The Oil Baronesses
Tuesday, August 13, 2019
CHAPTER 1: The Bathing Beauties’ Cruel Torture
“Get up there, now, before I fix a weight to your leg to drown you!” a blonde snaps at Maddy.
“Yeah, surrreeeee, like we're scared of you!” I stop on the gangplank.
“Move it, Destiny,” the brunette shoves me, “Before I turn you into my plaything!”
The blonde and brunette shove us, Maddy and I, up the gangplank like they own the whole damn place. Maddy and I are in bikinis— hers bright blue, mine pink. Matching bandana headbands ‘cause we were mindin’ our own beeswax sunnin’ on the beach. Now, our wrists are crossed behind our backs, bound with some nasty coated wire.
We’re big girls, both around 5’8”—me, a lovely tanned Sicilian statuette. And yet? We’ve been kidnapped. By a f-ckin’ midget and a friggin’ Frenchwoman, a baguette-eater in the flesh.
Onto the yacht we walked, pushed by the do-chebags. The blonde is 3 inches or so shorter, but her long pale blonde hair is held in a blue bandana headband. She has incredible confidence in herself. Her blue gym shorts make her look like a 12 year old, the white sports bra looks like it's f-ckin’ gym class in the Florida heat, white crew socks like a soccer playin’ twit, and blue canvas sneakers to top off the immature look. F-ckin’ wannabe gangsta. Absolute amateur.
Her friend, the brunette? Worse. The brunette has a denim miniskirt like she's hot sh-t, a white and red striped tank like someone actually wants to date a slimy French woman with an accent as thick as her tongue, a red bandana headband like her pathetic boss, red crew socks like she's just stepped off the boat from France, and white canvas sneakers.
Pathetic.
Da f-ck do they want with us?
“Motherf-ckers,” I snap again, feelin’ the heat of my own rage in my voice, “Who are you?”
“We're after government oil contracts,” the blonde smirks, “You're in the way.”
“In the way? How? We're just vacationers!” Maddy looks at them with disgust.
“Genevieve, they need more BDSM,” that freakin’ midget is playin’ chess now. Damn.
“You can't do this to us! It's illegal!” and Maddy, geez, Maddy's playin’ checkers.
“Weeth plezhure, Kareena,” the baguette responds like a true accomplice, but she's freaky.
Those two have shiny belly button piercings. With a push, I am seated on a plastic chair, and the baguette starts tyin’ a chest harness out of the same wire. It's snug, effective, and tight. Sh-t! To get out requires time or help. The blonde b-itch is doin’ the same to Mads.
“Do you mind?!” I ask when the French one ties a crotch rope.
The psycho laughs at me. Genevieve, whoever you are, you're a heartless thing. I keep swearin’ up a thunderstorm, and it ain't worth printin’ because I am p-ssed. Got that? Good, ‘cause they are tyin’ our legs together. One’s normal; two's smart; three's effective; four's overkill; five’s a bit paranoid; but six? Six is sadistic. Six wires on our legs. Three on the thighs; three on the legs. They really do mean BDSM. Baguette-dining sick motherf-ckers. Yeah. BDSM. See?
“Get up and hop to the rear of the deck!” Karina ain't such an amateur after all, “Now!”
“All right, f-ckin’ c-nt. You need to get laid or something,” I snap at the blonde.
“Show us more respect than that, or things will get ugly for you,” the baguette warns me.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeeeeeesh,” I roll my eyes.
“We're not going to do anything for you crooks,” Maddy's brain is finally working, “Never!”
These kids play rough. We're in no position to fight back. Bouncin’ like it's hopscotch, only the board keeps goin’ and goin’ and goin’. Oh, sure, hoppin’ is fun if you're an immature brat or one of these two psychos. But it ain't fun if you're me and Maddy. You think this is bad? I think it's bad. Hop. Spank, because they have to. Hop. Spank. Hop. Spank. Hop.
What the f-ck are those things?!
“Aren't they lovely?” Karina asks with a smile before her face grows grim, “You're going in them like it or not. We're going to get those oil contracts whatever it takes to make you surrender.”
Crates. People sized wooden crates. They ain't for shippin’. They're for torture. No padded base or nothing. Just solid wood, like some twisted medieval torture device with a glass panel on top. And that glass? Thick as hell. Heat-trapping greenhouse. Like some sadistic science fair project designed by Satan himself. Just what I wanted. A private plexiglass sauna to die alone.
“The Human Solar Cooker will straighten you out,” Karina was almost soulless now.
Oh, because cookin’ us alive was apparently reasonable. Bullsh-t. They're gonna stuff us inside like a damn rotisserie chicken, sweatin’ our lives out, skin cookin’ to crisp perfection while these psychos sip lemonade and iced tea on deck. Real f-ckin’ funny. They'd kill us to get that dough, wouldn't they? I’m so excited to become a torture example. Roast Maddy and Destiny is on the menu at “Kari & Gen’s Diner.” It's an artifact from the museum of torture.
“Gmmmmm!” and then a lovely gift of 2.25 inch ball gags.
“In you go!” the blonde b-tch orders, and they grab.
“Noooooooo!” I garbled into that white silicone orb, but it's shut me up really well.
We're tied and helpless. Of course they can easily manhandle us into the crates. Slap the lids shut. CLICK! Damn, that is an ominous sound. CLICK! Motherf-ckers laced the ball gags with CLICK! vinegar, oh, the tang. CLICK! My mouth is sucking onto the gag. Alum! CLICK! There's barely any room in here. CLICK! CLICK! Oh, God, I think that's salt, just the CLICK! to ensure we feel it. CLICK! I got like 1 inch clearance in each direction. CLICK! I’m looking right up at the sun and that sick brunette's grin. CLICK! F-ckin’ c-nts, both of them.
“Glycerin for stickiness. Corn starch for body and thickener. Vinegar for tang and drool. Alum for puckering. Salt to make it all worse,” Karina lists off the ingredients as if she's reading off a cereal box, not using it to coat a ball gag.
Maddy is really freakin’ out. I can't see her, but I can hear the wailin’ comin’ from next door. It is a completely insane situation, to be in these friggin’ boxes with the sun beatin’ down upon us through the plexiglass. I kick the box, but my force is nothin’ in this. Geez, this is one f-cked up siutation. Was that 11 clips to shut us in these? This is completely insane.
Damn, it's gettin’ warm in here, and that ball gag is gettin’ worse with the drool naturally pourin’ off it. The brunette generously opens the front panel of the lid to take my top. Hey, b-tch, that's mine! Owwwwww! Geez, she just crushed my nipples with binder clips. Man, that hurts like a trip to the friggin’ dentist. This is it. I’m scared. What the f-ck are they doing to us?
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” Maddy is losin’ her cool over in the other box.
“Auuuggggghhhhh!” and I’m slammin’ the sides and bottom in an attempt to break outta this.
Lord, this gag. Every swallow stings from the vinegar. My mouth is suctioned to the ball from the alum. The salt makes me drool even more. The glycerin and corn starch make my drool like a gelatinous mess. The wire is unforgiving, and now my tits are out and pinched. Wonderful. It is just f-ckin’ wonderful. It feels like the temperature’s already 100 in here. I’m gonna die from heat exhaustion, just the way I always dreamed of dyin’ when I was a little girl. Unlike Daddy, who had a heart attack as a healthy young 36 year-old man when I was just 11. I miss him, but I am not ready to join him so young. F-ckin’ c-nts, let us outta these! NOW!
They tied us up so well. I can't move much at all except my waist. The box makes that useless. I got a big set in front and a barrel chest, so I’m jammed in this SOB. F-ckin’ Karina is sittin’ on the box now and lookin’ down at me with a cheesy grin on her. Masturbate with a knife, b-tch. I got locked in a box so a sadistic freak could gleefully watch me dissolve. God, it's hot in here.
“You really should read philosophy, Gen,” Karina laughs at me, “This struggle is sisyphean.”
I’m gagged with a biga-s silicone orb that's been coated in all sorts of sh-t so some blonde b-tch can gleefully compare my suffering (and Maddy’s) to some fictional character from 3000 years ago? Sheesh! I think I’m sweatin’ the synapses right outta my brain because man it's hot! The heat is unbearable, and the wire is worse. Oh, bloody hell, they're opening the boxes.
“They need to cool off before their Kafkaesque thrill resumes,” the blonde philosopher cackles.
Ice water?! An entire cooler full of ice water is dumped over each of us! Of course I yell, and poor Maddy shrieks. Then just as quickly CLICK! the f-ckers are shutting CLICK! the crates CLICK! again. CLICK! There's barely any room in here. CLICK! The water is chillingly cold and CLICK! and the ice CLICK! is CLICK! just the icing on the cake. It's turnin’ into a CLICK! Goddamned CLICK! sauna here in these boxes because of the water. F-ckin’ c-nts, both of them.
“MMMMMMMMMMM!” I howl into that gag, but I’m makin’ a fool of myself right now.
“Yes, keep at it, proving how pathetic your existence has become,” blonde b-tch sits down again.
“Gmmm mmmm mmmmmm!” I’m sweating in a friggin’ sauna here, and she’s laughin’ at me.
“A Kafkaesque torture in an absurd situation. Camus and Nietzsche would be so proud!”
“MMMMMMM!” my drool is so freakin’ thick that it’s like sludge, and I try kickin’ again.
“Ha ha ha! You should be glad I didn’t twist rhe clips or give you a wand yet!”
Her idea of mercy is that Maddy and I haven't had the binder clips twisted or a wand to force us to arch in orgasm. Gee, Karina, baby, I’m so touched; like, seriously, I could cry. Lookin’ at you right now, you probably want a wand for yourself; use it on your teeth so that way you can be yet another toothless crone! I’ll absurd you into the ocean before this is all said and done!
Gosh darn her. She’s openin’ the lid. Of course I try to sit up, but she pushes me down with her foot. The baguette follows and does the same thing with Maddy, but not before we exchange the most panicked gaze Mada and I ever shared in our lives. They rudely crank the binder clips, and a wand each strapped to our thighs and right up against our happy slots. Back into the crate with CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! and CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! because they can.
Oh, bloody hell. Think about this. Wire bondage, exposed with the binder clips, the wand, and a sauna. In a tiny box. That wand does the sh-t that wands do. And me? I’m an archer. I bend up like a friggin’ St. Louis sightline, but I’m in here. I got nowhere to go, and I crush my nipples on the plexiglass lid. I’m a hockey player on the ice gettin’ the sh-t pounded out of her while a fan on the other side of the plexiglass is cheerin’ on my total destruction. It hurts like freakin’ hell!
“From the groan, it sounds like Destiny is meeting her fate bravely,” Genevieve comments.
“Hey,” the blonde turns to her partner, although I can’t see the baguette, “You, philosophical?”
“Just because I am not well read on the topic doesn’t mean that I tune you out.”
“No no noooooo!” poor Maddy manages to squeal somethin’ intelligible despite the gag. Ouch.
“Such lovely motion,” I picture the baguette wigglin’ her eyebrows, “The wand works on her.”
“Ha ha haaaaa!” that freakin’ Karina is just gloatin’ like she owns the world, “I love the sounds!”
“Gmmmmmm!” in my opinion, the whole situation is straight outta a Stephen King novel.
“Aww,” the blonde taps on the glass to my increasing suffocating prison, “Keep on c-mming!”
“Blugh!” I manage to respond to my disgusting, hypersexualized captor, and roll my eyes.
This ain’t gonna break me. You can kill me like this, but it won’t break me. That’s just the way it’s gonna go. I’ll just fantasize that my boyfriend is humpin’ me and close my eyes to forget a psychotic blonde philosopher is sitting above me, and I’ll even imagine that there’s music in the background. Anything to forget that I’ve got two lesbian oil executives tryin’ to torture me into surrendering an oil contract that I earned by makin’ a better deal with Uncle Sam!
I’m not goin’ down. No. I’m sweatin’ like a pig, climaxin’ like a masturbator, squirmin’ like a worm, sufferin’ like a martyr, and tied up like one of my grandma’s Christmas bracioles. I’m in a life-or-death situation, and all I can do is squirm so that I give myself a nipple cripple, pour out a nasty sludge drool from my mouth, feel that vinegar sting my tongue, and suffer from the alum making my mouth suction to that white 2.25 inch ball gag. I’m f-cked, and I’m gonna see Daddy much younger than even he left me behind. F-ckin’ b-tches, f-ckin’ boxes, f-ckin’ wires, and, of course, f-ckin’ wand. I hate each and every single one of you and hope you die an awful death!
“Damn, 20 minutes; no surrender,” Karina hops up, “Time for the next phase. Open ‘em up!”
“Ah, the part for which I hold most anticipation,” the baguette forgets how to speak English.
“Mine is so pretty,” the blonde captor says, slings me over her shoulder, and spanks me!
“Gmmmmmm!” I squirm, but the Goddamned speaker wire is too friggin’ tight.
“Mademoiselle Vee is quite nice too,” the French girl does the same to Maddy,
“Gmmmm hmm hmmmmmmm!” Maddy's pleas are much more desperate.
Here I am gettin’ toted like a sack of potatoes. The entire time, that blonde b-tch Karina spanks me like I’m a friggin’ drum, and the pain shoots through my body. I’m drippin’ drool like I’m a leaky faucet, and Maddy’s in the same situation. The bad part is that I know this can get worse, and it does as soon we enter the cabin. Maddy's locked in a closet, and I’m laid in the tub for an inhumane hogtie. The bondage and brand spankin' new hogtie are doin’ a number on me.
“Here goes!” that psychopath Karina cackles wickedly and sadistically empties another cooler of ice water into the tub plugs the drain, and turns on the cold tap. This is gettin’ really ugly.
“Gmmmmm mmmmm mmmmm!” I drool into the icy cool water beneath me and look around.
“Maybe the possibility of drowning will change your mind, hmmm?” Karina coldly asks me.
“Gmmmmmmmm!” that friggin’ wand forces me to arch and squirm in a painful climax.
“Better make up your mind soon,” my captor is enjoyin’ watchin’ the water rise around me.
“You should wisen up faster,” that baguette Genevieve joins the taunting.
This is absolutely batsh-t crazy. I’m hogtied and got a vibrator drivin’ me nuts. I still have the binder clips pinchin’ my nipples. I’m droolin’ like a friggin’ spigot. Now, I’m in ice water in a bathtub that's slowly fillin’ with water to drown me if I don't surrender. Great. Just great. I get out of bed in the mornin’ and think “I’d like some life or death perilous bondage today.” NOT! I don't exactly have a choice here, do I? I'm about to die here… ain't I? That's… yikes… this is a lot worse… than I ever thought. My breath is quickening. My heart is racing. My vision is tunneling. I’m freaking out. I cry out loudly into the gag, a desperate cry accompanied by yet another freakin’ orgasm from that Goddamned vibrator.
And then everything goes black. After that, my mind's a blank.
END OF CHAPTER 1
Website Migration Update
I moved the website to a new host, which I think will be more tolerant of the content this website hosts. Nevertheless, I do want to take a moment to remind everyone that the stories and content posted here MUST follow website rules, as it it not only my policy, but it is the policy of the hosts that permit our website to run on their servers. We WILL continue to enforce the rules, especially critical rules that, if broken, put this sites livelihood in jeapordy.
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JUST A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT TO REMIND EVERYONE (GUESTS AND REGISTERED USERS ALIKE) THAT THIS FORUM IS BUILT AROUND USER PARTICIPATION AND PUBLIC INTERACTIONS. IF YOU SEE A THREAD YOU LIKE, PARTICIPATE! IF YOU ENJOYED READING A STORY, POST A COMMENT TO LET THE AUTHOR KNOW! TAKING A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO LET AN AUTHOR KNOW YOU ENJOYED HIS OR HER WORK IS THE BEST WAY TO ENSURE THAT MORE SIMILAR STORIES ARE POSTED. KEEPING THE COMMUNITY ALIVE IS A GROUP EFFORT. LET'S ALL MAKE AN EFFORT TO PARTICIPATE.
The Oil Baronesses (FF/FF)
The Oil Baronesses (FF/FF)
Last edited by AlexUSA3 2 days ago, edited 2 times in total.
CGC Stories for Everyone: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22168
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CHAPTER 2: Schoolgirls Meet Fire and Ice
"Move along, Miss Oliveira," a French girl pushes my friend.
"Get up there, Miss Rossi! Up the gangplank!" a blonde girl pushes me just as roughly.
Boxties. Arms behind my back, folded at 90 degree angles, hand touching the other elbow. Nice and tight. Bad for me and Paulina. Good for our kidnappers. The ropes white and kind of rough and nasty. Probably nylon. I hate it. I hate them. They kidnapped us. Why? Me and my friend Paulina. Kidnapped by two strange girls. I don't understand why this would happen to us.
We walk onto a yacht. Not a huge one. Just big. Good for private parties and such. Cozy under better circumstances. I look at Paulina; she looks at me. Suddenly, matching outfit day at a mall isn't so good. We're so cute. Cute as buttons. Especially our navy flowy knee skirts and white knee socks. The white button-up long-sleeve shirts are adorable. Navy bandana headbands are a personal touch. We were supposed to be cute. For ourselves. Not them. I hate them.
"Mmm, Signora Rossi, you are beautiful," the French one takes my lips for a charged kiss.
"Blegh! Who are you?! You're disgusting!" I yell, but she makes me and Paulina sit.
"Listen," the blonde circles us, "We're oil execs. Your daddy's are in our way. Understand?"
"No!" I squirm on the bench, "Let me go! I wanna go home! Pleeeaaaassssseeee?"
"Ah," the blonde continues, "23 going on 12, I see, in speech and dress."
"Screw you!" Paulina snaps, "We're not going to submit to you freaks!"
The blonde is like half a foot shorter than me. Long pale blonde locks. Blue bandana headband. Blue gym shorts. White sports bra. Sexy, appropriate for the heat, intimidating. Bad girl. There is style on the other. Denim miniskirt. White and red striped tank. Red bandana headband. The crew socks they wear are ominous, as are their canvas shoes. White socks on the blonde; red on the other. Socks. Probably to gag us with them. Gross.
White rope. Nylon for sure. They tie our legs at the ankles. The rope digs into the heels of our white combat boots. Tight, effective ropes. Paulina and I grunt. Why are they doing this to us? It makes no sense. Oil? Dad's an oil exec. But why me? Because I'm the heiress? That's not a good enough reason? Am I a hostage? Or do they want to scare us?
