig.
102 helped her to make the effort with several stinging blows of a crop and the
assurance that although it may be painful at first, it would wear off once her muscles
got moving. Helen found that even the short distance travelled from her quarters
had proved her correct. The aching burn was easing the more she forced herself to
move. Even the fact that 144 had been extremely unforgiving in her tightening of
the butt cinching seemed of little consequence. With the opening of the new torso
cincher reduced to produce an effect 20 percent tighter than the previous rig’s underbutt strapping, Helen understood the diabolical nature of the butterfly fasteners.
Her posterior was positively exploding outward from the tough reinforced plastic
corset in a surreal display of taut curvaceous rubber encased extravagance. As it
later transpired, her keepers were acting under instructions.
Zarkof spotted them as they passed his open office, and ventured out to see why
Helen’s normal rolling butt mode was less than that decreed by her training. As he
was about to chastise her for the lapse in her required mode of locomotion, he
surprisingly backed off when 144 explained the reason. Zarkof accepted her
explanation and after inspecting the erupting rump of the prisoner he instructed
144 to reduce the aperture a further 5 percent. Helen groaned as her butt was
forcibly extruded even further into a hardened jutting profile of available bottom
flesh. It was so demeaning to be forced to stand so provocatively and have someone
reshape her own anatomy like a piece of play-dough. Zarkof was ruthlessly
converting her into an obscenely exhibited fuckable fetish sex object. Tears formed
in her eyes as her body was reshaped to a new and even more lustfully wanton
profile. ; 7 .
Zarkof studied the results of his alterations with prodding fingers, and administered
a few heavy slaps to her jutting rump. Apparently the extruded tautness and
resistance to impact was satisfactory. Helen’s buttocks juddered slightly and
produced an almost synthetic sound as his hand slammed down. She sensed him
kneeling behind her and felt each lobe of her bottom gripped, pulled apart, then
released. He was checking the compression by watching to see how fast the two
rubber sheathed humps slapped back together. But it was more than just testing.
He was mauling the taut curvatures as if they were sponge rubber squeeze balls.
Helen continued to endure in silence as he enjoyed himself slapping the massively
extruded cheeks from side to side; alternately burrowing the blade of his hand into
her rump cleft, and commenting on the jouncing performance to the watching
keepers.
“Excellent! Now increase tit base compression another 10 percent and extend the
posture collar another inch. She’s shaping up nicely, so we can start with the
permanent stature control.”
Helen whimpered, but stood stoically, unable to resist in any way as she was
discussed and her body resculpting was taken to new heights of lecherously erotic
excess. The ratchet extenders clicked loudly as her collar jacked up and her neck
was stretched to dislocation point. When complete her head was forced to a jaunty
angle. There was more clicking as her tits were inexorably squeezed into hard
rubberised balls of throbbing spherical torment as the iris-like clamps built into her
stiff corset arrangement tightened around the root of each breast. A mirror opposite
afforded her a brief glimpse of jutting nipples that looked set to pierce the latex
tightly stretched over her breast-balls, then Zarkof’s frame blocked her view as he
moved around to inspect the new format. The tits received the same side to side
slapping test and 237 grimaced as the resilient spherical orbs bounced and rebounded
violently.
He nodded approval as his breast-flicking finger thunked against taut female filled
rubber with a dull sound, then squeezed her tits and butt alternately. Her tormentor
seemed satisfied that all her straining extruded erotic protuberances were compacted
to equal density. Reaching up Zarkof adjusted the expando gag and its over-banding
retainer strap. = ; 7 7
Helen’s face inflated into the gagging band until her cheeks were deeply indented
and erupting over the top. The gag was Zarkof’s personal design. Unlike medieval
and other later designs based on the pear design, a thick covering of high-density
foam surrounded the expanding components at the core of the device. It was an
innovation made possible by modern honeycomb urethane products that ensured
that the subject’s mouth was not only prised wide open, but that every nook and
cranny was filled to bursting point. i :
Zarkof continued to adjust until her cheeks were filled with compacted foam and
her silencing was total. 237’s face was scarlet with trauma and humiliation. The
faint mewing sounds she was able to achieve merely seemed to spur Zarkof to
greater effort. It was obvious that he liked women gagged to cheek bulging excess
and any coherent means of expressing disapproval effectively eradicated.
Due to her concentration on the distress caused by having her face alternately
expanded by the expando gag, and then cinched and crushed by the over-banding,
Helen didn’t notice that 102 had been instructed to alter a hitherto unknown facility
built into the skyscraper boots. A small turnbuckle adjuster between the inner
faces of the heels and her soles could be foreshortened. It had a dual effect in that
it not only pulled the toe region closer to her heel, but also telescoped the heel
proportionally to height that matched her downward pointing toes.
Suddenly the fact that she was rising caused 237’s attention to move downward,
away from the cruel internal pressure of the expando gag as the new and potentially
more devastating foot configuration altered her already desperate situation. She
keened loudly into the gag as her feet were forcibly curved until her toes pointed
straight down. See
When 102 eventually straightened from the task, Helen found herself teetering and
struggling to maintain balance. She had grown some two inches in height. The
heels were jacked up to a full staggering 7 inches and the boot adjusters locked so
that she was perched painfully on full tiptoe. The result was a permanent ballerina
stance that tautened and accentuated calf muscles, thereby enhancing her surreal
rump curvature even further. This was quite apart from the disabling effect that
made her even more helpless and manageable.
Zarkof instructed that the hobble should be shortened and Helen could do nothing
as yet another morsel of her bodily control was ruthlessly removed. As one of the
keepers worked on the hobble, Zarkof attended to her armsheath. Already the
tough pouch holding her arms in a painful back-prayer was super tight, but Zarkof
felt that the over-banding needed some extra attention. Each of the three powerful
straps were ratcheted still tighter until each was indented almost an inch into the
thick flexy-moulded pouch. Wide-eyed, nostrils flaring, Helen moaned through
the gag as her arms were crushed and cinched into virtual non-existence.
Finally, after a long inspection, and a few minor adjustments to her pussy stretching
expando plug, Zarkof seemed satisfied. He was obviously enthralled by the sight
of a pussy stretched and reformed to a perfect four-inch circle., Helen’s pussy lips
were dilated to a point where they were taut and shiny, and the head of the monstrous
insert clearly demonstrated the fact that she was achingly filled and invaded.
The fact that 237, was a living woman, powerfully re-sculpted into an outrageously
provocative and diabolically uncomfortable mode seemed of little consequence to
Zarkof. He had his orders from her eventual owner. Unfortunately the future
owner of 237 required that she be trained, kept, and used in the most fetishly
satisfying and embarrassing way possible. Ifher current format seemed the ultimate
goal, Helen was in for a few more unwelcome surprises. This was only the start of
her training. If she passed final exams, it would be as the most dehumanised and
fuckable fetish object ever seen by man. 237’s final role in life was to be a completely
useable sex object. That much she had guessed. But the extent of her outward
conversion and the tortuous manner by which she would be controlled would only
become her worst nightmare at some time in the future. 
“Walk!” 
Zarkof’s tone left no room for argument. Mewing pitifully, the gleaming rubberised
effigy moved forward. It was almost a disastrous move as a radically shortened
hobble snapped taut allowing her only four inches of foot travel. Zarkof smiled
wickedly as she cast alarmed eyes in his direction and struggled to stay upright.
“Get used to it 237, because from now on this is the only way you will move
around between training sessions, and even those sessions are by and large, designed
to be carried out without need to remove this outfit. From today you stay in this
format, or one very similar. This is your life from now on. Each day either your
keepers or I will increase the level of your training. Now WALK!”
He emphasised the command with a slashing blow of the crop to her extruded
‘bottom lobes, and 237 virtually jumped into action. 
Zarkof had her traverse the long corridor back and forth at least ten times, all the
time shouting instructions to wiggle her ass more or get more bounce into her tits.
‘Helen did her best to animate the tight thrusting lobes of her ass, and deliberately
added a spring to the short stepping shuffle that bounced her pressurised tits painfully.
‘Twice she was brought to a stop and her buttock extrusion increased until she felt
that the strummingly taut lobes of her rubberised rump were sure to burst. Finally
Zarkof gave a nod of approval and instructed the two keepers to continue as he
walked away. 
102 and 144 watched his retreating back then turned to Helen with a sort of pitying
look that thinly disguised their glee. They had no choice. There was nothing they
could do to help her. 102 prodded her into motion; then, unable to contain herself,
made comment as 237 began her ridiculous short stepping travel.
“T have to admit 237, you do look fabulously fuckable like that, with those tight tits
bouncing and your butt looking fit to explode. It makes me hot just to see you all
squeezed and sheathed in that tight rubber, all trussed and cinched up like a chicken.
I don’t think there is a guy alive who wouldn’t get a stiffy watching you. I mean,
just look at you. You’re a dream toy come true. Anyone can do anything they like
with you and you can’t do a thing about it, can you?” 
A finger wormed its way into her mincing, tightly compressed buttock cleft. Helen
snorted her disapproval and growled angrily through the expando gag in an attempt
tq gain some morsel of respect as the searching finger found the hidden iris in her
under-suit and wormed through into the orifice of her clenching butt hole. She
attempted to stop and squeeze the finger out as it hooked and wriggled into her, but
102 had complete control of her with a single digit. A slight lifting of the crooked
finger destroyed her precarious balance and threatened to pitch the shuffling 237
on her face. It was a case of obey, or bounce on the resilient spherical balls that 
were her painfully cinched tits. 237 continued forward, her movement massaging
the finger powerfully between her cinched latex sheathed bottom cheeks. The rest
of 102’s palm was meanwhile savouring the scintillating sensation of a super tight
female bottom in motion. The rubber parcelled, super-cinched 237 felt superbly 7
smooth, firm, and compacted, and-it was really good to savour her helpless form.
Both women took full advantage of her condition and availed themselves of every
inch of shaped, sheathed, and compacted curve. 
Helen’s desperate entreaties were wasted effort. Zarkof was a master at his craft.
He had taken her beyond the realms of being a mere prisoner now, and he knew
that the image he had sculpted her into was simply too much from her keepers to
resist. They were highly aroused by her plight and could take refuge from the
feelings of guilt they would normally have felt by hiding behind Zarkof’s orders to
keep her thoroughly bound and gagged. It was an excuse they both could use to
their advantage. Helen knew her cause was lost as the attentions of the two women
became ever more constant while she struggled to move. A slashing cane across
her bottom reminded her to keep the pretentious hip roll going at all times. On
several occasions when staff came to watch her progress, the two keepers seemed
only too pleased to oblige requests to have her perform in circles whilst they mocked
her new format. They even had her obey a request to hop. 237 resisted at first, so
they coupled her ankle clamps tightly together and then used goad and cane to
produce the required effect.
Balled mega-taut tits jouncing, extruded bottom jiggling and flexing, Helen mewed
pleadingly as she tottered around on her tiptoes, hopping madly. Tears formed in
her eyes as her one time benevolent keepers temporarily succumbed to the arousal
of their sadistic natures. é
More often than not, these enforced displays were with the whip stuck up her butt
hole just to add insult to injury. Dozens of hands groped, squeezed, and slapped
her bulging rump. Others took great delight in jiggling the ball-like breasts. It was
total humiliation. The rubberised 237 sex-toy-thing had no choice but to strut or
hop stiffly with all her sexual equipment blatantly displayed and sculpted to a fetish
overkill that no-one seemed able to resist.
As she circled in an ordered strutting mode, Helen caught many different views of
herself from the plethora of security mirrors that festooned Cairdhu’s corridors.
Adapting to the reality that the absurd reflection was her own wasn’t easy. Her
bottom had been converted into two hugely enhanced, bulbous black, animated
half melons of luxuriant male fantasy proportions, whilst her tits resembled a matched
pair of shining half-sized footballs. She appeared to be armless, and her torso was
reduced to a ridiculous waspish dimension. The massive waist reduction served
admirably to enhance the curving flare of a female hipline and ballooning rump in
a surreal display of gleaming smooth rubber, whilst her upper body seemed to
explode outward into an armless inverted cone bedecked with two preposterously
jiggling tit spheres. As if that wasn’t enough, her encapsulated head and bulging
cheeks, oddly distorted by the tight cinching gag over-band, topped the entire
ensemble. The effect of 237’s head gear was of course further enhanced by the
flared snorting nostrils and wide pleading eyes of a thoroughly silenced woman
who was desperately trying to plead for mercy. 
More than once she caught sight of her keepers fondling themselves as they viewed
her absurdly shaped form with lustful eyes. 102 more so than her co-conspirator
144, who apparently derived extreme pleasure from polishing the rubberized woman
with a latex polish. Three times Helen was halted and polished to an ever-increasing
gloss until every captivated and ultra-sculpted curve of her form glistened and
glittered when she was ordered to reanimate herself. 
Chapter 10 THE TOUR
As it happened, they made a detour that morning to fetch some papers for the Doc.
No doubt they could have done it anytime, but her keepers seized on yet another
excuse to keep her on the move and in their care. The detour entailed passing
through Zarkof’s personal domain, a sombre forbidding place that formed the
labyrinth layout of Cairndhu’s basement. It also contained the storage facility for
women who were even worse off than herself. Helen felt a chill run through her as
they entered a corridor lined by steel cell doors. Each door had a number that was
a lower denomination than her own and obviously housed her predecessors. Some
were open and revealed austere empty interiors. She was informed that these
occupants had since been shipped to oversea facilities for special psychiatric
treatment. Roughly translated, it was a cover story to disguise the fact that they
belonged to foreign members of the organisation. Cells 102 and 144 were also
empty, and as Helen peered in, one of her keepers spoke
“Thanks to you 237, these would still be our homes if you hadn’t come onto the
scene. Zarkof’s instructions for your training requires you getting twenty-four hour
attention, and that’s where we come in.”
102 led her into what had been her previous abode and showed her a small cratelike container. Opened up it revealed complex interior restraints.
“T was in that thing for months on end before you arrived,” She said.
Helen twisted stiffly and leaned her body forward to look down as she eyed the box
and two phallic shaped columns rising from its base. It was clear that 102 could
only occupy that space if she were compressed into a ball and secured tightly down,
the jutting prongs buried deeply into her lower body. Hollow cores and sensors on
the outside of the phalluses informed her that they performed many tasks, waste
disposal, titillation, and no doubt, punishment, at the discretion of the jailer.
“I was in one too!” 144 was standing behind her looking at the crate with some
trepidation and giving her rump another polish as she spoke. Helen felta shudder _
through the latex cladding of her bottom as recollections of a time as a stored object
flooded back and transmitted the emotion through the hand toying with her rump.
“But let’s not get all gloomy 237. Not all of the girls are crated. Some have a very
interesting time whilst they await the pleasure of their owners. Come! I’ll show
you a few on the way to Zarkof’s day office.” The hand finished polishing and
squeezed a buttock cheek hard as she was urged forward.
Seconds later 144 halted the tottering rubber clad figurine and cast searching eyes”
around. Seeing no staff in the passage, she removed Helen’s expando gag. 237
made an agonised sound of relief and after working her jaw and drawing in
unhampered breaths, she turned to her benefactor. 
“Thanks 144. I appreciate the risk you’re taking, but can you ease off the clamps
around my tits and lower the heels a bit?” Fully expecting her request to be accepted,
she offered the firm balls of her latex sheathed tits to her keeper. 
144 shook her head. If Zarkof, or anyone else for that matter, saw that she had
removed the gag, she would spend a week in a Tee punishment casque. To interfere
with any other of the adjustments Zarkof ordered to be made would be to invite an
immediate and permanent return to the crate in the cell. a
“Not a chance 237. Besides I won’t always be around, so it’s best you get used to
these things now.” 
Of course there was another unspoken consideration. 144 was enjoying extremely
pleasant sensations as a result of the vision 237 provided. Not to mention the
sadistic glee derived from the fact that she had orders to keep this fabulous woman
tightly bound, provocatively sculpted, and available for any amount of personal
pleasure she wanted to extract from the woman’s helplessly presented body. There
was something deeply satisfying about being the keeper of such a shapely woman
when she was so helpless, so completely encapsulated, tightly sheathed, powerfully
cinched, and so thoroughly useable. 
Sullenly Helen followed her out, and peered through the peephole indicated by 144
in the door of the next cell. Her eyes widened in recognition as she saw the occupant,
and 102 confirmed her obvious recognition of the famous incarcerated female.
“Bernadette Kellin, the terrorist who bombed the shopping centre and killed five
people. A judge owns her, and although she’s his pet, he has given instructions that
she serves her sentence in a suitably uncomfortable manner. In fact she’s the only
one in this section who wasn’t fitted up with a false criminal charge.” -
Helen stared boggle eyed at the awesome spectacle of 101’s sentence. Hanging by
her ankles and hair, the ex-terrorist had been arranged to receive a punishment that
matched the crime. In effect she was folded double, but her legs were spread wide
and attached to a suspension bar that doubled as a spreader. Her long black hair,
drawn into a single tail sprouting from the top of her head, was utilised as a secondary
albeit quite painful lift point. Her arms, mated in a single sheath glove were pulled
through the ‘V’ of her legs and secured to a single point in front. Chains drawn taut
by turnbuckles connected a powerful waist-cinching belt to points on the floor. It
was a most effective restraint that left her well positioned for the punishment side
of her ordeal. 
Apart from ominous wires that led to breasts, neck, and something buried in her
extremely vulnerable butt hole, there was a huge mechanised cane poised and aimed
. at her wide spread crotch. Gagged to mouth bursting levels with a massive ball,
101 was staring at the cane with morbid fascination. 
Even outside the cell they could, all hear a loud ticking, and Helen turned to 102
seeking an explanation. 
“Don’t you get it? A punishment for the crime. That thing resets itself, then goes of
at random. She has to listen to the ticking all day long, never knowing when it will
go off. Sometimes she gets it three or four times a day, sometimes ten times. It’s
completely random. Of course she gets her ass and tits fried by the electric shock at
the same time. That lasts about five minutes, then the whole thing resets and she
has to suffer the wait all over again.” 102 grimaced as she described the punishment.
“T’m glad I only had a light pussy whacking. Compared to the speed of that pussy
cane mine was ——!” 
THWACK!
Helen jumped back as the cane suddenly released with a ferocity that defied
description. By the time she had clapped her eye to the peephole again, the audible
sounds of punishment were penetrating the thick door. The woman was thrashing
violently as she suffered the massive searing burn of her caned pussy and endured
body jolting shocks through her most tender areas. The cane only made a single
stroke, but the severity of the blow was more than sufficient to make up for the
absence of repeated strokes. 144 expanded on Helen’s knowledge of the terrorist
Kellin.
“She only comes down for feeding and toileting, then they put her back up. As it
happens the Judge is on holiday now, so she hasn’t had a break for over a month.”
For a few moments, they studied the traumatised woman, and then 144 snapped a
leash to her captive and jerked her forward.
They were nearing the end of the corridor, and 144 reached up and reinserted the
expando gag before they left the privacy of Zarkof’s dungeon. Helen was just
about to speak and her mouth was already open. Even before she saw it coming,
the devilish expando gag was already halfway inserted. She grunted as 144 shoved
it deeply into her mouth and tried to shake her head, but 144 was determined to
ensure that the mouth jacking and over-banding was just as tight and effective
when 237 re-appeared, as when they had entered. 237 tried to turn away, but 102
decided to give her partner a hand. The finger returned to her butt hole and lifted.
Like a hooked fish, Helen ceased her struggling and accepted the inevitable. Ignoring
the diminishing protests of a mouth rapidly filling with expanding pear gag, 144
cranked the adjuster and watched with an experienced eye as Helen’s jaw was
forced apart and her cheeks filled. The over-band lip compression cinch was applied,
and a final twist of the external adjuster bulged the internal section yet more and
compressed Helen’s lips and lower face tightly into the confining strap retainer.
_ Bug eyed and cheeks bulging fit to burst, 237 shook her head violently, at the same
time wriggling pitifully on the hooked finger that was threatening to dump her on
her tits. It was a wasted effort. 144 simply waited until her partner withdrew and
laid the cane across 237’s exposed butt as she urged her forward. Helen felt her
world disintegrating around her as she perceived a steadily increasing level of sadistic
control from the women she had come to look upon as possible saviors. Each time
they returned her to a silenced bound toy status, the level of restriction stepped up
a notch.
Helen cast admonishing eyes at the keepers. It was then that 102 seemed to make
a mental decision and spoke. 
“Look 237, there’s nothing we can do to help you, so we might as well enjoy you
while we can. There’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop us, and it’s not often
anyone gets the chance to play with something like you. They’re going to turn you
into a controllable sex doll no matter how much you resist. There’s no going back.
The moment you signed that form at the prison you sealed your own fate. Sooner
or later you will be converted into whatever they have in mind for you, and anything
we do is neither here nor there. Besides, if the rumours about what your new owner
is going to do with you are correct, you’d best look on all this as a holiday.”
She didn’t enlighten Helen as to the rumours, and instead she drew closer to the
glistening rubberised woman, her hands sliding everywhere at once as she savoured
the sensation of total power over a ruthlessly re-shaped and bound female. A moisteyed Helen tried to pull away, and 144 callously tightened her tit clamps even more
as a warning.
237 snorted loudly through flaring nostrils and strained against the posture collar in
order to look down at the resultant rock-hard spherical balls of her latex sheathed
breasts. The two keepers merely smiled wickedly and 102 slapped the bursting
rubberised orbs from side to side like a pair of punch balls.
“Getting the message 237?” Helen’s head moved in the minutest of nods. Anything
else was impossible whilst bound and sculpted as ruthlessly as she was.
“Then perhaps now is the time to tell you that Zarkof has given us permission to
butt-fuck you any time we want. That’s why your replacement rig has a nice little
opening. We don’t even have to release you and risk you putting up a fight. We
can bend you over a bench, strap you down, and fuck your brains out anytime we
want.”
Helen sensed a new awareness of her plight. Her lewdly reshaped butt, and in fact
her whole body, seemed to take on a whole new conscious level of vulnerability.
Rubber sheathed, polished, squeezed, displayed, tightly bound, and gagged, she
knew that a horny keeper with a strap-on dildo could do as she wished with her.
The reality that she was helplessly displayed in manner calculated to nurture instant
arousal in any that looked upon her didn’t help. She was little more than a lust
generator. : |
As the stiffened super-sculpted statuette of womanhood was led painfully away,
the sounds of muffled sobbing and a loud ticking permeated the door. It would
seem that the tough Bernadette had met her match as the time to her next installment
of pain ticked away. However, that was Bernadette’s problem, Helen had her own
plight to consider as she came face to face with the apparatus that was to be her
next ordeal. 
Chapter 11 THE BELLOWS
237 stopped dead in her tracks and attempted to back up against the finger still
buried in her butt hole. But 102 held firm and spoke in her ear. :
“We call it ‘The Bellows,’ 237. Zarkof developed it as an all purpose exerciser and
body toner. You’ll love it Helen. Well, maybe not, but then there isn’t a lot you
can do about that is there?” ;
Helen made some pleading noises, but neither of her keepers seemed to notice.
