.1

As with Part 2.1 this takes place on the Ranch but does little with any of the ongoing storylines. It's light on action and heavy on descriptions of various bondage positions. forniphilia (humans as furniture) so if you're looking for more sex or corporal action the other chapters might suit you.

PART ONE

Dr. Herman Kraft bid the stern woman who had welcomed him to the property goodbye and stepped into the small suite. He did not like leaving his workshop, even now, in retirement, and it had taken some big promises about a dinner in his honor to get him on a plane.

The plane had featured a screaming child and an overly friendly seat-mate, and the car ride from the airport was long. He was tired and grumpy, and he was ready to regret ever agreeing to anything, except for the sight that greeted him when he entered the bedroom.

The stern woman had mentioned the room being equipped with a "relaxation aid," by which she meant "a bound woman clad in a latex catsuit and hood, kneeling patiently at the foot of the bed, eyes on the floor." Her wrists and ankles were clad in thick rubber cuffs, padlocks linking them on each side. A key hung around her neck, presumably in case he wanted her in some other position.

He paused in the doorway to admire the sight. It wasn't an ordinary catsuit and hood. It was one piece, for one, with no obvious entry zipper. But the hood was something special. It showed two eyes, and below that was what could only be described as a cunt. The molded sort you found on a sex toy, of course, but unmistakable. He laughed.

He had invented that hood. His original had been knocked off a million times by countless overseas factories, but that was life. But as he stepped forward to further examine his relaxation aid he got a closer look and realized the mask was no cheap knockoff. This was handcrafted, a well-executed tribute to his original work, and it made him think that maybe this trip would be okay.

He spit on his fingers and stuck them between the molded lips of the mask. He nodded with approval as he felt a short tunnel into her mouth and a ring keeping her mouth open. Withdrawing his fingers he dragged them across the lips of the mask and noticed that they seemed...personal.

"Is this...yours?" he asked the girl. "A mold of your cunt?"

She nodded wordlessly. He laughed again. He could make out the outline of a chastity belt under the latex and he was deeply amused over the condition of a slave, sub, whatever, who could not touch her own cunt, forced to become something of a living sex toy with the very off-limits cunt taking the place of their mouth.

Thinking about this poor creature had him stirring, and a moment later he got down to the intended use of his welcome gift.

Following that he took a shower and as he settled in for a modest nap he noted that he did feel incredibly relaxed. Cuntface, as he had taken to calling the girl, was still kneeling at the foot of the bed.

He awoke his customary hour later, feeling very refreshed. He changed and, while surveying the full suite, noticed for the first time a notepad on the living room table.

"The television has been cued to a slideshow of your work," it read. "Please let us know if you'd rather it not be shown." He took the remote and turned on the television, then decided to amuse himself a bit while he took it in.

Returning to the bedroom he briefly unlocked Cuntface, returning to the couch and laying her down across his lap. Cheerfully, he administered a moderate spanking while taking in a retrospective of his life's work, the devices, the vehicles, the women bound in all manner of position and angled for all kinds of penetration and vibration.

It felt good to look back on it, good to spank an ample and juicy ass, and he was grateful to whoever set all of these little pieces in motion.

The stern woman had pledged to return at 5:30pm sharp, and that was exactly when he heard the knock on his door. By that point he had returned Cuntface to kneeling at the foot of the bed, and he was delighted to learn that she would be somehow repurposed as an alarm clock by the time he retired for the evening.

The woman bid him to follow her and she escorted him to what was apparently to be a personal dinner with the Master and Mistress of what everyone called The Ranch, a small meeting prior to tomorrow's more formal affair.

PART TWO

Dusty, long time head of engineering at the ranch, swore at his CNC, urging it to move faster. He needed a new set of gears for tomorrow's central piece. He was fairly certain that this set would drive the perfect rotation and depth of stroke, but he'd thought that for the previous three sets as well.

Dusty was feeling quite a bit of pressure. He had told people that Dr. Kraft was one of a very limited set of people that he actually respected, but the truth is Kraft was his hero.