"Well, well, Karina," the French one speaks, "Shall we try them by fire first?"
"Yes, indeed," the blonde, Karina, laughs, "Genevieve, we'll scorch ‘em to chill ‘em out."
"How about you let us go because our dads will kill you if you don't?!" Paulina's firm.
"Our dads?" I turn to my fellow captive and quietly grunt, "I will kill them, you mean."
Our shoulder length brown curls. Our brown eyes. That lovely Mediterranean skin tone. We're being defiled like this. They don't care. We're pawns in their game. Rope. Nasty white nylon rope. They tied it above our knees. Good and tight. They're on a mission. We're innocent, but they don't care. Anything for the almighty dollar. I hate them. More and more with time. I'm a big strong girl. 5'9". Hockey player. Reduced to helplessness. No strength. True bondage.
Boxties aren't enough. Invasive white nylon rope bondage. The crotch rope. Under our skirts, a move to dehumanize us. Subjugation of everything. Of our bodies and our sexuality. Tight and too personal. This is nonsense. Hateful. We're just friends enjoying each other's company. To end up like this? Unfair. Cruel. Inhuman. Brutal. Worse, they're laughing at us. Enjoying it. I can feel it. They're evil. Evil. Selfish. Avaricious. Using bondage to dominate us.
White nylon rope harnesses. Rope beneath our breasts. Rope above. A tight ‘V' in between. A tight pass through each armpit. Tight. Effective. Imprisons the arms. Highlights the breasts. A trick to restrain us. And to amuse them. True bondage of the worst kind. Trapped. Paulina and I look at each other. We're scared. That's bad. If we can see it, they can see it.
"The Human Solar Cooker will sear some sense into them, won't it?" Genevieve asks.
"Ha haaaaaa! Ah, Gen, I just love the way you think!" Karina responds with a wretched smile.
"Yeah. Sure," I watch rope tie my legs below my knees, "Set me on fire. Great plan."
"I'm glad you agree," Karina cinches the rope tight and becomes very grave, "Because it's real."
"Now, now," Genevieve is tying Paulina's legs at the same spot, "We don't plan to kill you."
"Is this a sitcom?" Paulina asks, "Hidden cameras, over-the-top acting. Yeah?"
"NO," Genevieve becomes chillingly vile, "This is happening, and the heat will be real."
One last rope. Below the skirt. Around our thighs below the waist. It's tight. One last way to control our legs. Four ropes now tie our legs. Boxtied arms. Harnesses. Crotch ropes. Tight, inescapable bondage. They stand us up. Order us to hop. So we hop. And hop. Such a ship is unfit for rogues like these. It's too white. Too peaceful. Too idyllic. Too casual. Bondage.
The boxes. Those horrible boxes. Six sides. Five sides are solid wood; one wooden side has a seemingly removable panel. The sixth side's the hinged lid. Plexiglass set in wood. A hockey player is ironically about to be tortured using plexiglass. They really are going to cook us. Me and Paulina. In those? Most terrifying is the size. Perfect for us. Height. Width. Depth. All considered in advance. They planned this. They stalked us. Studied us. Sadistic. Bondage.
Bright red ball gags. I suspect this isn't the last gag for us. 2 inches. In our mouths. Easy for me. A little much for Paulina. Nothing we can do to stop them. We fight, but they're stronger. We're pushed. Shoved. Dragged. Carried. Into the boxes. Into the boxes with Paulina and me. They're not done yet. Vibrators. Right against us. Harsh setting, but not the worst. Cruelty and drama. They're laughing at us. Like we're just two kids they plucked out of class. We're not. We're adults. Adults who've been captured. By maniacs. Bound and gagged. Bondage.
CLICK! The clasps are shut to seal us in. CLICK! Schoolgirls in deep trouble. CLICK! Our outfits were supposed to be cute. CLICK! Now, I feel they picked today on purpose. CLICK! Cute white shirts and navy skirts with a flair. CLICK! Bandanas for an edgy but cute tough girl vibe. CLICK! White combat boots to add more toughness and edge. CLICK! Knee socks for that classic look. CLICK! All meaningless now. CLICK! There's no way to get out of this situation. CLICK! Eleven clicks in all. Bondage.
Here we are. On the deck. Trapped. Stuffed in these boxes. Vibrated. Unable to see each other through the solid sides. Only able to look up. At the sky. The cloud. The sun. At them. I hate them. I hate what they've done. To me. To Paulina. To us. Monsters. Sadistic freaks. An injury to society. Trapped. I squirm. All I get is a warm squeal from the vibrator. Bondage.
"The Sicilian is having a solo orgy with the buzz stick," Karina taunts me from above.
"Shall we expose them? Use their socks against them?" Genevieve asks with a chilling voice.
"I'm thinking keeping them clothed is more powerful for when we up the ante."
"Heh heh, Karina," Genevieve seems demented, "I like where this is going."
"MMMMMMMMMMMM!" I hear Paulina. Definitely warm squeals. Hateful wand.
"Gmmmm!" I growl at my blonde observer and involuntary groan. I hate her and her bondage.
"I love the way you squirm when that wand does its job. In another life, I'd seduce you."
Thanks. I guess. So comforting. Nice to know that I'm pretty, at least. Seriously? Watching me get warm and squeal because of a wand is entertainment for you? Sick. Seducing me if this weren't business? She's pretty. Lovely. I'd seduce her under better circumstances too. Here. I want to punch her in the nose. Brawl. Show her that hockey side. This scenario? Bondage.
I fight the ropes. White nylon ropes. Tough ropes. Little give. That feeling. That warmth. It's a brutal feeling. The buzz. The warmth intensifies. Then I squirm. Squirm and squeal. Hence, warm squeal. I push against the lid with each warm squeal. This isn't a good warm squeal. Bad warm squeal. Evil people. Evil actions. They're evil. This is evil. Helplessness. Bondage.
I hear Paulina a lot only because she gets more frequent warm squeals. She squeals a lot. But if I know her, she's strong. Not physically. Mentally. Mentally strong. Bondage is physical. The evil duo wants it to become mental. If it becomes mental, they know they can win. I don't want to do that. No victory for them. I must endure. They betrayed part of their hand. Genevieve did when she said "We don't plan to kill you." They're above killing. Is it moral or legal? They can spin bondage, but not murder. Yes, they're avaricious and covetous. Can we win? It'll be tough to win. But we can. I know we can. We'll do our best. To beat them. To beat this bondage.
Heat from all sides. Especially above. The sun. The lid. The plexiglass. Turns this into a true Human Solar Cooker. OK, more like a hot car. It's hot. Oppressive. Stifling. There's a little ventilation. A little. There's a mesh side port. Oxygen won't run out. But the heat? Heat can kill. And them? I mean Karina and Genevieve. They love it. Karina and her blue bandana disappear. Genevieve stands over me with her red bandana. She's hot. She's got the hots for me too. She'd be pretty if she weren't evil. I like that outfit. It's cute. But she's bad. Bondage.
Red bandana headband. Denim miniskirt. Red and white striped top. Beautiful. Sexy. Even an innocent victim like me sees it. I like girls. Sexy brunette Genevieve gloats. At me. My squeal. My bondage. My struggle and kicking. Weak kicks. Trying to break the box. The rope stifles my strength. I'm trapped in here. With her watching. Ewww… she's pleasing herself. No, just a slight feel, the feeling of attraction. Maybe that's a weakness? I hope. Maybe attraction kicks in. She wants to save me. Then I strike. Save Paulina. Lock Karina and Genevieve in these to give them a taste. Of their own medicine? But now? No getting out. I'm stuck. In bondage.
I want Genevieve. I want her bound and gagged. To romance her. The girl I think she could be if she wanted to be. This girl? No. I'd like to put this wand on full buzz. Make her squeal until it hurts. Give her a taste of her own medicine. Good Genevieve? Imaginary Genevieve? Vibed until she squeals while I kiss her. But this? This is nothing. This is vile. This is bondage.
"Mmmmmmmm," I let out a guttural groan and kick the crate, SHRUK Too weak.
"You are so pretty, my Siclian beauty," she does it too. Miss Lucille Rossi, please. Bad girl.
Sweat. Heat. The sun. The humidity. White nylon rope constricts me. Every tug on my arms is also a tug on the crotch rope. The crotch rope is tight. Too tight. I feel it. Feel. Rough. Strong. Unforgiving. Invasive. Personal. Harsh. Impersonal. Offensive. She knows. She grins when I have a warm squeal. Genevieve likes it. Maybe I'm not too dynamic, but I do it. The wand is a part of their invasion. It vibrates. I feel it more than in my crotch. I let out a warm squeal since I cannot stop it. Involuntary. Forced. Because of that wand. This is true captivity. Bondage.
The fight. Against the space. Against the heat. Little room to move. When stretched, my feet rest on the bottom; my head touches the top. I have only an inch or two to arch for the brutal and undesired warm squeals. My body right now doesn't belong to me. Only my mind and spirit do. I am trapped. Even side-to-side motion is nothing. I'm strapped. The smooth wood traps me. It is a trap. A polished wooden prison. Confinement. Imprisonment. Solitude. Bondage.
Sweat. My clothes are getting wet. My hair is wet. My bandana is wet. How wet? I don't have a clue. My socks are wet too. Sweat's everywhere. The ball gag? Objectification and bondage. I drool because of it. Lots of drool. I do make lots of gag talk. Nothing special. But I do it. My friend is more reserved. My poor friend. Our day. Our schoolgirl day, ruined. Ruined by them. Their cruelty. Their hatred. Their greed. Their jealousy. Their determination. Their bondage.
"Let's have fun," Genevieve opens the lid. Relief? No. Cruelty. I am sure of it.
"Miss Badeaux, I think that our captives will enjoy this," I hear Karina say.
"I am sure of it," the girl before me grins in agreement with Karina's words.
Liars. Both of them. They lie. Lies are their tactic, too. No surprise. Evil girls; evil words; evil deeds too. Ice water. A bucket of ice water. A big bucket. Icy water. Poured over me. Head to toe. Soaked in the water. Icy water. Ice cubes too. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to escape. The icy water. The eleven clicks to open the lid weren't eleven clicks of freedom. No freedom. Eleven clicks to torture, followed by eleven clicks to torment. They did it to Paulina, I know. I heard it. The captors both laughed. Paulina and I yelled. Against the captors. Against the ice. Against the water. Against the newfound sauna. Against the sun. Against the bondage.
CLICK! She countdown begins again. CLICK! Here we go. We're in a box. CLICK! A box of captivity. CLICK! The box cannot contain all my thoughts. CLICK! It only contains me. Not my will. CLICK! The sound is ominous. CLICK! It's the sound of control. CLICK! Of nasty icy water evaporating slowly. CLICK! Of wet clothes. CLICK! Of our injured pride and impending suffering. CLICK! Of the chilling, evil bondage.
Warm squeal. Is it a warm squeal in this situation? Is it warm only because I feel heat before I squeal? I definitely squeal, and I feel warmth. From my body. From the box. From the sun. It contrasts the cold. From the water. From the ice. From the boxes. From our captors cold, dead hearts. The only normalcy? Me. Even my adorable school girl outfit is no longer mine. Not my shirt. Not my bandana. Not my skirt. Not my socks. Not my boots. None. White nylon ropes hold me in place, ensuring I'm theirs. It's their game. Their rules. Their move. Their bondage.
The sauna effect is overbearing. Sweat cannot be stopped. Not by the ropes. Not by the water. Not by the ice. Not by the sauna. No stopping the sweat. No stopping the drool. No stopping the warm squeal juice. No stopping any of them. My body is involuntary producing fluid. All three ways. Not my choice. Not my choice to warm squeal. To sweat. To drool. No choice in any of it. All produce fluid. All are humiliating. Especially when Genevieve or Karina stands to watch. My warm squeals are beginning to hurt. How does Paulina feel? We're in bondage.
Then they step out of my sight. No seeing them. Either. Just me. The wood. The plexiglass. The sky. The clouds. The sun. Alone. Alone in my bondage. Alone with a crotch rope. With a vibrator. With the ropes binding my legs at my ankles. At my knees. At my thighs. Below my waist. With the harness. The tight ropes. Tight imprisonment. Tighter objectification. Tightest of all? The humiliation. The inability to respond. To defend myself. To stop it all. I can't stop a single part. Not the ropes. Not the use of my clothes against me. Not the gag. Not the wand. Not the box. None of it. I can't stop anything. It's me and Paulina against them. Bondage.
My clothes. My wet clothes. They cling to me. They remain wet because of the humidity. The ice water. The sauna created by the ice water. Through evaporation. The water in my clothes? I feel it. It stays. It soaks my clothes. It soaked me. The sauna? It oppresses me. I feel it. There is no resisting it. My captors? They oppress my mind through the sauna. Through the bondage.
"OK, time to move from trial by fire to trial by ice," Genevieve smirks and punishes me.
"Indeed," Karina agrees. The punishment? Opening the lids. With pride, "C'mon, Paulina."
"Unhie uth ‘ou hreakth o' -athure!" Paulina snarls, showing her own determination to win.
"Now, now, ladies," Genevieve carries me like a child, "We have a special surprise for you."
They walk. With us. Helpless. Unable to stop it. They take us. Away from the crates. Down a stairway. Into the ship. Inside the ship. Inside their devious minds. Into a room. Not any room. The kitchen. The tiny kitchen. They put us down on the floor standing in front of the three steps to the kitchen. They unbuckle the gags. We're free to talk, but we have less freedom than ever. Even in freedom, we're in bondage. Always. They only know one thing. Bondage.
Then I look down. They're bare foot. Not good. I know what that means. Socks. They had the socks before. Karina's were white; Genevieve's were red. Where are they? Too late. We found them. One sock each. One of Genevieve's; one of Karina's. In our mouths. Horrid socks. The two evil girls each torture us like this. Sweaty, nasty, dirty socks. Dirty socks. In our mouths. I hate the taste. I hate them. I hate their bondage. We can't stop it. Vet wrap comes. Bright pink vet wrap. For each of us. Four wraps of cleave gag vet wrap. Four wraps of OTM gag. Sweaty, dirty socks in our mouths. Our kidnappers' socks. Humiliation. Objectification. Bondage.
Into the kitchen. The cold kitchen. Brilliant. Evil. The kitchen has a window AC unit. High up and out of reach. Set to 60 degrees. Full blast. Cold air. On top of the ship's AC. Brutal cold, a trial by ice. Indeed. The door shuts. Locked from the outside. We're trapped here. In a room. In brutal cold. In these ropes and gags. In the buzz of the vibrators. In bondage.
Vibration. Warm squeal. Drop to my knees. Paulina follows. We can't stop warm squeals. The warm squeal is a thing that happens. Like it or not. Involuntary. Forced. Not pleasure. Warmth that chills your blood. I feel the pulse. Of the hormones. Of my muscles. Warm squeals that do no good. To my knees. To my stomach. Can't fight it. Even moving my arms encourages me to have warm squeals. It's vicious. I hurt, but the rope and wands warm against me. Only pale blue linoleum tile for company. And the ropes. The horrid socks. The wand. And the bondage.
"Mmmmmmmmmmm!" I groan in frustration. What a taste. Of socks. Of bondage.
The cold air combines with the icy water that soaks our clothes. Goosebumps. Extreme chill. A refrigerator, but no refrigerator. It's brutal. I feel it. In my skin. My bones. My mind. Brutally cold air. The chill. I know it's only beginning. The taste in my mouth is just a taste of what the evil duo can do. They know it. It's only a matter of what they do next. They will. The have to. They know no other way. They only know victory. Victory through bondage.
Then it comes. Humiliation. They return. One by one, each rope is untied. One by one, each is retied. Why? Objectification. Humiliation. They leave us with no clothes except our panties and our bandanas. No more boots. No more knee socks. No more skirts. No more shirts. No more bras. None. They slowly do it. They mock us. Make a striptease of it. Then they take our bandanas, too. Blindfolds. No more sight. Only feeling. Then cotton. In my ears. Lots to stop my hearing. More vetwrap. Wraps my head so only my nose is exposed. Bondage.
The wrap seals the cotton. In my ears. No more hearing. No more seeing. No more speaking. I am totally theirs, tortured by the vibrator. Warm squeals in a cold room on a cold floor. Hogties. More of the white nylon. The same white nylon that binds me already. A hogtie. White nylon connects my ankles to my harness. I know it without seeing it. White string ties my big toes. It has to be white. It makes sense. They do it. To me. To Paulina. To put us in more bondage.
"Gmmmmm!" warm squeals.
But Paulina? Silence. Strangely silent. I can't hear her, but I know it. Like it or not, she found herself in subspace. I know it. Horrid and ironic. Such is what the captors want. Genevieve is clever; Karina is sinister. Together, they're evil. Now my own gag talk simply echoes inside my own head. In a better time and place, I'd be aroused. Here? Hating it. Bondage.
There's no escape. None. They leave us. To suffer. Hogtied. Head wrapped. No senses but an inept sense of touch. Overwhelming sensory torment. Vibration for warm squeals. White nylon rope for restraint. Dirty socks to control taste. Cotton to stop hearing. Vet wrap to squeeze me to produce hormones that stimulate pleasure. They dominated Paulina, but they can't dominate me with their wands. Their gags. Their ropes. Their wraps. Their cotton. Their bondage.
END OF CHAPTER 2
"Move along, Miss Oliveira," a French girl pushes my friend.
"Get up there, Miss Rossi! Up the gangplank!" a blonde girl pushes me just as roughly.
Boxties. Arms behind my back, folded at 90 degree angles, hand touching the other elbow. Nice and tight. Bad for me and Paulina. Good for our kidnappers. The ropes white and kind of rough and nasty. Probably nylon. I hate it. I hate them. They kidnapped us. Why? Me and my friend Paulina. Kidnapped by two strange girls. I don't understand why this would happen to us.
We walk onto a yacht. Not a huge one. Just big. Good for private parties and such. Cozy under better circumstances. I look at Paulina; she looks at me. Suddenly, matching outfit day at a mall isn't so good. We're so cute. Cute as buttons. Especially our navy flowy knee skirts and white knee socks. The white button-up long-sleeve shirts are adorable. Navy bandana headbands are a personal touch. We were supposed to be cute. For ourselves. Not them. I hate them.