Instead they pushed her over to the fiendish device that resembled a circular heap
of black reinforced rubber situated between two shining steel columns. Helen
resisted as best she could when they indicated she should step into the center, but it
was a futile gesture and a hooked butt hole finger urged her forward.
102 stooped and close-coupled her ankle hobbles using a built-in facility that
converted them to an effective pair of ankle stocks. This in turn was connected via
two turnbuckle adjusters to the floor on either side.
Trembling with fear, 237 strained at her bonds as 144 busied herself with a strange
two-piece circular neck yoke, hinged at one side so as to open and allow Helen’s
agonisingly stretched and postured neck into the center, and fit snugly once closed.
Surprisingly it seemed to be padded with a tubular silicone seal on the inner edge,
and although it gripped her neck with what later turned out to be a hermetic seal, it |
was comfortable. Helen was under no delusion that it might be a design feature for
her benefit.
She felt pressure at her knees, and it dawned on her that some sort of steel banding
clamp was being added to complete the welding of her legs into a single mermaid -
style appendage. A moment later, there was the sensation of something being
connected to the massive dildo in her pussy. In fact it was a telescopic, springloaded pole that was mounted on the base. She felt the dildo slide out and then
become firmly fixed with the first inch stretching her pussy lips. Helen was still
trying to work out how this would affect her when she realised that both her keepers
were beginning to lift the circle of rubber.
As it rose around her, Helen could see by looking across to the mirror-tiled wall of 
the gym that it was in fact a huge tube. In addition, as the rubber unfolded it
revealed a series of steel bands attached at intervals to its outer surface. The bands
had two opposite sliders that run on the steel columns, and as it rose, they slide
smoothly upward until equally spaced up the length of her body.
The yoke collar now made sense. It was a special hermetic clamp to seal the top of
the rubber tube. 102 was busily feeding the beaded edge of the tube into a groove
around the circumference as 144 waited, her hand on a small lever built into the
collar. 
As soon as all the rubber was fed in and they were satisfied that it was evenly
arranged, 144 snapped the lever down, and the beaded edge was clamped tightly,
sealing the straining body of 237 into a column of strong hermetically sealed rubber.
Helen mewed and protested with her eyes as they busied themselves adding a strange
hood type device with pipes attached. As the straps drew the thing tight over her
face, she could smell the pungency of the air that had been drawn through rubber.
Clearly her only air supply was passing through the tube leading to her face.
102 grinned as she saw the look of realisation in the captive’s eyes, a look that grew
more profound as 144 opened a valve somewhere behind. There was a hiss of air,
and Helen felt the surrounding all encompassing tube stir and begin to fill. It took
only seconds for the rubber to fill and become taut, and a panic-stricken look across
to the mirrored wall revealed that her sculpted form had yet again been endowed
with a new silhouette. Instead of the surreal fetish outline of an impossible hourglass
figure, 237 had been converted into a tall indented tubular sausage. The pressure
increased until it was having a noticeable effect on her breathing effort, but mercifully
144 deemed that was enough and closed the valve.
Neither of the women had said anything for a minute or two as they checked over
the entire arrangement. 
Suddenly 144 was standing in front of her, and 237 looked questioningly into her
eyes.
“Okay 237. This is how it works. In a minute I’ll set this valve,” she pointed to a
small square valve mounted in Helen’s breather line. Concentrating on the device, —
Helen could see that the large breather tube passed straight though it. Inadditiona _
smaller tube ran from the side and down to the base of her cylindrical rubber
confinement.
“Tt’s a servo valve. In other words it will stay closed until pressure in the small pipe
allows it to open. I can adjust that pressure, and for now it is set fairly low. But
once you get warmed up we can alter that.”
Helen was ina state of panic. The only part that had registered in her brain was that
the valve would rob her of the means to breathe. However, the rational part of her
brain was telling her that suffocation wasn’t on the itinerary. The organisation and
Zarkof had put far too much into her procurement and training to simply snuff her
out. ; ‘ :
“In order to open the valve, all you have to do is squat. That will increase the
pressure in the bellows and open the valve. Simple, isn’t it?” 144 paused to allow
237 time to absorb that, and then flipped the servo valve control lever over.
Instinctively, Helen held her breath. For almost a minute she strained and heaved,
but eventually her breath whooshed from the one-way vent valve in the face mask.
Instantly her struggles became demoniacal as the natural desire to breathe in was
thwarted by a firmly closed servo valve. Her face went scarlet as she battled to
breathe, and then the rational part of her thinking took over and processed 144’s
words.
Bending her legs, Helen found that if she exerted extreme effort she could squat
down. It was a move that met increasing resistance as the cylinder of rubber
pressurised even more, but suddenly her starved lungs received a rush of life giving
air as the servo valve reacted and snapped open. Helen gratefully allowed the
pressure of the cylinder to lift and straighten her again. It was only then that the
full impact of Zarkof’s evil design became apparent. Unless she maintained a
repetitive squat and straighten cycle, she couldn’t breathe. Staying squatted was
not an option as the compressed cylinder of air quickly overcame her strength. But
there was another problem.
As she squatted, the spring pressure of the telescopic pole shoved the dildo deep
into her pussy. Then, as she continued downward, the pole telescoped, compressing
the spring and increasing the powerful burying force of the dildo considerably,
jamming the flared base of the thing tightly into her crotch, squashing her clitoris
and flattening the fleshy lobes of her love lips.
So she could breathe, but at the cost of continually fucking herself on a gigantic
pussy stretching dildo. Helen gasped and screamed silently into the expando gag
as she impaled and filled herself for the third time. A dry pussy and an oversize
dildo wasn’t her idea of fun, especially when the friction was forcing her labial lips
inwards, and then dragging them out in a huge pout with each reversal of direction.
102 and 144 stood back and watched as the black rubber sausage bellows began to
pump up and down with rhythmical timing, stretching to full height, and then
expanding into a series of bulging curves as the squatting motion foreshortened the
rubber cylinder that resembled a giant phallic accordion. Helen was getting the
hang of it. But then as her perception of the effort required to maintain her breathing
became apparent, her muffled cries for mercy increased accordingly.
102 glanced at 144 and spoke. -
“Time for the silencer helmet I think.” 144 nodded. 
237’s eyes widened with fear as a heavy glass bell jar was lifted and lowered over
her head, and as she pumped up and down, Helen could feel the thing being screwed
down onto a thread on the neck yoke. Through the slight green hue of thick heavy
glass, she could see the distorted image of two smiling keepers.
Outside Helen’s world of glass encapsulation and her own loud protesting pleas,
the gym was filled with only the sounds of creaking rubber and a steady psssst!
pssst! of air hissing through a valve. With her head sealed inside the bell jar,
Helen’s last vestige of complaint was effectively removed.
The keepers watched for a few moments to ensure that 237 was operating smoothly,
and then 102 opened the feed valve and bled more air into the main bellows container.
The rhythm of the device slowed for a second or two as Helen struggled to adjust
herself to the extra effort it now required to work against the increased pressure,
then the motion resumed its constant rhythm.
“Time for breakfast 102?” It was more of a suggestion than a question. “I think we
can leave 237 to exercise and fuck herself now don’t you?” 102 nodded, and to the
horror of the female phallic accordion called 237, they walked out of the gym.
Terror flooded through 237 as the full impact of her predicament blossomed in her
mind. The previous day’s events were traumatic, but not life threatening. This
device was a whole different and sinister escalation of Zarkof’s training. Already
her thighs and calves were aching. The heat was building inside the relatively
static air of the bellows, and her body was sweating profusely inside the clinging
tightness of her rubber under-suit. In addition, her pussy was lubricating as a result
of the enforced stimulation. That had its good points and bad points. Lubrication
eased the friction, but it also made the sensation so much more erotic. 237 was
already on the verge of a massive, horribly unwanted orgasm as she helplessly
pumped her pussy on the huge intruder. 
Another session of crazed desperate effort flooded through Helen’s form, and for
several minutes she wasted precious energy straining and heaving against her bonds.
Twice she forgot to squat, and twice the means to breathe in was taken away from
her. Then, the first of many orgasms struck, robbing her limbs of strength and
freezing her at the top of her cycle in a column of quivering orgasmic fervor. She
was robbed of the means to breathe by her own bodily betrayal.
The rubber of the bellows shivered and even seemed to expand as a result of her
titanic convulsions. A mixture of orgasmic thrashing and the futile straining effort
to escape as her own deeply hidden masochistic arousal fuelled the orgasm to
cataclysmic levels and engineered her own self suffocation. Cheeks bulging, face
scarlet with exertion, eyes bugging out, 237 fought desperately to regain control of
her body. 
Eventually the orgasm waned. Only then was she able to compose herself and
settle down to the task of staying alive. 
Chapter 12 PICHARD CAGES
In a distant study Zarkof smiled and leaned back from the monitor feeding her
image to his desktop. With a deft foot action he swung the pivoted leather bound
chair and faced the two other occupants of the room. 
Nice job girls. Now I have to go out for a few hours, so I’Il leave you two to keep
an eye on 237.
102 and 144 strained their eyes sideways and cast worried eyes at each other. Neither
could speak nor move as both were tightly ensconced in ‘Pichard’ cages. Zarkof
had intercepted them on their way to breakfast. Unfortunately he was a fan of the
French bondage artist and many of the inmates had a distant Frenchman to thank
for the many devices they found themselves in. The Pichard cage was one of the
most feared and diabolically uncomfortable of them all, and Zarkof had decided to
put two of them to use. Part of the conversation between 237 and her keepers had
been caught on a video soundtrack and handed to him by security. It was enough to
breed doubt as to the so called ‘accident’ Bulstrode had encountered. Until such
time as he had time to investigate, 102 and 144 were to be ‘deactivated.’
Stuffed in all three orifices with immovable dildos that were an integral part of
each cage, and boxed inside heavy steel bars that held them compressed and folded,
the two keepers under suspicion had no chance of taking pity and possibly releasing
the woman encapsulated in the bellows. All they could do was watch and hope that
Zarkof returned soon. They had a vested interest in the pumping effigy 237,
assuming she survived. Zarkof had promise to let them strap her down and butt
fuck her to their hearts content as soon as she finished her exercise period in the
bellows. Also assuming of course that he was unable to prove they had something
to do with Bulstrode’s accident. In that event, they would probably never leave the
Pichard cages and would be sold as-is to some distant third world brothel. 
But being the benevolent chap he was, and purporting to be a supporter of the
concept of innocent until proven guilty, Zarkof had even had their cages pedestal
mounted at desk top level so as to enable them to watch the progress of their captive
charge. Of course there was an ulterior motive. Desk height was also cock height.
144 felt the massive dildo in her pussy being unscrewed and withdrawn. Seconds
later Zarkof’s rigid dick ploughed into her vulnerable pussy. She mmmphed around
the dildo gag, partly from the shock of absorbing a massive violent influx of male
pole, and partly from the pain her natural reflex created. Her protesting butt hole
was still deeply impaled on the unyielding second dildo. As she jerked in response
to his forceful entry, the stiff peg in her bottom reminded her that she was firmly
and painfully affixed between two remaining locators, one in her ass, and one in
her mouth. 
Zarkof fucked her unmercifully. No doubt the rampant bar-stiff erection was as a
result of watching 237 in the bellows. Whatever the cause, 144 could only wait
and hope for a short session as he used her like a masturbatory aid. As it transpired,
Zarkof wanted to prolong the pleasure, and several times at the point of ejaculation,
he partially withdrew and allowed the surging rise of orgasm to subside.
102 meanwhile was treated to a symphony of humphing gasps as Zarkof pumped
and reamed the caged woman with fiendish abandon. 144 was reduced to little
more than a caged block of warm female, with a hole in it. The cages were no more
than 3 feet long and 18 inches square, a dimension that required three assistants to _
help Zarkof pack them in and get the doors shut. 
Eventually Zarkof must have lost it, because 102 heard her partner’s hummphs
take on a much more distressed level of explosive force as he slammed into her
powerfully for the final strokes. Out of the corner of her eye, 102 could see the .
crimson hued face, and a reflection on the screen of the monitor even relayed a
vision of a cubic woman expanding and bulging through the bars of her confinement. ;
That was the limit of her movement as Zarkof rutted away in the vulnerable rear
end of her folded form. 
Without a word, he withdrew, screwed the massive dildo back into 144, locked it
into position and left the two pitifully occupied Pichard cages perched on their
pedestals. Both women knew better than to make any sound aimed at gaining
sympathy. Whatever they did, they knew that Zarkof would keep them caged and
use them in any way he wanted, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Movement in a Pichard cage was absolutely impossible. The compression of heavy
steel bars and configuration of the invading spikes buried deeply into the three
orifices of their bodies ensured that they would remain motionless and completely
imprisoned. The deep holes in a woman’s body were sometimes a curse, and this
was one of those times. They made perfect dowel holes to insert shafts that would
prevent even the slightest movement without pain.
The women resigned themselves to a long and extremely uncomfortable wait. It
was Wednesday, and Zarkof never missed his mid-week all-day golfing appointment.
If they were lucky he might skip the usual evening booze up at the clubhouse and
return to deal with the inquiry. If not, they would remain be caged until he arrived
back late in the evening. Given that he usually arrived back half drunk, the chances
were that he would leave them caged until morning sooner than bother himself
with minor matters before going to bed. The women had little to do other than
watch the screen of the monitor and hope that they were found innocent. The other
scenario didn’t even bear thinking about. A guilty verdict would entail them
remaining compressed, cubed, and caged for a long time whilst Zarkof allowed the
entire staff full usage of their available forms prior to their shipping. 
Three floors below, the bellows device pumped monotonously. Vented air pulsing
from the breather tubes, and the rubber cylinder foreshortened and bulged obscenely
with each squatting cycle. Unlike the initial movements, 237 had learned to complete
a full stroke with each cycle. Zarkof had paid the struggling bellows a visit and
switched to a new valve arrangement. The pressure operated servo was still the
same, but another valve that vented Helen’s breathing to the atmosphere required
that she return to a full straight position before it switched over. Failure to reach
that position resulted in the air being vented into the cylindrical containment each
time she breathed out. In effect she was increasing the pressure she had to work
against herself, and it rapidly became clear to Helen that if it increased much more,
she would never have the strength to squat against the pressure of the bellows.
Accordingly, she would suffocate. 
Inside the seemingly innocent telescoping cylinder of rubber, a sweating straining
hell existed. Apart from the pleading face in that glass dome, nothing other than a
silently oscillating column and smoothly sliding column guides gave any impression
to reveal it was anything other than a piece of machinery. -
Zarkof had been kind. After adding the programming that required a full stroke, he
had oiled her slides. However the effect on Helen was less than helpful. Zarkof’s
lack of compassion, the image of an engineer oiling a steam engine, and the sudden
easing of a rasping slider as he dripped oil onto his invention. It all conspired to
produce a devastating masochistic reaction in the human core of the oscillating
device as she was relegated to a piece of inanimate machinery.
Several minutes of fiddling with adjustments to valves until his pulsing femalepowered bellows achieved a smooth running cycle simply added to that realisation.
All the pleading looks and desperate straining at her bonds were wasted on Zarkof.
Besides he couldn’t even hear her pitiful mewing pleas through the thick glass.
Three times Helen treated Zarkof to an orgasmic demonstration, made all the more
powerful by Zarkof’s presence and the fact that he was calmly tuning her to achieve
maximum performance. His evil leering face appeared before her glass encased
head, taunting her. He was adding more drops of oil to her sliders so as to make it
easier for her to fuck herself to orgasm in a self-renewing masochistic loop of
cause and event. 
Adjusted to perfection, the bellows were left to function. 237 either performed or
suffered the consequences. In addition, Helen knew that she could expect no help
from her normal keepers. Another monitor placed nearby relayed their current
boxed condition, and the constant automatic switching of cameras to display different
angles on a two minute cycle appraised her of their incredibly tight cage confinement.
Zoomed views of buttocks, creased and indented by bars were replaced by visions
of impaled orifices, or alternatively scarlet strained faces and stretched lips suckling
on deep-throated steel dildo gags. A pre-programmed zoom-out revealed the
diabolically small nature of the box like prisons. Helen knew she could expect no
help from that quarter. Neither of those women could move as much as a millimeter.
For a while the urge to try and break free from her nightmare returned. She strained,
writhed, heaved, and struggled against the unyielding cinches and compression of
her personal custom designed body bondage, but eventually, realising the
hopelessness of escape, Helen settled down to a steady beat.
The corset-like body former didn’t help at all. Its extra length robbed her of some .
flexibility. But then flexibility was hardly its design function. Converting her
torso into a creditable wasp like facsimile, squeezing her tits and butt into outrageous
profile was. The all over rubber sheath of the under-suit merely served to seal in
massive amounts of body heat. As a result, 237 was swimming in a sea of her own
sweat. It was a devilish device that not only exercised her to destruction and bounced
her tits painfully with each reversal, but had all the added benefits of a sauna bath.
For the umpteenth time, the bulldozing dildo forced its way into her consciousness
as it pumped her lower body full of lustful sensation. Despite her best efforts to
ignore the constant stimulating effect of having her pussy stuffed and stretched on
a regular basis, she stiffened and orgasmed powerfully, her body convulsing against
the cinching restraints. It was going to be a long one, and 237 steeled herself to
withstand the unavoidable loss of her breathing facility as the paroxysms of pleasure
ran their course.
It was getting worse. Each successive orgasm held her longer in its grasp as the
day wore on. Fora full fifty seconds the current sexual betrayal stilled the pumping
female accordion until the face in the bell jar was purple and bug-eyed. Unseen
within the confines of the bellows, the tightly cinched and sculpted body quivered
and strained in the grip of an uncontrollable tidal wave of masochistic energy.
Helen was powerless once again in orgasm, as her muscles quivered and froze in a
paroxysm of pleasure. Pumping the bellows was an impossibility. Her spherical
tits heaved and grew harder still, nipples took on the properties of rock, and arms
strained pitifully against the sheath device that held them immovably positioned
and deeply indented where the powerful over-banding straps crushed them against
her back. But the orgasms refused to be denied.
Twelve miles away, Zarkof consulted his watch as a they completed the eighteenth
hole. Colleagues urged him to join them in the clubhouse, and after a brief prompting,
Zarkof shrugged and agreed. It was 5 p.m. The staff at Cairndhu would be finished 
by now, and besides, the three he was personally supervising today, 237, 144, and 
102 were all taken care of, locked either in his private study or training room, and is none of 
them could do anything to alter their status. : 
. 237 would be nearing the end of her physical tolerance, but that hardly mattered.
At 5:30 the safety device would cut in and pulses of electricity between the
connections on her ankles and neck would ensure that Project 237 maintained her
pumping action until he had time to switch her off. She would have no choice as
the carefully calibrated reversing current took control of her beleaguered muscles.
Zarkof grinned to himself as he imagined the effect on 237 at the moment the
device took charge and the first totally unexpected bolts of electricity jerked her
upright then jackknifed her in quick succession. The same electrical devices would
also operate a valve in her massive dildo. Until now, the pussy-filling monolith
had been a dormant device. Once the electronic muscle control took over it would
come to life. A small valve in the outer cap would open, and each time 237 squatted
and increased the bellows pressure, air would rush in and pump the thing to almost
twice its current size. It was an evil device of his own design. The bellow’s pressure
wasn’t sufficient to achieve the required effect. But a system of miniature pneumatic
intensifiers would quadruple the pressure of the in-rushing air. The more 237
squatted down, the bigger it got so that it was growing inside her, even as she was
being forced down upon it by the irresistible current.
Reclining in a soft, luxuriously comfortable chair in the club’s bar Zarkof raised
his glass in a toast to the victor of the day’s round of golf. As he did so his eyes
strayed to the wall clock as the minute hand flipped from 5:30 to 5:31. He felt a
surge of warmth in his crotch as the distant 237 became the most controlled and
well fucked female at Cairndhu. 
When Zarkof eventually strolled into the training room at Cairndhu later that night,
it was almost 11:45. As he opened the door, and even before he sighted 237, he
knew by the steady pulsing hiss that all was as it should be.
At first the glazed eyes inside that glass dome didn’t register his presence as he
circled the bellows. Then as he stood facing pumping cylinder of torment, Helen
finally became aware that she had company. Bloodshot pleading eyes locked with
his own, but he just smiled in response. 237 faltered slightly, and a savage bolt of
electricity quickly jerked her down on the next stroke. For almost 12 hours she had
been pumping her pussy on that monstrous dildo, and it wasn’t getting any less
traumatic. 
Despite her best pleading looks to glean a morsel of mercy from the smirking Zarkof,
he kept her pumping for another five minutes before reaching forward to disengage
the electro-muscle control. He was obviously enjoying the spectacle, and a booze
dulled perception blinded him to the fact that 237 was dangerously near to total
collapse.
With a sigh, 237 came to a stop. Without the electro stimulation her limbs were
already far beyond the ability to produce any movement. The glass encased face
steadily assumed a deeper shade of purple as Zarkof fumbled with the complex
dome seal. With her body at an exhausted standstill, Helen’s air supply was
effectively cut off.
He lifted it clear, and the air filled with desperate sounds as Helen fought to draw
breath past the closed valves in her mouth and nose sealing gag.
Zarkof released the straps and jerked the tubular oral device and its cheek sealing
surrounds clear. 237 gasped loudly as she thankfully dragged unhampered air into
her oxygen starved lungs, for the first time in hours unhampered by various methods
of control. 
The relief was short lived. Within seconds Zarkof stuffed her mouth with a standard
pear gag leaving her with snorting flared nostrils as the only means to continue
catching up on denied breathing.
Any hopes of an early release from the bellows were snuffed by the sound of
pressurised air hissing through hoses. The bellows sprang up to full height, stretching
her body, and then commenced to harden as the pressure increased.
Keening past the gag, Helen strained and struggled as she was drawn taut and
vibrantly stiffened by the powerful cylinder of high pressure air.
Zarkof finally grunted approval as she reached a point just prior to her head being
ripped off. A few punches directed at the ballooned rubber of the bellow’s satisfied
his requirements. It was hard to the touch. There was no way 237 could achieve
even a minute amount of flexing.
With a quick smirk at her strained face he was gone. To his thinking, there was
time enough to extricate 237 in the morning.
Helen moved the only thing she could and swivelled her eyes to the mirror tiles on
the wall to her left. The flexible bellows had ceased to exist. In its place was a stiff
column of rubber that resembled a black metal cylinder more than a medium
constructed of pliable rubber. Meanwhile, inside the tube, her toes had left the
ground and were now poised uselessly a quarter-inch from Mother Earth. The
immense stretching power of the tube was lifting her trussed form and stretching
her taut between steel fettered ankles and her yoked neck. The lifting force acting
on her chin was enormous. 