Kraft had done more than anyone else to move everything related to the idea of human furniture and mechanical bondage from the world of drawings to the world of flesh and blood, and that meant a great deal to Dusty.

It was Kraft's work that sent Dusty down the road of learning welding, electrical engineering, hydraulics, and all of the other skills that Dusty put to use designing the restraints and devices that got put to good use on the Ranch.

Dusty had been granted the ranch's full complement of stock in order to create a set of pieces worthy of honoring Kraft, and he deeply hoped he had met the challenge. He cursed at the CNC again and resigned himself to the fact that he was unlikely to sleep between now and tomorrow night's party.

Forced to idleness by the machine, Dusty returned to his notes. He needed to shuffle which piece of stock went to which setup due to a late request from Big T.

As a non-sub ranch employee Dusty was supposed to call him "The Master," but the "The" did little to ease Dusty's discomfort with such a lofty title. So he thought of him as Big T and that suited him just fine.

PART THREE

Dr. Kraft was led from the guest wing out and through the garden, ending on a large stone patio. A table had been erected in an open area, and already seated were two people he took to be the Master and Mistress of the house.

The stern woman facilitated introductions, and he told them to call him Kraft, and they told him to call them Thomas and Diana, respectively. He took his seat at the table and looked just past his two hosts to examine yet another modest tribute to his life's work.

Just past his hosts stood a lamp. A fine lamp, he thought, with magnificent tits that looked oh-so-inviting shining in the light coming down from under the shade. All decent lamps wear stiletto heels, he knew.

A femme lamp had been the first project of his that was worth showing to anyone, and he still remembered his wife's joy at bringing one of his sketches to life.

Thomas saw him staring at the lamp. "I hope it meets your approval," he said.

"Quite," Kraft said.

"Our resident engineer did add in a little something," said Diana, getting out of her chair and standing to the lamp's side. She pinched the lamp's right nipple. There was the kind of squeak a ballgagged individual gives, and then the light went out.

Saying nothing, she reached over and pinched the left nipple. The light returned. Kraft smiled widely and clapped in appreciation and Diana returned to her seat.

"Is your engineer not joining us?" he asked.

"Sadly busy with last minute work on tomorrow's event," said Thomas.

"Ah," said Kraft. "Of course."

A young woman, again wearing the sort of catsuit and heels he had always featured in his work, emerged from the house. She took drink orders and asked Kraft if a tuna tartare appetizer and a steak entree would suffice.

Kraft resisted the urge to ask if he could have his meal with the waitress under the table, partly because he suspected that they might very well do it, and he was long past the days where he could go twice within a few hours.

Dinner flowed easily, with each finding the other like-minded and charming enough, and the conversation bounced between the history of kink, the evolution of tropes and imagery throughout the years, as well as the challenges of running something like The Ranch and the trials and travails of Dr. Kraft's years producing pornography.

Thomas suggested that he could take Kraft for a tour of the property on the following morning, an offer Kraft accepted before begging off for the evening, partly because he was tired and it would be a full day tomorrow, and partly because he was pretty curious to see the femme alarm clock he was told would be set up in his room.

As he stood up the stern woman returned and guided him back to his room, saying little other than to tell him to phone when he was up and ready for breakfast/the tour and to bid him good evening.

Kraft entered the room and headed straight for the bedroom, where he found that one of the bedside tables had been removed and in its place was Cuntface, now tethered to one of the platforms/posts like the dinner lamp had been.

Cuntfaces's face cunt had also been removed, he was sorry to see. The hood that now adorned her head was a simple number, with nostrils and eye holes but no other openings.

"Were you fed and watered?" he asked her, and she nodded. He had always been one to take very good care of his toys. Hanging around her neck was a small digital clock, with a switch to turn to alarm setting mode and a single button to advance the clock to the desired time. Wires ran from the back of the clock straight into the catsuit, invisible from a straight-on view.