"Mmm, Signora Rossi, you are beautiful," the French one takes my lips for a charged kiss.
"Blegh! Who are you?! You're disgusting!" I yell, but she makes me and Paulina sit.
"Listen," the blonde circles us, "We're oil execs. Your daddy's are in our way. Understand?"
"No!" I squirm on the bench, "Let me go! I wanna go home! Pleeeaaaassssseeee?"
"Ah," the blonde continues, "23 going on 12, I see, in speech and dress."
"Screw you!" Paulina snaps, "We're not going to submit to you freaks!"
The blonde is like half a foot shorter than me. Long pale blonde locks. Blue bandana headband. Blue gym shorts. White sports bra. Sexy, appropriate for the heat, intimidating. Bad girl. There is style on the other. Denim miniskirt. White and red striped tank. Red bandana headband. The crew socks they wear are ominous, as are their canvas shoes. White socks on the blonde; red on the other. Socks. Probably to gag us with them. Gross.
White rope. Nylon for sure. They tie our legs at the ankles. The rope digs into the heels of our white combat boots. Tight, effective ropes. Paulina and I grunt. Why are they doing this to us? It makes no sense. Oil? Dad's an oil exec. But why me? Because I'm the heiress? That's not a good enough reason? Am I a hostage? Or do they want to scare us?
"Well, well, Karina," the French one speaks, "Shall we try them by fire first?"
"Yes, indeed," the blonde, Karina, laughs, "Genevieve, we'll scorch ‘em to chill ‘em out."
"How about you let us go because our dads will kill you if you don't?!" Paulina's firm.
"Our dads?" I turn to my fellow captive and quietly grunt, "I will kill them, you mean."
Our shoulder length brown curls. Our brown eyes. That lovely Mediterranean skin tone. We're being defiled like this. They don't care. We're pawns in their game. Rope. Nasty white nylon rope. They tied it above our knees. Good and tight. They're on a mission. We're innocent, but they don't care. Anything for the almighty dollar. I hate them. More and more with time. I'm a big strong girl. 5'9". Hockey player. Reduced to helplessness. No strength. True bondage.
Boxties aren't enough. Invasive white nylon rope bondage. The crotch rope. Under our skirts, a move to dehumanize us. Subjugation of everything. Of our bodies and our sexuality. Tight and too personal. This is nonsense. Hateful. We're just friends enjoying each other's company. To end up like this? Unfair. Cruel. Inhuman. Brutal. Worse, they're laughing at us. Enjoying it. I can feel it. They're evil. Evil. Selfish. Avaricious. Using bondage to dominate us.
White nylon rope harnesses. Rope beneath our breasts. Rope above. A tight ‘V' in between. A tight pass through each armpit. Tight. Effective. Imprisons the arms. Highlights the breasts. A trick to restrain us. And to amuse them. True bondage of the worst kind. Trapped. Paulina and I look at each other. We're scared. That's bad. If we can see it, they can see it.
"The Human Solar Cooker will sear some sense into them, won't it?" Genevieve asks.
"Ha haaaaaa! Ah, Gen, I just love the way you think!" Karina responds with a wretched smile.
"Yeah. Sure," I watch rope tie my legs below my knees, "Set me on fire. Great plan."
"I'm glad you agree," Karina cinches the rope tight and becomes very grave, "Because it's real."
"Now, now," Genevieve is tying Paulina's legs at the same spot, "We don't plan to kill you."
"Is this a sitcom?" Paulina asks, "Hidden cameras, over-the-top acting. Yeah?"
"NO," Genevieve becomes chillingly vile, "This is happening, and the heat will be real."
One last rope. Below the skirt. Around our thighs below the waist. It's tight. One last way to control our legs. Four ropes now tie our legs. Boxtied arms. Harnesses. Crotch ropes. Tight, inescapable bondage. They stand us up. Order us to hop. So we hop. And hop. Such a ship is unfit for rogues like these. It's too white. Too peaceful. Too idyllic. Too casual. Bondage.
The boxes. Those horrible boxes. Six sides. Five sides are solid wood; one wooden side has a seemingly removable panel. The sixth side's the hinged lid. Plexiglass set in wood. A hockey player is ironically about to be tortured using plexiglass. They really are going to cook us. Me and Paulina. In those? Most terrifying is the size. Perfect for us. Height. Width. Depth. All considered in advance. They planned this. They stalked us. Studied us. Sadistic. Bondage.
Bright red ball gags. I suspect this isn't the last gag for us. 2 inches. In our mouths. Easy for me. A little much for Paulina. Nothing we can do to stop them. We fight, but they're stronger. We're pushed. Shoved. Dragged. Carried. Into the boxes. Into the boxes with Paulina and me. They're not done yet. Vibrators. Right against us. Harsh setting, but not the worst. Cruelty and drama. They're laughing at us. Like we're just two kids they plucked out of class. We're not. We're adults. Adults who've been captured. By maniacs. Bound and gagged. Bondage.
CLICK! The clasps are shut to seal us in. CLICK! Schoolgirls in deep trouble. CLICK! Our outfits were supposed to be cute. CLICK! Now, I feel they picked today on purpose. CLICK! Cute white shirts and navy skirts with a flair. CLICK! Bandanas for an edgy but cute tough girl vibe. CLICK! White combat boots to add more toughness and edge. CLICK! Knee socks for that classic look. CLICK! All meaningless now. CLICK! There's no way to get out of this situation. CLICK! Eleven clicks in all. Bondage.
Here we are. On the deck. Trapped. Stuffed in these boxes. Vibrated. Unable to see each other through the solid sides. Only able to look up. At the sky. The cloud. The sun. At them. I hate them. I hate what they've done. To me. To Paulina. To us. Monsters. Sadistic freaks. An injury to society. Trapped. I squirm. All I get is a warm squeal from the vibrator. Bondage.
"The Sicilian is having a solo orgy with the buzz stick," Karina taunts me from above.
"Shall we expose them? Use their socks against them?" Genevieve asks with a chilling voice.
"I'm thinking keeping them clothed is more powerful for when we up the ante."
"Heh heh, Karina," Genevieve seems demented, "I like where this is going."
"MMMMMMMMMMMM!" I hear Paulina. Definitely warm squeals. Hateful wand.
"Gmmmm!" I growl at my blonde observer and involuntary groan. I hate her and her bondage.
"I love the way you squirm when that wand does its job. In another life, I'd seduce you."
Thanks. I guess. So comforting. Nice to know that I'm pretty, at least. Seriously? Watching me get warm and squeal because of a wand is entertainment for you? Sick. Seducing me if this weren't business? She's pretty. Lovely. I'd seduce her under better circumstances too. Here. I want to punch her in the nose. Brawl. Show her that hockey side. This scenario? Bondage.
I fight the ropes. White nylon ropes. Tough ropes. Little give. That feeling. That warmth. It's a brutal feeling. The buzz. The warmth intensifies. Then I squirm. Squirm and squeal. Hence, warm squeal. I push against the lid with each warm squeal. This isn't a good warm squeal. Bad warm squeal. Evil people. Evil actions. They're evil. This is evil. Helplessness. Bondage.
I hear Paulina a lot only because she gets more frequent warm squeals. She squeals a lot. But if I know her, she's strong. Not physically. Mentally. Mentally strong. Bondage is physical. The evil duo wants it to become mental. If it becomes mental, they know they can win. I don't want to do that. No victory for them. I must endure. They betrayed part of their hand. Genevieve did when she said "We don't plan to kill you." They're above killing. Is it moral or legal? They can spin bondage, but not murder. Yes, they're avaricious and covetous. Can we win? It'll be tough to win. But we can. I know we can. We'll do our best. To beat them. To beat this bondage.
Heat from all sides. Especially above. The sun. The lid. The plexiglass. Turns this into a true Human Solar Cooker. OK, more like a hot car. It's hot. Oppressive. Stifling. There's a little ventilation. A little. There's a mesh side port. Oxygen won't run out. But the heat? Heat can kill. And them? I mean Karina and Genevieve. They love it. Karina and her blue bandana disappear. Genevieve stands over me with her red bandana. She's hot. She's got the hots for me too. She'd be pretty if she weren't evil. I like that outfit. It's cute. But she's bad. Bondage.
Red bandana headband. Denim miniskirt. Red and white striped top. Beautiful. Sexy. Even an innocent victim like me sees it. I like girls. Sexy brunette Genevieve gloats. At me. My squeal. My bondage. My struggle and kicking. Weak kicks. Trying to break the box. The rope stifles my strength. I'm trapped in here. With her watching. Ewww… she's pleasing herself. No, just a slight feel, the feeling of attraction. Maybe that's a weakness? I hope. Maybe attraction kicks in. She wants to save me. Then I strike. Save Paulina. Lock Karina and Genevieve in these to give them a taste. Of their own medicine? But now? No getting out. I'm stuck. In bondage.
I want Genevieve. I want her bound and gagged. To romance her. The girl I think she could be if she wanted to be. This girl? No. I'd like to put this wand on full buzz. Make her squeal until it hurts. Give her a taste of her own medicine. Good Genevieve? Imaginary Genevieve? Vibed until she squeals while I kiss her. But this? This is nothing. This is vile. This is bondage.
"Mmmmmmmm," I let out a guttural groan and kick the crate, SHRUK Too weak.
"You are so pretty, my Siclian beauty," she does it too. Miss Lucille Rossi, please. Bad girl.
Sweat. Heat. The sun. The humidity. White nylon rope constricts me. Every tug on my arms is also a tug on the crotch rope. The crotch rope is tight. Too tight. I feel it. Feel. Rough. Strong. Unforgiving. Invasive. Personal. Harsh. Impersonal. Offensive. She knows. She grins when I have a warm squeal. Genevieve likes it. Maybe I'm not too dynamic, but I do it. The wand is a part of their invasion. It vibrates. I feel it more than in my crotch. I let out a warm squeal since I cannot stop it. Involuntary. Forced. Because of that wand. This is true captivity. Bondage.
The fight. Against the space. Against the heat. Little room to move. When stretched, my feet rest on the bottom; my head touches the top. I have only an inch or two to arch for the brutal and undesired warm squeals. My body right now doesn't belong to me. Only my mind and spirit do. I am trapped. Even side-to-side motion is nothing. I'm strapped. The smooth wood traps me. It is a trap. A polished wooden prison. Confinement. Imprisonment. Solitude. Bondage.
Sweat. My clothes are getting wet. My hair is wet. My bandana is wet. How wet? I don't have a clue. My socks are wet too. Sweat's everywhere. The ball gag? Objectification and bondage. I drool because of it. Lots of drool. I do make lots of gag talk. Nothing special. But I do it. My friend is more reserved. My poor friend. Our day. Our schoolgirl day, ruined. Ruined by them. Their cruelty. Their hatred. Their greed. Their jealousy. Their determination. Their bondage.
"Let's have fun," Genevieve opens the lid. Relief? No. Cruelty. I am sure of it.
"Miss Badeaux, I think that our captives will enjoy this," I hear Karina say.
"I am sure of it," the girl before me grins in agreement with Karina's words.
Liars. Both of them. They lie. Lies are their tactic, too. No surprise. Evil girls; evil words; evil deeds too. Ice water. A bucket of ice water. A big bucket. Icy water. Poured over me. Head to toe. Soaked in the water. Icy water. Ice cubes too. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to escape. The icy water. The eleven clicks to open the lid weren't eleven clicks of freedom. No freedom. Eleven clicks to torture, followed by eleven clicks to torment. They did it to Paulina, I know. I heard it. The captors both laughed. Paulina and I yelled. Against the captors. Against the ice. Against the water. Against the newfound sauna. Against the sun. Against the bondage.
CLICK! She countdown begins again. CLICK! Here we go. We're in a box. CLICK! A box of captivity. CLICK! The box cannot contain all my thoughts. CLICK! It only contains me. Not my will. CLICK! The sound is ominous. CLICK! It's the sound of control. CLICK! Of nasty icy water evaporating slowly. CLICK! Of wet clothes. CLICK! Of our injured pride and impending suffering. CLICK! Of the chilling, evil bondage.
Warm squeal. Is it a warm squeal in this situation? Is it warm only because I feel heat before I squeal? I definitely squeal, and I feel warmth. From my body. From the box. From the sun. It contrasts the cold. From the water. From the ice. From the boxes. From our captors cold, dead hearts. The only normalcy? Me. Even my adorable school girl outfit is no longer mine. Not my shirt. Not my bandana. Not my skirt. Not my socks. Not my boots. None. White nylon ropes hold me in place, ensuring I'm theirs. It's their game. Their rules. Their move. Their bondage.
The sauna effect is overbearing. Sweat cannot be stopped. Not by the ropes. Not by the water. Not by the ice. Not by the sauna. No stopping the sweat. No stopping the drool. No stopping the warm squeal juice. No stopping any of them. My body is involuntary producing fluid. All three ways. Not my choice. Not my choice to warm squeal. To sweat. To drool. No choice in any of it. All produce fluid. All are humiliating. Especially when Genevieve or Karina stands to watch. My warm squeals are beginning to hurt. How does Paulina feel? We're in bondage.
Then they step out of my sight. No seeing them. Either. Just me. The wood. The plexiglass. The sky. The clouds. The sun. Alone. Alone in my bondage. Alone with a crotch rope. With a vibrator. With the ropes binding my legs at my ankles. At my knees. At my thighs. Below my waist. With the harness. The tight ropes. Tight imprisonment. Tighter objectification. Tightest of all? The humiliation. The inability to respond. To defend myself. To stop it all. I can't stop a single part. Not the ropes. Not the use of my clothes against me. Not the gag. Not the wand. Not the box. None of it. I can't stop anything. It's me and Paulina against them. Bondage.
My clothes. My wet clothes. They cling to me. They remain wet because of the humidity. The ice water. The sauna created by the ice water. Through evaporation. The water in my clothes? I feel it. It stays. It soaks my clothes. It soaked me. The sauna? It oppresses me. I feel it. There is no resisting it. My captors? They oppress my mind through the sauna. Through the bondage.
"OK, time to move from trial by fire to trial by ice," Genevieve smirks and punishes me.
"Indeed," Karina agrees. The punishment? Opening the lids. With pride, "C'mon, Paulina."
"Unhie uth ‘ou hreakth o' -athure!" Paulina snarls, showing her own determination to win.
"Now, now, ladies," Genevieve carries me like a child, "We have a special surprise for you."
They walk. With us. Helpless. Unable to stop it. They take us. Away from the crates. Down a stairway. Into the ship. Inside the ship. Inside their devious minds. Into a room. Not any room. The kitchen. The tiny kitchen. They put us down on the floor standing in front of the three steps to the kitchen. They unbuckle the gags. We're free to talk, but we have less freedom than ever. Even in freedom, we're in bondage. Always. They only know one thing. Bondage.
Then I look down. They're bare foot. Not good. I know what that means. Socks. They had the socks before. Karina's were white; Genevieve's were red. Where are they? Too late. We found them. One sock each. One of Genevieve's; one of Karina's. In our mouths. Horrid socks. The two evil girls each torture us like this. Sweaty, nasty, dirty socks. Dirty socks. In our mouths. I hate the taste. I hate them. I hate their bondage. We can't stop it. Vet wrap comes. Bright pink vet wrap. For each of us. Four wraps of cleave gag vet wrap. Four wraps of OTM gag. Sweaty, dirty socks in our mouths. Our kidnappers' socks. Humiliation. Objectification. Bondage.
Into the kitchen. The cold kitchen. Brilliant. Evil. The kitchen has a window AC unit. High up and out of reach. Set to 60 degrees. Full blast. Cold air. On top of the ship's AC. Brutal cold, a trial by ice. Indeed. The door shuts. Locked from the outside. We're trapped here. In a room. In brutal cold. In these ropes and gags. In the buzz of the vibrators. In bondage.
Vibration. Warm squeal. Drop to my knees. Paulina follows. We can't stop warm squeals. The warm squeal is a thing that happens. Like it or not. Involuntary. Forced. Not pleasure. Warmth that chills your blood. I feel the pulse. Of the hormones. Of my muscles. Warm squeals that do no good. To my knees. To my stomach. Can't fight it. Even moving my arms encourages me to have warm squeals. It's vicious. I hurt, but the rope and wands warm against me. Only pale blue linoleum tile for company. And the ropes. The horrid socks. The wand. And the bondage.
"Mmmmmmmmmmm!" I groan in frustration. What a taste. Of socks. Of bondage.
The cold air combines with the icy water that soaks our clothes. Goosebumps. Extreme chill. A refrigerator, but no refrigerator. It's brutal. I feel it. In my skin. My bones. My mind. Brutally cold air. The chill. I know it's only beginning. The taste in my mouth is just a taste of what the evil duo can do. They know it. It's only a matter of what they do next. They will. The have to. They know no other way. They only know victory. Victory through bondage.
Then it comes. Humiliation. They return. One by one, each rope is untied. One by one, each is retied. Why? Objectification. Humiliation. They leave us with no clothes except our panties and our bandanas. No more boots. No more knee socks. No more skirts. No more shirts. No more bras. None. They slowly do it. They mock us. Make a striptease of it. Then they take our bandanas, too. Blindfolds. No more sight. Only feeling. Then cotton. In my ears. Lots to stop my hearing. More vetwrap. Wraps my head so only my nose is exposed. Bondage.
The wrap seals the cotton. In my ears. No more hearing. No more seeing. No more speaking. I am totally theirs, tortured by the vibrator. Warm squeals in a cold room on a cold floor. Hogties. More of the white nylon. The same white nylon that binds me already. A hogtie. White nylon connects my ankles to my harness. I know it without seeing it. White string ties my big toes. It has to be white. It makes sense. They do it. To me. To Paulina. To put us in more bondage.
"Gmmmmm!" warm squeals.
But Paulina? Silence. Strangely silent. I can't hear her, but I know it. Like it or not, she found herself in subspace. I know it. Horrid and ironic. Such is what the captors want. Genevieve is clever; Karina is sinister. Together, they're evil. Now my own gag talk simply echoes inside my own head. In a better time and place, I'd be aroused. Here? Hating it. Bondage.