It was going to be a long night, and all she had to look forward to was yet more
trauma in whatever form Zarkof chose to be her next training session.
Zarkof settled back into his luxurious bed and smiled to himself as his mind ran
over events of the past few days. The training of 237 was progressing rapidly.
Already she was a master at the art of erotic movement, and without doubt, the
planned resculpting to a surreal fetish object had gone well. Her tortuously
compressed and reshaped body was rapidly adapting to the new demands. Only six
: days had passed since the prisoner arrived at Cairndhu, and in that short time she
had become an erotic rubber sheathed plaything that was at that very moment stored
and ready for whatever use her owners desired. As an alcohol induced sleep crept
over him, Zarkof’s thoughts wandered to the two Pichard cages in his study.
He doubted that there would be any evidence forthcoming to prove guilt in the
matter of Bulstrode’s fractured skull. But that didn’t prevent him exacting some
sort of punishment on the grounds of suspicion. To hell with the concept of innocent
until proven guilty. 102 and 144 looked so diabolically controlled and :
uncomfortable. He had a mind to keep them caged and tightly cubed for the rest of :
the week just for the hell of it. His mind was made up. They would stay caged
until the end of the week and then perhaps two days in the ‘T’ moulds for good
measure. An idea using all three of the currently traumatised females of the day
was forming in his mind, and it required that all three be ensconced in the terribly
strained ‘T’ format. 
Chapter 13 CHANGE OF PLAN 
As it turned out, Zarkof’s ideas became fact for another reason, albeit somewhat
modified. When the post arrived next morning. Bill Nealy, current owner of 237,
had sold out to none other than Sheik Ben Halliman Sulliman, the III. 7
Sulliman, having obtained pictures and videos of 237, made an offer Bill simply
couldn’t refuse. $6,000,000 for a woman was a world record. But then Sulliman’s
oil rich empire earned him more than $70 million a day, so a mere $6 million was
pocket change to him. Bill reasoned that he could finance the procurement of at
least ten women to replace 237 with that sort of money.
Zarkof felt a shudder run through him as he envisaged 237’s future. Sulliman’s .
tastes and the methods he used in keeping his collection of females was well known
within the select circle of owners. Sulliman was a rare breed of bondage sadist
who’s sole pleasure was derived from binding women into the most contorted and
excruciating formats, or placing them in devices of extreme torment for long periods
of time. It was rumoured that he was impotent, and that his only form of gratification
came from simply looking at the unfortunate bound women littering his palace.
People with first hand knowledge who had actually visited Sulliman’s home spoke
of literally dozens of such exhibits at any given time. Any who were not in use
were kept in a vault. Rows of small safes that could only accommodate a female
form if it were folded and compressed lined both sides of the vault. There was no
escape and no movement for a bound woman locked inside. These personal prisons
had three-inch thick reinforced steel walls and a combination lock. The only aperture
was a small breather hole, which was vented through a sound absorbing filter. In
most cases it took the combined strength of two or three people to pack and cram
the folded female into her storage facility. The vault itself was truly a bank vault
with a huge twelve-inch thick door, and a timer lock. It pleased Sulliman to think
of his women stored in safety deposit boxes like valuable possessions rather than
actual people. 
Maintenance was of course fully automatic. Feeding and waste removal was done
by machine, and each safe was connected via tubes to either vacuum or pumping
mechanisms. Inside those silent steel boxes, Sulliman’s embryonically stored
possessions were serviced, sometimes for weeks on end without ever seeing the
light of day. Each safety deposit box had a picture of the occupant on the front,
-and it was common knowledge that Sulliman visited the vault to inspect each and
every safe once a day to remind himself of the compacted curvaceous contents. 
A frown creased Zarkof’s forehead as he re-read the letter. It wasn’t confined to
the purchase of one item. 144 and 102 were also visible in a video that was general
release version to the members of the group that had been filmed in Bulstrode’s
gymnasium. Sulliman had contacted each owner with an offer of $1,500,000 for
each of them. Both owners leapt at the offer. After all, with that sort of cash, they
could have the organisation supply two or three new toys each. Zarkof turned to
the tightly caged pair on the opposite side of the desk and felt pangs of pity for
them. Their current predicament was relatively luxurious to the one he now had no |
choice but to consign them both to. Sulliman’s instructions were clear. Training
started immediately, delivery was expected within two months.
His mandate was simple. He was to convert all three purchases into living bundles
of subservient female tissue, capable of withstanding almost unbelievable hardship
and trauma, yet still retaining usability and beauty. Sulliman usually kept his toys
in useable condition for up to ten years before archiving them in his cryogenically
preserved collection. The Sulliman gallery was world renowned amongst
aficionados of bound females.
Zarkof sighed. For some odd reason the three women in question had nurtured a
weird fondness in him. Normally he never allowed himself to become emotionally
attached to a subject under training. Yet it peeved him to think of these three nubile
curvaceous forms one day being bound into an excruciating format and then frozen
solid for permanent display. His hand reached out to pat the taut curvature of 102’s
caged rump, and it seemed odd to imagine such a superb piece of human engineering
frozen so hard that she would shatter like glass if dropped. 
His finger reamed the tight pink anal orifice and the cage-cubed female squirmed
slightly. Her curvaceous folded form bulged delightfully through the tight
compressive bar structure of her confinement, but that was the only sign of dissent.
In seconds Zarkof developed a massive erection that needed urgent relief. It took
him but a few seconds to rise from his chair and remove the huge dildo blocking his
intended target. Dropping his trousers he thrust the throbbing pole of his manhood
deeply into the cube of helpless female and heard a sharp intake of breath as her
tender pussy was stretched massively by his intrusion. For several minutes he
rutted away, savouring the arousing sounds of mmmpphing disapproval from the
cramped aching form, but her complaints only served to inflate his plundering shaft
to even greater levels of expansion. The compacted, steel-contained sex toy couldn’t
move a muscle to avoid the ravishment of her offered openings, but it was nice to
feel her trying. 
Zarkof eased the rapid power-thrusting tempo and looked down. It was fun to fuck
the caged woman slowly and deliberately, and even more fun to watch his lubricated
glistening shaft sliding deeply into the defenceless pussy. The taut folded rump
bulged and writhed in futile effort, and the invaded pussy swelled and pouted as it
was stretched and filled. Offered in total surrender it had no choice but to suckle
his manhood. He could see her toes curling as she fought to escape the tight crushing
restrictions of the cage. It was all wasted effort. On all sides the steel bars were
deeply indented into her compressed body. There simply was no room to move
even a millimeter to avoid the plundering male shaft. She was a warm pulsing
female hole to masturbate himself in.
102’s mmmmphing protests grew in volume as the usage continued unabated. She
was stiff and sore from her all night incarceration, and having to suffer a prolonged :
and powerful fucking whilst still confined hardly eased her trauma. Desperately
she tried to move her head and escape the inch-thick dildo stuffed into her mouth,
but the fact that it penetrated some four inches into her throat merely added to her :
helpless plight by holding her neck stiffand unyielding. 102 was effectively spitted
between her butt hole and gag dildos. The dual effects of spitting and caged
compression ensured that her beleaguered pussy remained firmly positioned at all
times.
Zarkof exploded into the compacted bundle of womanhood with a series of violently
thrusting strokes that penetrated to her core. Then pausing whilst buried to the hilt,
he stiffened and savoured the exquisite sensations of her hot writhing rump against
his pubic bone.
A desperately unwanted symbiotic orgasm ripped through the caged woman, and
Zarkof grinned to himself as the grasping pussy contracted powerfully on his waning
dick. The form of 102 swelled as if about to explode and her crushed body bulged
obscenely through the bars as titanic convulsions of orgasmic power lent strength
to her struggles to escape the confines of the diabolical Pichard cage. For almost
five minutes the tight cube of femininity pulsed and strained as the internal eruption
slowly waned. 
It seemed a shame to part with such a desirable piece of fuckable female, but no
matter what Zarkof felt personally towards 102, he was a true professional. Training
would start within a few hours. The equipment for stage one of Sulliman’s training
schedule was already arriving by the truckload. Some had even arrived overnight,
and was at this moment being put together down in the courtyard. Zarkof withdrew
and left the caged woman to drain. Exhausted and wobbly legged he sat down
heavily and swivelled the chair back to the desk as he flicked a monitor on. A
second later the screen filled with an image and the monstrosity at the center of the
yard swam into view. It was almost completed. Time to start getting the women
ready. 
237 would need to be installed first, and seeing as the section intended for her was
already completed, Zarkof gave instructions to have her removed from the overnight
embrace of the bellows for toilet servicing and feeding, then be prepared for her
new style training. 
He rose and was about to leave the study when an afterthought reminded him that
102 was still only spitted in two holes. Selecting a four-inch diameter dildo from
the toolkits that accompanied each Pichard cage, he engaged the monster into the
thread of the cage locator and began to screw it in. Ponderously the monster spiralled
through the thread and onward into the defenceless pussy. 
102’s sex portal resisted valiantly, then admitted defeat. The fleshy lips stretched
and spread as the monster bored inexorably inwards. Zarkof continued to wind the
screw until a full nine inches had vanished into the writhing block of cubed woman.
In addition, a further adjustment of the butt dildo added another three inches of
deep insertion to her rear reaming. The garbled mmmmmphing protests rose to an
all time high, but that only succeeded in earning the caged woman full length usage
of her oral shaft insertion. 
Zarkof left as 102 tried to come to terms with a full ten inches of gag dildo screwed
deep into her throat. The beast was almost certainly penetrating almost to the
branch of her trachea, with a result that any attempt at speech was reduced to a
Tasping whistle of breath. Only the fact that the dildo was hollow prevented
suffocation.
By her side, 144 blamed 102’s noisy protests for the fact that she immediately
suffered a similar upgrading of her orifice insertions. How long they would remain
so incredibly demobilised neither could guess. But then neither could guess that
this was only the start of their new training schedule, and was mild in comparison
to what they would have to learn to endure in the near future.
An hour later, Zarkof viewed the completed device in the courtyard. 237 was
already installed, and at this very moment, two very thankful women were being
released from their cage cubes and prepared for their own part in what was to be a
triple display, destined one day to grace the huge entrance hall of Sulliman’s palace.
Chapter 14 THE DISTRIBUTOR
237 was ensconced in a ‘T’ casque, inverted, and her head clamped into a geared
wheel. Despite the trauma of being held stiffly in a painful sideways splits and
sealed into a tight inflexible casing, the massive six-inch spiral fluted dildo poised
‘ominously above her pussy proved to be of far more fearsome intent to the luckless
‘Helen. But then she only knew a fraction of the potential for torment inherent in
the design. Sulliman’s concept for the grand hallway display was that of three
women demonstrating the effects of exquisite torment on a prolonged and
inescapable basis. Unlike any of Zarkof’s carefully orchestrated training techniques,
Sulliman had no qualms about placing his captives in life threatening situations.
For two of the participants, that was going to be a very real threat. However, that
was the intent. Given that failure to comply would cost them their lives, neither
102 nor 144 would be able to show any compassion for 237. 
The plot was simple. 102 and 144 were going to have no choice but to subject 237
to non-stop torment in order to preserve their own lives.
Zarkof checked the inverted figure closely, noting the frantic squirming struggles
within the all-encompassing acrylic casque. Helen Watermann, having had a clear
view of the massive dildo as they assembled her, was under no illusions as to the
final placement of that monstrosity. He ran his eye over the massive wheel like
treadmills situated on either side of her form. It was a diabolical device that even
staggered his penchant for traumatised females.
A sound behind him caused Zarkof to swing around. He was just in time to see 102
being pushed into the courtyard, closely followed by 144. It took a second or two
for their eyes to become accustomed to the glare, then both balked as they saw the
huge contraption.
Warders pushed them forward, and there was little they could do to resist. Both
were clad in super tight black latex suits, helmeted, and their arms welded into a
painfully enforced back prayer by a strong powerful pouch and tightly cinched
overbanding. As they walked, brief flashes of sunlight glinting from their crotch
regions left no doubt as to the fact they were fully plugged with huge steel dildos.
Similar flashes from the lower facial area drew Zarkof’s attention to massively
expanded oral filling devices. The gleam of metal at throat level accounted for
heads that were held stiffly erect. But Zarkof knew that these were rather more
then mere posture collars. They were in fact cleverly designed reduction collars,
fashioned from flexible stainless steel.
Each side, the collars displayed small levers jutting out sideways that terminated in
ring fittings. If the levers were pulled upward, a series if tiny gears operated and
the collar reduced dramatically in size. oo -
As he watched, both women were pushed into the massive drive wheels, and dangling
chains were snapped to the collars. For a while, both women looked confused.
They knew that something diabolical was planned, but neither seemed able to figure
it out. 237’s ‘T’ shaped format did little to help in solving the quandary.
The warders prodded them forward, forcing each to walk up the inner slope of their
respective wheels, and then shortened the neck chains to ensure that they couldn’t
reverse back down. What they couldn’t see were the cables being connected to
their deeply implanted butt plugs. It didn’t matter, they would find out about that
very soon.
So far it didn’t seem so bad after all, and Zarkof saw one of the women looking
slightly relieved. A second later the look of relief became one of horror as the
brakes were removed on the wheels. 
Ponderously the huge tread-wheels began to move around as the weight of the
women moved back towards bottom dead centre. For a few milliseconds they
struggled as the chains tugged upward, and the fiendish levers cranked the collars
to a size two inches smaller. Then the obvious solution to strangulation dawned on
them.
For a few moments there was a frantic scrambling to regain a foothold on the slowly
accelerating track of the wheel, and during that time both women felt the powerful
collars crushing their throats as their own body weight operated the levers. But
finally they managed to get a grip, and as the wheel built momentum, they were
able to match the speed. 
For both women it was a relief to realise that they had an alternative to being garroted.
It was a short-lived relief as muted sounds of terror sounded from the inverted ‘T’
that was 237.
As the ponderous wheels rotated, they in turn moved shafts and gears. The acrylic
coated ‘T’ was being rotated by the head gear, and in addition, that huge spiralled
dildo was forcing downwards into the defenceless crotch. Already it was several
inches into the woman, and it was quickly apparent that a half turn of the treadwheels
would bury the thing fully. A continued turning would retract it as a system of
gears engineered a reciprocating motion. So for every turn of the drive wheels they
were forced to tread, 237 would be screwed and impaled as the monster was augured
in and out of her slowly rotating form. But that was only a minor event compared
to other innovations that only became apparent as the pitiful 237 completed her
first half of a full rotation. The steel tips to her pointed toes were a modification
that suddenly took effect as she completed the first half turn. The toe tips lined up
with two stationary steel points mounted just an inch clear of the rotating ‘T’s
circumference. 
Instantly there was a crackle of electricity and 237 gave out an ungodly sound as
her painfully spread legs became the conductor in a circuit. High voltage current
surged through her legs in a short pulse, and immediately the two women walking
the wheels jerked and writhed. Zarkof shook his head in disbelief at the extent of
Sulliman’s sadism. 237 was little more than the rotor arm in a high voltage
_ distributor. It was an exact match for any common automobile ignition system.
102 and 144 were simply the spark plugs. The human spark plugs danced and
jerked like demented marionettes, lost footing and dangled from the crushing collars.
Their black sheathed forms thrashed and spasmed as the raging bolt of anal electricity
surged through them, until mercifully the impetus of the wheels carried 237’s toe
tips past the point where the arc could be maintained. 
Bug-eyed and purple faced, the wheel-walkers struggled to regain their footing,
and a few seconds later had managed to ease the pressure on their throats as they
started to trudge the wheel. There was no escape for any of them. Only 237 could
survive if they stopped, but neither of the other women seemed inclined to be garroted
as the price of her comfort and survival. 
The dildo screwed on, and 237 rotated. On the second circuit, knowing what was
to come, the wheel-walking motivators managed to endure the lashing bolts of
electricity and maintain a semblance of forward movement. It was jerky and
punctuated by high pitched keening for mercy, but they did manage to sustain their
balance without a repeat performance of hanging themselves.
Without doubt Sulliman had invented perpetual motion, or more accurately, perpetual
torment. Zarkof watched as the acrylic sheathed 237 went berserk inside the
inescapable casing. The entire surface of the transparent ‘T’ shaped cocoon was a
sea of straining muscle movement as the monstrous dildo bored and reamed,
stretching the offered pussy lips with effortless ease, ponderously screwing itself
deeply into the fettered woman. Then, as it reached full insertion, the outstretched
legs and pointing toes lined up with the stationary electrodes and electricity crackled.
In an instant all three women were joined in a circuit of mutual torment. 237’s
pussy seemed to leap into a surreal profile as her buttock muscles contracted
violently. Whether she liked it or not, her pubic muscles were clamping the fluted
dildo tightly as she was spun around its girth. 
Zarkof moved his attention back to the struggling wheel walkers. He had to admit
they looked superb. With their latex outer sheaths polished to a high gloss, the
tight membrane of rubber was adding a surreal quality to their curvaceous bodies.
The rigs, closely aligned with 237’s normal day rig, looked just as good in black.
With waists crushed to a minuscule and seemingly impossible dimension, they
were exhibiting those same erupting buttock features that looked so deliciously
wanton when in motion. There was something very special about the way a female
bottom juddered and flexed when encased in tight rubber. It was especially exciting
when latex sheathed hard working buttock cheeks were mincing and suckling on a
massive anal dildo. His eyes moved upward to savour the tightly cinched ball tits
and he was pleased to see that his staff had managed to achieve the same hard
spherical qualities that 237 had so recently exhibited. If anything, 144, who had
slightly larger tits, looked even more impossibly reshaped, and the new armsheath
design enhance the forward thrust to a new level of licentious excess. The overbanding of the armsheaths looked even more pronounced in black. In fact the
entire ensemble looked fabulous as the two ebony figurines squirmed and strained
in an effort to escape the inevitability of their torment. The rippling black latex
was alive with desperate muscle movement that sent shards of light dancing across
the polished surface. 
At that moment 237’s toes connected and 102 was caught off guard. The power of :
the electrical bolt jerked her off her feet, and as he watched she performed a crazy
wriggling dance, suspended only by her neck.
It was almost her undoing. The frantic gyrations of a woman basically being throttled
caused her body to rotate, winding the neck chains and also preventing her from
regaining her footing. Zarkof almost intervened, but managed to hold himself back
with the thought that she had to learn. Sulliman wouldn’t be so concerned. These
women had to learn and endure before Sulliman installed them as an unattended,
self-motivated feature in his hallway. There would be no more compassion extended
to these women than he would extend to a marble statue or a piece of sculpture. -
The most likely scenario was that they would be spending dawn until dusk in this
format. That was the best case scenario. Zarkof had no doubt that at times there
would be no overnight rest. If they were lucky the wheels would be braked and
they would spend the night as they were, albeit stationary.
_ His eyes strayed to the circumference of vacant electrode holders surrounding 237’s
toe-pointing circle of operation. Currently, only two had the shiny arc caps fitted.
If all were fitted there would be thirty-two connection points. Sulliman often held
western style discos for his guests, and 237 was destined to be the circuit selector
for the many flashing strobe lights. With neons stuffed into her butt hole, affixed to
her gag, and dangling from her nipples, she would become a flashing addition to
the display. The beauty of neon lights was that they didn’t actually have to be a
part of the circuit to glow. Neons only had to be in close proximity to high energy
and they would light up.
Almost without realising, Zarkof found himself studying the rotating dildo-fucked
central item of the display. A strange reaction to the full insertion of that massive
dildo was that the delightful squirming movement of flesh against the acrylic
containment seemed to stop. It was only after considering this for a while that he
realised why. 237 was absorbing a huge mass of incompressible steel as the dildo
penetrated and bored deep into her body. Something had to change to allow that.
The laws of physics decreed that you couldn’t get a quart into a pint pot. Ineffect
her entire lower body was expanding to accept the intruder, which resulted in her
buttocks and lower abdomen expanding tightly into the casque. Even as he watched
the dildo bulldozed into her yet again and Zarkof witnessed the rapid cessation of
squirming rump movement as her lower body expanded inexorably to fill every
morsel of spare space inside the casque. A fleeting glimpse of her inverted rotating
face revealed that 237 was not a happy woman. Even her worst nightmare scenario
when she’d accepted the option to prison hadn’t prepared her for this. Her face was
crimson, cheeks erupting over the tight facial cinching of the casque’s gagging
section, and eyes bugging out as the dildo screwed into her nether regions in a
never ending cycle of torment. His concentration was broken as someone called to
him. 
Zarkof responded to the warders queries and waved them away. All was in order
and they had other things to do, other inmates to tend to. He gave the tormented
trio a last look, and then followed the departing staff back into the building. As he
walked he cast his mind back to the original taped interview between 237 and Bill
Nealy. Without a doubt 237 would dearly love to be able to reverse that
monumentally stupid decision. Life at the prison as a sex slave to the butch German
amazon was clearly a better choice than the one she now found herself in.
He checked his watch. The first training session was scheduled for three hours.
That left him just enough time to welcome the incoming new recruit.
Project 238, who would normally have spent another three or four months at the
prison, was being rushed though as 237’s replacement for Bill Nealy’s personal
gratification. After attending to her arrival it would be time to escalate 237 to a
new level of torment and add all the contact points to her circle of operation.
Zarkof already knew of the many formats Sulliman had planned for this particular
hallway display, and apart from their usage as a disco feature, they would spend
many days as the human distributor of retribution to a ring of bound female
ornaments. Thirty two in all, clamped, gagged, and stiffened so that thrusting nipple
capped breasts were offered in a jiggling circle of torment. Connections at neck
and ankles would ensure that each of the luckless women formed a through-body
circuit as 237 served the contact points surrounding her circle of operation. Helen
Watermann’s endless rotation was intended to provide a constant wave of electrical
convulsion in the gathering as she turned and energised each in succession.
The future looked bleak for all three women, and Zarkof had his doubts as to how
long they could endure such torment before being relegated to Sulliman’s frozen
archives. As it happened, the future of the three women was about to take a dramatic
turn. Whether it would be for better or worse remained to be seen. A communication
from Sulliman the very next morning put a hold on the delivery of 237 and her
unwilling co-workers. Action by women’s rights groups worldwide was causing
Sulliman’s own government to put pressure on him to cease and desist his blatant
display of tormented captive females.
It was a forlorn hope, seeing as basically the entire government was his paid puppets.
Each and every one of them owed their election to public office to his money and
manipulation. But they had to do something. Trade sanctions were looming, and
that could even damage Sulliman’s vast income from oil revenues. If Sulliman’s
income was damaged, then obviously their payoffs would suffer. It was a catch-22
situation for the majority of corrupt officials. -
Sulliman’s answer to the pressure was probably not what the activists envisaged, :
but then they weren’t to know the details. The only visible sign of a result was that
Sulliman’s palatial mansion became devoid of any signs of slave girls or tormented
bound female ornaments. 