There were small outlines along various places on her body and Kraft began to piece together how a woman functioned as an alarm clock, but just to make sure he knew what to expect he set the alarm for five minutes into the future and then sat on the bed, staring at his clock.

The minutes ticked by and the look of mounting concern on her face told him his suspicions about how the clock worked were correct, but he let things run their course. As soon as the numbers flashed over to the specified minute, he saw her muscles clench and strain against the belts holding her to the post, and a short, sharp scream escaped the hood.

Kraft laughed, almost as loud as the girl had screamed. An alarm clock indeed. He set the device to activate at 6:00am the next morning and with that he retired for the evening.

The scream at 6am was more jarring than the one he had experimented with the night before, and as he showered he wondered if that was because he had been asleep or because the girl had been.

Ability to sleep in bondage had varied heavily among women he'd known, and he hoped this girl had gotten at least a few winks. He gave her a kiss on her hood-covered cheek as he left and thanked her for her service over the previous 18 hours.

As the stern woman escorted him to coffee in Thomas' study she informed him that the girl would be required elsewhere for the day but that she could be returned in any state he desired following the party or in the morning before Kraft departed. Kraft said he'd think about it and let her know, wanting to see how the rest of the day developed.

Coffee in the study and the tour were both largely uneventful, with Kraft only pausing the tour to dwell on the sight of the stock in the yard, some of them exercising, some sunning themselves or sitting in the shade, some cuddling, all of them naked save their chastity belts.

It was such a pure and invigorating scene, he felt, as if it were scratching some itch in the most very basic part of his brain. Kraft asked if he could visit engineering but was told that work was still ongoing for the evening.

Following the tour Kraft returned to his room, where he sketched out a few ideas that had come to him over the past day or so, and then returned to the slideshow he had been given. It was nice to look back over his work, but it had started to eat at him that that work might be considered complete.

He still puttered in his warehouse and worked with his wife, but was that going to be it? He wondered what displays might have been cooked up for the dinner, and he realized that if what he found impressed him he would feel better about fading away into the night.

PART FOUR

Dusty looked at his notebook, trying to figure out if any part of what he had intended for this evening was being forgotten. He decided it would be better to survey the scene; seeing everything in the flesh would surely alert him to a missing gag or misplaced support.

He hurried from his workshop to the big house. He kept his eyes on the ground as he moved, wanting to take everything in in the order he'd intended, the way guests would as they entered the house and made their way to the lounge, then the formal dining room.

The first thing people would see would be a girl that had been made into...a kinetic sculpture, is how he thought of it. The device was empty currently, but before guests were to be seated one would be installed.

She would be clad in a catsuit, hooded, blindfolded, and strapped securely to a large wooden circle. Driven by a motor he'd pulled from a miniature ferris wheel, the girl would turn in a slow circle.

A series of gears would drive a shaft in and out, over and over. He had painstakingly worked out the speed and depth and everything so that a dildo mounted to the end of the shaft would enter her vagina and then withdraw as her spin continued, then slide into and out of her open mouth.

That actually meant it traveled to two different depths on each rotation. Getting the timing down had been infuriating, but he had done it. He could already hear the moans as the dildo slowly entered and withdrew and he shook his head to move on from the image before moving further into the hall.

As he walked he thanked the powers that be for the fact that two of the stock were of identical height and proportion; they could take turns and the sculpture could run all night.

In the center of the room stood a dining table, a gorgeous, absurdly wide piece of oak. Currently in the center of the table there was a girl being fitted to a steel frame, a large X with a solid plate in the center in order to support most of her mass.

She was dressed in a black latex catsuit and hood that shined better than any Dusty had ever seen. He wondered if they had taken a buffing wheel to it or something, for how much of a black mirror it was.

The hood had tiny holes below the nose and over the mouth that would allow her to breathe freely, but at any distance over 5 feet it looked like solid latex. Her boots, patent leather, looked the same.