There's no escape. None. They leave us. To suffer. Hogtied. Head wrapped. No senses but an inept sense of touch. Overwhelming sensory torment. Vibration for warm squeals. White nylon rope for restraint. Dirty socks to control taste. Cotton to stop hearing. Vet wrap to squeeze me to produce hormones that stimulate pleasure. They dominated Paulina, but they can't dominate me with their wands. Their gags. Their ropes. Their wraps. Their cotton. Their bondage.
END OF CHAPTER 2
CGC Stories for Everyone: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22168
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CHAPTER 3: Not Dressed for the Weather
"C-nts! You're both c-nts!" I snarl at them without fear while my boots thud on the gangway.
Kaci-Lee and I are friends in danger. These two keep talking about Human Solar Cookers and a whole host of other devices that must be instruments of torture, but they speak of them as friends of old. I certainly did not have being cooked on my bingo card for today. I walked onto the ship without choice. Kaci-Lee and I are a bit helpless with our wrists and elbows ziptied together.
"I hope you slip on a banana peel, get knocked out, and slip into the ocean," Kaci-Lee snaps.
"You are such a romantic young woman," the tall, strong brunette captor smiles.
"At least tell me your f- cking names so I'll know who killed me," I demand of them both.
"I am Genevieve, and my sweet blonde friend is Karina," the brunette is enjoying this.
"If she's in a sweet mood, I'd hate to see her with a hemorrhoid," my disgust is obvious.
"Roxie, Roxie, Roxie," Karina grabs my ponytail, "You have so much to learn still."
"Roxanne, if you will. F-ckin' b-tch," I grin and get in her face, "I……HATE……YOU."
"Roxie, I really don't care as long as I get what I want."
An immaculate yacht is a bizarre choice for this. The pristine white walkways glisten in the sun, and the polished, waterproofed, oaken benched in the center, far from the wind and surf, stand out. Clearly someone's party vessel for groups of 15-20. Spacious, but not opulent, but a place I know is only for the opulent and their opulent friends. Not my kind of place.
Kaci-Lee and I are in trouble with the zipties on our arms. She's the golden-haired girl, whereas I am the brunette. We couldn't be more different, but we share a sharp tongue that is extremely colorful when unleashed. She's blue-eyed; I'm brown eyed. Her hair's straight; mine's wavy. I call her my friend, but we're the secretaries to the CEO and President of an oil company. When I say this is a swanky vessel, I mean it. This is a kid's tub toy compared to my boss's yacht.
In Florida, you dress for your plans, not the weather, because you're going to want a swimsuit for a trip to the beach or pool, but you want pants if you're going to a chilly movie theater. Some are comfortable in shorts even while ice skating, but these two b-tches are too calm, too comfortable, and too casual. They would dress for the goal, especially Genevieve, making Karina's blue gym shorts and Genevieve's denim miniskirt unnerving. This battle's happening out here, in the heat.
It matters so much more than you can imagine. Kaci-Lee is wearing blue jeans, purple sneakers, and a sea green tight-fitting sleeveless shirt with no cleavage. I'm wearing a classic camouflage ensemble of cargo pants, socks, a tank top, a scrunchie for my ponytail, and a bandana headband. I have black combat boots. We are severely underdressed for this, and our kidnappers force us to sit on the oaken benches under big blue skies, white cumulus clouds, and the blazing hot August sun. It can cook. They've spoken of cooking us, and that thought is bone chilling.
"I don't know what you want," I sneer, "But you won't get it from either of us for certain."
"We want," Karina smiles, "your cooperation and subjugation. Your acknowledgment."
"We are the Oil Baronesses," Genevieve proudly adds, "And your bosses will concede to us."
"We want those government contracts, and you'll make sure we get them," the blonde grabs my hair and pulls my head back so I look into her eyes, "I can see you need some lessons first."
"You need a lesson," I calmly respond, "In being better at business if you have to do this to us."
"I'd like to ziptie your throats shut," Kaci-Lee rolls her eyes, "Do the world a f-cking service."
That red-and-white horizontally striped shirt that Genevieve wears is about the only thing that is appropriate for this scene and setting. She wears a red bandana headband, red crew socks, and a simple pair of black pumps. Contrast her colleague, Karina, with the white t-shirt and the blue bandana headband. They hardly look like Oil Baronesses, but it's appropriate for dirty work.
They apply numerous zipties to our bodies. It's not enough for them that they zipped our wrists and elbows. They use three more zips in the gap between for five zips on our arms, and they do much more than that. Our assailants are crafty and determined with their generous use of plastic bondage strips. Five zipties tie our thighs together, and five tie our legs together. Karina does it all to me, and Genevieve to Kaci-Lee. Then our shoes and socks come off our feet, and a ziptie ties our big toes together. I can see the way they're playing with the socks, and it makes me sick.
"Open wide, Roxie," Karina mocks my name repeatedly, "Kaci-Lee's socks just for you."
"It's Roxanne," I snarl through gritted teeth, "When I get out of this, I'll personally kill you."
"Oops," she applies a painful yank on my hair, "Sorry… Roxie… Did I get your name wrong?"
"Owwww!" and I shriek in pain and eat the socks, "Mmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmm!"
"Open up now!" Genevieve has to spank Kaci-Lee to get her to open her mouth for my socks.
"Nmmmm mmmmm mmmmmmmmmm!" is all my friend can say.
I expected tape or vet wrap, but instead they do simple strips of microfoam tape. That unsettles me because it means they're planning on a gag change at some point or intend to escalate. They stand us up, sling us over their shoulders, and carry us, kicking and screaming captives, towards the rear of this main deck. We go by the big entertainment room that consumes most of the main deck of the ship, to the rear of the ship, to meet the Human Solar Cookers.
Two wooden crates are standing up on the deck. They have wooden sides, and they look perfect for us, made just for torturing me and Kaci-Lee. The sixth side is a hinged door embossed with a sheet of plexiglass. It's a freaking human sized greenhouse for torture, and I see light through the grommeted slots that line the long side. We have no choice. Into the box I go.
I'm not just shoved into the crate. Those grommets have purpose. Velcro cinch straps go around me and through the slots in the sides and are pulled tight, pinning my arms between me and the wooden panel and ensuring I stay on my back against it, not that there's room to turn around in this box. The straps are above and below my boobs, at my waist, above my knees, and at my ankles. I presume they do the same to Kaci-Lee. One final strap goes around our heads, pinning them to the back of the box as well. The boxes are then laid down so we're looking up at the sky.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! the lid shuts.
Well, this is just dandy. Of all the days to be planning on sitting in a cold movie theater and also getting kidnapped. Normally my kidnappers try to fetishize my clothes for the scene, not use my outfit as the actual torture itself. But, here we are. Kaci-Lee and I are royally f-cked. This strap that wraps over my lips is even pushed a little bit into my mouth. Based on the sounds, Kaci-Lee is in the exact same situation, but she's completely unhinged right now, more than our captors.
I've always had a love of grilled cheese. My grandparents used to laugh because I'd always ask for Grandma to make grilled cheese if I had a choice. Thankfully, she didn't give me a choice of food often, or I would have missed out on some delicious foods. Kaci-Lee's socks are far from a dainty, and their nasty salty flavor is something I'll never forget to my dying day. Why do I stray off topic? Because Grandma could make a f-cking grilled cheese on my stomach right now!
"I dare say that even Kafka would be disturbed by this setup," the blonde b-tch Karina chortles.
"Hmmmm?" I curiously engage her, well-read in such matters in my own right, "Mmm mmm?"
"Yes, you're undergoing a much more, ahem, intriguing metamorphosis," she muses and grins.
"Mmmmmm?" I roll my eyes, trying my best to ignore the situation, "Nmmm mmmmm."
"Well, too bad. You're the one bound and gagged and locked in a Human Solar Cooker."
"Gmm mmm mmmmm!" I act like I'm in an academic disagreement instead.
Sh-t, it's getting hot in here. Honestly, the way I'm strapped to the board is the brutal part of this setup. The box is a tight fit, even for little ol' me. I peer into Karina's blue-gray eyes, and what I find is chilling—no empathy. Cold. Dead. Evil. Well, that's a shame. I'll have to reframe my psychological strategies around this. Genevieve is scarier. She has warmth and does this of her own desire anyway. That's worse because it means she feels her needs outweigh ours.
The wood in here is quite smooth and solid construction, a perfect fit with minimal room for me to move around even if I weren't strapped in place. I'm only 5'2"; this is quite deliberate, and it is even shallow like me. Someone studied me long and hard, which is concerning because I have few or no pictures of myself on either my Facebook or Instagram accounts. Strong bolts, a most solid recess and cross-braces for the glass. This is mighty fine work. Smells like oak.
My highbrow nemesis is sadly mistaken. Kafka would blush at such mechanics. You, my dear, are more the material of a Kate Chopin tale—shallow, selfish, materialistic—with the macabre humor of Ambrose Bierce or Stephen Crane and the horrid villainy seen in Poe. You're far from impressive; you're a philosopher without anything to ground you. Your friend there is the poet, a poet who sees the true romance in danger and adventure but alas prefers to be the giant that is the imaginary foe of Don Quixote instead of enjoying the more noble role of the windmill.
The Marquis de Sade is looking up from hell and getting a momentary relief from the blaze that's engulfing him, albeit only for the fire to blaze more than before. I've opened hot radiators; that's a cakewalk compared to this. Holy sh-t, this is hot, but I accept it. I'm not afraid to die, unlike my assailants. Sweat soaks my clothes, and they taunt us by rolling the boxes over so that the lid faces the white deck. Gravity is stopped by the confounded, tight cinch straps.
You might stop me physically, but you will not mentally conquer me. Kaci-Lee's a strong-willed girl, and you're sadly mistaken if you think her wails are any sign of capitulation. Far be it from her, she is just getting started, and she's gag talking a thousand curses and promises for you two. This strange, hot darkness is both uncomfortable and ludicrous, but it does nothing to amplify the torture except maybe ensuring the cinch straps leave lasting lines in my skin. Whoop-dee-doo.
Then the cinch straps are loosened, one at a time, dropping me down.
"Hmmmm," Genevieve says and flips the crate back over, "She is not terrorized."
"Gmmmmm," I quietly groan while I am rattled around by the motions.
"You're right. Let's open them up," Karina agrees, "We need to push in other ways."
"Yes, they will quietly roast to death. Perhaps it is not painful enough of a torture."
"Genevieve, that is a splendid idea," Karina slings me over her shoulder, "Personal torments!"
Is a personal torment like a car with a vanity plate, fancy and overhyped like these Human Solar Cookers were supposed to roast me into submission? Right now, you're doing pretty poorly with your attempts to scare us. Claustrophobia isn't either a phobia or a kink of mine, and I can now pretty safely conclude that heat stroke isn't anything I'll personally fetishize any time soon.
Kaci-Lee and I still have those five zipties each on our arms, thighs, and legs. Her socks, still in my mouth, haven't improved at all in the last 15 minutes, and I suspect she's getting equivalent or better pleasure out of my stinky, sweaty dainties. They bring us into an empty cabin, a room and a small closet with the usual cabin furniture and even a bathroom. We're laid on our stomachs on the bed because they're ready to take things up a notch for both of us.
Zipties add to things. Each finger is zipped at the base and the third knuckle to the same finger on the other hand. Our palms are zipped together, and each thumb is zipped together. A ziptie is wrapped around the thumbs and palms, and another wraps the four fingers at the same points. It is a methodical blow, completely immobilizing our fingers and hands. I suspect it is just a start.
"Snip, snip," Karina takes out a pair of scissors and chops my tank top off me.
"Mmmmmmm," I blush, now being in just my camouflage sports bra.
"Allow me," Genevieve takes the scissors and does the same, cutting off Kaci-Lee's shirt.
"Eeeeeee!" Kaci-Lee squeals, but that brave girl went commando today, "Mmmmmm!"
Our arms are pulled up and away from our backs, as much as the bondage allows. More zipties secure our arms to the headboard of the fancy bed, and more secure our ankles to the footboard. I just know it's coming, and I wince. Sure enough. my pants slide down just enough for my butt to be visible. Don't blush! We're wearing briefs!! Yes, even Kaci-Lee is wearing briefs!! Don't be such a prude in the middle of such an awful story.
The room is so formal and inappropriate. Blue and white diamond carpet; polished cherry wood dressers, nightstands, and bed; black fabric recliners; a blue and white diamond bedspread; blue nautical wallpaper border at waist height. Was this a yacht cabin or a bondage dungeon? Karina and Genevieve had picked an interesting place to bring us for sure, but it was still uncomfortable.
Spanking. Not the kind your daddy gives you when you're bad. Lots of spanking. Dozens upon dozens of spanks, intended to cause pain and soreness. You mostly yell because of reflexes, and the sound of your own pained wails weighs down upon you. The yells make the socks worse in my mouth, and the bondage reduces my ability to struggle. Kaci-Lee and I can only endure and wail, but we will not be broken by this either. We are stronger than this. Then they escalate.
The first escalation is vibration wands. I admit I can enjoy a good predicament between vibrator induced orgasm and some other undesirable choice, but it's a little different during a kidnapping, as if the lack of consensuality dampens the mood for me. Regardless, they put those against us quite tightly, and zipties hold them in place. With a push of a button, buzzing sounds begin to torture. Now, the journey diverges as Kaci-Lee and I endure differing scenarios.
They wrap two more layers of microfoam tape around our heads, as if a strip wasn't enough. To Kaci-Lee's bondage they add a standard muzzle gag, securing all of the straps. For, they have a leather bondage hood that features a slot for the eyes and mouth, but they first move my bandana off my head and down to my neck. I am certain they intend to use my bandana to strangle me if necessary. They pull my ponytail through a hole in the hood, which tells me they intend to use my hair against me as well. The laces are all pulled tight for a gentle squeeze on my face.
The creepy part is the silence in which they do these things. They only need to gesture behind our backs to agree on what to do. They detach Kaci-Lee from the bed and make her sit up on an elegant wooden chair, of the same cherry as the other wood in the room. They pull her arms over the back of the chair and zip her to the chair by wrapping more long zipties around her torso, the spindles, and her arms, pulling them tight to pin her torso and arms to the chair. They do it with a cold efficiency, ziptying her on either side of her breasts and at her waist. It's just a start.
Three zips pin Kaci-Lee's thighs to the chair. Genevieve does this, while Karina turns her mind towards me. One last ziptie secures Kaci-Lee's ankles to the crossbrace between the front legs. I feel the zip holding my arms in the air get cut. Instead, zipties pin my arms to my torso, but only after Karina pushes my bra up to humiliate me. I am embarrassed about the size and sagging that characterize my breasts. Zipties on either side of my breasts and at my waist pin my arms to my torso in that same eerily silent efficiency. Which next: hair tie, garrote, or something else?
First binder clips, a sinister way to make things more painful. Binder clips pinch each nipple for an unforgettable presence because of the constant sensation. Each decision is cold and calm, as if they have done this plenty of times. I hear a strange thud come from the wall; perhaps they've other captives aboard this ship? How many people do these Oil Baronesses need to remove?!
"There, there, Roxie," Karina laughs at me, "We're just going to apply some pressure."
"You are a lucky one," Genevieve tightens my bandana to be a snug fit around my throat.
"She means you're a tough nut to crack, but," Karina's voice is self-effacing, "You'll crack."
"Even if we must drop an anvil on the nut from an airplane," the French girl concludes.
"This'll hopefully make you see reason," the blonde attaches a rope to my bandana.
"Gmmmm," I groan and feel my situation becoming increasingly grim.
The rope goes up to a pulley and down to the headboard. It is pulled tight so that I'm garroted if I am not high enough above the bed, but it's hard to keep my head up and off the bed without my arms to push me up. It's a brutal predicament, one they're both enjoying. Kaci-Lee's socks have not tasted so bad yet, but when you're suffocating suddenly your taste buds intensify. B-stards.
They're absolutely tickled by this bandana I wore today and that they've fastened around my neck to torture. If I don't surrender, they'll probably turn it into a throat tourniquet, knot it, and laugh as they send my body to my employer in a box. Let them. They seem to think I'm scared to die. I have dignity in who I am and don't need affirmation from others for this. I patiently manipulate my breaths to be deep when I struggle into the right position to breathe, but it's a limited supply of energy that I possess. My brutalized arms are useless to me now.
The vibrator has a job, and the choking adds sensory overload that makes the vibrator effectively faster. Yes, I am orgasming here, and I can't stop it even while I'm choking to death. They're too determined to get my cooperation, though, and the rope is already loosened to stop the choke, but I just know Karina is licking her chops at the thought of tightening it around my neck and saying a multitude of insults and threats into my ears. Indeed, Karina sits on me but for another cause.
My hair is folded in half, and Karina uses a ziptie to tightly hold my hair like this. She wraps an even longer ziptie around the loop made by the fold, and she wraps it around my ankles. Great, a freaking hairtie to pull on my hair and head and induce pain. They are psychotic for sure. There is no humanity left in them, and all I can do is groan in my orgasms, hear Kaci-Lee's groans, and listen to them run their mouths constantly. They're accomplishing nothing fast.
They've positioned the chair so that Kaci-Lee and I can see each other. Not that either of us can do much except orgasm until we're in pain. This is meaningless suffering at the moment… until each of us has her nose sealed with a strip of microfoam tape. Great, they're smothering us now, and a sensation like that leads to forced pleasure. It's no pleasure to orgasm like this though. It has crossed the line; even Poe is blushing, but the Marquis is smiling proudly.
"Hmm, will they break from this?" Karina asks as if this were sports betting instead.
"I love the way Kaci-Lee jerks," Genevieve's hands wander freely over my friend's chest.
"I love the sound of them struggling to breathe," the blonde is such a freak of nature.
"Gmmm mmmmm!" Kaci-Lee's full of fire.
"Guh," I feel a searing pain start building in my lungs, a truly horrible pain.
"The b-tches won't break!" Karina tears the tape off our noses, "What the f-cking hell, Gen?!"
"They are resilient, which means we improperly prepared for them," Genevieve is blunt.
"Yes, yes, yes," the short blonde muses, "We need less sadism, more athleticism."
"This is the correct answer," Genevieve coos, "They're not very athletic, are they?"