What the activists could not possibly know, was that Sulliman, in a fit of pique,
ordered that the entire current household stock of enslaved females was to be placed
in their steel storage boxes, and frozen in his private cryogenic storage unit. Maybe
at some time in the distant future, technology would provide a means to resurrect
them. Until then they were condemned to remain frozen solid. To unfreeze them
before the technology existed would mean certain death, and to move or use them
in their current form could just as easily end up with these beautiful women shattering
like glass. 
Zarkof read the letter over again, and strangely, felt relieved that 237, 102, and 144
had not been delivered earlier, otherwise they would almost certainly be just another
three frozen female sculptures by now. Sulliman was instructing him to basically
use his own judgement in how he handled the unplanned extension of their training
period. Thoughtfully he walked over to the window and studied the diabolical
arrangement in the courtyard. Already the three women had been working hard
since 6 a.m. that morning. At least two had been working hard. Project 237 was
simply rotating and being perpetually fucked with mechanical thoroughness as she
preformed her other task as a living rotor arm in a distributor of electrical pain.
Zarkof watched with a degree of detachment as the massive dildo bulldozed its 
way back into the wide stretched pussy of 237, then glanced down at the
communication again. The instructions were clear.
Dr Zarkof, 
Please delay delivery of the three new purchases until further notice and continue
their training in any way that you see fit. 
Signed Sulliman
‘He looked back to the courtyard display in time to see the dildo filled pussy of 237
convulsing madly as Helen’s pointed toes passed the conductor points. At this
moment in rotation her entire lower region became the conductor of powerful
electrical currents. Instantly the motivators of the whole array went into paroxysms
and performed a rabid sort of dance routine as they twitched and jerked on their
neck tethers. It was an immensely pleasurable sight to see those tightly bound latex
sheathed females, rippling and writhing with helpless fury as the current surged
through them. Their straining powerfully sheathed arms, twitching convulsing
bottoms, and heaving outward thrusting females breasts were such joys to behold
for a man like Zarkof. Women were made to be balanced on ridiculous heels,
sheathed in super-tight second skins of shiny material, bound, gagged, and forced
to exhibit their curvaceous charms for the pleasure of males in the most provocative
and often humiliating way, and of course, be available for fucking whenever needed.
Zarkof was truly a man of the old school. Women’s Lib was still an obscene phrase
in his vocabulary.
Zarkof rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he watched and mused. He was due a
vacation, and it was his intention to take a fishing trip at his own hideaway; a
remote stone mini-castle situated on an island in the middle of a privately owned
loch. He was of a mind to take along Sulliman’s recently purchased pets to pass the
evenings. After all, Glenfada had its own well equipped facilities. It was some 280
miles north to Glenfada but that hardly posed a problem. In fact it raised the
possibility to test out his new transport correction idea. Zarkof made his decision
and summoned a warder. ‘
“Strip those three out of that rig and prepare them for a long trip. A full clean out
and some high-energy food. I won’t have time to feed or toilet them, I’ll be driving.”
He grinned and spoke softly to himself, “and they’ll be busy assessing my new
idea.”
Zarkof turned away, and then, as an afterthought, he turned back to call after the
retreating warder. . a - 4
“Make sure research and development have Grade-1 moulded back frames in storage
for all of them.” The warder nodded understanding and vanished.
Two hours later, Zarkof walked out to the graveled driveway where a one ton
refrigerated box van was waiting. He checked in the back, saw it was still empty,
and was about to enquire what the delay was when a group of figures emerged from
the main doors of Cairndhu. Pairs of warders were carrying stiffened figurines,
and as they got closer, the straining silenced forms of the three from the courtyard
were clearly discernible. Sulliman’s new purchases were well bound and ready for
their next testing trauma. 
The group approached and Zarkof moved to intercept. As they drew close he brought
the column to a halt and walked around nodding approval. Each woman was banded
tightly to a rigid moulded back frame of her own personal sculpted shape. There
was no margin for any movement with this type of personalised frame.
Zarkof felt his crotch growing warm with a stirring of anticipatory manhood as he
checked them out. Anything that held a female so tightly, so utterly helpless and
available, so completely useable, caused the blood to pound in his veins. As a past
_ master of torture and interrogation in his KGB capacity, the state work had gone
some way towards serving his needs. But now it was different. It was pure and
untainted by the thoughts that sooner or later any women who fell into KGB hands
for questioning invariably ended up dead or physically and mentally destroyed.
‘Now he could torment and use these women in any way he chose, with the knowledge
that his prime directive was to keep them well and fit so that they could serve their
masters longer. He loved to torment and test them to the limits of their tolerance.
He lusted after the sight of their writhing female forms when bound, cinched, and
held in some form of super tight restraint. But deep down Zarkof didn’t really wish
them real harm. Brushing aside his silent musing, he turned his attention back to ;
the women. 
Prior to their banding to the frames, they had been sheathed in ultra tight black
latex catsuits. However, these varied from the normal total enclosure type in that
they had cutaway crotches, exposed buttocks, and thrusting tits bulging from the
apertures at the front. : - Se
The frames were also modified versions. The first noticeable difference was the
extra length of moulding that continued up the neck, past the back of the skull and
curved over to form a shaped skull cap atop the head where a strange gimballed
fixture was attached to the crown. At the foot end, an extension tube jutted beyond
the level of their excruciatingly preformed ballerina toes, and was clearly designed
to accept some sort of attachment. The only other concession to total full length
coverage was the cutaway rump aperture that revealed a tightly squeezed butt cleft
and the twin moons of buttocks that were slightly extruded through the gap by the
pressure of the cinching holding the women to the frames. 
The women were all hooded and gagged with ultra tight-laced hoods, but their eyes
were still uncovered and able to flash pleading messages of fear. Zarkof noted -
their futile efforts to escape whatever fate was in store for them. Even the greatest
straining efforts afforded them little more than a slight surface rippling and a
delightful bulging of female flesh between the deeply embedded cinches of the
banding. He motioned the warders forward and stood back as they moved past and
loaded the tightly bound women into the van. _ i -
One by one, the stiffened figures were located head down, the gimballed headpiece
locking into a pre-installed locator on the van floor. As a warder held each vertically
inverted, the others prepared to add the means to hold them balanced on their heads
in this diabolically controlled format. The means to stabilise and hold them was a
masterpiece of fiendish cunning. = =
Helen, or Project 237, to give her the correct title, was the first to undergo
stabilisation. A large hook that terminated in a dildo was forced between the exposed
and frantically clenching nates of her bottom, and without further ado, hooked
deeply into her rectal orifice. The thin steel cable attached to it was then led down
at an angle and snapped into a floor mounted ring bolt. A similarly hooked dildo,
albeit a larger diameter version, bulldozed into her pussy moments later, and was
also connected down to a floor ring on the opposite side of her cinched form.
Adjusters were tightened, and as the frontal and rear dildo hooks were drawn apart,
237’s protesting orifices took up the strain and held her form erect.
Zarkof called a halt before the other two women could be similarly positioned and
walked around the writhing column of traumatized femininity. It was a stirring
sight to see such a curvaceous woman stiffly controlled, balanced on her head, and
vertically maintained by her own openings. What a wonderful design females were.
: Those body holes were such useful orifices for all manner of things. Zarkof ordered
the warders to increase the tensioning and watched as the dildos were drawn down
tight and deep. The tightening continued despite Helen’s loud keening pleas, and
| Zarkof only called a halt when the dildo hooks had completely vanished from sight
into the clench of each of her female clefts. He gave further instructions.
“Finish 237 off completely and let the others watch. It’ll do them good to see what
they have coming.” 
102 and 144 were removed from their head locators, turned right way up and propped
stiffly against the van wall where they could see all that was happening to Helen.
Then the warders returned to their original task. 1,
First they added tit cinchers to her jutting boobs. These were steel bands that,
when placed around the root of each tit and adjusted, extruded the abused female
orbs into hard spherical balls. A wire trailed from each root cinch, and these were
connected to junction boxes at each side of the van. Nipple clamps added more
trauma, and again wires trailing from the items joined the others in a growing mass
of wire connecting to the ominous boxes. Already the steel wires tensioning the
dildo hooks had connections of their own. ;
There was a lull in the activity around 237 as the team prepared more equipment,
and Zarkof took the opportunity to move closer and test the effectiveness of the
inverted alignment technique. By pushing forcefully against the column of her
bound calves, he was able to move the stiffened woman a few degrees out of vertical
alignment, but at the same time soliciting a series of high pitched keening pleas as
her tender butt hole was stretched and elongated by the deeply buried anal dildo
hook. A push the other way produced slightly more movement as her elastic pussy
elongated even more. Zarkof pursed his lips, released the tension and watched
with amusement as the women sprang back to a vertical position, courtesy of her
own internal elasticity. He motioned the warders who were now waiting to continue
and stood back to watch the final additions. 7 7
First there was a motorised cane unit which was quickly bolted to the rear of the
frame assembly. The motor drive unit was virtually hidden from view behind the
single glove mass of Helen’s armsheathed hand and forearms. Protruding from
either side was the main drive shaft and two short, but ominous canes. The canes
were poised over the exposed and fleshy nates of Helen’s bottom. More cables
joined the control boxes as the drive motors were connected to the system. In
effect, the addition of the cane motor completed the electrical side of things.
All that remained was the inertial retribution system. Zarkof’s eyes gleamed with
anticipation. 
It was a simple device that belied its potential for escalating the torment to be
inflicted on the helpless women once the journey started. Wide eyed, 102 and 144
watched as a large plastic water cooler container was affixed above the feet of the
inverted 237. The warders screwed the thing tightly down onto the foot spigot so
that it stood firmly mounted and laden with evil portent above the terrified woman.
At the moment it was empty, and therefore weighed less than a pound. But a
second full container was quickly suspended from the van roof, anda connecting _
tube with an adjustable tap left no doubt that, sooner or later, the water from the
upper bottle would be transferred to the lower one attached to 237’s feet. 
It didn’t take a degree in rocket engineering to figure that a full bottle weighing in
at somewhere around 40 pounds was going to add a whole new dimension to Helen’s
vertical retention devices once this van got on the move. The additional leverage
imparted to the rigidly stiffened column of womanhood by that amount of top weight
was going to require a lot more orifice tension before the stress balanced out and
her abused openings could pull her back to the upright mode.
Zarkof’s eyes gleamed as he studied the thin steel wires vanishing between Helen’s 
clenching buttocks and the quivering lips of her pussy. The tight compressive
cinching of her form squeezed thighs tightly together and the awesome dildo hooks
were completely hidden from view. Given the thigh clamping and the downward 
angled pull on the wires, the dildos were firmly implanted and there was no chance
of 237 being able to work them out. Besides, there was a full eight inches of steel
reinforced plastic buried in each hole. 
A lustfully uplifting image flashed into Zarkof’s brain as he imagined the effect of
applying the brakes sharply, and his throbbing manhood almost exploded at the
thought. But it wasn’t just the added stress on her abused butt hole that the extra
weight created. The resultant increase in forward shift created by the huge top
weight would automatically electrify the deeply buried dildo hook by a proportional
amount. The more violent the swing, the stronger the electrical charge. Acceleration
and gear shifting would produce and equal and opposite effect in her pussy anchor.
The cane motor, however, was designed to remain in operation as long as his foot
was on the brake, and with some relish Zarkof remembered the long hills he would
have to descend on the way to Glenfada. In addition, there were three main towns
to travel through, and that meant extensive use of the indicators. His eyes wandered
to the purple throbbing tit-balls and the connecting cables. Turning left would send
pulses through one tit, and right would do the same to the other. 
The whole thing was a diabolical attempt to produce a training method that was
totally random in timing, effect, and severity. Previous experience had proved to
Zarkof that women were a tough breed. Invariably they became accustomed to
timed and predictable punishment and were able to absorb the salutary effect. In
his opinion and that of many colleagues at Cairndhu, this latest monstrously traumatic
idea fulfilled all the requirements.
Carefully he explained the whole concept to the fearfully watching women, making
sure that his voice carried to Helen, who was already installed. The effect wasa _
joy to behold, as the inverted mummified woman became a pillar of frantic straining
effort. Her performance was instantly mimicked as the warders lifted the second
woman and prepared to add her to the assembly. 
Within twenty minutes, despite all the frantic effort to escape the frames or plead
for mercy, all three were installed and connected. After tightening the ratchet
cinchers on all the women at Zarkof’s bidding, the warders vacated the van. Zarkof
stood at the rear surveying the pitifully writhing row of inverted, rubberised, female
shapes. It was a stunning spectacle of rippling, straining, ultra cinched femininity,
and the muted keening entreaties emanating from all was a joy to behold. Zarkof
dallied a second or two longer and drank in the plight of the nearest woman, who,
as it happened, was 144. The tightness of her cinches reduced her to a series of
bulging curvatures that seemed to explode from the crushing confines of each band.
Each curve was firm and warm to the touch and seemed to pulse with power as the
woman struggled. Super tightened upper thigh and waistbands particularly
emphasised the effect as the extreme cinch pressure sculpted the rump region into
an eruption of bulging rubberised buttock and enhanced the thrusting bisected curve
of her mound of Venus. Out of that lustfully curvaceous area of womanhood, came
. the evil steel wires that were holding her poised for torment. The thigh bands were
essential as they compressed each woman tightly around the dildos. There was
simply no way they could ever extrude them with muscle effort. Zarkof just loved
the look of those wires appearing out of the clamp of each woman’s femininity.
Placing a hand on the squeezed pout of her pussy, he twanged the wire with his
other hand and felt her delicate sex portal vibrate viciously. Twanging the rear
wire produced an even more pronounced vibration in the fleshy lobes of her ass
cheeks. He felt the woman straining at her bonds, and for the hell of it added
another two clicks to all of her ratchet cinchers. 144’s muted pleas fell on deaf
ears, and he pulled the ankles powerfully until she was some five degrees out of
vertical, and her pussy region was stretching and distending as the hidden dildo
reshaped her. After savouring the sight for a second or two, he let go. Instantly
144 sprang back from the angle he’d forced her over to and rocked to a stop as her
orifices reached equilibrium. The stiffened rod of womanhood couldn’t flex at all,
but her bottom and pussy extrusions performed an exotic reshaping as they brought
her oscillating form back under control.
Zarkof could only guess at the internal effects of that display of flexing female
flesh. Next he pushed her forward and tested the butt hole retainer. It was amazing
to see her buttocks slowly peeling apart and the puckered clenching ring of her
sphincter appearing as it suckled the invader. In effect her own involuntary reaction
to the abuse simply caused her ass to grip the dildo tighter. Zarkof studied the taut
: shiny tension imparted to the skin between her two crotch orifices as the anal tract
was forced to the rear by the diabolical butt-hook dildo. He continued to push until
her butt cleft was almost leveled out, so great was the tensioning effect. Once
; again he let her go. Instantly her bottom cleft reformed as she rocked back into
alignment. It was magical to watch the reformation engulfing her visible butt hole
and the deeply buried dildo as her bottom resumed its normal curvaceous swell.
Zarkof reckoned that each time he braked these women would move to that sort of
level. It was a deliciously uplifting thought.
His gaze moved upward to the thighs and legs. They were stacked neatly ina
tapering column of womanhood that also exhibited the curvaceous bulging
phenomenon created by super tight cinching. The armsheath welded her lower
arms into a single elbow clamped limb, and the over-banding that clamped the ;
armsheath to her body gave the fleshier upper arms a strange quilted effect as the
multiple straps cut deeply into her straining latex covered flesh. He could see the
muscles of her arms twitching and flexing as she fought, and her crushed fingers
fought to be free of the laced glove. It was a forlorn hope doomed to failure.
Simultaneously her powerful leg and buttock muscles were working in unison to
engineer a magnificent and totally ineffective attempt to break free. He could see
the woman’s balled breasts heaving with effort, but no matter what she did, the
frame and her super-tight banding held her firmly like a huge pulsing chrysalis of
womanhood.
With a sigh of contentment, he instructed the van to be closed up, and watched as
the thick insulated door swung and thudded closed. Refrigerated vans made excellent
soundproofed transport vehicles. Despite the fact that it contained three loudly
keening women desperately pleading for some sort of mercy, not a single sound
escaped. The beauty of it was that the refrigerator unit was still fully operational,
and at any time during the trip Zarkof could raise and lower the temperature within
from his position up front. Cold shivering bottoms tended to feel lashing canes all
the more.
Zarkof checked his watch. He couldn’t leave for an hour as he was expecting an
important call. Time enough to give the helpless cargo a taste of things to come. |
Moving around to the refrigeration unit, he started the small petrol engine and set
the thermostat to 30 degrees fahrenheit. Minus 2 degrees of frost should be enough
for now. He estimated that the inside of the van would just about reach that by the
time he was ready to leave. Smirking to himself Zarkof walked away without so _
much as a backward glance as the van noisily set about the training of three super
controlled females. 
An hour later Zarkof returned and switched off the refrigeration motor. He liked
his ladies chilled, not frozen to death. A quick look in the back appraised him of
the fact that he had estimated it dead right. The three inverted latex sheathed forms
were glistening with a faint sparkle of frost that was made all the more lustfully
exciting by the continual rippling writhing attempts the women were making to
escape the forthcoming ordeal. An uncontrollable shivering simply added to the
effect. Zarkof laughed at their desperate plight. The core temperature of the women
was still an acceptable 98.6 degrees, but the skin and latex sheath was considerably
lower due to the rapid cooling effect of the refrigeration unit . Moisture laden
Scottish air trapped in the van instantly seized on the chance to alight on any cooled
surface under those conditions. The van was basically sealed. As the air cooled it
had to shed moisture. Three cold, latex sheathed women were an ideal surface to
condense onto. no a a kt Toe
“Well now! What have we here? Three female ‘popsicles’ all nicely cooled and
ready for training.” re an
The inverted shapes mewed and writhed, and Zarkof grinned as the latex body
sheathing crackled and shed thin slivers of ice. The ominous steel anchor wires
were already coated with heavy frost, and the conductivity of the metal was almost
certainly carrying the chilling effect deep into their clefts. All of the spherical
balled tits were showing a pronounced shade of blue, partly from the pressure, but
mainly from cold. Again Zarkof felt that huge surge of pleasure as his power over
these females and their well-being came sharply into focus. They had struggled
and strained to the utmost of their ability, and it availed them nothing. They were
his to either freeze solid, or whatever. Zarkof took pity on them and exercised his
power to decide their fate. 
“Okay ladies, time to warm you up again now.” He slammed the door and dropped
a lock through the hasp. Seconds later the engine rumbled into life and three
powerfully gagged females made a frenzied last attempt to escape the inescapable.
The curvaceous tapering columns of inverted womanhood swayed slightly due the
titanic efforts to escape, but the dildo anchors held firm, and they remained stiffly
cinched and tightly compacted figurines awaiting punishment. There was no escape.
Zarkof slipped the van into gear and deliberately let the clutch drop rather fiercely.
As the vehicle surged forward he could visualize three stiffened forms tilting
backwards in perfect unison as their pussies took the strain. A savagely applied
brake at the gateway to Cairndhu mansion produced a similar mental image of butt
abuse going on behind him as they absorbed the deceleration. A tractor trundling
along the road with a large cart delayed the pull-out, and gleefully Zarkof kept his
foot on the brake pedal, mindful of the fact that three cold ultra receptive bottoms
were suffering the stinging strokes of motorised canes for as long as the pedal was
depressed. 
He flipped the radio on, and then selected the channel recommended by his warders.
Channel 10 was wired to the microphones in the back. Instantly the cab filled with
the sounds of traumatised females and the sharp snicking sounds of canes hitting
jostling, clenching, bottom flesh. Zarkof smiled, and seeing the road was now
clear, he fed in the clutch and began the long journey north. Channel 10 continued
to supply him the sounds of torment with every passing mile. Each gear shift,
every brake, every turn signal produced renewed sounds of suffering from the rear,
and it was a marvelously uplifting thought to imagine the helpless, swaying pillars
of inverted womanhood as they were yanked back and forth by their orifices and
subjected to constant electrical correction currents. 
An hour later, Zarkof restarted the refrigeration unit and froze them up again during
the ferry crossing. Idly he sat in the upper deck lounge staring down at the van on
the vehicle deck as he enjoyed a stiff drink. Truckers were standing close to the
vehicle, and one was even leaning on the side of the van, but with no idea that only
a few feet away, three gorgeous tightly bound women were being converted to
living popsicles as they balanced on their heads and strained continually at
impossibly tight cinches and bands. 
The ferry trip only took forty-five minutes, so Zarkof left the refrigeration on as he
drove off the ferry onto the mainland. Let them think he had forgotten. He grinned
and turned the temperature control to add another 2 degrees of frost. At 4 degrees
below freezing, those bottoms were going to be very painful. He finished the
temperature adjustment, and then flicked a switch on another box.
Behind him three desperate women begged and screamed into their gags as a buzzer
sounded. Zarkof had been very careful to make sure they knew what the sound of
_ that buzzer meant. The taps to the upper water containers were opening and allowing
the lower water containers screwed onto their frames above their feet to begin
filling at a slow predetermined rate. Zarkof had already told them that the flow
valves were set to completely fill the lower bottles in one hour. Unfortunately for
them, Zarkof had foreseen a slight problem with low temperatures and water. The
water was dosed with antifreeze, so there was no possibility of a freeze up gaining
them a release from that planned event. 
The inverted columnised females became a sea of maniacal effort as they tilted and
swayed in unison with every vehicle movement, each knowing that every second
was adding more inertia to their top-weight. Even after ten minutes the increasing
upper weight was inflicting a noticeably increased force into their beleaguered
orifices. In addition, the resultant violence of the swings was rapidly stepping up
the power of the electrical jolts searing through the dildo clenching tunnels of their
lower bodies. In a way it was a blessing in disguise. The violent muscle contractions
created by the bolts of electricity were helping to maintain body heat by exertion as
the air temperature dropped to 28 degrees fahrenheit. In the dim glow of the van’s
container lights three whitened sparkling columns of femininity jerked and writhed
in an orgy of sadistically orchestrated excess. The design was a masterpiece of
diabolically contrived random torment. 
Meanwhile, Zarkof was enjoying the thoughts of their plight.
Suddenly a car appeared ahead, trying to overtake a long semi trailer truck pounding
its way up the hill. Zarkof gasped and orgasmed powerfully as he attempted to
brake violently. At the time the van was travelling fast down a long straight incline.
As he stood on the brakes. Zarkof heard the muted screams of fury and trauma
from channel 10 and envisioned all three women canted forward at an absurdly
painful angle. The water bottles above them were half full. Such heavy braking
was stretching their beleaguered butt holes powerfully and sending super-powerful
electrical jolts into their bodies. In addition half-frozen super cooled bottoms were
juddering under the impact of sustained canes. Zarkof saw all this in a mental
image, then in an effort to warn the oncoming car driver, Zarkof flicked on the
hazard flashers. It wasn’t really necessary. The car driver was already fully aware
of his presence, but Zarkof liked the idea of having an excuse to pile the torment
onto the straining, screaming, abused popsicles in the back. All three women were
instantly subjected to simultaneous electrification of both tits as a result.