In any case, she needed that much shine in order to have the effect of amplifying the LED bulbs that were artfully arranged on branches stemming from the X frame. Cables were tethered at the ends of the X and they came together to a central hub, which would be raised to the ceiling on a winch and would, during the meal, rotate at about 4 RPM, giving the table a subtle, drifting drama in its lighting.

Things with the chandelier seemed to be progressing nicely so he left it to the two big house men who were taking care of it. With a little under 40 minutes until the doors would open for dinner, it was safe to hang the stock. She had to stew until dinner, sure, but she got the best position for overhearing the dinner conversation.

He stepped out of a side door and entered the hallway to the powder room. There was a large box tucked against the side of the hallway, and he positioned himself so that he was looking straight at it.

The front of the box was plexiglass, and under that plexiglass was a woman in a tight catsuit, high heels, a hood and a blindfold. Her lower half was strapped to the back of the box, the belt around her waist having a locking buckle. Someone high up on the ranch was mad at her or something, because he had been instructed to install her first thing this morning.

Pictures were placed around the rim of the upper third of the plexiglass. Different things were pictured: A condom, a packet of lube, a toothpick and small bottle of mouthwash, pills for a headache and other similar things. Each had a number and Dusty pressed the one associated with the headache pills. The girl in the box gave a squeak and a jump and looked down at her right nipple.

"A shock to the right nipple means what?" Dusty asked, assuming he'd be a bit muffled but she'd be able to hear him.

She said nothing, just reaching up into a set of baskets that were hidden near the top of the box and she dropped a travel pack of headache pills into a tube hidden on the side of the box. Dusty heard the pills slide down and drop into a tray attached to the front of the machine and he took them, swallowing each without liquid.

So the vending machine was working. There were wires to each nipple, her cunt, her ass, and each foot.

Lord help her if she got confused,

he thought, and pictured people getting angry and pushing the button over and over again, as if that might help correct a faulty machine. Maybe it would, actually.

Dusty looked at his notes. "Veronika, who did you piss off?" he asked her.

"I...offended...Master. It's a long story, Sir," she said.

"Well I don't have time for that," Dusty responded. "Remember there's a button behind you, if you run out of something press it and someone will be by to restock your supply."

She nodded and he turned and proceeded down the hallway. Entering the powder room, he saw two women standing there. Both were naked except for a chastity belt and leather wrist/ankle cuffs, along with a matching posture collar. Catsuits had been dominant in Kraft's work, but he appreciated the unadorned form as much as anyone.

Between the two stock stood a frame where one stock would be strapped in spread-legged, then bent at the waist over a bar and her hands and collar secured to the base.

Resting on the counter was a modestly sized butt plug that one of the hands, who had a background in artistic metalwork, had completed for him. It was a standard stainless steel plug but seamlessly connected to the base was a shape that swooped outward and then split and tapered to a thin loop. The plug would be inserted into the mounted stock and then hand towels could be hung from the loop, changed for fresh ones as needed by the other girl.

The base was a rather large box, from which emerged a sturdy drawer. It could hold several hundred hand towels, or it could hold a dozen or so towels plus the wench tasked with changing them out. A switch built into the top of the base activated the motor that pushed out the drawer, and the plugged stock was able to activate the motor when the guest had left the bathroom.

"Either of you jealous of the other's position?" he asked the two. They shrugged, each knowing that sometimes admitting you wanted something other than what you were given on the ranch could turn ugly quickly.

Next he hustled to the kitchen, where two stock stood by ready to be strapped to carts that would cradle their bodies just below a sheet of plexiglass where the food for guests was to be set before being wheeled into the room and served.

At one end of each cart was a mounted dildo that used the motion of the wheels to drive a back-and-forth shaft, meaning each cart girl was going to get fucked whenever the carts were in motion. He had wanted another dildo at the other end of the cart, echoing the sculpture at the entrance, but there hadn't been enough time to carry out that part of the design.

Still, he thought, no one at the dinner will see my notebook and have any idea about what isn't there. They'll only see what is, and the carts and the stock seemed good to go. He thanked the sous chef who had been assigned as help in getting the girls into the carts.