Lisa struggled against the uncomfortable position, but it was no use. Her head was stuck through one hole in the pillory, and her hands through two others. She was standing, and her ankles were trapped as well, leaving her forcibly immobile in a bent-over position.
Worse, her ankles were trapped painfully far apart and forward, which meant that her hips and personal areas were utterly exposed and vulnerable. Further, some sort of bar was positioned under her stomach, preventing her from changing positions by bending her knees, or from moving her hips to escape the various assaults that had been perpetrated on her. She was truly and hopelessly stuck, and had been for over two hours. A fine sheen of sweat coated her entire body and her light blonde hair hung limply.
Footsteps approached behind her. Not again. She struggled harder and tried to speak, to beg the person to let her go. However, the special gag that forced her mouth open meant that she could only make crude sounds. "Please let me go" came out as "Eeeze, et ee goh". Her blue eyes flashed left and right as she sought any clue to what was happening behind her.
A hand touched her ass, tracing up the outside of her hip. Lisa bucked and tried to escape, but it was impossible. She could squeal in protest, though, and did. A male voice laughed, and his fingers moved from her hip to her sensitive and overworked vulva. She tried in vain to escape from his penetrating fingers, squealing as he began pumping. She felt a sharp slap right on her clitoris, then another and another. Every muscle in her body clenched as the man worked her into a rhythm of pleasure and pain.
It had seemed like a fun idea, this bondage club. She had come and observed as the guest of a friend, and it was exciting beyond belief. She watched with rapt fascination the writhing bodies of the submissives as the dominants rotated through the rooms and took their various pleasures with them. She fantasized about the feeling of being one of those bound bodies, of having one or two or three people on you at once, working you against your will, making you pleasure them or making you succumb to your own pleasure, or even a little bit of pain. It had turned her on immensely, so much so that she had secretly come back on her own the following week to try it out.
The club's head talent scout had eyed her up and down, nodding approvingly. "Why are you interested?" he asked. He was a smallish man, and slender, more like an accountant than someone who screened sex slaves.
"I want to try it," she said, adjusting her language to his formal bearing. "It ... it was a huge turn-on to watch. I'd never seen something like that before." She hesitated. "I found that I really wanted to know what was in the minds of the people who are tied up." It was difficult and embarrassing to say those words out loud.
"Ah, but there's a difference between watching and participating," he said. "Watching someone else being forced and taken is not the same thing as being forced and taken yourself."
She nodded. "I understand that. But I can't get it out of my head. I keep imagining what it would be like to be restrained and used like that, and the more I think about it, the more I want to try it. It keeps taking over my thoughts, and I need to do it."
The man smiled knowingly. "As you can imagine, lots of people feel like that in their fantasies. Reality can be a different thing. But you are a very attractive woman and you obviously have interest, so let's move to the next step." He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a pre-printed form. "Take a look at this," he said. "It spells out the conditions, and lets you set limits. Let's see what your limits are, and if they're broad enough we can talk further."
A lock of sweaty hair covered her eyes, but the man didn't care. His cock was buried to the hilt in her mouth, occasionally bouncing against the back of her throat as he thrust in and out. Her hands, trapped in the pillory just inches too far away, flailed in a useless attempt to defend herself. Her head, forced upright and back by the cord that stretched from her dental gag to the blunt hook buried in her anus, banged against the padded wooden stocks on each thrust. She desperately used her tongue to swirl around his shaft, trying to reach the sensitive underpart in an attempt to get him to cum faster. Anything to get him out of her exhausted mouth.
She was surprised to feel a hand on her left breast, sliding toward the nipple and flicking the clamp that tormented it. The hand added yet another weight to it, stretching it further, then did the same to the right nipple. She couldn't even voice a protest or cry in pain with her mouth filled up.
"Do you mind if I take her from the back?" a voice asked.
"Nah, go ahead. Let's double her up."
She felt a body move against the back of her stretched and spread thighs, and fingers began testing her pussy, the cool feel of lubricant on them as they coated her inner lips. A few moments later, the second man was inside her, synching up his thrusts with those of the first. He grabbed the meat of her breasts for extra leverage and power, squeezing, gripping, and pulling them as he pleasured himself inside her.
Four hours down, four to go. She sagged in her bonds as the men abused her helpless body. She wasn't sure she could make it, but then again she had no choice.
She sat in the lobby of the club and reviewed the boilerplate print on the form; however, it was mostly formalities and barely held her attention. Among other legalities, it informed her that she would be subject to an eight-hour session, and that once she started it, she was obligated to finish it. It informed her that if a customer was using her at the eight-hour mark, the agreement would be extended until they finished. It informed her of a few other technicalities like spotters, etiquette, and other basics. The concept was more exciting than the legal details, so she merely skimmed it and nodded.
What really intrigued her was the checklist of limits and approvals. It was a twelve page list of every depravity that a person could inflict on a bound woman. Would she approve being tied onto a table? Over a bench? Suspended by her wrists? Would she approve masturbation with fingers? Fists? Dildos? Vibrators? If yes on a dildo, would she approve a six-inch dildo? Seven? Eight? Nine? How wide? These people thought of everything.
She thought about each item and envisioned herself spread-eagled on a table experiencing them. There were some things that were absolutely disgusting, and she wanted nothing to do with them. Nothing involving urine or feces, for example. There were some things that sounded like true torture, things involving needles or cigarettes or tanks of water. No to all of those. But she quickly checked her approval for anything that involved dildos or vibrators or fingers or anything else that would stimulate her sex organs, and she approved nearly all of the various bondage positions and ties. She wanted to finger herself just thinking about some of the items on the form, and even added an exclamation point to a couple of items to show her enthusiasm.
She took the form back to the talent scout and he reviewed it, running his pen along the various rows like a little pointer. He nodded as he read, and then reviewed her signature on the boilerplate. He smiled. "I think we can work with this," he said. "Just initial the bottom of each page, and I'll notarize everything pending one more item that we'll talk about. Are you available this Friday?"
"Absolutely." Lisa smiled with both fright and exhilaration, her heart pounding. She imagined that she would spend the next three days masturbating furiously. Friday could not come soon enough.
Anastasia was a skinny blonde slave who was assigned as Lisa's spotter. Per the agreement, Anastasia's job was to ensure that the various dominants working Lisa did not violate any of the limits on her checklist, and to assist the dominants as necessary. In truth, she seemed to enjoy participating in her own right, and had a penchant for slapping breasts and pinching nipples. Lisa wondered if it was jealousy since Anastasia had more of an adolescent's build, with smallish breasts and narrow hips, but the reason didn't really matter. Perhaps Anastasia just got off on abusing breasts.
At the moment, one man had just finished using her anally and a couple was standing by to begin a new session, waiting in response to Anastasia's call for a time out. Lisa had fought the anal intrusion with all of her might, but it was not a fair fight when she was tied, immobilized, and exhausted. The man had toyed with her, pushing an inch at a time, then pulling back, then pushing another inch, all the while manipulating her clit in a reacharound. She didn't like anal, and it was humiliating to feel him push relentlessly inside her even as she fought. She had checked it on her list only because a deeply hidden part of her got off on the concept of a woman being used in such a base manner, enduring pain as the price of someone else's pleasure. But while it was titillating in concept, it wasn't as enjoyable in the real world as it was in her bedtime fantasies.
Her other big mistake was not thinking about how long eight hours really was. That had been a huge mistake.