The inverted rubber columns bulged and pulsed with the immense power of their
titanic efforts to escape the torment, but the cinching held firm and unyielding.
There was no escape for the sparkling frost coated females. They could only endure
and scream into their gags as they were caned, butt stretched and tit shocked. Then
as suddenly as it began, the immense butt hole tension vanished as Zarkof took his
foot from the brake. 
Instantly their elastic sphincter muscles yanked the leaning columns of womanhood
violently back to the vertical, and an over-swing reaction took them the other way.
For a few seconds the three women endured as they oscillated back and forth with
the water above sloshing and exaggerating the sway, shifting the emphasis of torment
from front to rear. There was nothing they could do. Stiffened and helpless, they
endured as the water ballasting tortured them with savage tidal movement, and the
reversing motion pussy and ass yanked them alternately. It was a bonus that even
Zarkof had not planned for in his design concept.
Chapter 15 GLENFADA
The drive to Glenfada took nine hours. Traffic was kind to the suffering trio on the
van. Zarkof wasn’t. He’d frozen them up and then thawed them out seven times
before the van finally swung through the gates of Glenfada House. On arrival, it
appeared that he’d beaten the staff. Nobody was there to take charge of the prisoners
whilst he rested from the trip. Zarkof was angry, and as a result the tormented
women took the full brunt of his displeasure.
As it happened, the van was parked on an extremely steep incline, and Zarkof
decided to leave it there until the warders turned up. The fact that such a steep
incline left all three women angled sharply due to the top weight of full containers
on their feet, and consequently, their butt holes taking the full retaining weight,
was immaterial. He set the refrigeration to an all-time low of 26 degrees fahrenheit,
then flicked on the hazard flashers. As he walked away from the van there was no
outward sign that three women were at that very moment suffering pulsed electrical
charges through their tits, whilst their butt holes took constant electrical jolts, and
buttocks quivered under the impact of lashing canes. Inexorably the throbbing
refrigeration unit slowly began to convert them back to supersensitive female
popsicles of glistening frosted latex and traumatised womanhood.
It was and hour and half before the warders arrived. A breakdown in a remote
location had caused the delay. But as soon as they arrived, Zarkof set them to the
task of unloading his precious cargo. He had used the waiting time to good effect.
The violently shuddering, half frozen, stiffened females were already booked for a
new device that would reverse their current status in a voyeuristically pleasing
manner. Zarkof turned from warming his hands at the roaring log fire as the three
women were carried in, still mounted and completely helpless on their back frames.
“Welcome to Glenfada ladies.” He chuckled as the frost on their bodies twinkled in
the flickering light cast by the fire. “You look a mite chilly there. Allow me to
extend the hospitality of Glenfada and warm you up.” He motioned the warders
forward to the waiting equipment.
It took but a few minutes to install the women on equipment Zarkof had arranged,
and less than ten minutes later the half frozen figurines were slowly rotating on 
individual turntables before the roaring log fire. No doubt at this point they were
all welcoming the radiant heat on their bodies, but forhow long?
An hour later a dozing Zarkof woke to the insistent mewing of traumatized
femininity. He shifted in the comfortable leather armchair and looked over to the
source of the sound. 
Three inverted latex sheathed figurines were still faithfully rotating, but with a
minor difference. The sparkling frost encrusted forms were now clearly a lot warmer.
He reached out and then quickly snatched back the exploring hand as his skin
contacted super hot latex. Clearly the heat of the roaring log fire was slowly
barbecuing the three women. It was an observation that was enhanced by the almost
maniacal frenzied straining and writhing the women were exerting against their
inescapable bonds.
Zarkof sat back and savoured the stunning image of three rubberised female hotdogs undergoing some serious torment. Finally, somewhat reluctantly, he relented
and called in his helpers.
144 and 102 were to be given the night off. He had them removed to the cells
already prepared and personally oversaw the mounting that was to be their format
for the night. Spread-legged and mounted on narrow horse rider frames promised
to make it an uncomfortable night for both. Zarkof watched as the hydraulic jacks
were pumped vigorously and heard the sharp intake of breath from each woman as
she was lifted on the semi sharp edge of the crotch plates. In effect, the device was
simply a modern sophisticated ‘V’ block torture device. Although the method of
operation was 20th century, the principle was the same as its ancestors back in
medieval times. 
An hour at spread suspension just to tenderise the women, and then warders would
return, remove the spreader bars and strap their legs tight to the main column.
After that a few more pumps would tension the women between their abused crotches
and stretched legs. It was a salutary and extremely stressful way to spend a night
_ and Zarkof fully expected them to be begging for mercy by morning. s
In the meantime he had an even more diabolically traumatic night planned for Project
237. The research and development lab had finally perfected an idea he envisioned
some ten years earlier. It was an idea partially tested by the KGB in years gone by :
as a particularly nasty way to terminate the opposition. Usually it had been used as
a demonstration to dissuade possible opposition to their operation. It involved a
pill administered without the subject knowing. In some urgent cases requiring
instant effect, a capsule was injected into the leg by a special device hidden in an
umbrella. It was an operation that could be carried out in a public place, as was the
case of one well documented execution on London Bridge in the 1980s. That
particular usage of the delivery method used a slow acting poison however, not the
one Zarkof subsequently worked on.
The effect of Zarkof’s pill or capsule was to cause body fat cells to expand 300
percent. In effect, the subject would swell up and literally burst in the short period
of one hour. Zarkof saw other potential in the technique, if it could be controlled.
His personal input to the research department was to develop a version that could
be adjusted so as to regulate the amount of expansion and, in addition, to target
only the special fat cells that were accumulated in the outer layer of the human
body. Not the other fatty tissues essential for life. Even the slimmest person carries
fatty tissue cells in the outer layer, and 237 despite her superbly trim shape, was no
exception. But the KGB were hardly interested in his modified version, so the
formula was sort of lost in the archives. Until now, that is. Other additional
innovations envisaged by Zarkof, that complimented the same ideal of expanding a
woman, were not left unexplored. As a result, Helen was also scheduled to test a
new style gag.
237 had been fed by the time he returned, yet she was completely unaware of the
fact that her food had also contained a fiendishly engineered substance. As Zarkof
entered the room she was in the process of being inserted into a flexible steel wire
cage that held her compressed into a tight hog-tied bundle. The orderlies were
rushing to complete the task. They knew that within minutes the substance would
start to take effect. Adjusters whirred and Zarkof smiled as the pathetic hog-tied
female mewed pitifully as she was compressed and compacted with ruthless
efficiency. 
The orderlies seemed satisfied that she was as tight as possible. Zarkof barked an
order and they carried her captive form to his room and dumped her on the bed. A
woman appeared from the store with yet more equipment, and 237 was powerless
to resist as her mouth was packed with strangely shaped rubber. It appeared to be
some sort of pump-up gag, albeit in three sections. There was the familiar central
bladder that filled her oral cavity and rested on her tongue, but then there were two
weird side wings that the orderlies packed down each side of her mouth so as to rest
between the outside of her teeth and her cheeks. She had no time to ponder the
final configuration further as her lips were forced into a pucker and clamped into
ring like format that encircled a valve. A closer inspection revealed that it was
indeed a tyre valve. 237 mewed pitifully. It was painful to have her lips stretched
and basically clamped by a thin hose clip device, and already the extruded outer
section of lips that were beyond the clamp were throbbing with pressurized blood.
Zarkof readied himself for bed, and a half-hour later, he lay down beside the steel
trussed woman and relaxed. The tightly bundled 237 was a mass of ineffectual
writhing and frantic mewing pleas. Zarkof smiled. The substance was making its
presence known. 237 clearly had no idea what was happening or what was causing
it. All she knew was that her body appeared to be swelling ever tighter into the
unstretchable confines of her steel mesh hog-tie cocoon.
Wide eyed and terrified, Helen strained and heaved at her bonds, but to no avail.
Zarkof merely propped himself up on an elbow and lay smirking at her as the
visible effects of her expanding fat cells increased dramatically. There was simply
no more space within the cocoon of wire for her inexorably expanding form to use.
Her bloated skin was already bulging past the wire confines as she grew and grew.
For a while Zarkof was concerned that he had miscalculated on the dosage that
produced a cell expansion of 15 percent. But as the process slowed, he grinned
widely at the result. He had judged it dead right by all appearances. Helen had
grown into a taut bloated Michelin Man facsimile. All that remained to complete
the image was the manual touch.
Zarkof clipped a hand pump to the valve jutting from her pouted lips, and pumped.
The only part of 237 that could register complaint was her eyes. Bug-eyed, she
pleaded silently as her lower face swelled with pressure and her cheeks formed into
two tight apples of expanded flesh. Zarkof relented about two pumps before her
face seemed about to explode and disconnected the pump. Reaching out he rocked
the rock-solid package of womanhood back and forth, and was pleased to note that
she remained a solid bundle of silent unmoving tissue no matter what he did. The
new gag basically eradicated even the slightest sound, and the pressure of her
expansion into the steel mesh erased any chance of even the minutest movement.
Zarkof rolled her over onto her side and studied the pussy. A wide grin creased his
face as he viewed the results of tissue expansion. 7
Pussy lips apparently contained a high level of fatty tissue. As a result, 237’s pussy
mound had ballooned into two surreal cushion-like peaches of inviting softness.
He toyed with the spongy love lips a while, then, reaching for a tube of lubricant,
he greased up the bloated sex portal. She was going to be tight, and he needed all
the help he could get to affect an entrance. The inflated female rolled her eyes as
he positioned himself, but that was all she could manage. Zarkof lodged his
throbbing pole into her cleft and pushed hard.
She was tight! Really tight! Zarkof groaned out loud as he bulldozed into the swollen,
gripping channel of her pussy. The bundle of femininity rocked with the force of
his attack, but otherwise remained motionless and infinitely fuckable.. -
Finally, Zarkof was fully buried into the depths of the inflated 237. Her super
swollen tits were now rock hard balloons of expanded female luxury that pressed
hard against his chest. He thrust powerfully at the bloated helpless sex toy, and
savoured the vibrant feeling of her torment. It was akin to the vibrancy one would
feel in any over expanded medium, something akin to a party balloon. She was so
tight it was almost a surprise to find that she didn’t squeak as he fucked her.
Maintaining his deep penetration, he rolled the hog-tied bundle onto her back and
lay on top of her. For almost a half hour Zarkof simply used her as a spongy female
mattress, his hands roaming over the taut bloated curvatures of her expanded body,
his eyes fixed avidly on the inflated face close to his own. He was pleased with the
results. Occasionally he would kneel up and fuck the taut hog-tied female as if
riding a saddle. It was a good arrangement as it allowed him to squeeze and pummel
the bursting upward thrusting orbs of her inflated breasts. Apparently tits also had
a high proportion of fatty tissue. - a
Normally such a fantastically disabled female would only have to twitch to cause
him to lose control. But 237 couldn’t even do that. She was expanded so tightly
into the unyielding wire cage of her bondage that all internal movement was
eradicated by the pressure. ee fee
Zarkof bounced on the bloated form and fucked her at his leisure. Regularly he
stopped and lay still. He was pacing himself and waiting until the rising surge of
orgasm subsided so as to prolong his game. Even with no movement it proved
difficult and took all his powers of self-control. Helen felt so diabolically controlled
and abused it was almost sufficient to trigger the surge simply by thinking about
her plight. a ae ae Bee Be ,
For almost an hour Zarkof played the cat and mouse game with his deeply buried
erection. Then almost before he knew what had happened, a particularly frantic
rolling of the pleading eyes triggered the explosive release of his carnal lust.
Powerfully he bounced up and down on the silent cushion of expanded womanhood,
thrusting deeply and savouring the super-tight grip of Helen’s pulsing pussy as he
milked himself dry in her helpless form. Helen was making the only sound she
could, and that was not actually her choice. Zarkof’s pounding thrusts and body
bouncing antics was sending huffing blasts of air from her flaring nostrils as his
antics pumped her body like a human bellows. 
Exhausted, he finally collapsed onto the bound female bundle, and almost
immediately began to drowse off. Sleepily, Zarkof rolled off her, but his erect dick
was still buried in her and gripped tightly. The inflated woman had no choice but
to roll with him as his dick levered her over like a log. Grinning, Zarkof looked
into the scarlet, straining, pumped up face as he drifted into a deep sleep. 237 was
going nowhere. The fatty expansion substance coursing through her system still
had around eight hours to run before its effects were reversed by Helen’s natural
body chemistry. Zarkof savoured the bulbous thrusting tit-orbs jammed against his
chest and then sank into the abyss of an untroubled sleep.
He awoke some six hours later, to find they were still attached at the crotch. No
doubt his manhood had waned during the night, but the powerful grip of her inflated
pussy tissue had been sufficient to maintain the link. Now the raging stiffness of a
monster morning stiffy was stretching her taut bloated pussy tissue yet again. Surely
Helen had felt the beast swelling within her for some time, but was powerless to do
anything about it as she was inexorably porked by the growing shaft of hard male
flesh. 
He rolled her onto her back and pumped at the bundle like a man with a mission.
This time there was no attempt to lengthen the duration of his pleasure. Zarkof
merely used the bloated sex toy as a method of relief and within thirty seconds was
exploding into her beleaguered form. 
Already the reversal of tissue expansion was starting to take effect. A subtle softening
of the straining, bulging curvatures of extruded body flesh was manifesting itself
all over the hog-tied bundle. Within an hour now, Helen would be back to normal,
and still no wiser as to what had actually happened to her. As a result she would
probably not even have second thoughts when she ate her evening meal that day.
A meal spiked with Zarkof’s new mix of enhanced substance.
15 percent had proved to be a good base to start from, so tonight Helen would
unknowing be consuming a dosage designed to produce a 20 percent expansion.
Zarkof calculated that if the same mesh cocoon were used, the resultant increase in
expansion would give her inflated form a much harder feel, and probably even a
sheen of tautness. As it happened, he would choose a steel band cage for the next
session. The only question in his mind was whether or not he would be able to
penetrate a pussy portal expanded to that level, and so incredibly tight inside.
Rolling to one side, and extracting his waning manhood with some difficulty from
the grasping pussy, Zarkof flicked the hard bladder inflated cheeks playfully and
then left the helpless bundle of womanhood to slowly deflate as her body returned
to normal. The new gag was a success, and he decided that Helen could continue to
wear it for the rest of the day. Somehow, her puckering clamped lips and exploding
cheek expansions looked so uplifting to a man of Zarkof’s persuasions. As he
walked away, Zarkof mused over the fact that 237’s facial torment was a direct
result of a pet hamster. The idea had come as he saw one of these small rodents
with food packed cheeks, and it occurred to him that a woman endowed with side
panel expandable air bladders could mimic the rodent. The new gag would later
become famous and be known as the Zarkof pannier gag. Although some were less
formal and called it the hamster gag. 
It was a long day for 237. Although Zarkof was seemingly allowing her to rest in
a mild form of bondage, Helen still had the painful facial expansion to contend
with. Her cheeks ached terribly, but there was no way she could plead for a removal
of the mouth stretching pannier gag.
237 spent most of the day on his bed, her body slowly returning to normal and the
immense pressure subsiding as she shrank back to her original trim form. Around
3 p.m. orderlies arrived to service and toilet her. It was a great relief to feel the
tight wire hog-tie cocoon fall away, and after a short period of intense muscle
cramps as her circulation resumed normal flow, Helen was marched to the service
room below the main house. ;
Surprisingly, she was treated well. A Jacuzzi followed by extensive salon activities,
nail manicure, hair care, body salves and beauty treatment were the norm. She was
fed with a light lunch and even allowed to be ungagged for a while when not being
fed. 
The rest of the day she was basically left alone, albeit manacled, hobbled, and neck
_ shackled to a ring bolt set in the wall of the hallway. Staff occasionally paused to
discuss her naked form, or even sample the smooth resilience of her peace-like
skin. Helen hardly showed any concern. She had grown accustomed to being
regarded as some sort of pet. A sex object as opposed to a woman with feelings.
The lengthening shadows of approaching nightfall were encroaching in the hallway
when her orderlies came to fetch her. As they walked her to the servicing room,
237 heard them laughing and remarking on her two absent companions 102 and
144. Apparently Zarkof had devised some, as yet, unknown trauma of epic
proportions for them. But Helen had her own immediate future to consider, without
worrying about them. She was unnerved by the uncharacteristic treatment, and
stood nonplussed as she was stripped of restraints and dressed in an exquisite crushed
velvet evening gown. It was a full-length clinging affair, with built in bodice.
Clearly it had been chosen to display and enhance the natural beauty of her
curvaceous figure.
The fetters were replaced. Or at least some fetters were replaced. The heavy steel
cuffs and hobbles of the earlier part of the day were replaced by strong, yet classic
manacles, fashioned in what appeared to be gold. The chains were unusually heavy,
and this strengthened her thought that the ensemble was indeed manufactured from
a gold alloy at the very least. Leashed, but mercifully still ungagged, she was led
from the room and along a long corridor to what transpired to be the dining room.
It was an ornately decorated place with high ceilings that would not be out of place
in the home of royalty, or a palace. Zarkof was waiting, and without speaking he
motioned for her to take seat at the huge oak table. 
Helen shuffled forward, and allowed an orderly to fuss around her arranging the
hobble chain so that she could sit. Once seated, she was urged to lean forward, and
she felt her shackled wrists fall free. 237 brought her hands from behind her back
and glanced up at Zarkof. His face was devoid of any clue as to what was intended,
and Helen found herself allowing her wrists to be re-shackled in front. A longer
chain was added and this was locked on to a strong ring bolt set into the ornate
tabletop. Her bondage was light and relatively comfortable, but nonetheless effective
and inescapable. The orderlies tugged at the manacles and all her locked fixings to
ensure that she was secure, and then left. Helen swung her look away from their
departing backs and fixed Zarkof with a questioning look. He obviously sensed
that she was about to speak and put a warning finger to his lips. The words froze on
237’s lips as he looked purposefully at the Pannier gag lying on the table to one
side. His meaning was crystal clear. Silence was the rule, either voluntary or by
enforced methods. 
In silence they sat as servants appeared and laid out the meal. Zarkof indicated that
Helen may speak to the staff in choosing her preferred food, but warned her sternly
that any other speech would result in instant gagging. It was infuriating to sit
ungagged and yet still be unable to voice all her condemnation, her fears, and to ask
questions about her future. But Helen finally sensed that this was just another
manifestation of Zarkof’s sadism. She sat quietly and seethed as she processed all
the various thoughts. But as the meal progressed she found herself relaxing as the
superb meal awakened her jaded taste buds with a vengeance. Prison food and the
mush they had forcibly pumped into her at Cairndhu hardly qualified as food. This
was a whole new ball game. 237 knew that Zarkof was playing some sort of cat
and mouse game, but she also knew that whatever it was, she could not avoid the
outcome. Her reasoning was therefore to enjoy what she had whilst she had it and
not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
As each course came and was devoured, Zarkof would use the interval between the
next course arriving to move around to her side of the table and toy with her breasts.
Sometimes he would place a finger under her chin and lift her gaze to his eyes. She
could see that he was enjoying some sort of secret joke, and had a feeling that she
was soon to find out what it was, but nothing around her gave any clue as to what it
could be.
Zarkof returned to his seat and watched as the last course arrived. Helen’s eyes
widened and she looked over to him searchingly.
“Yes my dear. Your favourite dish I believe. I do try to ensure that my intelligence
reports on sex toys is comprehensive and thorough.”
Helen stared down at the most sumptuous gulab Jaman she had ever laid eyes on. It
was an Indian sweet that had been her favourite since as early as she could remember.
For a second or two she suspected that this had something to do with Zarkof’s joke,
but his face remained annoyingly unreadable as she began to eat. Only as she
finished the last mouthful did Helen detect a slight look of triumph on his features.
She had no time to dwell on the reason. A hidden bell push allowed Zarkof to
summon the orderlies, and before Helen could even react, she found herself being 
removed from the table and stripped. Five minutes later she found herself straining
and squirming ineffectually against a new style containment that mimicked the
previous wire cocoon. In this case her containment was constructed of much sturdier
rigid steel barring that formed her tightly into a stringent hog-tie format yet again.
As with the night before, 237 felt that same unexplainable sensation of swelling as
her body began to expand the fatty tissue. Only then did the truth hit her. The
gulab jaman! Whatever Zarkof was doing to her body was being introduced through
her food. 
Zarkof appeared in her limited field of vision as the orderlies completed the reinstallation of her pannier gag, and she made a last defiant screech of anger before
the lip clamp cinched her puckering mouth into a sealed pout. Zarkof affixed the
pump and a few seconds later her face was exploding with the highest level of
pressure he had used todate. 
“Last night I used 15 percent 237. Tonight you ate a 20 percent expansion mix. It
should be an interesting night I think.” A toe prodded her rapidly swelling form.
Then the orderlies lifted her up onto the table. Zarkof watched for a while as her
futile struggles and frantic straining grew less, then he left her to complete the
expansion in the silence of an empty dining room. 
Eyes bugging out, face growing more scarlet by the second, her nubile body swelling
and extruding cinched curves of taut skin out past the unyielding steel, Helen could
only endure as her body inexorably self-inflated into a female shaped balloon of
abused and totally helpless fuckable femininity.
For over an hour the process continued. During that time several of the staff came
to watch and mock her plight. They seemed to take pleasure in rolling her around,
poking and prodding the steadily tautening bulges festooning her steel caged form,
and testing the tightness of her pussy by jamming fingers deep into her frontal
orifice. Tit squeezing the enormously expanded orbs of her chest hardware seemed
to be a favourite pastime. Especially where the men were concerned. Meanwhile,
as the unfortunate, vibrantly quivering 237 continued her unstoppable expansion,
-Zarkof was busying himself with the torment of two other females. 
102 and 144 were pandering to the sadistic whims of Zarkof and his assistants.
Both of them were sheathed in super tight latex, which in itself was nothing unusual.
The fact that they were each immersed in cylindrical tanks of water was. 102 was
anchored by her feet and stretched towards the surface by a floatation collar, thus
ensuring that she was in a constant state of tension created by the buoyancy. 144
_ was slightly less fortunate in that she was inverted. Anchored by the head, she
floated upside down in her tube. Again, that in itself was hardly a test of their
‘mettle whichever orientation they were subjected to. Unfortunately Zarkof and
friends wanted them animated. Bound, rubber sheathed mermaids cavorting and
dancing in water were a particularly uplifting sight. 