That's when they cut the zips holding Kaci-Lee's trunk and arms to the chair, lean her forward, pull her arms up, and ziptie her wrists to the top of the chair back for a mock strappado position. It has all the physical positioning of a strappado but the pain of her legs being completely and tightly ziptied to the seat and the crossbrace. She lets out a shriek of resistance despite the pain.
I am left in my pained position while they do this, but it's soon my turn. They know I'm short to a fault, and they exploit this. I'm detached from the bed and put in a standing strappado by being forced to stand behind the chair that imprisons Kaci-Lee and have my wrists ziptied to the chair right next to her wrists because that is a strappado for little me. Oh, by the way, don't forget the wands are making Kaci-Lee and I orgasm the entire time. They're out of control and unhinged.
They sit down on the bed and slowly take off their sneakers and socks. They're out of control in their desire to force submission out of us, and they put one each of their socks under our panties to absorb the moisture we're emitting. That's a disgusting thought to say the least. The vibrators are turned up to a different, stronger setting, too, and Kaci-Lee and I begin each having what one of my friends jokingly would call a "solo orgy." It's all pain for me though. God, they're clever.
That zip around my hair was unintentionally released when they detached me from the bed, so it gets a new ziptie connected to one of the forearm zips, making things more painful, but they first took the hood off my head. I know what's coming, and I dread it. No hood is fine as long as no breathplay results. They think I'll tap out eventually, but they're in for a rude surprise unless my thought is right. Perhaps they've found something that'll test me in a way I haven't expected?
"This should force some fluid out of her," Genevieve undoes the knot on my bandana, "I'm sure it will," and she slowly constricts the wrap around my throat, slowly garroting me with it.
"Gmmmm," I gulp one last time before things tighten too much, the sick motherf-cker, "Mmm!"
"Ah, listen to that. Karina, I believe you should tape the blonde's nose shut again."
"Anything that'll work," Karina recycles the same strip as before and smothers my friend.
"MMMMMMMMM!" Kaci-Lee squeals, and we're now in sensory overload once again.
Then a release. A squeeze and a release. Now, even the Marquis is totally mortified that such an abject monstrosity is real. Genevieve has figured out that the initial squeeze triggers something in my body, practically forcing me to orgasm almost instantly, and all I can do is wail because of the misery of the situation. The maniac has figured me out, like it or not, and I'm slowly losing the war. It's now a matter of how she gets me to surrender. But I cannot surrender sooner since I would give them satisfaction of winning so easily… or is it a reward for them if we fight more?!
The cycle repeats, only for Kaci-Lee it's 30 seconds bursts of suffocation from the microfoam on her nose. We're loudly wailing now, shrieking from the pain of the forced orgasms, and it's all a simple chapter in the game, part of a larger structural domination of body and will. They know it all too well; they're too versed in destruction. All of it happens here in what is otherwise such a lovely cabin on the ship, one where you expect opulence, a maid to arrive with dinner, and all the simple pleasures of life. Instead, the blue carpet is the scene of torture, brutal sadistic torture.
"Here goes," Genevieve loosens the bandana and unwraps the tape that gags me.
"Gmmmmm," I weakly groan while the wand does its thing, not caring that the tape is gone.
"This will do it," she removes the socks from my mouth and takes the socks from my crotch, and she puts the socks near my mouth and pinches my nose shut, "Eat them, or be punished."
"No!" I see the socks glistening from my own fluid and shake my head, "No! No! Mmmmm!"
"Go f-ck yourself with a scimitar," Kaci-Lee has such a way with words that is admirable.
"Ha ha ha!" Karina's cackling quite loudly, "EAT!" and she jams the socks from Kaci-Lee's own crotch into Kaci-Lee's mouth, "That'll teach you to defy us. Now, it's the ultimate in nasty."
Gray duct tape wraps around our heads. They each have a roll of the tape, and they crush both of our faces in the tape. They don't stop there, however, because a second strip wraps around at eye level to blindfold us with the tape. This is cruelty at its complete peak. There's nothing else for me to do except panic. I'm gagged with their socks soaked in my own natural lubricant. The Oil Baronesses know it's happened—they've won—it's a matter of when I break now.
I'm now subjected to a second hooding, but what's it matter? I've lost. I'm a poet at heart, but I am learning now that my kind poetry does not matter where there are no emotions that my poetry can touch. We're both completely detached from the chairs, and in the final action of domination they ziptie our arms to our bodies, above and below our breasts and at our waists, locked away in suitcases with only the sounds of our own brokenness and the vibrators. They've won.
END OF CHAPTER 3
"C-nts! You're both c-nts!" I snarl at them without fear while my boots thud on the gangway.
Kaci-Lee and I are friends in danger. These two keep talking about Human Solar Cookers and a whole host of other devices that must be instruments of torture, but they speak of them as friends of old. I certainly did not have being cooked on my bingo card for today. I walked onto the ship without choice. Kaci-Lee and I are a bit helpless with our wrists and elbows ziptied together.
"I hope you slip on a banana peel, get knocked out, and slip into the ocean," Kaci-Lee snaps.
"You are such a romantic young woman," the tall, strong brunette captor smiles.
"At least tell me your f- cking names so I'll know who killed me," I demand of them both.
"I am Genevieve, and my sweet blonde friend is Karina," the brunette is enjoying this.
"If she's in a sweet mood, I'd hate to see her with a hemorrhoid," my disgust is obvious.
"Roxie, Roxie, Roxie," Karina grabs my ponytail, "You have so much to learn still."
"Roxanne, if you will. F-ckin' b-tch," I grin and get in her face, "I……HATE……YOU."
"Roxie, I really don't care as long as I get what I want."
An immaculate yacht is a bizarre choice for this. The pristine white walkways glisten in the sun, and the polished, waterproofed, oaken benched in the center, far from the wind and surf, stand out. Clearly someone's party vessel for groups of 15-20. Spacious, but not opulent, but a place I know is only for the opulent and their opulent friends. Not my kind of place.
Kaci-Lee and I are in trouble with the zipties on our arms. She's the golden-haired girl, whereas I am the brunette. We couldn't be more different, but we share a sharp tongue that is extremely colorful when unleashed. She's blue-eyed; I'm brown eyed. Her hair's straight; mine's wavy. I call her my friend, but we're the secretaries to the CEO and President of an oil company. When I say this is a swanky vessel, I mean it. This is a kid's tub toy compared to my boss's yacht.
In Florida, you dress for your plans, not the weather, because you're going to want a swimsuit for a trip to the beach or pool, but you want pants if you're going to a chilly movie theater. Some are comfortable in shorts even while ice skating, but these two b-tches are too calm, too comfortable, and too casual. They would dress for the goal, especially Genevieve, making Karina's blue gym shorts and Genevieve's denim miniskirt unnerving. This battle's happening out here, in the heat.
It matters so much more than you can imagine. Kaci-Lee is wearing blue jeans, purple sneakers, and a sea green tight-fitting sleeveless shirt with no cleavage. I'm wearing a classic camouflage ensemble of cargo pants, socks, a tank top, a scrunchie for my ponytail, and a bandana headband. I have black combat boots. We are severely underdressed for this, and our kidnappers force us to sit on the oaken benches under big blue skies, white cumulus clouds, and the blazing hot August sun. It can cook. They've spoken of cooking us, and that thought is bone chilling.
"I don't know what you want," I sneer, "But you won't get it from either of us for certain."
"We want," Karina smiles, "your cooperation and subjugation. Your acknowledgment."
"We are the Oil Baronesses," Genevieve proudly adds, "And your bosses will concede to us."
"We want those government contracts, and you'll make sure we get them," the blonde grabs my hair and pulls my head back so I look into her eyes, "I can see you need some lessons first."
"You need a lesson," I calmly respond, "In being better at business if you have to do this to us."
"I'd like to ziptie your throats shut," Kaci-Lee rolls her eyes, "Do the world a f-cking service."
That red-and-white horizontally striped shirt that Genevieve wears is about the only thing that is appropriate for this scene and setting. She wears a red bandana headband, red crew socks, and a simple pair of black pumps. Contrast her colleague, Karina, with the white t-shirt and the blue bandana headband. They hardly look like Oil Baronesses, but it's appropriate for dirty work.
They apply numerous zipties to our bodies. It's not enough for them that they zipped our wrists and elbows. They use three more zips in the gap between for five zips on our arms, and they do much more than that. Our assailants are crafty and determined with their generous use of plastic bondage strips. Five zipties tie our thighs together, and five tie our legs together. Karina does it all to me, and Genevieve to Kaci-Lee. Then our shoes and socks come off our feet, and a ziptie ties our big toes together. I can see the way they're playing with the socks, and it makes me sick.
"Open wide, Roxie," Karina mocks my name repeatedly, "Kaci-Lee's socks just for you."
"It's Roxanne," I snarl through gritted teeth, "When I get out of this, I'll personally kill you."
"Oops," she applies a painful yank on my hair, "Sorry… Roxie… Did I get your name wrong?"
"Owwww!" and I shriek in pain and eat the socks, "Mmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmm!"
"Open up now!" Genevieve has to spank Kaci-Lee to get her to open her mouth for my socks.
"Nmmmm mmmmm mmmmmmmmmm!" is all my friend can say.
I expected tape or vet wrap, but instead they do simple strips of microfoam tape. That unsettles me because it means they're planning on a gag change at some point or intend to escalate. They stand us up, sling us over their shoulders, and carry us, kicking and screaming captives, towards the rear of this main deck. We go by the big entertainment room that consumes most of the main deck of the ship, to the rear of the ship, to meet the Human Solar Cookers.
Two wooden crates are standing up on the deck. They have wooden sides, and they look perfect for us, made just for torturing me and Kaci-Lee. The sixth side is a hinged door embossed with a sheet of plexiglass. It's a freaking human sized greenhouse for torture, and I see light through the grommeted slots that line the long side. We have no choice. Into the box I go.
I'm not just shoved into the crate. Those grommets have purpose. Velcro cinch straps go around me and through the slots in the sides and are pulled tight, pinning my arms between me and the wooden panel and ensuring I stay on my back against it, not that there's room to turn around in this box. The straps are above and below my boobs, at my waist, above my knees, and at my ankles. I presume they do the same to Kaci-Lee. One final strap goes around our heads, pinning them to the back of the box as well. The boxes are then laid down so we're looking up at the sky.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! the lid shuts.
Well, this is just dandy. Of all the days to be planning on sitting in a cold movie theater and also getting kidnapped. Normally my kidnappers try to fetishize my clothes for the scene, not use my outfit as the actual torture itself. But, here we are. Kaci-Lee and I are royally f-cked. This strap that wraps over my lips is even pushed a little bit into my mouth. Based on the sounds, Kaci-Lee is in the exact same situation, but she's completely unhinged right now, more than our captors.
I've always had a love of grilled cheese. My grandparents used to laugh because I'd always ask for Grandma to make grilled cheese if I had a choice. Thankfully, she didn't give me a choice of food often, or I would have missed out on some delicious foods. Kaci-Lee's socks are far from a dainty, and their nasty salty flavor is something I'll never forget to my dying day. Why do I stray off topic? Because Grandma could make a f-cking grilled cheese on my stomach right now!
"I dare say that even Kafka would be disturbed by this setup," the blonde b-tch Karina chortles.
"Hmmmm?" I curiously engage her, well-read in such matters in my own right, "Mmm mmm?"
"Yes, you're undergoing a much more, ahem, intriguing metamorphosis," she muses and grins.
"Mmmmmm?" I roll my eyes, trying my best to ignore the situation, "Nmmm mmmmm."
"Well, too bad. You're the one bound and gagged and locked in a Human Solar Cooker."
"Gmm mmm mmmmm!" I act like I'm in an academic disagreement instead.
Sh-t, it's getting hot in here. Honestly, the way I'm strapped to the board is the brutal part of this setup. The box is a tight fit, even for little ol' me. I peer into Karina's blue-gray eyes, and what I find is chilling—no empathy. Cold. Dead. Evil. Well, that's a shame. I'll have to reframe my psychological strategies around this. Genevieve is scarier. She has warmth and does this of her own desire anyway. That's worse because it means she feels her needs outweigh ours.
The wood in here is quite smooth and solid construction, a perfect fit with minimal room for me to move around even if I weren't strapped in place. I'm only 5'2"; this is quite deliberate, and it is even shallow like me. Someone studied me long and hard, which is concerning because I have few or no pictures of myself on either my Facebook or Instagram accounts. Strong bolts, a most solid recess and cross-braces for the glass. This is mighty fine work. Smells like oak.
My highbrow nemesis is sadly mistaken. Kafka would blush at such mechanics. You, my dear, are more the material of a Kate Chopin tale—shallow, selfish, materialistic—with the macabre humor of Ambrose Bierce or Stephen Crane and the horrid villainy seen in Poe. You're far from impressive; you're a philosopher without anything to ground you. Your friend there is the poet, a poet who sees the true romance in danger and adventure but alas prefers to be the giant that is the imaginary foe of Don Quixote instead of enjoying the more noble role of the windmill.
The Marquis de Sade is looking up from hell and getting a momentary relief from the blaze that's engulfing him, albeit only for the fire to blaze more than before. I've opened hot radiators; that's a cakewalk compared to this. Holy sh-t, this is hot, but I accept it. I'm not afraid to die, unlike my assailants. Sweat soaks my clothes, and they taunt us by rolling the boxes over so that the lid faces the white deck. Gravity is stopped by the confounded, tight cinch straps.
You might stop me physically, but you will not mentally conquer me. Kaci-Lee's a strong-willed girl, and you're sadly mistaken if you think her wails are any sign of capitulation. Far be it from her, she is just getting started, and she's gag talking a thousand curses and promises for you two. This strange, hot darkness is both uncomfortable and ludicrous, but it does nothing to amplify the torture except maybe ensuring the cinch straps leave lasting lines in my skin. Whoop-dee-doo.
Then the cinch straps are loosened, one at a time, dropping me down.
"Hmmmm," Genevieve says and flips the crate back over, "She is not terrorized."
"Gmmmmm," I quietly groan while I am rattled around by the motions.
"You're right. Let's open them up," Karina agrees, "We need to push in other ways."
"Yes, they will quietly roast to death. Perhaps it is not painful enough of a torture."
"Genevieve, that is a splendid idea," Karina slings me over her shoulder, "Personal torments!"
Is a personal torment like a car with a vanity plate, fancy and overhyped like these Human Solar Cookers were supposed to roast me into submission? Right now, you're doing pretty poorly with your attempts to scare us. Claustrophobia isn't either a phobia or a kink of mine, and I can now pretty safely conclude that heat stroke isn't anything I'll personally fetishize any time soon.
Kaci-Lee and I still have those five zipties each on our arms, thighs, and legs. Her socks, still in my mouth, haven't improved at all in the last 15 minutes, and I suspect she's getting equivalent or better pleasure out of my stinky, sweaty dainties. They bring us into an empty cabin, a room and a small closet with the usual cabin furniture and even a bathroom. We're laid on our stomachs on the bed because they're ready to take things up a notch for both of us.
Zipties add to things. Each finger is zipped at the base and the third knuckle to the same finger on the other hand. Our palms are zipped together, and each thumb is zipped together. A ziptie is wrapped around the thumbs and palms, and another wraps the four fingers at the same points. It is a methodical blow, completely immobilizing our fingers and hands. I suspect it is just a start.
"Snip, snip," Karina takes out a pair of scissors and chops my tank top off me.
"Mmmmmmm," I blush, now being in just my camouflage sports bra.
"Allow me," Genevieve takes the scissors and does the same, cutting off Kaci-Lee's shirt.
"Eeeeeee!" Kaci-Lee squeals, but that brave girl went commando today, "Mmmmmm!"
Our arms are pulled up and away from our backs, as much as the bondage allows. More zipties secure our arms to the headboard of the fancy bed, and more secure our ankles to the footboard. I just know it's coming, and I wince. Sure enough. my pants slide down just enough for my butt to be visible. Don't blush! We're wearing briefs!! Yes, even Kaci-Lee is wearing briefs!! Don't be such a prude in the middle of such an awful story.
The room is so formal and inappropriate. Blue and white diamond carpet; polished cherry wood dressers, nightstands, and bed; black fabric recliners; a blue and white diamond bedspread; blue nautical wallpaper border at waist height. Was this a yacht cabin or a bondage dungeon? Karina and Genevieve had picked an interesting place to bring us for sure, but it was still uncomfortable.
Spanking. Not the kind your daddy gives you when you're bad. Lots of spanking. Dozens upon dozens of spanks, intended to cause pain and soreness. You mostly yell because of reflexes, and the sound of your own pained wails weighs down upon you. The yells make the socks worse in my mouth, and the bondage reduces my ability to struggle. Kaci-Lee and I can only endure and wail, but we will not be broken by this either. We are stronger than this. Then they escalate.
The first escalation is vibration wands. I admit I can enjoy a good predicament between vibrator induced orgasm and some other undesirable choice, but it's a little different during a kidnapping, as if the lack of consensuality dampens the mood for me. Regardless, they put those against us quite tightly, and zipties hold them in place. With a push of a button, buzzing sounds begin to torture. Now, the journey diverges as Kaci-Lee and I endure differing scenarios.
They wrap two more layers of microfoam tape around our heads, as if a strip wasn't enough. To Kaci-Lee's bondage they add a standard muzzle gag, securing all of the straps. For, they have a leather bondage hood that features a slot for the eyes and mouth, but they first move my bandana off my head and down to my neck. I am certain they intend to use my bandana to strangle me if necessary. They pull my ponytail through a hole in the hood, which tells me they intend to use my hair against me as well. The laces are all pulled tight for a gentle squeeze on my face.
The creepy part is the silence in which they do these things. They only need to gesture behind our backs to agree on what to do. They detach Kaci-Lee from the bed and make her sit up on an elegant wooden chair, of the same cherry as the other wood in the room. They pull her arms over the back of the chair and zip her to the chair by wrapping more long zipties around her torso, the spindles, and her arms, pulling them tight to pin her torso and arms to the chair. They do it with a cold efficiency, ziptying her on either side of her breasts and at her waist. It's just a start.
Three zips pin Kaci-Lee's thighs to the chair. Genevieve does this, while Karina turns her mind towards me. One last ziptie secures Kaci-Lee's ankles to the crossbrace between the front legs. I feel the zip holding my arms in the air get cut. Instead, zipties pin my arms to my torso, but only after Karina pushes my bra up to humiliate me. I am embarrassed about the size and sagging that characterize my breasts. Zipties on either side of my breasts and at my waist pin my arms to my torso in that same eerily silent efficiency. Which next: hair tie, garrote, or something else?
