Cruise, page 16
“Eeeee, oonted oh,” the hanging woman shouted, tears running down her cheeks.
“Oh, but I think you both know,” said Bibi. “And you are unfortunate enough to have me as your inquisitor because, you morons, I have had this done to me a few times and I know exactly how to get you to tell me what I need to know. So we can do this,” she raised her voice as the bamboo stick came down on Naomi’s buttocks and the girl screamed again, “or we can simply do this.” The bamboo swished through the air and landed with a thud on the exposed breasts of Joan, also naked, totally gagged, spread-eagle and pinned to the wall. Rusty metal staples set deep into the old building’s walls held her wrists and ankles outspread and her mouth was so thoroughly packed with remnants of her panties and bra and very little sound actually emerged, no matter how Bibi used her thin bamboo stick.
Bibi’s skills at interrogation were less professional than her martial arts talent, but she knew well enough what parts of a girl were most sensitive and she carefully prepared her two subjects in order to get the most truth as soon as possible. Playing the game of inflicting pain on one in order to get the other to open up was always risky, Bibi knew, but given the urgency of the situation, this seemed to be at least one option.
Suddenly Bibi stopped her pacing. The room was cool and damp, the air unmoving except when Bibi swished her stick about. Her team members stood or sat against the far wall, absorbing the interrogation and ready to step in should Bibi need help. Both captives sobbed quietly, hurting from the shallow stabs inflicted by the sharpened point of the stick and the more horrific strikes when Bibi used it as a cane. The hard and narrow bamboo rod was far less flexible than a common cane and its damage, if used with deadly intent, could be fatal, from either the shear impact of the hardened rod or the long and drawn out lighter strokes applied to all parts of the captives’ bodies.
Joan was the younger of the two and apparently, little more than a go-fer in the gang that operated from the old fortress. How she got ashore initially was not clear, but it seemed apparent that she had alerted the slavers that Ann and the girls were staying at the hotel. Her job, it seemed, from what Bibi had been able to extract from her, was to get the drugs into the room service food and beverages and then help subdue the five women so that they could be quietly and easily taken. But when she and her friend were spotted on the street, the tables suddenly turned. Now it was their turn to suffer and fearfully wonder what might happen to them if Bibi and the Altuna team didn’t get the information they wanted. Without warning, Bibi struck the woman with a hardened edge of her right palm, hitting her in a nerve center on the side of her head and stupefying the girl so that her head lulled to one side as though she was drunk. Looking around, Bibi saw no one paying any attention, so she put Joan’s arm over her shoulder and more or less dragged her to a taxi, told the driver that she was ill and had him drive them to the safe house with its accommodating basement where Naomi was already strung up from the overhead and well gagged.
“Shadow two, this is shadow one, you read?” said Bibi into her radio.
“Shadow two here. Where are you?”
“Shut up and maintain radio stand-by. Come to Safe. Copy?”
“Copy. Shadow Two out.”
Bibi knew that time was running out and so she switched to pure brutality with her two captives. The bamboo stick whistled through the air and landed hard on Naomi’s upper thighs. Another stroke, a bit higher, landed a few seconds later and Bibi stood at the side, addressing new patches of the woman’s pale skin until the terrible shrieks and screams emerged from behind the gag and the head nodded vigorously in the affirmative when Bibi again asked where the Norquist girls were.
“The gag is coming out and if you don’t tell me, and tell me the truth, you will not leave here alive,” Bibi shouted angrily as she unstrapped the narrow bra gag and pulled out the soggy panties from the woman’s mouth.
“The old prison fort,” Joan said quickly. “At the park.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. We went there with them and then we were paid off and told to get lost and not go back to the boat.”
“Okay. What was the plan? Are they still at the Fort?”
“I don’t know. They were to be moved, but I’m not sure when.”
“We’re going to the fort right now and you two are going to stay here until we get them back. Then I’ll have Norquist deal with you. Regag them, tie them to those pipes and make sure they aren’t getting away,” Bibi said.
“Wait,” Joan said. “They may be on the ship.”
“What ship?”
“The Carlos Andiamo, out of Belize,” Naomi whispered. “Please, can I have some water?”
“When you finish,” said Bibi. “Where is it now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Too bad. Maybe a bit of this stick on your pussy will refresh your….”
“No, no please,” Naomi whimpered. “It’s offshore at a sea buoy. Outbound on Thursday at noon. They wait until all of the slaves are brought aboard, then head east.”
“Destination?”
“Depends. But usually Nigeria or some West African country where they are transferred offshore in small craft and taken inland by riverboat. Water, please. My ass is on fire.”
“You want to drink or shall I put it on your ass,” Bibi said sarcastically as she picked up a thermos jug and poured a cup of water which she offered to the sweating, shivering woman.
“Drink,” she said.