The motion was achieved by breath control. Both women were fitted with tight
‘fitting skull hugging helmets, and the breather tubes extended outside the tank to a
variety of flow control devices. At the moment, the breathing controls were set to
manual, and Zarkof was demonstrating the effects of reducing 102’s intake to the
bare minimum required for life, albeit on the verge of unconsciousness. The nubile
form twisted and turned and performed an exotic underwater dance on her tether as
she struggled for breath. Occasionally Zarkof closed the valve entirely, and she
would accelerate her performance to demoniac levels of animation as the minutes
ticked by. But Zarkof never allowed her oxygen denial to reach fatal proportions.
Just when it seemed her lungs would burst he would open the valve fully and watch
the rubber sheathed tits heave and stretch inside their latex covering as her chest
dragged in life giving air. 102 was eventually switched to auto and left on a pre-determined 
sequence of breathing denial that would keep her twitching and writhing
for the enjoyment of the onlookers.
144 looked even more attractive and Zarkof tended to maintain her with a completely
closed air supply for longer periods whilst he had her on manual control. The
inverted nature of her ordeal somehow seemed to enhance the spectacle of her
superb buttocks as the powerful muscles convulsed and writhed with her attempts
to escape. 
Tropical fish were introduced into the tanks, and as the next stages of controlled
respiration were started, the guest were treated to a spectacular marine show as
both fish and the rubberised females effigies performed a constant aquatic dance.
Finally Zarkof tired of the sport and returned to the dining room. Humming
cheerfully to himself he swung open the door and entered. The humming ceased
and Zarkof came to a dead stop as his jaw sagged once Project 237 came into view.
20 percent enlargement of her fatty tissue seemed like it might be too much despite
his careful calculations. The result was hardly a proportional increase from 15
percent.
A huge purple skinned plum-like thing rested on the table. 237 barely resembled a
woman. Her entire body was a suffused glow of raised blood pressure for a variety
of reasons, not least of which was the fact that Helen’s skin was stretched to a shiny
tautness. She was literally a human bomb on the point of bursting.
Zarkof circled the bloated female and looked into her eyes. The usual pleading for
mercy was gone. In its place was a look of pure fury, made all the more ferocious
as a result of the powerfully bloated cheeks and scarlet colouring. Project 237 was
mightly pissed off. The facial valve wiggled furiously and her facial features
distorted and rippled in anger, but Zarkof, having recovered from his initial
incredulous disbelief, swiftly connected the pump and callously pumped the angrily
working face into quivering rock solid, eye popping tautness.
Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht!
It was an amazing sight to see the mounting fury in her eyes as her lower face was
literally inflated to bursting point and all means to express any emotions stretched
out and eradicated by the awesome pressure of her cheek bladders. He noticed that
‘the massive oral pressure was slowly pulling her lips through the lip cinch ring,
The extruded pout was vanishing and he realised that if her lips slid free, she would
‘be able to force out the inflated bladders that were expanding her face. A few
‘quick twists of the clamp screw solved the problem. Helen’s lips went blue with
pressure as the clamp tightened. Then Zarkof took up the pump again
Pheep! Pheep! Pheep! Pheep! The increasing pressure began to alter the sound of
the valve clamped into her enforced lip pout. The helpless woman’s eyes seemed
to bug out a little further with each stroke of the pump and the scarlet hue of her
face darkened even more. If looks could kill, he would already be dead. Zarkof
ignored the venomous glare and finished off by expanding her cheeks to a shiny
hardness that denied any expression other than that of a person about to physically
explode. His finger flicked at the bulging face and he was rewarded by the wooden
thunking sound reminiscent of something at maximum elasticity. :
Satisfied that his captive was now as diabolically controlled and prepared as she
could ever be, Zarkof took the time to roll her around and test each and every
scintillating curvature of her fattened, steel banded form. He was amazed at the
resilient hardness produced by this new level of expansion and the total lack of any
sign of movement, or for that matter indication that she was actually alive. Only
the accusing eyes following his every move told the story of a very angry woman
trapped inside an inflated atrocity of herself. 
Helen was normally around 150 pounds. But her current expanded body size was
that of a 400lb woman, although only in bulk, not actual weight. The increased
fatty molecules still weighed the same, they just took up more room. Unfortunately
her restraining cage was sized and a tight fit for an unexpanded 150 pound woman.
The resultant vibrant, bulging, caged, female atrocity was balanced on her knees as
Zarkof squeezed and mashed the extruded hard balls of her massively expanded
tits, then to her horror he simply let her go and watched as she fell forward and
bounced on the sensitive orbs. It was interesting to note that she fell with all the
movement of a log. Fortunately the soft bed absorbed the impact and it was more
about the trauma of falling and being unable to prevent it, than any actual harm.
With the steel cage containing the fearsome expansion of her body, she was.
condemned to being a solid unmoving object until the drug wore off.
Finally Zarkof tired with playing and took his pleasure. In fact he took it seven
times that night and screwed the bloated woman in every conceivable mode that his
lustful mind could conjure up. She was fucked standing on her head, hanging from
the ceiling, propped against the wall. Zarkof even lay beneath her and spent a
while rotating her hog-tied form on his rampant dick. It was a task made easy by
the fact that she was powerfully arched with her thrusting bloated pussy lips at the
point of contact, and ease of rotation aided by a liberal application of some sort of
lubricant of his belly. The cage surrounding her body afforded no protection from
his plundering machinations, but Zarkof was protected from any contact with the
actual metal by the bulging extrusions of her body. The steel was deeply embedded
in her cinched form and no threat at all to his comfort. Helen suffered in angry
silence as his massive throbbing dick rotated and routed inside her. The angle of
his hard throbbing dick was constantly changing as she was turned on the bearing
created by her own pussy. If anything the scarlet hue to her features deepened as
she desperately tried to escape the diabolical plight she found herself in.
Zarkof’s final act before falling asleep was to add even more torment. Using the
hoist positioned over the bed, he hoisted Helen to a position that left her dangling
face down and horizontal above the bed, and then she was stuffed in both lower
orifices with two huge 110 volt powered vibrators. Neither of the trench diggers
were designed for subtle sensation enhancement. They were far too powerful to be
enjoyed, at least by the suffering hostess. For Zarkof however, the spectacle of
blurred vibrating buttocks and pussy coupled with the snarling sound of powerful
motors deep within her inflated form was pure magic. Given the massive restrictive
pressure created by her bodily expansion within the cage confines, the vibrations
were in fact dissipating over her entire body, which was acting like a sounding
board. Zarkof reached up and upon grasping a breast was treated to a handful of
violently vibrating tit tissue.
But that wasn’t the end of her preparation for a long night vigil. The vibrators had
expandable outer sheaths, which Zarkof took great delight in pumping to outrageous
size.
The Phht! Phht! Phht! Phht quickly changed to Pheep! Pheep! Pheep! Pheep as
the phallic monoliths expanded and reached high pressure. No other sound emanated
from the suffering 237 as her delicate orifices were massively filled and stretched
to aching fullness. Finally Helen was ready for the night. Inflated, filled, stuffed,
cinched, silenced, vibrated, and well used. The once free and nubile woman could
only hang like a huge ripe plum until Zarkof decided her next ordeal.
For a while he just lay there and played with his new toy. Although she was probably
already at 95 percent of her final expansion, she was still expanding very slowly.
The tormented, tumescent woman could do nothing as he prodded and petted her
inexorably tautening curves and flicked at the humiliating bulges of her pumped up
face. Even a severe tit slapping session that bounced the bulbously expanded orbs
of womanhood painfully from side to side failed to produce even a modicum of
visible response. He mused about the outcome, should he decide to inject her with
a dose that would create a 30 percent expansion. The dangling expanded female
showed no reaction to that voiced threat, but he had no doubt that she was screaming
and begging for him not to even try. It was an indication of how effectively her
entire being was controlled. 
Inwardly, Zarkof cursed the stupidity of the old defunct KGB regime. How many
people had they simply exterminated with an overdose of this stuff, when they _
could have developing it along the lines he had pursued? How many shapely Russian
women who had been considered a threat to the Soviet Union had been expanded
to bursting point and left to explode in slow motion by the hit squads, when they
could have so easily converted then into diabolically deactivated sex toys like the
one he had now? Even the most active and aggressive female anti-Communist 
dissident was hardly any threat when inflated into a taut fuckable sex object that _
couldn’t move a muscle or make any sound. His mind scrolled back to a particularly
statuesque blonde amazon of second generation Scandinavian extraction they had
arrested for suspected subversive activities. At the time he had only been a junior,
and many times he had watched as they returned her to her cell. It was normal
practice with a woman like that to cuff her spread-eagled to the bars of her cell,
facing outwards, and then festoon her body with rope so that she was immovably
cinched to the bars. It made it easy to fuck her from outside the cell, and basically
she was left for the use of the many male trustees in the cellblock. One particular
night guard always had her facing inwards, butt to the bars. Whenever he was on
duty she was assured of a good butt fucking.
Zarkof day-dreamed about how she would have looked, hog-tied and infused with
a 15 percent mix of his new formula. She would certainly have been a super tight
fuck once she was expanded. Helga, as he remembered her name to be, was a
formidable woman who was never broken by the KGB. In the end she was sent to
Siberia where she probably served as the guards’ plaything for the rest of her life.
Such power, such anger, such venom towards her captors. It would have been so
delightful to watch as she expanded into a bloated seething fuckable female sex
toy. What a joy it would have been to have her here now and watch her steadily
swelling and tautening into the confines of an inescapable hog-tie cage.
Totally content with life in general, Zarkof rolled over and dozed off beneath the
humming, expanded, ceiling atrocity that was Project 237. The 20 percent level of
her tissue expanding infusion was liable to take a full twenty-four hours to dissipate,
so there was plenty of time to play before she resumed her normal body mass.
Zarkof estimated she would remain tightly expanded into her cage for at least another
fourteen hours. 
‘Helen watched as he fell asleep. Her cheeks ached terribly. Her entire body was an
immovable, highly uncomfortable mass of overstressed skin, and her entire crotch
region and buttocks a tingling sea of agonizing muscle contraction as involuntary
orgasmic convulsions erupted in quick succession. There was no denying the insistence of 
those vibrators or the carnal effect of having her entire sex region
stuffed and expanded to over capacity. Her neural transmitters simply refused to
ignore the devastating sensations.
Ruthlessly silenced and totally helpless, the dangling female sex toy pulsed and
prayed with only the frantic flexing of unfettered fingers and rolling eyeballs to
reveal the fact that was in fact a living woman. It seemed she had finally been
reduced to the ultimate sex object and reached an all-time high in the level of control
that could be exacted on a living woman. How wrong she was. Her past training
and current assignment was a mild preview of her future.
237 pulsed and seemed to expand fractionally on a regular basis as orgasms ripped
into her. Faint muted Mmmmphs! escaped the steel caged parcel of inflated horror
and the hard expanded cheeks glowed and bulged with the internal forces of effort
as Helen struggled to come to terms with the trauma and inescapability of her
predicament.
The hours ticked inexorably by, and 237 felt a lessening of the pressure as the
expanded fat cells in her body slowly reverted. Steadily she resumed her normal
trim shape. With a mixture of dread and relief, Helen thought over Zarkof’s last
comment when he had visited to view her progress. Apparently he’d tired of the
expansion torment game, at least for now, and it seemed he had a new game to play
as soon as she was back to normal.
Chapter 16 A CHANGE OF STATUS
That evening 237 found herself ina relatively low-level mode of restraint. It seemed
Zarkof was entertaining for dinner and she was commanded to appear again, as a
sort of semi-willing guest. The attire chosen for her evening wear was somewhat
unorthodox, in that she had been crammed into the basic transparent butt extruding
basque of her training days at Cairndhu. Zarkof, however, relented on the gag and
armsheath, and for the first time in many months she had use of her speech facilities
and relatively free use of hands. Short chains allowing her use of her arms in a
controlled manner that would facilitate feeding herself, was a feature of the rig.
Led by a warder and strutting her best rump rolling technique on six-inch heels,
Helen was led into the main lounge. An elderly distinguished looking man was
with Zarkof, and they both turned as she entered. The distinguished guy almost
dropped the thick cigar he was puffing as his eyes plundered her fantastically shaped
form. With his jaw dropped, the man studied her at length, and a bulge in his
crotch revealed that he liked what he saw.
Zarkof said nothing but indicated that she should treat the guest to a demonstration
of her rump-rolling walk. She completed three circuits of the room before Zarkof
motioned 237 to a place at the table. The warder was waived away and she let her
leash hang and left. 
“Drink 237- - -?”
Zarkof half turned as he spoke and pressed a bell set into the tabletop. Then it was
-Helen’s turn to suffer a dropped jaw as the wine waitress appeared.
The twin doors of a nearby cabinet slid open and a stiffened figure with waist
‘mounted tray appeared. It was an apparition from hell. Without any form of bodily
movement, a woman was sliding smoothly towards the table. Helen tore her eyes
from the figurine, and looking down, saw a barely visible slot that hid a monorail
system from view. The wine waiter stopped close to the table and began to rotate
‘slowly so that all the bottles on her circular waist tray came to hand.
‘Helen was dumbstruck at the horrific plight of the woman, apparently of oriental
origins if the almond eyes were anything to go by. Her naked olive skinned body
‘seemed to confirm that observation.
‘She was balanced on a point formed by her steel encased toes; a cone of unyielding
burnished metal that then sprouted thin high tensile steel bars in the form of a body
cage. Obviously the containment had been manufactured on a personal basis due
to the excruciating tightness of fit. The woman was literally compressed into a
rigid statuette with her entire body ridged by the biting steel. Polished flat steel
forgings built into the web of metal bars formed disk-like surrounds at the root of
each of her small firm breasts, another encircled the neck in a high collar. Two of
the riser bars connected to the breastplates at their lowest point, then continued
upwards, curving out in twin swan necks before finally terminating on each nipple.
Another passing over the front of the collar performed a similar under chin curve
before flaring out and then looping to inwards to vanish into the puckered circular
lips of her mouth. Her lips in fact appeared to be forced through the small circular
opening in the oral disk, and then due to the forcible insertion of the bar, they were
expanded tightly into the orifice so as to be intractable and forged into a permanent
pout.
Others bars disappeared into the cleft of her bottom, and at front, between the naked
shaven mounds of her mons. But it was only after detailed scrutiny Helen realised
that in fact the cage was made of micro-bore steel tubing, but the design purpose of
that revelation would only come later.
“White or red 237?” In the red I have a nice Merlot, or there’s a Shiraz, and in
white I have a South African Chardonnay that is most excellent. Helen started
from her reverie as she realised that Zarkof was speaking to her.
“Oh! White please.” Zarkof reached out and set up the glasses, pouring himself a
white, and the Judge a Merlot. He replaced the decanters on the slowly rotating
tray and served the drinks to his guests.
“Perhaps I should introduce you two. This is Judge Robert Fordham, a friend of
mine and a member of the organisation.” Helen nodded politely in the direction of
the man, then returned her attention to the waiter. Zarkof sipped his wine and
allowed her to study the woman a while longer before commenting.
“Well, what do you think of our dumb waiter 237?” He flashed her a dangerous
smile as she looked up. That could be you if you give me too much trouble.”
‘Helen looked back to the pirouetting figurine and shuddered.
“It’s appalling. How could you possibly do something like that to a woman?”
Zarkof made as if to answer, but the distinguished looking guest beat him to it.
“Perhaps I should explain. We acquire females by many methods. Some deserving
what they get, and some, like yourself, merely selected on a whim of male lust. He
smiled as Helen’s face momentarily showed a tearful expression at the idea of her
plight being merely a lustful whim. But the Judge ignored it and continued. “Miss
‘Wong is a terrorist whom the organisation acquired from a Bangkok jail. She was
convicted of atrocities. In fact, as we now know, she was the top interrogator for
the Khmer Rouge. This lovely looking thing is probably the most evil sadistic
woman you will ever have the misfortune to meet. Although we will probably
never know how many people she actually tortured to death, the figures we can
confirm include over three hundred women and children. She’s one of two we
have here, although the other was slightly damaged when she blew herself up with
her own terrorist bomb. You’ll see her later.” The Judge paused to take a sip of
the Merlot, first savouring the nose and then allowing the liquid to assault his taste
buds before swallowing.
“The Thai government was about to execute both of them by machine gun, but we
felt that would be too kind for such nasty pieces of garbage. Besides, this one was
desirable raw material, body wise. As was the other; for some, that is. So we
brought them here. This is to be the rest of this woman’s life sentence, designed I
might add, by one of our guests who is a hydraulics engineer. We’ve added a few
of our own innovations as well. Mainly along the lines of her own torture methods,
but carefully designed not be lethal like her own efforts.” The Judge retrieved a
__ riding crop hanging under the waist encircling table and administered some waspish
strokes to the pert firm buttocks as they came into range. There was no visible
response in the tortuously contained body save for a spasmodic jerk in the abused
‘rump, and muted gasps of pain. It was a damning testament to the severity of the
woman’s bondage.
“Miss Wong here will spend many years suffering the same torment as her innocent
victims. Poetic justice you might say.” Judge Fordham sipped at his wine again as
he continued to view the suffering figure with a look of contempt and loathing.
“But how can you be sure she’s guilty? Just suppose she’s innocent, look what
-you’ve done to her.” The Judge turned back to face Helen.
“No doubt my dear. Miss Wong posed for photos alongside her victims as she was
working on them, and those pictures were recovered when she was arrested. This
sadistic evil bitch kept an album of her most memorable torture sessions. There is
‘no doubt at all.” a
A look of revulsion grew on Helen’s face as the full horror of this woman’s crimes
permeated her brain, and unbeknown to her, Zarkof was studying her reaction with
interest. 
“Perhaps you'd like to add a little to her discomfort 237.” Zarkof slid a remote
controller over to her. “I suggest you try the green button first.” Helen retrieved the
ominous plastic oblong and looked up to the rotating figure. The eyes were
venomous, but not a single sound escaped to convey any of the impotent wrath of
‘the safely deactivated monster. She hesitated for a second or two, then as the
images of suffering victims grew in her mind, Helen pressed her thumb down
savagely.
“Suffer Bitch!” She didn’t know if the woman spoke English, but her expression as
she pressed the button was the equivalent of a universal language that the woman
was sure to understand. For a second her eyes lost the venom and registered fear.
At first nothing happened, and it was only after several rotations of the figure that
she became aware of the subtle changes she had set in motion. The hollow mini
tubes were pumping the captive female full of an inert oil. Her body was expanding,
buttocks extending through the bars, pussy bulging outward, cheeks inflating and
‘growing taut with tension. But most noticeable of all were the small cone breasts
expanding and rounding out to huge quivering half melons. Only then did Helen
realise that her breasts were in fact hollow and had been surgically implanted with
inflatable bladders.
The angry eyes changed and were frantically pleading and begging with each
rotation, but the hidden pumps inexorably inflated her body to a strumming tautness
that could only be diabolically traumatic. Zarkof seemed to sense Helen’s
puzzlement at the almost total silence save for faint muted throat sounds. Even a
gagged woman could make considerable noise when in pain.
“She can’t make a sound 237. Even without having her mouth sealed, she’s dumb.
When she was captured she took a bullet in the throat. Later, in prison, she fell foul
of the inmates and they cut her tongue out. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately
for us, the warders got there before they could kill her. I suspect Miss Wong is
ruing the fact that we rescued her right now.” ;
Helen had no doubt of that. Her own experience of expansion gave her an
exceptionally informed insight into the trauma of being inflated. She had no doubt
that the enforced inflation of Wong by pressurised fluid, unlike her own recent
outer layer fatty tissue expansion, was a whole lot more painful. Unlike Helen’s
expansion mode, Wong retained the’hour glass shape enforced by her cage, and
expansion was more recognisable by a slight quilting effect and the texture of her
skin becoming shiny with tension.
Zarkof allowed her to watch a while longer as Wong steadily expanded and hardened
into a taut pressurised statue of agony, then encouraged her to try the red button. ;
Helen’s thumb carried out his bidding, and instantly the bottles on the tray began to
vibrate with an almost imperceptible tremor. Wong seemed to jerk and stiffen, her
whole body knotted up with rigid quivering muscle exertion, veins standing out on
her forehead in stark relief. Obviously the button had instigated a terrible retribution
of one kind or another that was not immediately apparent, but the incredibly bound
woman was in no position to enlighten them as to its nature. 
“Another of Miss Wong’s favourite interrogation methods was to pass electric
currents through her victims, especially the women. So we decided she should
experience it for herself. She’s wired from toes to breasts, mouth to butt, neck to
pussy, but not enduring anything like a lethal dose. Very painful, but not lethal.
Same with the pump-up treatment. Wong used a hose pipe in the body orifices, but
we’re a little more sophisticated here.” Zarkof’s hand reached out to a knob set
into her controls, and Helen watched agog as the knob turning was translated into a
muscle knotted stiffness in the tormented Wong. There was nothing she could do
other than respond as the hand simply turned her electrical torment up and stiffened
her into a quivering effigy of tortured female flesh.
For a while they all sat in silence as the dumb waiter slowly performed her pirouette
of torment, watching enthusiastically as the pressurisation reached a pre-set level
and held her at a painfully bloated inflation. Unlike Helen’s containment during
expansion, this comprehensive overall cage enclosure allowed a much higher internal
pressure without fear of the woman bursting. Zarkof’s technicians had worked the
whole thing out to ensure that no vital organs came under stress that could create a
fatal situation. There was no way Wong could escape the retribution for her previous
life. Even the oblivion of death was denied her. Despite her earlier misgivings,
Helen couldn’t help but feel that Wong’s punishment was justified, now that she
knew the whole story. 
Eventually the pneumatic figure of the suffering woman was temporarily forgotten
and she was left to suffer in quivering electrically paralysed silence as the first
course arrived.
Four superb women entered the room pushing serving carts. Like Helen, they were
attired in basques and thigh boots. Unlike 237’s moulded acrylic attire, the boots
and basques were of unyielding steel. As was standard around Zarkof, they were
all shaven crotched and the basques were designed to stop short of affording them
any modesty; although they did have a thin bar passing through the crotch that
sealed the entrance to their sex and rectums as it bisected their pussy lips and rounded
buttock lobes. All were expando gagged, and their heads smooth and denuded of
hair. Yet despite the fact that they were hobbled and manacled to the carts, their
demeanour seemed relatively mild when compared to Wong. This time Judge
Fordham explained.
“Ah! The four musketeers. These four have opted to stay here 237. We gave them
the choice of returning to prison or serving time here. None of them are murderers
or anything like that. But they are all guilty of complicity in a particularly callous
computer fraud that stripped people of pensions. Genuine convictions I might add.
They admitted guilt then opted to serve the ten years sentences here, which I might
add, we have seen fit to shorten to five in repayment for co-operation and good
behavior. We’ll provide them with a new identity, and they can live in a variety of
countries where we have contacts once their sentences are served out. Obviously,
the UK legal system will still be looking for them, so they can’t stay here. But
given the option of freedom five years sooner, they don’t seem to mind that they
can never return.” 