First binder clips, a sinister way to make things more painful. Binder clips pinch each nipple for an unforgettable presence because of the constant sensation. Each decision is cold and calm, as if they have done this plenty of times. I hear a strange thud come from the wall; perhaps they've other captives aboard this ship? How many people do these Oil Baronesses need to remove?!
"There, there, Roxie," Karina laughs at me, "We're just going to apply some pressure."
"You are a lucky one," Genevieve tightens my bandana to be a snug fit around my throat.
"She means you're a tough nut to crack, but," Karina's voice is self-effacing, "You'll crack."
"Even if we must drop an anvil on the nut from an airplane," the French girl concludes.
"This'll hopefully make you see reason," the blonde attaches a rope to my bandana.
"Gmmmm," I groan and feel my situation becoming increasingly grim.
The rope goes up to a pulley and down to the headboard. It is pulled tight so that I'm garroted if I am not high enough above the bed, but it's hard to keep my head up and off the bed without my arms to push me up. It's a brutal predicament, one they're both enjoying. Kaci-Lee's socks have not tasted so bad yet, but when you're suffocating suddenly your taste buds intensify. B-stards.
They're absolutely tickled by this bandana I wore today and that they've fastened around my neck to torture. If I don't surrender, they'll probably turn it into a throat tourniquet, knot it, and laugh as they send my body to my employer in a box. Let them. They seem to think I'm scared to die. I have dignity in who I am and don't need affirmation from others for this. I patiently manipulate my breaths to be deep when I struggle into the right position to breathe, but it's a limited supply of energy that I possess. My brutalized arms are useless to me now.
The vibrator has a job, and the choking adds sensory overload that makes the vibrator effectively faster. Yes, I am orgasming here, and I can't stop it even while I'm choking to death. They're too determined to get my cooperation, though, and the rope is already loosened to stop the choke, but I just know Karina is licking her chops at the thought of tightening it around my neck and saying a multitude of insults and threats into my ears. Indeed, Karina sits on me but for another cause.
My hair is folded in half, and Karina uses a ziptie to tightly hold my hair like this. She wraps an even longer ziptie around the loop made by the fold, and she wraps it around my ankles. Great, a freaking hairtie to pull on my hair and head and induce pain. They are psychotic for sure. There is no humanity left in them, and all I can do is groan in my orgasms, hear Kaci-Lee's groans, and listen to them run their mouths constantly. They're accomplishing nothing fast.
They've positioned the chair so that Kaci-Lee and I can see each other. Not that either of us can do much except orgasm until we're in pain. This is meaningless suffering at the moment… until each of us has her nose sealed with a strip of microfoam tape. Great, they're smothering us now, and a sensation like that leads to forced pleasure. It's no pleasure to orgasm like this though. It has crossed the line; even Poe is blushing, but the Marquis is smiling proudly.
"Hmm, will they break from this?" Karina asks as if this were sports betting instead.
"I love the way Kaci-Lee jerks," Genevieve's hands wander freely over my friend's chest.
"I love the sound of them struggling to breathe," the blonde is such a freak of nature.
"Gmmm mmmmm!" Kaci-Lee's full of fire.
"Guh," I feel a searing pain start building in my lungs, a truly horrible pain.
"The b-tches won't break!" Karina tears the tape off our noses, "What the f-cking hell, Gen?!"
"They are resilient, which means we improperly prepared for them," Genevieve is blunt.
"Yes, yes, yes," the short blonde muses, "We need less sadism, more athleticism."
"This is the correct answer," Genevieve coos, "They're not very athletic, are they?"
That's when they cut the zips holding Kaci-Lee's trunk and arms to the chair, lean her forward, pull her arms up, and ziptie her wrists to the top of the chair back for a mock strappado position. It has all the physical positioning of a strappado but the pain of her legs being completely and tightly ziptied to the seat and the crossbrace. She lets out a shriek of resistance despite the pain.
I am left in my pained position while they do this, but it's soon my turn. They know I'm short to a fault, and they exploit this. I'm detached from the bed and put in a standing strappado by being forced to stand behind the chair that imprisons Kaci-Lee and have my wrists ziptied to the chair right next to her wrists because that is a strappado for little me. Oh, by the way, don't forget the wands are making Kaci-Lee and I orgasm the entire time. They're out of control and unhinged.
They sit down on the bed and slowly take off their sneakers and socks. They're out of control in their desire to force submission out of us, and they put one each of their socks under our panties to absorb the moisture we're emitting. That's a disgusting thought to say the least. The vibrators are turned up to a different, stronger setting, too, and Kaci-Lee and I begin each having what one of my friends jokingly would call a "solo orgy." It's all pain for me though. God, they're clever.
That zip around my hair was unintentionally released when they detached me from the bed, so it gets a new ziptie connected to one of the forearm zips, making things more painful, but they first took the hood off my head. I know what's coming, and I dread it. No hood is fine as long as no breathplay results. They think I'll tap out eventually, but they're in for a rude surprise unless my thought is right. Perhaps they've found something that'll test me in a way I haven't expected?
"This should force some fluid out of her," Genevieve undoes the knot on my bandana, "I'm sure it will," and she slowly constricts the wrap around my throat, slowly garroting me with it.
"Gmmmm," I gulp one last time before things tighten too much, the sick motherf-cker, "Mmm!"
"Ah, listen to that. Karina, I believe you should tape the blonde's nose shut again."
"Anything that'll work," Karina recycles the same strip as before and smothers my friend.
"MMMMMMMMM!" Kaci-Lee squeals, and we're now in sensory overload once again.
Then a release. A squeeze and a release. Now, even the Marquis is totally mortified that such an abject monstrosity is real. Genevieve has figured out that the initial squeeze triggers something in my body, practically forcing me to orgasm almost instantly, and all I can do is wail because of the misery of the situation. The maniac has figured me out, like it or not, and I'm slowly losing the war. It's now a matter of how she gets me to surrender. But I cannot surrender sooner since I would give them satisfaction of winning so easily… or is it a reward for them if we fight more?!
The cycle repeats, only for Kaci-Lee it's 30 seconds bursts of suffocation from the microfoam on her nose. We're loudly wailing now, shrieking from the pain of the forced orgasms, and it's all a simple chapter in the game, part of a larger structural domination of body and will. They know it all too well; they're too versed in destruction. All of it happens here in what is otherwise such a lovely cabin on the ship, one where you expect opulence, a maid to arrive with dinner, and all the simple pleasures of life. Instead, the blue carpet is the scene of torture, brutal sadistic torture.
"Here goes," Genevieve loosens the bandana and unwraps the tape that gags me.
"Gmmmmm," I weakly groan while the wand does its thing, not caring that the tape is gone.
"This will do it," she removes the socks from my mouth and takes the socks from my crotch, and she puts the socks near my mouth and pinches my nose shut, "Eat them, or be punished."
"No!" I see the socks glistening from my own fluid and shake my head, "No! No! Mmmmm!"
"Go f-ck yourself with a scimitar," Kaci-Lee has such a way with words that is admirable.
"Ha ha ha!" Karina's cackling quite loudly, "EAT!" and she jams the socks from Kaci-Lee's own crotch into Kaci-Lee's mouth, "That'll teach you to defy us. Now, it's the ultimate in nasty."
Gray duct tape wraps around our heads. They each have a roll of the tape, and they crush both of our faces in the tape. They don't stop there, however, because a second strip wraps around at eye level to blindfold us with the tape. This is cruelty at its complete peak. There's nothing else for me to do except panic. I'm gagged with their socks soaked in my own natural lubricant. The Oil Baronesses know it's happened—they've won—it's a matter of when I break now.
I'm now subjected to a second hooding, but what's it matter? I've lost. I'm a poet at heart, but I am learning now that my kind poetry does not matter where there are no emotions that my poetry can touch. We're both completely detached from the chairs, and in the final action of domination they ziptie our arms to our bodies, above and below our breasts and at our waists, locked away in suitcases with only the sounds of our own brokenness and the vibrators. They've won.
END OF CHAPTER 3
CGC Stories for Everyone: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22168
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CHAPTER 4: Sticking It Out
F-cking rigid cuffs! What do these two want with me?! Wait until I get out of these handcuffs and snap your necks with my bare hands! You psychos! I don't even know who you are! Why would you kidnap me?! My speech is just as terrible as my thoughts. Which one is worse? The blonde in the blue gym shorts, white sports bra, and blue bandana headband, or the brunette with the red bandana headband, the red-and-white striped tank top, the denim knee skirt, and red knee socks? They seem too comfortable, too casual, and too self-assured. What is the game here?
"What is wrong with you two freaks of nature?!" I snarl while they lead me up the gangplank.
"Mrs. Penny Nichols, you are in no position to be questioning me and my friend," the brunette is a cold woman in both her gaze and in her reply, "I think it is best if you keep walking."
"Well, that is so helpful; thank you very much," is my sarcasm biting enough for them?
"We can tell you who we are," the blonde joyfully pulls on my braid and yanks my head back.
"OWWWWW! Don't do that!" I snarl back at her, but she yanks it again, "OWWW!"
"Mrs. Nichols, I am Lady Karina Nilsson," the blonde explains with a proud sneer, "And she is my equal, Lady Genevieve Badeaux. We are The Oil Baronesses."
"Oh, great, and you sick f-cks think you'll make my husband cowtow by torturing me!"
Irish 8 handcuffs are crushing my wrists behind my back, one at my wrists and one below my elbows, and a pair of rigid hinged cuffs is above my elbows for further restraint. Even if there was a chance to escape, I can't escape these handcuffs without assistance. This is hopeless for as long as these two decide it will be hopeless or until someone rescues me from them.
Snatched during my run, hence my braid. I felt so feminine and cute today, with that long braid for my blonde locks. My bright blue bandana headband was my colorful pop that was supposed to make me appear a mix of sweet, intimidating, and girly. The orange sports bra was purely for my own enjoyment and love of bright, happy colors. My bright blue gym shorts were supposed to match my bandana and be practical for a run. My orange ankle socks and bright pink running sneakers, again, were for me. Now, instead, I was bright and obvious for these two monsters. It was supposed to be a day to make me cute and feel strong and feminine; instead, I'm on a yacht.
I'm not even walking up the gangplank or on the yacht; I'm hopping. They already put more of those Irish 8 handcuffs on my ankles, too. I'm hopping like a bunny, a bunny soaked in sweat, a bunny snatched while doing its happy bunny things. My brown eyes will shoot daggers until the end, no matter what they do to me. They can do what they want to force me to surrender, but I'll be Penny Nichols until my very last breath. Let them try. My husband loves me, and I'll always know in my heart that I'm real and human no matter how much they try to dehumanize me.
"You look tired enough as it is," the blonde sadist makes me sit on a white bench, "But you will soon experience true exhaustion," and she takes out metallic wire and starts wrapping my thighs.
"What is wrong with you?!" I ask somewhat seriously while she uses the wire like it was rope.
"There is nothing wrong with us," Genevieve answers in a fully deluded state while untying my shoelaces and pulling my sneakers off my before taking a sniff, "These will be useful for you."
"Why the hell did you just sniff my shoe?" I ask, knowing very well she sniffed it to see if she'd be able to use it as another layer of torment for me, "You get off on the smell of toe cheese?"
"Very funny," she takes off my socks while Karina cinches the wire about my thighs, "But," she waves my socks in front of me, "these'll shut you up very well," and stuffs them in my mouth.
"Gmmmmm," man, my toe cheese is unusually strong and flavorful today, "MMMMMMM!"
"Nice and quiet," Genevieve grins and wraps my face in 7 layers of duct tape before wrapping it even more to hold my sneaker over my nose since she is a sicko, "Enjoy your cheesy goodness."
Karina repeats her wire trick on my upper thighs, just below my shorts, but Genevieve takes the wire and begins fashioning a freaking breast harness out of it. Yes, a nasty metal wire harness to crush my arms in incredible fashion. I didn't know real people did such things in sex scenes let alone in reality. My rescuers will need grinding wheels, torches, and wire cutters to get me out of this bondage when all is said and done. Dead certain—no way for me to get out of this alone.
The wire tricks continue. The harness has everything, passing both above and below my boobs, cinching through my armpits, and even making a V in between my boobs. It has just the right malleability (my engineer cousin taught me that word, ha!) to bend instead of kinking, but it is brutal just the same. When Genevieve is done with the harness, she makes a waist and crotch rope out of the wire, and you can imagine how much discomfort that causes my womanhood. I just want to go home, not sit here and be forced to taste my own toe cheese while sweating like a pig. Oh, hell, I'm no pig. I'm the happy bunny who was kidnapped; they're the pigs!
"Let's go, little Penny," Karina picks on my height because I'm just under 5 feet tall.
"GMMM MMMM MMM!" I yell at them, but the socks take out any chance of talking to them.
"Hop along, little cutie," Genevieve piles on the insults while Karina uses my braid as a leash.
"GMMMM!" I do what they want, but Genevieve still spanks me in between every single hop.
"You are too much fun! Maybe we'll keep this one after getting what we want out of her!" the demented Karina laughs at me now, "There is such a competitive fire in her eyes! I love it!"
"Every girl has been a delight in her own way," Genevieve cackles.
Every girl?! You mean I'm not the only one you've kidnapped and tortured? Great. Just what I needed to hear. You've got a collection of bound and gagged girls just hanging around in some corner of this ship like some people collect stamps, model cars, and artwork? That's next level insanity right there. If you're going through this much effort for oil contracts, sweethearts, you really suck at sales pitches or are a small company determined to be big by hook or crook. I'm willing to be reasonable and talk to you, but I suspect you're going to enjoy hurting me for one or two hours first. Even a 3 PM sun is brutal here in the Tampa Bay area, especially in August.
Now, I'm getting spanked and getting my braid jerked while being forced to hop towards some unknown destination. We round the corner when my eyes see it—what a monstrosity! A solid wooden crate, just the right size for me, lies on the deck. It's wooden on all sides except on the lid, which is hinged like a conventional door. The lid is plexiglass carefully set inside a wooden frame. At this moment, Karina lecherously pulls up on my bra, exposing my boobs to boot. I am going to go in that box, and I'm going to suffer from the lid turning the box into a miserable sauna. It's not enough to be suffering from my own cheesy socks being in my mouth or having to breath through my cheesy sneakers after going for a 5 mile run.
"Meet The Human Solar Cooker," Karina proudly motions, "Your next residence."
"Nmmmmmmm!" I shake my head, but she grabs me by the braid again to remind me I have no say in the matter and that I'm merely her play thing, "NMMM… MMMM… MMMMMMM!"
"Into The Human Solar Cooker you go, my dear," Genevieve pushes me into the box.
"NMMMMMMM!" I am helpless, but the lid shuts anyway, sealing me in the box.
Sounds: SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! the eleven clasps seal me inside the instrument of torment while in my brutal all metal bondage. The tight fit crushes my sneaker against my face, taking away my ability to turn my head because of how perfectly I fit.
"Ha ha!" Karina laughs at me, "You can't even move your head because of how shallow it is!"
"GMMMMM!" I crash my knees against the lid of the box.
"Even funnier, she thinks she can escape when she's in such bondage," Genevieve adds.
"Time to teach her a lesson," Karina grimly says and opens a small panel set in the lid.
"OWWWWWW!" she puts binder clips on my nipples, further objectifying me.
"Know your place," the blonde closes the lid, and steps out of my periphery.
Rigid handcuffs on wrists, forearms, and ankles. Wire on either side of my knees and below my waist. A wire harness. A wire waist and crotch rope. Isn't this fun? No? Having to suck on my sweaty socks and breathe through my sweaty sneaker after a 5 mile run. Isn't this amazing? No? I don't think so either. This is horrible, and the wire might be the worst part of it all.
Worse. There is no surrender. I'd surrender in a heartbeat. I want Rob more than money. We're fine without the money. He's an oil executive; we can do without one contract. It's that they are too bent on torturing me and enjoying my suffering. If something happens to me, Rob will lose his own will and break worse than they can ever break me. Sadists like these two don't care.
What a stench! That sneaker is something else, almost like it makes the socks in my mouth even stronger. The sneaker is flat against the lid, so every breath I take is filtered through the sneaker first before I'm permitted to breathe it. My socks are horrid, but that crotch wire is the worst. I am astounded by their cruelty, but that wire is so irritating. Oh, God, no! I just orgasmed. That is so humiliating, and they're laughing at me. God, they're so crass. What absolute losers.
"There is something musical about a woman experiencing pleasure in there," Genevieve laughs.
My goodness is this woman completely demented and perhaps even outright evil. She thinks it's music I create when that crotch wire brutally forces me to orgasm? Seriously, honey, if that is how you get off, no wonder you're single. I'm just here groaning into my noxious homemade toe limburger while you make a comedy game show out my suffering. Your self-stylization as if you're some 19th century clowns that got lucky by owning property with oil on it is just freaking adorable. You are the furthest things from baronesses there ever could be, you uncouth oafs.
How I wish I could turn my head, but 60% of my vision is obscured by the shoe, and above me is only the box and then increasing low sun, the sky, and increasingly numerous thunderheads. I'll almost certainly sue the life out of these two if something happens to me because I'm let out here in 100% metal bondage when a thunderstorm happens! What's that smell? That shoe's nasty. In other circumstances, happier ones, I could get off on just the socks and sneakers, but not now.
I'm so not able to move and so small that the panel used before is enough for them to strap a vibrator wand right against my body. They are such sickos. It's not enough to have my knees and upper and lower thighs tied in wire? It's not enough my toes are wired? The Irish 8 cuffs on my ankles, wrists, and forearms aren't enough? The rigid hinged handcuffs above my elbows do not satisfy you? The brutal exposure, the wire breast harness, and the wire waist and crotch rope aren't enough for you to get off? You have to vibrate my p-ssy now, too? You are pathetic.
But I'm the one here in the crate with the plexiglass lid trapping more heat than would otherwise be trapped. I'm the one sweating like a big, tasting her socks after a 5 mile run and suffering the smell of her own sneaker without her consent. They have complete control of my physical body, but they'll never control Penny Nichols. Never. They can make me shriek in orgasm and sweat all day long, but I'm still my own person. You're still you. I choose how my mind reacts even if reactions of pain, arousal, and taste are brutally coerced against my will. I'm Mrs. Rob Nichols!