“Now,” said Bibi, running her hands roughly over the woman’s expansive and well-marked breasts. “We can continue this or you can spill everything you know about this network. I need details, names and places and I need it quick. If you two want out of here, you will tell me without the rest of the bullshit.”
Wanting desperately to remain ungagged, both women flooded Bibi with information, begging to be allowed to leave and promising they would get out of the country at once because they didn’t want contact with any of their pals who probably assumed that they had been compromised already.
“They’ll kill us,” Joan said, as Bibi lowered her slowly from the wall, cuffing her hands behind her before she released the woman’s feet from the wall shackles.
“That’s your problem,” Bibi said, making sure both women were now well-fastened to rings on the walls, but in more comfortable positions than they had been. “You continue to cooperative, stay quiet and I’ll make sure you get out of here and onto a boat or a flight. Screw with us and you are fish food. Got that?”
“Yesss,” the two echoed at once.
At that moment, the rest of Bibi’s team entered the basement room with weapons drawn and safeties off.
“Nice of you to drop by,” Bibi said, getting her own gear back on and heading for the door.
“What about them?” the team leader asked, nodding at the two chained women on the wall.
“Gag ‘em and we’ll pick them up later, if their information holds. If it doesn’t, we have no further need for them. We need to find a ship and find it fast.”
Chapter Twenty One
Milk Run
“This is going to take some time, Sweethearts,” he said, turning his back on the twins and adjusting the multitude of dials and gauges on the panel that stretched along one wall. “We can’t expect immediate results, no matter how well equipped you appear to be, but we are patient and you will, in time, provide exactly what we promised the Nobles…if not, we just take you back and rework a few things.”
Behind him, Lynda and Gail Johnson cried and mewed into the hoods and full-face masks, incoherently pleading alternately for mercy and release. They stood rigidly upright, perched on two stout chromed poles deeply set into the decking. Their attire would have been more appropriate if they were suited up for a rubber porn video, but in this case, they were dressed for their own discomfort and equipped for the multiple unpleasantries that Randall planned for them that night and for the near future.
Initially, he left them bound as they had been when they were delivered in a simple hog-tie with ankles tied closely together and pulled up to meet their wrists. Their elbows were fastened so that they touched and their forearms were parallel bound so that their arms formed a very taut “Y” from the shoulders to fingertips. He used nylon, single use, locking bindings like the police often carried for large, unruly demonstrations where they had to arrest and hold many people and there would not be enough handcuffs to go around. The beauty of the nylon binders was that they did not require locks and keys, yet were extremely efficient and cheap. Both girls had their arms fastened at their wrists and elbows with another band at the mid point between the first two. All three were very tight. A single nylon band connected their wrists and ankles, making for a highly restrictive and effective hog-tie without any need for rope or chain. Additional nylon bands joined their legs just above the knees. Their bras, lace-topped stockings and panties were left in place and the extra high heels that had seemed so fitting for the shore shopping party remained on their feet, held in place with yet another set of nylon cable ties. They were gagged with cut up parts of their own mini dresses, stuffed into begging, open mouths and held in place with yet another nylon cable tie. Ordinary black carpet tape sealed their mouth and eyes.
That was how they’d been delivered to the cabin on one of the lower decks and that was how they stayed while preparations were made for their long term visit. Now they stood upright, perched on sturdy chrome poles, topped with adjustable, “Y” shaped, cradle-like branches. Each branch was fitted with its own firm and realistically molded rubber prick. These were inserted into the lower regions of each girl while they stood, with ankles locked snugly into the thick metal stocks bolted to the deck.
“Just step into these fittings, please,” he had said quietly, once he raised and held Lynda upright, gently urging her forward until her nylon bound feet were inside the wide metal clamps of the stocks. He told her to stand still while he closed the cuffs around both ankles and then cut away the nylon ties, allowing better circulation to return to her feet. Lynda breathed a bit easier, glad that her feet were at least less stringently restrained. The comfort factor increased as Randall cut the bindings above her knees as well.
“You can flex your legs a bit, if you want,” he said, leaning over to speak into her ear. Lynda cautiously bent her knees a bit, wavered, and was about to fall forward when Randall grabbed her around the waist and steadied her.
What is he going to do? Lynda wondered. This is horrible. How did I get into this? She felt Randall’s strong arms around her waist.
“Easy does it, Sweetheart,” Randall said smoothly. “You’re going to need to get used to this. You’ll be here awhile.” Lynda shivered and mumbled in fear and didn’t try again. She simply stood still and waited for the next horror.
Randall went over to Gail, Lynda’s twin sister, and easily picked her up after cutting the hog tie bands and positioned her over the second set of stocks. In a minute, the two girls stood back to back, about eight inches apart, unable to do more than twist and shout meaningless complaints into their gags.