As he was speaking, Zarkof reached out to a trolley maid who had stopped nearby
and fondled her bottom. The girl stood silent and un-protesting as his marauding
hands ran amok on her curvaceous rear end. The wrist manacles locked onto the
cart ensured that she stayed bent forward slightly, thus enhancing the availability
of her bottom. Zarkof grinned at Helen and impishly pried the buttocks apart to
reveal a huge rectal insert, and deeper through the cleft of her crotch an even larger
insert in her mons.
“Rather a salubrious ass this one. Jean Breton, financial director and architect of
the whole scam.” He gripped the short handle on the rectal dildo and wiggled it
vigorously. The statuesque beauty gasped but endured and Helen watched her
_ delicate bum hole distorting as it suckled on the invading anus stretcher. Even 7
though her face was turned away from her, she could see the flush of humiliation
and embarrassment rising up Jean’s neck and reddening the visible side of her
cheek.
“Have they all got the same fittings?” Helen found herself warming to the idea of
mildly punishing these women, not to mention the humiliation angle. It was more ;
tormenting than torturing, and that was something she felt she could indulge in,
especially when the victim couldn’t complain. Besides, if the roles were reversed,
she had no doubt that like her own minders, these women would enjoy using her if
she was bound and couldn’t resist. The Judge seemed to read her thoughts and
turned to the nearest trolley maid who had an even larger insertion showing.
“Patricia, go over to 237, she wants to play with you I think.”
Patricia backed up and placed her curvaceous rump within range of the guest’s
chained reach. Tentatively, Helen stretched out her hand and placed it on the offered
bottom. Instantly she felt the fire of arousal in her groin. It was the first time she
had ever touched another woman, other than when she was bound to them, and it
felt good. Patricia felt soft, warm, sensuous. And even more importantly, unable
to repel her advances, probably unwilling to even try if she could, lest she earn a
more salutary method of employment. In an instant, 237 understood the lure of
controlling another woman, and a shiver went through her body as she realised that
the same applied to her in the hands of her captors. But it was a thought that was
easily put to the back of her mind under the current circumstances, where she wasn’t
the victim for a change.
Helen wriggled her gloved fingers into the cleft of the offered bottom and gripped
the short handle, noting as she did that it was in fact secured in place by the thin
band running through the crotch. The neck of the handle actually ran through the
band, but an oversizing in the hole allowed the anal dildo to be moved within the ;
woman as if gimballed. It was as if she had been fitted with a joystick, althoughjoy 
was probably not the correct term for having a long, ass stretching, dildo moved _
around in the deep recesses of her body. BS 7
Helen experimented, moving the handle left to right, then yanked it longitudinally
in the bottom cleft. Patricia’s tight ring distorted to try and absorb the stretching
forces, and the woman grunted through her gag as her tightly gripping butt hole
followed the movement faithfully. Her sumptuous buttocks clenched involuntarily
and the firmly muscled orbs gripped the fingers of Helen’s hand in a delightfully
sensuous buttock vice. She could feel the tremulous grudging acceptance from the
woman, but apart from that there was no sign of dissent. She allowed Patricia to
move away and shifted her attention to Jean who was now inrange.
“Amazing! How come she doesn’t even try to resist?” me
Zarkof explained. ; : age 8
“If she makes any sign of discontent she’Il spend a week in the box, or else on the
bench.” Helen’s interest was instantly aroused. 
“The bench? Is that a punishment of some sort for when she refuses to co-operate?”
“In general yes, but any of the inmates can be consigned to any piece of apparatus
or punishment by guests or staff whether they did anything wrong or not. They all
have to do anything you ask day or night, just like yourself. Try it! Ask Jean to do
_ something for you.” Helen felt the bottom trembling against her hand and felt an
excitement in her own body at being handed such power over another woman. 
“Spread your legs Jean.” Instantly the forward bending figure shuffled her feet
outward until the hobble chain drew taut and Helen studied the result for a second
or two before readjusting her stance. “Now arch your back.” The offered ramp
reared as she complied, and then Helen saw a wet spot splash onto the polished
cover of the Tureen on the trolley. Jean was weeping silently as she was ordered to
display herself so lewdly. As a woman, Helen knew exactly what she was doing
when she ordered this particular position. It was the equivalent of a bitch on heat
offering herself to any takers. 
Reaching forward through the fully visible crotch region, Helen grasped the revealed
pussy handle and gave the frontal orifice a thorough work out. 
“So if I ask for her to be put on the bench, or boxed she’d have no choice then?”
The trembling sensation in the bottom grew stronger as Jean listened helplessly to
her unfolding fate.
“Oh! But of course. You only have to ask 237. We’ve given you guest status
basically, at least for the time being.” Helen felt that familiar shudder of impending
doom as she was once again reminded that her current position was merely another
game to these people. She resigned herself to an eventual return to the status of
bound sex toy and then decided to enjoy her freedom whilst she could. There may
never be another chance like this. She looked back to the fearfully waiting Patricia
and decided to test their word. 
“Then perhaps Jean here can demonstrate the bench thing for me tomorrow.” The
two men glanced at each other with expressions of mild surprise, then Zarkof nodded.
“Your wish is her command 237.” He looked across to the hapless trolley maid.
“Report for benching immediately after role call in the morning Breton. Our guest
wants to see you under maximum restraint, and whilst we are at it, you other three
can be benched so that Helen can see what all that is about.”
Helen felt the woman she was molesting shudder through the handle of the pussy
joystick. Obviously Jean’s intimate knowledge of the rigours of the bench was far
more informed than that of the woman who had just condemned her to its clutches
ona whim. The prisoner could only pray that Helen took pity once she saw what
she had ordained for her. 
“Tt’s your night off 237. Feel free to move around and inspect the girls if you like.
You can have any of them set up in any of the grade 4 equipment.” Helen glanced
at Zarkof and he confirmed that she had heard correctly with a hand motion. The trolley maid 
followed Helen with her eyes as she rose. Zarkof disconnected her
ornamental chains when he saw that she intended to inspect the wine waiter, and
then stood back as she almost casually sauntered around to the suffering Wong.
The Asian woman, still rigid and suffering, endured in silence as Helen tested the
hardness of her form and turned the control dial still higher. She was unaware that
at these higher levels, both modes of correction were raised simultaneously. Judge
Fordham smiled quietly to himself. Trust a woman to extract levels of retribution
far higher than anything a man would consider safe or endurable. Contemptuously,
‘Helen pressed the stow button and watched as the pirouetting pillar of agony slid
back along her rail and vanished, to continue her punishment in the Stygian darkness
of her stowage cupboard.
Attention was drawn from the departing Wong woman as the waitresses appeared.
‘Unlike the manacled four, these women were completely unrestrained. Clad in
latex tights, high heeled calf length boots, and with a waist nipper, the upper bodies
were naked save for a wire bra that did little to hide the luscious breast fruits of the
women, and did a whole lot to enhance and shape the thrusting orbs. Zarkof
explained that these were trustees who had earned the privilege of freedom for
most of their stay. One of those perks was that they could only be awarded
punishment for transgressions of the rules. Only gagging could be applied for a
whim, and as it seemed from these three, Zarkof liked to indulge his available
options.
“Of course, it takes some years for them to rise to this status. Amanda here spent
many weeks on the bench or in some other form of punishment in her earlier days.
Most hot-tempered women do. But in the end we won her over to our way. Didn’t
we Amanda- - -?” 
He reached up and twiddled her nipple ring as she bent over to serve the broccoli.
Amanda merely nodded, a nose ring dancing against her upper lip with the movement
of her head. 
“Do they all have rings?” Helen was staring at the pendulous ringed breasts of
another server. 
“No! It’s not mandatory with these low level recruits, unless they try to escape that
is. They find it difficult to try a second time with a permanent steel ball and chain
attached to each nipple. Most of them are ringed at the requests of our guests.
Those two were by request, but Amanda there tried to escape. She’s lucky. The
Judge wanted her serving, so we relented and let her have the balls and chains
removed. She spent six months nose ringed to the exercise yard pole during daylight
hours for that minor infringement of rules, and slept face down with her nipples
and clitoris padlocked to the bed at nights as an additional punishment for insolence.
That was in addition to having the balls attached at a later date. It’s not so bad if
they have hands free to carry the balls, but most of the time they have to drag them
with their nipples due to hands being out of operation.”
“So if I want, I can have Jean ringed?” Zarkof looked at her in amazement.
“If you want, certainly you can. In fact benching them is much more fun if they’re
ringed. However, if you want that done you’ll have to wait a week to see her
benched. We have to give the piercing time to heal.”
Helen’s licentious excitement was running amok. For the first time in her life she
was experiencing the joys of having the ultimate power to decide another person’s
fate. The fact that it was a beautiful shapely woman seemed to double the effect.
Her mons was awash with the juices of her sexual arousal.
“T can wait. Let’s have Jean ringed. In fact why not do all four. They seem to work
so well together they may as well demonstrate the bench together if you have more
than one.” 
The heat in 237’s crotch rose considerably as the trolley women facing her way
displayed silent pleas for mercy. Meanwhile, the Judge eyed her thoughtfully as
she gazed at the condemned women with undisguised lusting intent.
Neither of the men had even considered Helen as a recruit for either guest status or
staff, and both fully expected her to reject any of the options to torment others. Yet it seemed 
that this superb woman had all the makings of a useful addition to the team in either role. 
Already she had succumbed to the temptations of ultimate
power, and they had no doubts that her agile and inventive mind would rapidly
begin to pay dividends in new ideas.
“You want them all to have a full set 237?” Helen nodded enthusiastically.
“Tongues as well- -?” At that, she turned back to the men and stared wide eyed.
“Tongues?” 
“Oh! Yes, a full set includes tongue eyelets; very useful for all manner of things.”
Helen’s eyes strayed the shocked faces of the serving women, and she enjoyed
making the decision.
“Yes, a full set then.”
The serving was completed, and rather irked that she had to relinquish the pussy
joystick, Helen allowed the servers to usher the empty trolley pushing prisoners
away. It had been most enjoyable to tease and torment the luckless Jean whilst
they talked. The women cast imploring eyes at her whenever the chance arose, and
finally Helen spoke directly to her.
“Sorry Jean, but I just can’t resist having you ringed, and I’m sure you’ll look so
nice when you’re benched or whatever. I mean, it’s the chance of a lifetime, to 
have a woman like you under my control. I just can’t resist the temptation.”
Jean didn’t seem all that impressed, but dutifully obeyed as she was ordered away
from the table.
Wistfully, she watched the superb rump gyrating away from her, and then turned
her attention to the magnificent meal. For a second or two she hesitated as thoughts
of Zarkof’s diabolical fatty tissue enhancer flashed back into mind, but Zarkof
allayed her fears with a direct look and an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
As they ate, Helen swung the conversation increasingly towards methods of various
punishments. Bemused by this turn of events, and her undeniable interest, the
hosts gladly explained as a hitherto unsuspected side to this woman increasingly
came to the fore. It proved to be an interesting meal, after which Zarkof reverted to form and 
had a shocked 237 placed back in the full training rig, armsheathed and
helmeted, then clamped down in a stringent butt rearing fashion in the guest room.
The speed of her fall from debutante with power to project 237 was staggeringly
traumatic. But she contented herself with thoughts of things to come in less than a
week.
An hour later Helen’s tightly contained form was still hummphing and straining as :
the Judge made the best of Zarkof’s gift for the night and fucked her every which
way imaginable. For an old guy he was something else. His stamina was beyond
belief, and a scarlet popeyed 237 could only endure as he jammed a massive erection
between her buttock cheeks for the second time and butt fucked her with a vengeance.
Her pussy had already been reamed twice. The Judge for his part was experiencing
erections, the like of which had been sadly lacking for years. The sight of a woman
slithering and straining inside a transparent sheath as her sweat lubricated body
moved like a tongue on glass may have had something to do with his lustful revival.
Without doubt, the fact that she was rigidly held and unable to do anything other
than lewdly offer herself for fucking was also a factor. But eventually, even the
supercharged Judge ran out of sexual steam. Orderlies were called, Helen was
released from the bed, her casque and sheaths tightened still more, and her lower
orifices filled with electronic moles.
The Judge, armed with a remote control then had her perform for hours on end in
her marching butt rolling mode. He was an inventive old fart. No sooner had he
tired of seeing her march, than he had her ankle clamped and under threat of even
more powerful shocks through her butt hole, she was made to hop around the room.
It proved to be his favourite mode. 237’s spherical bouncing tits and flexing butt
appealed to his libido.
The evening ended with her in the same mode, her ankles still clamped, and the
clamp in turn connected to a floor ringbolt beside the bed. The Judge then had her
perform endless squats as he drifted of to sleep with the vision of her flexing bottom
fresh in his mind. Later in the night he woke and visited the bathroom. As an
afterthought he had 237 squat whilst still ankle chained to the floor, and connected
her nipple rings to the same eyebolt. Balanced awkwardly on her super high heels, .
and chained securely into a humiliating squat, Helen endured the rest of the night
as the Judge snored contentedly.
For the first part of the week, Helen was kept in her cell, and her nights were spent
chained into a squat. The Judge, although departed, had asked that she be kept like
that each night until the benching day dawned. It pleased him to think of her ordeal
wherever he may be. Later in the week, Zarkof moved her to another room where
she had a TV and video monitor, not to mention a huge wardrobe of clothes. For
most of the time she watched tapes supplied by Bailey, a warder she was becoming
semi-friendly with. The rest of time she spent trying various outfits from the closet.
But her mind was once again in turmoil. This uncharacteristic benevolence from
Zarkof didn’t bode well for her future. The calm before the storm was probably a
good example of how she felt. The tapes gave graphic accounts of punishments on
prisoners both past and present, all depicting either extreme restraints, gruelling
exertion; and in most cases both traumas simultaneously. All without exception
exposed the inmates to a crushing level of humiliation that was designed to reduce
their self-esteem to a manageable, malleable level.
It was early on the Friday that warder Bailey arrived with news that her selected
women were benched and ready for inspection. Bailey left with a parting remark.
“Two trustees are coming down soon to get you dressed. I advise that you don’t
give them any trouble 237.” 
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and as it swung open she was confronted by
two very serious looking trustees from the maximum security block. Between
them they were carrying a double handled holdall which was unceremoniously
dumped on the nearest table. Without even bothering to look at 237, they rolled the
thing open like a tool kit and revealed a mass of heavy duty items that suddenly
sent her knees into tremble mode. Nervously she reached out and lifted the main
; item, the red corset, and immediately its weight surprised her. The thing must have
weighed thirty pounds or more. It was clearly a sort of laminated rubber, inside jet
black, and outside polished red. But there was something else, probably a layer of
nylon reinforcing set into the layers. In addition were thin steel stiffeners that
hadn’t been noticeable in the video, and the stubby hard rubber cones covering
every inch of the inside.
“YOU! 237! Put that down, get over there and strip.” For a second Helen found
stood still, both marvelling at the fact that she had actually managed to absorb the
massive dildos, and enjoying the almost painful feel of her lower body being
completely filled by their mass. She wasn’t given long to savour the sensation as
her antagonists added a security harness. It was little more than a belt with a crotch
band. Overall, the device was nothing more than inch wide super strength reinforced
rubber, and once added it jammed the dildo heads tightly into her openings and
precluded any chance of them sliding out to give a modicum of relief. The tights
would have stopped anything more than a half-inch at best, but now even that
amount of extrusion was denied.
The trustees ignored her obvious trepidation as the costume assumed a more sinister
level than she had ever envisaged, and they busied themselves for half an hour
fitting five-inch heeled lace up thigh boots that clung tightly to her legs. They were _
so tight that even her lithe fit rubber sheathed thighs bulged over the tops with the
compression. Again, it was the same reinforced rubber, yet despite the strength,
the careful and methodical lacing managed to produce a stretch that threatened to
crush her legs as the laces finally met. _
Next came the helmet. In that at least there were no surprises. The videos she had
seen on this arrangement appraised her of the fact that it incorporated a gag, so she
was fully expecting it.
“Any last words 237?” It was a cruel jibe. She had no real choice over any of the
events taking place. Helen stayed silent as the helmet descended on her head.
It took some time to fit the tight helmet, but by the time they had finished, the
crown of the helmet was snugged tightly to her skull and her head was crushed _
within the confines of the constricting rubber. The rest of the device was stretched
and smoothed around her features, dildo gag prising open her jaws and filling the
oral cavity to a choking fullness. Laces drew taut, and the casque of rubber
inexorably increased the pressure that held her head in a vice like grip.
Helen watched silently as the awesome corset was brought over. It was hardly a
corset. More of a three-quarter length rubber coated iron maiden stretching from
under the chin to mid thigh. Even though it was rubber, it was also liberally laced
with spring steel shaping bars that were unlikely to enhance flexibility. :
Even as the thing wrapped around her on the initial fitting, she was already painfully
aware of what was to come. Stubby hard rubber spikes were daggering into her
soft sensitive body wherever it touched. Only the neck region was free. But where
the built in posture collar flared out to cup her head the spikes continued thus
tormenting the tender underside of her chin. 7
Tugging and heaving, one trustee holding, the other pulling laces with all her might,
they began the long task of reducing Helen’s body down to a size that could be
fully encompassed by a corset that was fully closed at the rear. It seemed of no
consequence to them that it was probably undersized even by Zarkof’s standards.
Prison rules demanded closed lace openings, and sooner or later, whatever the cost
in discomfort, Helen’s body was destined to meet the required format.
- Fear lanced through her as the breath was crushed from her body, and still the
stiffening embrace continued to squeeze and mould her with overwhelming force.
7 Never before had she managed a waist smaller than twenty-one inches, and yet it
was already down to nineteen and there was still a way to go.
Helen could feel her bottom ballooning from the heart shaped rear aperture, extruded
by the immense pressure sculpting her entire lower form. Then as the advancing
crush of tightening laces marched up her torso, she experienced a similar outgrowth
; of her fulsome breasts as they expanded into the wire cages of the melon shaped
cups. Relief from the ever-increasing compression was short. In fact, just long
enough to allow one of the women to locate her nipples through the disc centerpieces
of the built-in bar cage, and then it was business as usual.
Taking a last glance down before the neck-sculpting collar robbed her of head
movement, Helen stared boggle eyed at the segmented protuberances of her breasts.
The immense pressure was forcing them into the cages and bulging the restrained
sections through into stark relief. ;
Another five minutes passed, and the final laces were tied off behind her head.
Only the hanging strap on the chin section remained undone. A trustee lifted it up
and took it over the crown of the helmeted head and back down a connection behind
her head. Helen gasped as the strap tightened down, bracketing her nose with a
prearranged triangle aperture, and then crushed her amorphously contained head
tightly into the posture forming stiffness of the chin cup as it became a single band
running over her gagged lips. It was a salutary moment as Helen felt the full extent
of her rubber entombment. Yet it seemed there was more.
Mystified, she stood uncomprehending as a split aluminium yoke was lifted and
dropped onto her shoulders. Even though it was made of the lightest metal readily
available, it still weighed ponderously on her strictly controlled form. The two
halves met and butterfly screws swung over to connect and tighten the two pieces
into a single unit. In effect, he already stiffly encased neck received an additional
covering that flared out and formed a neat cover to each shoulder. As it happened,
she didn’t really have time to consider the options before her arms were forced
: upwards, bent at the elbows and folded tightly together in what would normally be
a finger clasped neck supporting position. Metal bands on the yoke were swiftly
slipped over her doubled arms, and before she could even react, there was the rasp
of adjustable clasps as they were yanked tight.
By now Helen was really beginning to feel frightened. The simple act of looking
down to see what they were doing with her ankles was denied. Only the vice-like
sensation of heavy hobble cuffs gave her an insight into the final fitments.
‘Both women rose and stood facing her, then reaching forward, one snapped a short
heavy chain to a ring at the crown of her headgear and allowed the other end to
hang down. 237 eyed the hanging end with huge misgivings as she saw a suspension
ring welded into the end link. The ring swung ominously in front of Helen’s face,
and she had little doubt as to the purpose. It didn’t bode well for her comfort over
the next few hours, or however long these two chose to keep her contained.
“Right 237! Time to take you down to the benching compound. Oh! By the way,
Jean, the girl you had benched, is a friend of mine.” Helen felt the blood drain from
her body as the words sank in, but she had little time to consider the consequences.
“Move 237!” A cane sliced across her naked extruded bottom making her jump
and almost lose balance. The corset was so tight around her thighs as to limit leg
movement above the knees to almost zero. Then, as she attempted to move to the
door, the hobble added an even more diabolical constraint as the chain snapped taut
at a step of little more than six inches.
Helen tried to scream and object, but the cane simply added another fiery line to the
throbbing target area of her vulnerable bottom. Shuffling awkwardly, exposed
buttocks mincing absurdly, she made for the door. There was no option but to
comply, and whilst that scared the hell out her, Helen found herself experiencing a
glowing flush of arousal in her nether regions. The jerky crushed thigh locomotion
was working her compressed labial lips powerfully against the pussy-filling dildo.
In addition, buttocks pressed into forceful contact by the reinforced edging of her
heart shaped rump display were working her tightly stretched anal ring provocatively
around the slick shaft in her rear opening. It was a completely new sensation that
easily surpassed the pain of virginal tightness guaranteed by an un-violated bottom
hole, or at least one that had only been reamed recently.
Helen felt the wire bra tightening as her libido gained momentum. Pounding blood
engorged the captive orbs, pumping them to a throbbing urgency as she passed
through the doorway and into a public domain. 
Only her eyes were visible through the holes in her helmet, and yet still she felt that
the staring staff could see every inch of her humiliating demise.
Thwack! The tottering figurine jumped visibly as her herders urged her onward.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! 
The biting sting of the cane came in quick succession. 
“Move it 237!” Helen strove to show her discontent, but her cries were stifled by
the mouth filling dildo and all efforts to turn away from the buttock tormenting
blows were easily absorbed by the crushing rigidly enforced confinement of her
costume. The ringed chain swung back and forth in front of her eyes; a salutary
reminder that her troubles had only just started. But despite the fear, there was the
undeniable masochistic arousal that was becoming more of a problem with every
day she passed in this God forsaken place.
Hot love juice was filling the impermeable sheath of her rubber tights, leaking
copiously down the sides of her pussy plug as enforced movement distorted and
worked her super aroused love lips, invaded and plugged like a gagged mouth. The
viscous fluid insidiously worked its way around, converting the whole of her latex
encased mid-section into a slithering morass of stimulating inescapable sensation.
Suddenly her suffering paled into insignificance as the benches and their occupants
came into view.
Chapter 17 THE BENCHES
Helen hesitated as the enormity of the benched women’s plight became clear. The
pause earned her another stinging stripe on her bottom.