"I can't believe she's so adorable. She's like a bondage teddy bear," Karina sadistically coos.
"I believe it would be a pleasure to do it by hand," Genevieve grins, "Instead of vibrating her."
"Hmmmphhh," I roll my eyes at that as if they don't bother me… because they don't.
"I like this one," Genevieve really enjoys this show, "She understands the games we play."
"Do you have a plan for how to make the most of her?" Karina notices the darkening sky.
"Yes, the dog has cooked long enough," the brunette has a sly grin, "Time to lock up the pooch."
That does not sound good at all, but they open the crate. Karina effortlessly slings me over her shoulder and brutally spanks me with her bare hand while she follows Genevieve with an almost sing-song glee. I'm led down a stairwell to the lower deck, and then they open a door that goes down into the hull of the vessel. I'm brought into a storage room where I am frosted to see more boxes similar to the one that just tormented me. Instead, I'm jammed into a dog crate. Yes, that b-tch Genevieve really meant it when she said "Time to lock up the pooch." I barely fit in it, too.
The gray metal is but another metallic bondage, in my mind, but there's at least enough room to move my head a little bit but my knees are folded into my chest because I can only fit when I'm so treated. The door is shut and locked, as if I needed yet another locked restraint. They leave me alone like this, shutting the door behind them. Bowser's been put to bed for the storm.
This absolutely sucks. I'd rather be in robs arms. Hell, I'd rather be breastfeeding my teething child and enduring the pain of teeth gnawing on my nipples. That hurts worse than these binder clips even just in my memory. Why can't they just spank me like normal kidnappers? Didn't I hear the brunette fantasize about forcing me to orgasm by fondling me? What happened? Does she want to see if I break from this first? Well, if Bowser's been put to bed for the storm, then Bowser is just going to take a freaking nap and give you the ultimate middle finger. At least I'll get a reprieve from this sneaker and my 5 mile run. Mmmmmmmm… toe cheese. Yum! Yeah, I'm going to lie here and enjoy the elements that I would enjoy if this were a true game instead.
Normal criminals would gladly negotiate. Genevieve and Karina only want tortured surrender of the will. They want the money and their blood sport. They're hoping I'll cry, shriek, break down, and, when the storm quickly dissipates and gives way to more heat without a raindrop, the sadistic b-stards go back to work. It's so perfectly reasonable, right? So reasonable…
They mummify me in duct tape from my tips of my toes to the top of my head with only holes to allow me to breathe, for them to jerk on my braid, and for my boobs so they can twist the binder clips at will. The metal bondage isn't enough for them. Nope. They stuff my ears full of cotton. The sneaker is gone, but I'm still sucking on my cheesy socks. And what do they do? They put me back in that box! They're so ridiculous and over-the-top evil it's almost comical.
Sounds: SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! the eleven clasps seal me in once again.
I'm bored of this heat torture. Seriously. All that metal bondage, and they mummify me in gray duct tape on top of it? I have forgotten about the vibrator. They turned it up to a setting that was more effective on me. It takes a bit of stimulation to make me climax, but, look out world, once I start climaxing I climax like clockwork and have a loud solo orgy thereafter.
"GMMMMMMMMMM!" I pathetically twist when the climax arrives.
I can neither see nor hear them, so I don't know what they're saying or doing. I certainly feel the pain when Genevieve opens the small panel and twists the binder clips! The tape is making it all so much more oppressive, and my main concern is that they'll accidentally harm me instead.
I sweat enough that I feel the tape getting stickier. I don't know how much time passes, but they had enough of the box because they open it up. I only know that much because I am slung over a shoulder, likely Karina's, and carried away. It's strange because I can't see or hear the walking. I only feel duct, metal wire, Irish 8 handcuffs, and rigid hinged handcuffs; the only sounds I hear are my own groans when I climax because of internal resonance; I see nothing; and I only taste a heaping portion of 5 mile run foot limburger
That doesn't change that I sure feel it when they tape my nose shut for 30 seconds! That forces a jolt out of me and an off-sequence climax! Freaks of nature! God, my lungs can probably take a good 90-120 seconds of that, but I am not volunteering. I have to convince them to stop so they let me go. I know! I'll pretend to cry. They'll think I'm broken and let me go!
It works! They start unpeeling the tape. I turn on the crocodile tears and bawl my eyes out as if I cannot take another second of torture.
"Awwwww, we broke her," Karina teases me, but I don't care because I broke them instead.
"Poor Mr. Nichols will have a dysfunctional, traumatized wife," Genevieve cackles.
That's what they think!
END OF CHAPTER 4
F-cking rigid cuffs! What do these two want with me?! Wait until I get out of these handcuffs and snap your necks with my bare hands! You psychos! I don't even know who you are! Why would you kidnap me?! My speech is just as terrible as my thoughts. Which one is worse? The blonde in the blue gym shorts, white sports bra, and blue bandana headband, or the brunette with the red bandana headband, the red-and-white striped tank top, the denim knee skirt, and red knee socks? They seem too comfortable, too casual, and too self-assured. What is the game here?
"What is wrong with you two freaks of nature?!" I snarl while they lead me up the gangplank.
"Mrs. Penny Nichols, you are in no position to be questioning me and my friend," the brunette is a cold woman in both her gaze and in her reply, "I think it is best if you keep walking."
"Well, that is so helpful; thank you very much," is my sarcasm biting enough for them?
"We can tell you who we are," the blonde joyfully pulls on my braid and yanks my head back.
"OWWWWW! Don't do that!" I snarl back at her, but she yanks it again, "OWWW!"
"Mrs. Nichols, I am Lady Karina Nilsson," the blonde explains with a proud sneer, "And she is my equal, Lady Genevieve Badeaux. We are The Oil Baronesses."
"Oh, great, and you sick f-cks think you'll make my husband cowtow by torturing me!"
Irish 8 handcuffs are crushing my wrists behind my back, one at my wrists and one below my elbows, and a pair of rigid hinged cuffs is above my elbows for further restraint. Even if there was a chance to escape, I can't escape these handcuffs without assistance. This is hopeless for as long as these two decide it will be hopeless or until someone rescues me from them.
Snatched during my run, hence my braid. I felt so feminine and cute today, with that long braid for my blonde locks. My bright blue bandana headband was my colorful pop that was supposed to make me appear a mix of sweet, intimidating, and girly. The orange sports bra was purely for my own enjoyment and love of bright, happy colors. My bright blue gym shorts were supposed to match my bandana and be practical for a run. My orange ankle socks and bright pink running sneakers, again, were for me. Now, instead, I was bright and obvious for these two monsters. It was supposed to be a day to make me cute and feel strong and feminine; instead, I'm on a yacht.
I'm not even walking up the gangplank or on the yacht; I'm hopping. They already put more of those Irish 8 handcuffs on my ankles, too. I'm hopping like a bunny, a bunny soaked in sweat, a bunny snatched while doing its happy bunny things. My brown eyes will shoot daggers until the end, no matter what they do to me. They can do what they want to force me to surrender, but I'll be Penny Nichols until my very last breath. Let them try. My husband loves me, and I'll always know in my heart that I'm real and human no matter how much they try to dehumanize me.
"You look tired enough as it is," the blonde sadist makes me sit on a white bench, "But you will soon experience true exhaustion," and she takes out metallic wire and starts wrapping my thighs.
"What is wrong with you?!" I ask somewhat seriously while she uses the wire like it was rope.
"There is nothing wrong with us," Genevieve answers in a fully deluded state while untying my shoelaces and pulling my sneakers off my before taking a sniff, "These will be useful for you."
"Why the hell did you just sniff my shoe?" I ask, knowing very well she sniffed it to see if she'd be able to use it as another layer of torment for me, "You get off on the smell of toe cheese?"
"Very funny," she takes off my socks while Karina cinches the wire about my thighs, "But," she waves my socks in front of me, "these'll shut you up very well," and stuffs them in my mouth.
"Gmmmmm," man, my toe cheese is unusually strong and flavorful today, "MMMMMMM!"
"Nice and quiet," Genevieve grins and wraps my face in 7 layers of duct tape before wrapping it even more to hold my sneaker over my nose since she is a sicko, "Enjoy your cheesy goodness."
Karina repeats her wire trick on my upper thighs, just below my shorts, but Genevieve takes the wire and begins fashioning a freaking breast harness out of it. Yes, a nasty metal wire harness to crush my arms in incredible fashion. I didn't know real people did such things in sex scenes let alone in reality. My rescuers will need grinding wheels, torches, and wire cutters to get me out of this bondage when all is said and done. Dead certain—no way for me to get out of this alone.
The wire tricks continue. The harness has everything, passing both above and below my boobs, cinching through my armpits, and even making a V in between my boobs. It has just the right malleability (my engineer cousin taught me that word, ha!) to bend instead of kinking, but it is brutal just the same. When Genevieve is done with the harness, she makes a waist and crotch rope out of the wire, and you can imagine how much discomfort that causes my womanhood. I just want to go home, not sit here and be forced to taste my own toe cheese while sweating like a pig. Oh, hell, I'm no pig. I'm the happy bunny who was kidnapped; they're the pigs!
"Let's go, little Penny," Karina picks on my height because I'm just under 5 feet tall.
"GMMM MMMM MMM!" I yell at them, but the socks take out any chance of talking to them.
"Hop along, little cutie," Genevieve piles on the insults while Karina uses my braid as a leash.
"GMMMM!" I do what they want, but Genevieve still spanks me in between every single hop.
"You are too much fun! Maybe we'll keep this one after getting what we want out of her!" the demented Karina laughs at me now, "There is such a competitive fire in her eyes! I love it!"
"Every girl has been a delight in her own way," Genevieve cackles.
Every girl?! You mean I'm not the only one you've kidnapped and tortured? Great. Just what I needed to hear. You've got a collection of bound and gagged girls just hanging around in some corner of this ship like some people collect stamps, model cars, and artwork? That's next level insanity right there. If you're going through this much effort for oil contracts, sweethearts, you really suck at sales pitches or are a small company determined to be big by hook or crook. I'm willing to be reasonable and talk to you, but I suspect you're going to enjoy hurting me for one or two hours first. Even a 3 PM sun is brutal here in the Tampa Bay area, especially in August.
Now, I'm getting spanked and getting my braid jerked while being forced to hop towards some unknown destination. We round the corner when my eyes see it—what a monstrosity! A solid wooden crate, just the right size for me, lies on the deck. It's wooden on all sides except on the lid, which is hinged like a conventional door. The lid is plexiglass carefully set inside a wooden frame. At this moment, Karina lecherously pulls up on my bra, exposing my boobs to boot. I am going to go in that box, and I'm going to suffer from the lid turning the box into a miserable sauna. It's not enough to be suffering from my own cheesy socks being in my mouth or having to breath through my cheesy sneakers after going for a 5 mile run.
"Meet The Human Solar Cooker," Karina proudly motions, "Your next residence."
"Nmmmmmmm!" I shake my head, but she grabs me by the braid again to remind me I have no say in the matter and that I'm merely her play thing, "NMMM… MMMM… MMMMMMM!"
"Into The Human Solar Cooker you go, my dear," Genevieve pushes me into the box.
"NMMMMMMM!" I am helpless, but the lid shuts anyway, sealing me in the box.
Sounds: SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! the eleven clasps seal me inside the instrument of torment while in my brutal all metal bondage. The tight fit crushes my sneaker against my face, taking away my ability to turn my head because of how perfectly I fit.
"Ha ha!" Karina laughs at me, "You can't even move your head because of how shallow it is!"
"GMMMMM!" I crash my knees against the lid of the box.
"Even funnier, she thinks she can escape when she's in such bondage," Genevieve adds.
"Time to teach her a lesson," Karina grimly says and opens a small panel set in the lid.
"OWWWWWW!" she puts binder clips on my nipples, further objectifying me.
"Know your place," the blonde closes the lid, and steps out of my periphery.
Rigid handcuffs on wrists, forearms, and ankles. Wire on either side of my knees and below my waist. A wire harness. A wire waist and crotch rope. Isn't this fun? No? Having to suck on my sweaty socks and breathe through my sweaty sneaker after a 5 mile run. Isn't this amazing? No? I don't think so either. This is horrible, and the wire might be the worst part of it all.
Worse. There is no surrender. I'd surrender in a heartbeat. I want Rob more than money. We're fine without the money. He's an oil executive; we can do without one contract. It's that they are too bent on torturing me and enjoying my suffering. If something happens to me, Rob will lose his own will and break worse than they can ever break me. Sadists like these two don't care.
What a stench! That sneaker is something else, almost like it makes the socks in my mouth even stronger. The sneaker is flat against the lid, so every breath I take is filtered through the sneaker first before I'm permitted to breathe it. My socks are horrid, but that crotch wire is the worst. I am astounded by their cruelty, but that wire is so irritating. Oh, God, no! I just orgasmed. That is so humiliating, and they're laughing at me. God, they're so crass. What absolute losers.
"There is something musical about a woman experiencing pleasure in there," Genevieve laughs.
My goodness is this woman completely demented and perhaps even outright evil. She thinks it's music I create when that crotch wire brutally forces me to orgasm? Seriously, honey, if that is how you get off, no wonder you're single. I'm just here groaning into my noxious homemade toe limburger while you make a comedy game show out my suffering. Your self-stylization as if you're some 19th century clowns that got lucky by owning property with oil on it is just freaking adorable. You are the furthest things from baronesses there ever could be, you uncouth oafs.
How I wish I could turn my head, but 60% of my vision is obscured by the shoe, and above me is only the box and then increasing low sun, the sky, and increasingly numerous thunderheads. I'll almost certainly sue the life out of these two if something happens to me because I'm let out here in 100% metal bondage when a thunderstorm happens! What's that smell? That shoe's nasty. In other circumstances, happier ones, I could get off on just the socks and sneakers, but not now.
I'm so not able to move and so small that the panel used before is enough for them to strap a vibrator wand right against my body. They are such sickos. It's not enough to have my knees and upper and lower thighs tied in wire? It's not enough my toes are wired? The Irish 8 cuffs on my ankles, wrists, and forearms aren't enough? The rigid hinged handcuffs above my elbows do not satisfy you? The brutal exposure, the wire breast harness, and the wire waist and crotch rope aren't enough for you to get off? You have to vibrate my p-ssy now, too? You are pathetic.
But I'm the one here in the crate with the plexiglass lid trapping more heat than would otherwise be trapped. I'm the one sweating like a big, tasting her socks after a 5 mile run and suffering the smell of her own sneaker without her consent. They have complete control of my physical body, but they'll never control Penny Nichols. Never. They can make me shriek in orgasm and sweat all day long, but I'm still my own person. You're still you. I choose how my mind reacts even if reactions of pain, arousal, and taste are brutally coerced against my will. I'm Mrs. Rob Nichols!
"I can't believe she's so adorable. She's like a bondage teddy bear," Karina sadistically coos.
"I believe it would be a pleasure to do it by hand," Genevieve grins, "Instead of vibrating her."
"Hmmmphhh," I roll my eyes at that as if they don't bother me… because they don't.
"I like this one," Genevieve really enjoys this show, "She understands the games we play."
"Do you have a plan for how to make the most of her?" Karina notices the darkening sky.
"Yes, the dog has cooked long enough," the brunette has a sly grin, "Time to lock up the pooch."
That does not sound good at all, but they open the crate. Karina effortlessly slings me over her shoulder and brutally spanks me with her bare hand while she follows Genevieve with an almost sing-song glee. I'm led down a stairwell to the lower deck, and then they open a door that goes down into the hull of the vessel. I'm brought into a storage room where I am frosted to see more boxes similar to the one that just tormented me. Instead, I'm jammed into a dog crate. Yes, that b-tch Genevieve really meant it when she said "Time to lock up the pooch." I barely fit in it, too.
The gray metal is but another metallic bondage, in my mind, but there's at least enough room to move my head a little bit but my knees are folded into my chest because I can only fit when I'm so treated. The door is shut and locked, as if I needed yet another locked restraint. They leave me alone like this, shutting the door behind them. Bowser's been put to bed for the storm.
This absolutely sucks. I'd rather be in robs arms. Hell, I'd rather be breastfeeding my teething child and enduring the pain of teeth gnawing on my nipples. That hurts worse than these binder clips even just in my memory. Why can't they just spank me like normal kidnappers? Didn't I hear the brunette fantasize about forcing me to orgasm by fondling me? What happened? Does she want to see if I break from this first? Well, if Bowser's been put to bed for the storm, then Bowser is just going to take a freaking nap and give you the ultimate middle finger. At least I'll get a reprieve from this sneaker and my 5 mile run. Mmmmmmmm… toe cheese. Yum! Yeah, I'm going to lie here and enjoy the elements that I would enjoy if this were a true game instead.
Normal criminals would gladly negotiate. Genevieve and Karina only want tortured surrender of the will. They want the money and their blood sport. They're hoping I'll cry, shriek, break down, and, when the storm quickly dissipates and gives way to more heat without a raindrop, the sadistic b-stards go back to work. It's so perfectly reasonable, right? So reasonable…
They mummify me in duct tape from my tips of my toes to the top of my head with only holes to allow me to breathe, for them to jerk on my braid, and for my boobs so they can twist the binder clips at will. The metal bondage isn't enough for them. Nope. They stuff my ears full of cotton. The sneaker is gone, but I'm still sucking on my cheesy socks. And what do they do? They put me back in that box! They're so ridiculous and over-the-top evil it's almost comical.
Sounds: SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! the eleven clasps seal me in once again.
I'm bored of this heat torture. Seriously. All that metal bondage, and they mummify me in gray duct tape on top of it? I have forgotten about the vibrator. They turned it up to a setting that was more effective on me. It takes a bit of stimulation to make me climax, but, look out world, once I start climaxing I climax like clockwork and have a loud solo orgy thereafter.
"GMMMMMMMMMM!" I pathetically twist when the climax arrives.
I can neither see nor hear them, so I don't know what they're saying or doing. I certainly feel the pain when Genevieve opens the small panel and twists the binder clips! The tape is making it all so much more oppressive, and my main concern is that they'll accidentally harm me instead.
I sweat enough that I feel the tape getting stickier. I don't know how much time passes, but they had enough of the box because they open it up. I only know that much because I am slung over a shoulder, likely Karina's, and carried away. It's strange because I can't see or hear the walking. I only feel duct, metal wire, Irish 8 handcuffs, and rigid hinged handcuffs; the only sounds I hear are my own groans when I climax because of internal resonance; I see nothing; and I only taste a heaping portion of 5 mile run foot limburger
That doesn't change that I sure feel it when they tape my nose shut for 30 seconds! That forces a jolt out of me and an off-sequence climax! Freaks of nature! God, my lungs can probably take a good 90-120 seconds of that, but I am not volunteering. I have to convince them to stop so they let me go. I know! I'll pretend to cry. They'll think I'm broken and let me go!
It works! They start unpeeling the tape. I turn on the crocodile tears and bawl my eyes out as if I cannot take another second of torture.
"Awwwww, we broke her," Karina teases me, but I don't care because I broke them instead.
"Poor Mr. Nichols will have a dysfunctional, traumatized wife," Genevieve cackles.
That's what they think!
END OF CHAPTER 4
CGC Stories for Everyone: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22168
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
INTERLUDE: The Aftermath
"Well, well, well, Genevieve, we did well," I smile and look at my partner in crime.
"We are victorious, Karina. I'm bothered though by that Penny Nichols," Genevieve sighs.
"She played us back, and you're worried she'll come back for revenge?" I look at the sunset.
"Yes, Karina. We broke Destiny Child; we terrified Maddy Vee; we subjugated Lucille Rossi; we owned Paulina Oliveira; we terrorized Roxanne Rutledge; we shattered Kaci-Lee Masters; but Penny walked off this ship with upraised middle fingers and a laugh," her voice is grave.
"You're right. Let's get the hell out of here…," I say with concern, "She'll be back even if her husband signed the paperwork. The other six won't, but that Penny might return."
And that is how we get away with it. They'll never find us like we found our victims.
END OF INTERLUDE
CHAPTER 5: The People
As the leader of the dynamic duo, The Oil Baronesses, I'll explain the things that weren't caught on camera during production of these films. Production of this series of films was really disturbing to me because I survived a real life-or-death situation, and the sadism was too real for me. I looked tough when I was Karina Nilsson, the determined oil businesswoman, but really I was distraught throughout production, especially during the first film.
We didn't need to "break" Mary-Ann during her role as Maddy Vee. We already knew before the beginning that she had limits, and that we were there just to make her sweat and feel like a piece of jetsam. That's why we locked her in the closet. Destiny Reilly, on the other hand, asked us to push her to the breaking point by any means necessary. In her narration, she blacked out, but the moment of blackout was a couple of minutes before she actually tapped out. So strong were her emotions that she genuinely blotted the moment out and effectively lost 10 minutes of her life.
The moment that broke Destiny was when Ashley grabbed the bound and gagged ex-gangster for rubbing against her own panty-covered crotch. It was a power move that we've used many times in films, but never had it been used on Destiny for obvious (to me) reasons. Destiny never told a soul about these things except me, which made her tapping out so much more shocking to all but me. Alas, as much as Destiny didn't want to tell the truth, she had to tell Ashley the truth.
"Ash," Destiny shuddered while still sitting there tied but no longer gagged, "When I was locked up in the Shak [she means the women's prison in Shakopee], my cellmate had a knife, and I now know I hate cunnilingus. It was horrible, and I can't talk about it any more. She ruined me, and I can't be subjected to anything like it. I'm sorry I never told ya my limit on that, but I don't like havin' to explain that kinda thing," she took deep breaths, "Look, just drain the tub, ball gag me again, and leave me. I need to be alone with Jack [her roommate, Jackie], to think and reflect."
"We've got something brilliant here," I said to Ashley after that, "It might have been rough for Destiny, but if we're careful and make it more focused we can do something great with this little concept," and she nodded in agreement, "C'mon, let's gather some more victims."
"Why did you not tell me?" Ashley almost choked while trying not to cry, no longer the heartless Oil Baroness, "I feel so horrible for what I did to her in there. I did not mean to trigger her."
"Because she didn't want to tell anyone else. She barely told me the day she got out of there. I think she could only tell me because it was her first day out," I explained as best as I could.
"I feel horrible. I almost wish that there be a revenge film where you and I are locked up in the crates to burn up and then tormented until we tap out," the French girl's self-loathing side flared.
"Keep calm," I put my hands on her shoulders, "Calm. It was an accident. We're here to push and not to trigger. It was an accident, and we're going to focus on exhausting them instead."
"OK, my friend," she smiled anew, "I trust you. Lead the way, and I'll follow you."
We quickly gathered up friends and agreed on a theme. Michela and Nichole happened to wear those school girl outfits, which led to the theme of their film being based on those outfits, and I pushed ahead with that film while Alexandra Watkins and Felice Pryce quickly gathered pants to wear for their scene. It was so hasty, and it didn't show in the films. No one else wanted to take the heat with Kendra, hence why her film was solo.
The sounds Felice heard? We were filming the suffering of Alexandra and Felice on the deck at the same time Nichole and Michela were naked in the chilly kitchen. We jumped back and forth using two different cameras because we wanted to get the film done before thunderstorms could ruin things. As you saw in Film 4, the storms arrived even earlier than we thought.
The funniest part was that Nichole and Michela had to be literally ordered out of the ropes since they had too much fun in their respective subspaces. Destiny recovered and was released on her own time after spending some very personal and meaningful time with her roommate and friend. Alexandra and Felice were exhausted after their films and lay on the bed in the cabin for nearly an hour just resting and breathing before they were ready to come out of their bondage. Kendra, of course, never felt the pressure like the others did, but we aimed for a specific path so that the set would feature one girl who loomed as a potential threat even after her release.
The rest of filming went without a hitch, and we got some very engaging material out of such an easy concept. Most of us present agreed that we had to give the Human Solar Cooker just one chance even if we hated it or didn't want to be in it for more than 5-10 minutes. We wanted to keep everyone safe and happy, and some wanted catharsis while others wanted thrills.
That means 7 of us tried the Human Solar Cooker as part of our Florida adventure. All of the others, including me and Ashley, would have to wait until our next Florida adventure or take it back home in Minnesota before autumn arrived. We all got the chance whether in Minnesota or in Florida.
By leaving Penny as "the one who toughed it out," we put the cliffhanger so the viewers would be left with the lingering question of whether or not Penny would get revenge or not. We wanted things to be open-ended like that because not all plot elements always get tied up in films. That's OK, and we wanted it this way so that we had room to make a sequel if we desired but also could leave it as is or even forget about it. That's the basic answer. Thanks for listening to me!
END OF CHAPTER 5
The Oil Baronesses
Production Date: Tuesday, August 13, 2019
ACTRESSES
PRODUCTION TEAM
Crate Design Overview
Standard Crate Features:
Two Main Configurations:
Lying Crates ("Human Solar Cookers"):
Standing Crates ("The Brig"):
Customization Options:
"Well, well, well, Genevieve, we did well," I smile and look at my partner in crime.
"We are victorious, Karina. I'm bothered though by that Penny Nichols," Genevieve sighs.
"She played us back, and you're worried she'll come back for revenge?" I look at the sunset.
"Yes, Karina. We broke Destiny Child; we terrified Maddy Vee; we subjugated Lucille Rossi; we owned Paulina Oliveira; we terrorized Roxanne Rutledge; we shattered Kaci-Lee Masters; but Penny walked off this ship with upraised middle fingers and a laugh," her voice is grave.
"You're right. Let's get the hell out of here…," I say with concern, "She'll be back even if her husband signed the paperwork. The other six won't, but that Penny might return."
And that is how we get away with it. They'll never find us like we found our victims.
END OF INTERLUDE
CHAPTER 5: The People
As the leader of the dynamic duo, The Oil Baronesses, I'll explain the things that weren't caught on camera during production of these films. Production of this series of films was really disturbing to me because I survived a real life-or-death situation, and the sadism was too real for me. I looked tough when I was Karina Nilsson, the determined oil businesswoman, but really I was distraught throughout production, especially during the first film.
We didn't need to "break" Mary-Ann during her role as Maddy Vee. We already knew before the beginning that she had limits, and that we were there just to make her sweat and feel like a piece of jetsam. That's why we locked her in the closet. Destiny Reilly, on the other hand, asked us to push her to the breaking point by any means necessary. In her narration, she blacked out, but the moment of blackout was a couple of minutes before she actually tapped out. So strong were her emotions that she genuinely blotted the moment out and effectively lost 10 minutes of her life.
The moment that broke Destiny was when Ashley grabbed the bound and gagged ex-gangster for rubbing against her own panty-covered crotch. It was a power move that we've used many times in films, but never had it been used on Destiny for obvious (to me) reasons. Destiny never told a soul about these things except me, which made her tapping out so much more shocking to all but me. Alas, as much as Destiny didn't want to tell the truth, she had to tell Ashley the truth.
"Ash," Destiny shuddered while still sitting there tied but no longer gagged, "When I was locked up in the Shak [she means the women's prison in Shakopee], my cellmate had a knife, and I now know I hate cunnilingus. It was horrible, and I can't talk about it any more. She ruined me, and I can't be subjected to anything like it. I'm sorry I never told ya my limit on that, but I don't like havin' to explain that kinda thing," she took deep breaths, "Look, just drain the tub, ball gag me again, and leave me. I need to be alone with Jack [her roommate, Jackie], to think and reflect."
"We've got something brilliant here," I said to Ashley after that, "It might have been rough for Destiny, but if we're careful and make it more focused we can do something great with this little concept," and she nodded in agreement, "C'mon, let's gather some more victims."
"Why did you not tell me?" Ashley almost choked while trying not to cry, no longer the heartless Oil Baroness, "I feel so horrible for what I did to her in there. I did not mean to trigger her."
"Because she didn't want to tell anyone else. She barely told me the day she got out of there. I think she could only tell me because it was her first day out," I explained as best as I could.
"I feel horrible. I almost wish that there be a revenge film where you and I are locked up in the crates to burn up and then tormented until we tap out," the French girl's self-loathing side flared.
"Keep calm," I put my hands on her shoulders, "Calm. It was an accident. We're here to push and not to trigger. It was an accident, and we're going to focus on exhausting them instead."
"OK, my friend," she smiled anew, "I trust you. Lead the way, and I'll follow you."
We quickly gathered up friends and agreed on a theme. Michela and Nichole happened to wear those school girl outfits, which led to the theme of their film being based on those outfits, and I pushed ahead with that film while Alexandra Watkins and Felice Pryce quickly gathered pants to wear for their scene. It was so hasty, and it didn't show in the films. No one else wanted to take the heat with Kendra, hence why her film was solo.
The sounds Felice heard? We were filming the suffering of Alexandra and Felice on the deck at the same time Nichole and Michela were naked in the chilly kitchen. We jumped back and forth using two different cameras because we wanted to get the film done before thunderstorms could ruin things. As you saw in Film 4, the storms arrived even earlier than we thought.
The funniest part was that Nichole and Michela had to be literally ordered out of the ropes since they had too much fun in their respective subspaces. Destiny recovered and was released on her own time after spending some very personal and meaningful time with her roommate and friend. Alexandra and Felice were exhausted after their films and lay on the bed in the cabin for nearly an hour just resting and breathing before they were ready to come out of their bondage. Kendra, of course, never felt the pressure like the others did, but we aimed for a specific path so that the set would feature one girl who loomed as a potential threat even after her release.
The rest of filming went without a hitch, and we got some very engaging material out of such an easy concept. Most of us present agreed that we had to give the Human Solar Cooker just one chance even if we hated it or didn't want to be in it for more than 5-10 minutes. We wanted to keep everyone safe and happy, and some wanted catharsis while others wanted thrills.
That means 7 of us tried the Human Solar Cooker as part of our Florida adventure. All of the others, including me and Ashley, would have to wait until our next Florida adventure or take it back home in Minnesota before autumn arrived. We all got the chance whether in Minnesota or in Florida.
By leaving Penny as "the one who toughed it out," we put the cliffhanger so the viewers would be left with the lingering question of whether or not Penny would get revenge or not. We wanted things to be open-ended like that because not all plot elements always get tied up in films. That's OK, and we wanted it this way so that we had room to make a sequel if we desired but also could leave it as is or even forget about it. That's the basic answer. Thanks for listening to me!
END OF CHAPTER 5
The Oil Baronesses
Production Date: Tuesday, August 13, 2019
ACTRESSES
| Featuring | Model Name | As | Films |
|---|---|---|---|
| Ashley Calland | Genevieve Badeaux | Baroness | All |
| Hannah Larsson | Karina Nilsson | Baroness | All |
| Mary-Ann Jamison | Maddy Vee | Victim | 1 |
| Destiny Reilly | Destiny Child | Victim | 1 |
| Michela Palmeri | Lucille Rossi | Victim | 2 |
| Nichole Petersen | Paulina Oliveira | Victim | 2 |
| Felice Pryce | Roxanne Rutledge | Victim | 3 |
| Alexandra Watkins | Kaci-Lee Masters | Victim | 3 |
| Kendra Gentry | Penny Nichols | Victim | 4 |
| Featuring | Model Name | Role | Films |
|---|---|---|---|
| Hannah Larsson | Karina Nilsson | Director | 1 & 3 |
| Joyce Verdi | Annie Oakes | Director | 2 |
| Mary-Ann Jamison | Maddy Vee | Director | 4 |
| Jackie Martin | Missy Mischief | Camera | 1 & 4 |
| Felice Pryce | Roxanne Rutledge | Camera | 1 & 2 |
| Joyce Verdi | Annie Oakes | Camera | 2 & 3 |
| Mary-Ann Jamison | Maddy Vee | Camera | 3 & 4 |
| Joyce Verdi | Annie Oakes | Safety | 1 & 3 |
| Kylie Svensson | Star Blue | Safety | 2 & 4 |
| Taylor Zawislak | Julia Pulaski | Safety | All |
| Mackenzie Schaefer | Nichole Shockman | Weather | All |
| Alexandra Watkins | Kaci-Lee Masters | Setup | 3 |
| Michela Palmeri | Lucille Rossi | Setup | 1 & 2 |
| Nichole Petersen | Paulina Oliveira | Setup | 1 & 2 |
Standard Crate Features:
- Dimensions & Configurations: The crates come in multiple modular pieces, including widths of 14, 16, 18, and 20 inches, depths of 16, 18, 20, and 22 inches, and lengths of 66 and 72 inches. These pieces allow for customizable fit and comfort for captives of varying sizes, accommodating both tight fits for smaller captives or a bit of wiggle room for others.
- Material: The crates are primarily made of wood, with polycarbonate panels used for the transparent sections. The polycarbonate provides visibility and allows the captor to maintain control over the captive while also contributing to the aesthetic and psychological aspects of confinement.
- Ventilation: Optional removable ventilation panels can be affixed to the crate, with sections that can be solid, mesh, or open for various uses. Mesh ventilation allows for airflow, while solid panels or those with heat pumps or water-blasting devices can be used for more intense scenes. A 5-inch circular mesh panel at chest level on the crate's depth panel provides an entry point for hands, hoses, or manipulation. This can also serve as a tool for both physical control and psychological manipulation.
Two Main Configurations:
Lying Crates ("Human Solar Cookers"):
- Position: These crates are designed to lie flat on the ground, and the captive lies down inside. The plexiglass lid allows visibility, and it opens sideways for easier access.
- Locking Mechanism: The lid has 3 clasps on the top, 3 clasps on the bottom, and 5 clasps on the side opposite the hinges to securely hold the captive inside.
- Material & Function: The plexiglass lid provides visibility, making it ideal for intense humiliation scenes, while solid wood sides can be used for more private or constrained environments.
- Psychological Effects: The name "Human Solar Cooker" comes from the effect of trapping the captive inside under the heat of the sun, intensifying the confinement experience. The removable ventilation panel allows the captor to control airflow and temperature, ensuring that the captive does not overheat, but also providing the potential for a more intense experience by closing off airflow.
Standing Crates ("The Brig"):
- Position: These crates stand upright on a narrow end, with the captive standing inside. The lid swings down to the ground and can be secured with 5 clasps on the left side, 3 clasps on the top, and 5 clasps on the right side.
- Material: One version has a plexiglass lid with the same visibility features as the lying crates, while the other has a solid wood lid with an 18-inch polycarbonate panel that allows the captor to view the captive's head, but leaves the body in darkness.
- Function: These crates create a sense of helplessness with the captive standing in place. The head-access panel on the solid-lid version allows for easier manipulation of the captive's face and head area. This setup is perfect for scenes requiring humiliation, control, or physical manipulation.
- Psychological Effects: The see-through sections intensify the psychological exposure, while the solid back panels or those with head openings allow for more focused and manipulative control.
Customization Options:
- Strapping Points on the Back Panel: The back width panels of the crates feature intermittent slots or holes near the depth panels. These are reinforced with metal grommets and are designed to allow for ropes or straps to be threaded through, securing the captive to the back of the crate. These fastening points are adjustable, allowing for a range of positions and levels of restraint. This customization adds an extra layer of control, whether the goal is to restrict movement or maintain a certain posture.
- Removable Top Panel on the Door: A removable top piece on the door provides easy access to the captive's head. This panel can be secured with latches or small locks, and once removed, it grants the captor quick access to the captive's face, whether for verbal manipulation, physical restraint, or emergency intervention. This piece can be either clear polycarbonate or solid wood, depending on the intensity of the scene.
- Padding: The interior can be lined with removable padding, allowing for a comfortable fit during longer scenes or for more sensory-focused experiences. The padding is easily removed for cleaning or to create a more physically intense experience.
- Flexible Ventilation: The crates can be outfitted with ventilation holes or mesh panels, which can be swapped out or adjusted to control airflow, temperature, and physical sensations. When not in use, the panels can be solid, but for more intense scenes, the option to open up parts of the crate for cooling or heating the captive makes the crate highly versatile.
- Handles: Handles can be affixed to the crate for easier lifting for transportation.
CGC Stories for Everyone: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=22168
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
CGC Stories for Adults: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22170
CGC Films Stories: https://www.tugstories.blog/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=22169
Oh yes! They always say that you can't trust people in the 'oil business!'