Bench was rather inadequate as a description for these terrible devices. In fact they
were narrow horizontal beams arranged to form a ‘Y’ shape, perched on legs that
held the occupant three feet above the ground. Each naked woman was strapped
face down, arms bent behind her and formed into a back prayer that placed palm to
palm behind the neck. The severity of the strapping was immediately obvious even
from a distance due to the deep furrows in the captive bodies. The split of the ‘Y’
was centered beneath each crotch, and legs wide spread excruciatingly strapped
down to each arm so as to present the vulnerable crotch region for whatever uses
anyone had in mind. In addition, a hard wood block ensured that each bottom was
elevated and supremely offered in the best traditions of voyeuristic extravagance
and complete availability.
As they approached from the rear, Helen took in the door frame device straddling
each fettered form, positioned so that the cross member traversed the pinioned
woman at the upper thigh. The top cross piece however was formed by a tubular
pivoted shaft, a support for a huge mallet that was seemingly set by some sort of
trigger mechanism and poised high in the air. Her eyes followed the perceived arc
they would prescribe and arrived at the centerpiece of the whole thing. -
Positioned between each set of spread legs was a single column rising from the
ground, its top adorned with a cross tube that was aligned with the puckering bottom
holes of each trussed female. Fitted within the tube, and obviously designed to
slide, were the most enormous dildos she had ever seen. Each measured at least
two feet in length if one included the slider section inside the guide tube, and the
free length at the rear was probably ten inches. Given that they were at least three
inches in diameter, Helen cringed at the thought of trying to accommodate one of
those monsters in her love nest. Yet as she moved closer, the full desperate plight
of the women made itself clear. The evil head of each dildo was poised an inch
from each trembling tight clenched rectal entrance. The gleam of grease on nervously
puckering sphincters and the polished heads of the dildos left no doubt that none of
the women would be able to resist the plundering dildo poles if they were to move
forward with anything more than a slight pressure. Suddenly the huge mallet took
on a new and sinister potential. A falling mallet would produce considerably more
than slight pressure if it were to impact on those poised dildos.
By now she was alongside the pinioned girls, and her heart sank as she saw the
terrible predicament her lustful weaknesses had brought down on the women.
They had been ringed all right. Both nipples were joined below the crossbar of the
bench and drawn excruciatingly together. Yet that paled into insignificance when
the tongue eyeletting came into view. -
Each tongue was drawn out and bolted down. A washer on the head of each bolt
precluded any possibility of the women easing their tongues over the bolt head.
And even if they should try, the result would almost certainly be catastrophic. They
were bolted to the top of a lever that was clearly the release mechanism for the
poised mallets. Any attempt to withdraw the tongue or move it in any way would
send the huge mallet hurtling down towards the sighted anal dildos. 
As if that wasn’t enough, the hair of each terribly tormented woman was plaited
into a pigtail like her own and stretched tautly upwards to the pivoted cross bar. If
the mallet swung down, the tube would wind a half turn of hair onto its rotating
surface and tension the woman even more as it pitted hair against tongue.
Her trustee keepers allowed Helen to halt and survey the pitiful plight she had
ordered, although in this case, only four were her doing. The other was a woman under 
punishment.
“T hope you’re satisfied with what you did 237?” Helen shuffled her body around
to face the grim wardress. As best she could, she made eyes to indicate her shame
at the thoughtless self indulgence in the pursuit of lustful sensation; a luxury that
was being painfully paid for by these women.
“Just to make sure you get the full satisfaction, we’ve decided you can stay here all
day and watch them suffer. Perhaps you won’t be so keen to order punishment for
no reason in the future. Come on, get yourself over to the drum.” Helen awkwardly
turned again and searched for the object designated. 
As it transpired, it was a diabolic device set dead center of the crescent shaped
bench layout. Most of it was below ground level, but at least twelve inches of the
curvature of a huge circular treadmill was still visible above ground. Poised over it
was a gibbet, and it was towards this that the stinging cane urged her. _
They had to help her mount the curved wheel. Then, as she balanced precariously
on top, the ringed helmet suddenly took on ominous potential. Before she even
realised what was happening, the chain and ring was jerked upward by a rope pulley
on the gibbet and Helen found herself standing on tiptoe to ease the strain on her
neck. The helmet prevented any restriction of the throat and she was in no danger
of suffocation, but the lifting force was hoisting her by the under-chin and the back
ofherneck, A trustee appeared in her peripheral vision, and with a sinking heart she saw a 
hand
close over a large lever. There was a creak as the mill brake came off.
For a second or two nothing happened. Then, because she was arranged slightly
off top-dead-center, Helen felt her weight starting to rotate the ponderous wheel.
Instinctively she found herself walking up the curving slope to maintain position at
the crown of the wheel, thus easing the tension on her helmeted head. But the
wheel simply rotated more. 
‘Soon she was up to the maximum short stepping gait the hobble length decreed,
and with a feeling of despair, she saw the trustees sneering looks as they left her to
perform. Futile pleas for mercy keened through the gag. For the first half-hour, 
Helen barely noticed the captive audience, who themselves were preoccupied with
straining trauma to avoid the forcible impalement of their targeted butt holes. All 
Helen’s concentration was centered on maintaining a steady trudging exertion that
would keep her head from being pulled clean off, or so it seemed. A couple of 
times she had missed her footing, skidded off the wheel and swung freely on the 
chain suspension as she screamed pitifully into the stifling fullness of her packed 
oral cavity. Surprisingly, she realised that although it felt like she was being hung,
the helmet supported her weight easily. It was clearly a clever design that shared
the body weight with her neck muscles and made the whole thing bearable and
safe.
Feet flailing insanely, she had after several arcs managed to regain her footing and
continue. Now she found herself getting into the rhythm and her attention started
to search for things to occupy her mind and blank out the torment she had brought
on herself. 
The five tongue-stretched, suffering faces came into focus, and it was immediately
obvious that each tormented woman was really enjoying seeing her suffer. Helen
tried to imagine what she looked like to them. Rigidly stiffened, caged tits bursting
through the confines of her wire bra, cruelly handicapped by the tight thigh grip of
the corset and her ultra short hobbles. Obviously they would be aware that she was
stuffed to bursting with dildos front and back. No doubt they themselves had
experienced the posture corset at some time in the past.
Five women savouring her torment inexplicably smothered the trauma of her own
plight in an instant as a blow torch heat seared into her crotch. Unable to alter her
demise in any way, trussed and corsetted to mannequin stiffness, Helen’s deep
rooted masochistic instincts came gushing forth as the enormity of her humiliating
exposure sank in. Hot fluid was coursing down the inside of her slithering rubber
tights, lubricating her legs from pussy lips to ankles. The enforced movement and
flexing latex conspired to pump excess liquid up around her mincing rubber sheathed
buttocks and add even more slithering arousal as she helplessly massaged herself
in a sea of her own love juices. Meanwhile, the rubber spikes were digging and
poking hundreds of tormenting fingers into her labouring body, ruthlessly probing
and grinding into her nubile form as she marched on.
Fear blossomed in her brain as Helen saw five pairs of gleefully anticipating eyes
watching. They knew what was happening to her, and they were waiting for the
unavoidable conclusion. Helen had no idea what the effect of an orgasm would be :
in her present condition. 
The realisation that she could no longer avoid a cataclysmic climax simply served
to accelerate the process as she realised that all five would be witness her capitulation
to the boiling lust in her body. She felt her breasts swelling and hardening to
unprecedented pounding firmness, and had no doubt that they were all enjoying the
veined purpling of her bursting boobs and daggering rock hard nipples. The ever
present pressure of the crotch strap, squeezing against tights, lubricated to almost
zero friction, directed all its elasticity into crushing the huge implants deep into her
mincing passageways, stretching and plundering as she struggled to subdue the
tidal wave of burgeoning sensation flooding her whole being. It was useless. Already
cher body was experiencing the first tentative convulsions of a massive eruption.
With staring bloodshot eyes she looked down at the benched women and saw their
mocking triumphant stares despite their horrendous torment. They were really
enjoying her helpless demise, and Helen felt as if the corset and its devilish
accessories were publicly raping her. :
Tits heaving madly, breath snorting from flaring nostrils, Helen screamed into the
gag as a second more powerful spasm wracked her locomotive form. Vaguely she
saw one of the benched women wink, and a second later the gibbet swung sideways
without warning, snatching her from the supporting surface of the rolling wheel
and dangling her convulsing body by the helmet suspension. There was no pain.
Her raging eruption had neutralized all pain centres. 
‘Something caught her thrashing hobbles and then dragged her ankles powerfully
down, and in a millisecond, Helen realised that the trustees were still there and
stood out of sight behind her. The benched woman who had a clear view of her
; frontal area had given them the warning that she was in orgasmic torment, and the
trustees had reacted instantly to a prearranged signal.
In mid eruption, Helen found herself stretched taut twixt hair and hobbles as practised
hands secured the hobble snatching hook-line down to a ground shackle; then two
canes began to lash her convulsing bottom from either side. 
Bucking and twisting, screaming and begging, she fought her rigid unyielding bonds
as the cataclysmic event exploded into a ferocity that surpassed anything she had
thought was possible. Watched by five gleeful women, she tried to fight the
masochistic pleasure of being stringently trussed and publicly caned unmercifully
as she endured a never ending succession of explosive body convulsing eruptions.
The captive figurine jerked and arched impotently as the trustees laid on the
punishment with fervour. Helen could feel her pussy pumping madly on the
stretching immensity of her frontal invader, but was powerless to override the
instinctive paroxysms of runaway lust. 
Then, as the seething pleasure began to wane, the pain returned to torment lustfully
anaesthetised nerves in her bottom. It lasted but a few seconds as her trauma was
quelled by other events. 
Helen heard an ungodly sound from the benched women. They were laughing, or
at least as close as they could get with their tongues stretched out. Then the woman
named Diane lost concentration in her joyous contemplation of Helen’s plight. A
fractional twitch in her tongue as she laughed proved too much for the trigger.
Shock and fear suffused her face, and Helen saw the mallet start to move. Slowly
at first, but rapidly gathering momentum, the massive cudgel hurtled downwards
as Diane’s struggles assumed demonic proportions. Her garbled scream of fearful
anticipation rose to an all time high. Then a loud flat whack sounded clearly across
the compound as speeding mallet face met stationary dildo end.
Diane’s whole body jerked in a massive expulsion of shock. Her bottom seemed to
explode as her vulnerable rump absorbed an instantaneous infusion of puckerstretching steel, somewhere in the region of eighty-four cubic inches of unyielding
dildo. Her face went purple, eyes almost popped from their sockets, and the securely
strapped form went ballistic within the crushing confines of her bonds. Diane’s
scream battered at the eardrums of all present. Unfortunately it was so loud it
unnerved the other suffering women nearby. Four more mallets plummeted, and
almost simultaneously a quadruple bottom explosion added to the verbal assault on
her ears. 
Helen’s fickle nature swung full circle. In an instant her sadistic enjoyment swamped
out the pain of reality and her own masochistic leanings as she savoured the image
of the dildo riveted women. Now she was laughing behind the gag as her body
exploded into sadistic carnal eruption at the reversal of torment. The canes lashed
down as she cavorted and jinked on her helmet suspension, yet she could feel nothing
but pleasure as her deliciously sadistic thoughts greedily fed on the sight of those
massively impaled women. It was so exquisitely pleasurable to see their beautiful
rising bottoms skewered with such breathtaking force, to witness the sensuous
buttocks jolting sideways as they were ploughed apart. The insane straining and
caterwauling as a result of ponderously dilated sphincter rings was something else.
Minutes passed, and finally she hung exhausted. The gibbet swung her back to the
treadmill wheel as unseen trustees operated levers. Then they came into view, and
it all started again as the mallets were reset, and dildos painfully extracted from the
horribly abused bottoms holes.
This time it was different. Helen knew what was coming, and the knowledge only
served to speed up her next performance. However, her benched audience wasn’t
laughing any more, and Helen found herself providing a solo performance as she
twitched and writhed on her hair tether.
Zarkof lowered the binoculars and turned a dumbstruck face to Judge Fordham.
“Holy Moses, Judge. What the hell have we got there? I’ve never seen anything
like it. That woman can swing to either persuasion at the drop of a hat. After the
training she’s had, it is amazing that she has the sexual drive to inflict the same on
others when she has such an insider experience of what it is like.” Judge just shook
his head in bewilderment. ;
“I’ve never witnessed anything like that either, I can assure you. The thing is how
can we use a role switcher like this?” Zarkof was thoughtful for a second as he
studied the distant jerking puppet. 
“Perhaps we can use this opportunity to see which is her true persuasion.” He reached
out and picked up as phone. In the distance Judge saw one of the trustees answer a
mobile as his call went through. ak
“Connors! Set the mallets to trigger on the rev counter. Make the setting just a bit
higher than the speed 237 has attained so far, and then tell her what you’ve done.
On second thoughts, tell all of them what you’ve done. Oh! And fit the larger size
dildos to the benched women.”
They both raised glasses to witness Helen’s next performance and watched avidly.
Helen was toying with the fearfully watching women, easing up the wheel speed
and then letting it drop back. She was deliberately using their plight to wind up her
own libido. The beseeching looks and a crotch searing feeling of power over other
women was driving her willfully towards higher levels of arousal with every second.
A colossal climax was almost upon her, and driving her feet to maximum effort
Helen stared down at the writhing helpless forms as they sensed the time was upon
them and tried to escape the inevitable. It was butt riveting time again. Driving her
fettered feet to maximum, Helen eyed the pitifully inadequate defensive clenching 
of the offered bottoms, clearly visible even from her angle due to the starkly reprofiled curves of tensed muscle. 
Even though helplessly trussed and tormented to excruciating levels, she still held
the power of inescapable retribution over the five women. It was a marvellous
feeling.
Two distant male voyeurs sucked in breath as five mallets dropped almost as
synchronised units.
“T think we’ve just invented perpetual motion down there Zarkof.”
Zarkof grunted agreement, but didn’t take his eyes from the swinging stiffened
figure as the wardresses swapped canes for whips. With her feet unfettered this
time, Helen was performing a most delightful pirouetting performance as she spun
and jerked with the power of her orgasm. 7
“My God! Did you see that? She damned near went ballistic when the mallets
dropped, and that was only seconds after the last orgasm.” Unable to believe what
they were witnessing, the men savoured that distant powerfully sculpted hour glass
7 figurine as it virtually self destructed in an orgy of colossal rigidly contained
convulsions. 
Spotlights illuminated the five regularly impaled rumps, and nearby an orgasmic
dancing puppet figure jerked madly on her head chain. Nightfall had arrived some; three 
hours before, and still Helen was deriving pleasure from both her own plight, and that of her 
helpless bottom stretched charges. No matter how hard the eyes
pleaded, she mercilessly continued to subject them to the explosive impalment of
the mallet-powered dildos. It was so delightfully arousing to see those massive
shafts simply vanish into the soft sensuous targets, and to watch the thrusting
bottoms’ explosive expansion, jerking and quivering like demented jellies with the
spreading shock waves of penetration, 
Finally 237 was lowered, and after being transported to the guest wing whilst
suspended on the derrick of a 4 x 4 recovery vehicle, she was hung in the staff
dining room. The benched women were left fully impaled for the night. If they
were lucky Helen would relent once she was released from the corset and allow
them to be removed from the benches. Diane on the other hand, the woman on
punishment detail, had served her seven day penance. Her aching body was
unstrapped, and removed to a cell where she was manacled to the bed, fuming and
silently swearing vengeance on the woman who had been instrumental in producing
avery sore asshole. Unfortunately, unbeknown to her, Zarkof’s plans for her would
; require a postponement of her planned revenge. She was scheduled for a new duty
starting the very next day. One day she would learn to control her vitriolic tongue,
but until then, the words ‘piss off? directed to a warden enquiring if she had learned
her lesson would earn her a salutary and fitting punishment.
Helen was released from her ordeal just before midnight. Bathed and refreshed,
she was installed into a black version of the moulded butt extruding costume,
complete with matching armsheath and helmet. The helmet varied from the normal
variety on that it had a mouth spreader device that left her oral cavity jacked open
and defenceless. Not exactly evening wear, and more suited to torturer’s dungeon.
But it was the best she was going to get it seemed. 
Zarkof arranged a late meal, and together they ate in silence in the prestigious guest
hall. To be more accurate, Zarkof ate whilst Helen was forcibly stuffed like a
Christmas turkey. 
Helen, currently relegated to her 237 status, had been forced to kneel under Zarkof’s
table, at the far end and facing him. Her head was put through a hole in the top, and
then clamped in place by means of a pre-formed helmet that fitted her head tightly,
forming a strong unbending neck encasement that clamped into the tabletop. The
helmet casque was basically open fronted. Below the table she was rigidly contained,
her heels drawn up and compressed into her buttocks, arms still restricted by the
armsheath, but now further contained by over-bands passing over the sheath. The
entire length of her body was banded to some sort of vertical pillar. In effect she
was balanced on her knees and unable to move a muscle. Wide eyed, Helen tried to
focus at close range as a warder moved close and began to attach some sort of
device to the front of her helmet. Cool steel touched her lips, and after a little
exploration with her tongue Helen made out the profile of a tube projecting into her
mouth that flattened her tongue and reached almost to her throat. She had no time
to ponder the device further as trustees brought in the meal. Zarkof grinned widely
at her, and began to eat. 
Helen also began to eat, albeit not in a way she found pleasant. Frantically she
began to strain as the full impact of her plight became clear. The warder was
dumping food into a small hopper that was a part of the facial device. Then, when
it was full to the brim, she began to turn a handle at the front. An auger screw
immediately began to chew up the food and force it along the tube into Helen’s”’
mouth after forcing it thorough a mill.
“Mmmmmmmmmurrrrrr!” Shock registered on the face as the full impact of her
plight was realised. :
Helen’s cheeks bulged and her eyes popped as her face was forcibly packed with
food. Zarkof’s design allowed for the fact that 237 would be unable to chew, and a
grill in the bottom of the hopper emulsified the food as it was forced through.
Helen gagged and strained mightily at her bonds as food reduced to baby food
mush pumped her cheeks full. She was forced to swallow quickly as the next load
exploded into her mouth and threatened to burst her face.
Huuuuummmmmmmph! 
The warder was neither gentle nor kind, and seemed to take great pleasure in cranking
the handle as quickly as she could. Helen’s throat worked frantically as she tried to
absorb the massive input, and her hidden body became a mass of frenzied efforts as
she fought to escape the diabolical feeding arrangement. :
Huuuuummmmmmmph!
Huuuuummmmmmmph! :
“Mmmmmuuuuummmmmmmph!” 
Nonchalantly Zarkof sat back and enjoyed his meal as he watched the feeding of
the disembodied head at the far end of the table. The appetizer course was over,
and Zarkof passed the plates with scraps to the warder who tipped them into the
hopper and resumed the cranking. 
“Huuuuummmmmmmph!”
A second later 237, the human garbage disposal unit, had consumed Zarkof’s
leftovers.
Zarkof began the leisurely task of consuming his second course as Helen resumed
the intake of her own meal. Clearly he enjoyed the view of her bulging face, now
purple with effort as she strained to escape the forcible injections of food. Helen’s
eyes were desperately pleading for mercy, but none was forthcoming. 
“Mmmmmuuuuummmmmmmph! Huuuuummmmmmmph!” 
Helen disposed of Zarkof’s second course leftovers with a few turns of the auger
crank. The fact that leftovers consisted of fish bones and other non-edible parts of
the meal was overlooked. Fortunately the screw action of forcing the garbage
through the mill broke the bones into minute pieces. It may have made them safer
to ingest; it sure as hell didn’t make them taste any better. a
Zarkof was enjoying himself immensely. It was fun to play switching games with
237’s status, so that from one minute to the next she never knew what her role 
would be. Zarkof caught the warder’s attention. 
“Best see if the staff has finished and get rid of the leftovers. Recycling is politically
correct these days.” 
The head remained rigidly held as a dozen plates were carried in and dumped on
the table and the mewing pleas escaping through the hopper of the force-feeder
took on a whole new urgency. But they were quickly quelled as the mouth packer
went back into action.
“Mmmmmuuuuummmmmmmph! Huuuuummmrrrrrrrph! ‘As
UUUuulllpp! ![Huuuuummmmmmmph! 
Huuuuummmmmmmph! ' 
Mmmmmuuuuummmmmmmph! Huuuuummmmmmmph!” 
A half glass of wine, tea, and tea bags, half empty cups of coffee, chocolate cake,
fish bones, potato skins, it all went in; even the paper coffee cup one staff member
had been using. Helen’s eyes bulged as the warder ruthlessly packed her full with
the remnants of a meal that nobody wanted. Although the head didn’t move, a
quick look below the table was enough to supply Zarkof with a satisfying view of
a bound female body frenziedly trying to escape the deeply cinched bands that
were holding her offered as a garbage disposal unit. He noted with some pleasure
the taut bulging belly that was filled to bursting point. Even as he raised his head
above the table, the belly stretched and ballooned even more. The warder had just
jam-packed the head of the garbage unit with the last of the scraps. Zarkof smiled
and threw his napkin into the hopper. Then as an afterthought, he emptied the salt
and pepper pots and a half bottle of ketchup into the mix to add flavour. It took less
than two minutes for Helen to absorb the shredded napkin and goop created by the
ketchup. 237 inwardly thanked the gods that it was over as the warder took the
filter mill out of the base of the hopper. To Helen it seemed that the device was
being dismantled. The auger was removed and the hopper disconnected. As it
happened, Zarkof, rising from the table caught her eye and she missed the next
object being inserted into the mouth tube. Nor did she notice the addition of another
device, and lever that was being added to the tube. The warder exerted enormous
pressure on a lever, and after a pause, it suddenly moved.
“HUUUUUUUURRRRMMMMMMMPHHHH#!”
Helen’s mouth was suddenly filled with expanding rubber. A huge ball, far bigger
than anything that would normally pass her teeth, was reduced by the hopper intake
neck and compressed to a third of its normal size. Operating the lever forced it
through the tube, and then as it exited the tube inside her mouth, the ball exploded
back to its normal size. So immense was the pressure that Helen could not even
bite down on the thing. He oral cavity was packed to bursting and any sound was
effectivly bottled in by the huge plug. 
Now the device and the hopper was removed, leaving Helen’s hooded head fully
visible with her packed and filled mouth open for all to see. An hour later she was
back in her cell, tightly squeezed and compacted into her standard acrylic uniform,
and squat-chained for the night. 237 strained at her arm bondage, but held no real
hope of escaping to avoid the rigours of another day at the hands of Zarkof. His
departing jibe about a human piston pump hung ominously over her shackled form.
Using the small amount of vertical movement available to her without ripping her
tits off, Helen eased herself gently up and down on the huge floor mounted dildos
and tried to coax her stretched pussy into pleasurable sensations. Anything was
better than simply waiting for the inevitable.
 + + + + + + + + 
 The End