Randall removed the eye tape and gags and let them holler and look around in horror for a bit while he pulled thick rubber hoods over their heads and then slowly adjusted it until the collar around the neck was in place and snug. He aligned the mouth and nose holes and let them continue to scream and shout, enjoying the sounds of desperation while he worked. He eased the heavy-duty zipper gradually down from the top of the hood until it was closed, smoothing the fabric over their heads until the hood fit like second skin, sealing their heads in its warm, rubber enclosure.
My God, this thing is like the ones I’ve seen in the movies. Some kind of head squeezing punishment hood, Gail thought. I don’t believe this. Is it going to hurt? Where are they taking us like this? Who would want us all sealed up in rubber anyway. I thought they would dress us up nicely and this doesn’t feel nice. The smell of rubber is almost sickening.
The mouthpiece/gag combinations went in next and were fastened to straps already in place on the sides of the hoods. Once fitted and filling each oral cavity to its fullest, the straps were tightened until the entire feeding and breathing apparatus was firmly in place and the sounds of fear and discomfort faded. The full-face masks came next, integrating the mouthpiece/gag and held with a myriad of straps that enveloped the hood. When he was finished, both girls wore the black rubber hoods with the masks clamped in place over their face. They were blind, deaf and unable to do more than moan and whimper. Their heads resembled something more alien than human and the collection of straps, and hoses enhanced this illusion.
“Now that you have been shut up, literally,” Randall said, laughing at his pun, “I’ll explain this situation so you won’t panic. The gag and mouthpiece allow you to get air, although I can control it. If you misbehave, your air supply may be endangered. Allow me to demonstrate. I am now shutting off your air supply. Let me know when you want more air.” He slowly twisted two identical knobs on the panel. Two gauges showed that air flow to the tubes and into the masks had ceased and almost immediately the two upright bound and hooded bodies began to twist, contort, shake and make terrible sounds even with the gags in place. Randall allowed for ten seconds and then turned the knobs back and the gauges went back to the original levels while the girls shivered and shook and sucked on their mouthpieces, taking in great gulps of air.
“I presume you got the message and that we won’t need any further demonstrations, right?”
Oh God, right, right, right, you son-of-a-bitch. Anything you want, but don’t shut off my air, Lynda thought as she tried again to get a more comfortable position for her stocks-enclosed ankles and her feet in the too high heels.
Both bound figures were still bobbing about on their locked feet, their bra-enclosed breasts bouncing madly up and down and their asses jiggling around, shaking in fright.
“Am I right?” Randall shouted loud enough so they heard through the hoods. Both girls hummed as loud as they could. “I assume that means yes,” Randall added.
The twins finally settled down and Randall, who had been watching them in rapt fascination for more than five minutes, went on with the program that he and his associates planned a few days before. He narrated while he worked.
“So now your noisy little heads have been secured and it is time for some other body parts to get into the act.” Randall used a pair of scissors to cut the side panels of the two girls’ bikini panties and pulled them away. He did the same with the bras, cutting the shoulder straps and then the center between the cups.
“This,” he said quietly, “is what every guy here is hoping to do to you.” He ran his hands lightly over the newly exposed twin pairs of breasts, telling the girls that they shouldn’t worry about this exposure because, in fact, they had been showing a great deal of tit even before their thin cotton T shirts and skirts had been removed hours before.
“I think these little gems will yield enough excitement,” Randall said to his watching crew, “once we get them properly set up, but I am not pleased to see that you are still jumping around so much. When you jump about, your tits jiggle and that is unacceptable because it will probably interfere with the milking process.”
Milking process? Both pinioned bodies froze. They couldn’t possibly have heard him right. Milking? Unintelligible cries and moans emanated from behind the gags. Heads shook and bodies trembled in horror and anticipation.
“Yes, you sweet little sluts. You heard right. Not to sound moralistic, but you have obviously devoted a lot of time and energy in your young lives to attracting boys and men with your generously exposed breasts. You spare no efforts to show as much as you can without giving away the prize. These nice, full, round, post-teen globes are great fun to watch while you prance around town or in the hotel, but they will also do very nicely for what we have in mind here. You are going to enjoy it…after awhile…” Randall’s voice trailed off as he gathered his new equipment and began attaching it to first one well-tanned, nude young body and then to the other.
Oh God, Lynda thought. He’s actually turning me on with his rubbing my tits. How do I stop this? He’ll notice and want to fuck me, right here.
“The deep penetrators are what will hurt the most,” Randall continued. “They are a bit like miniature water well-probes, because they are hollow tubes with multiple inlet holes in the side walls of the needle tube. As they go deeper, they suck the liquid from the spongy glands and send it up the tube. When I put them in place, you will know it. It’s a very painful process.” As he talked, Randall handled each of the four shivering tits, massaging and smoothing the rounded surface, tweaking the nipples and inspecting each breast as though he were preparing for a major operation.
“To encourage this sucking function,” he continued, “we’ll need some additional hardware. So, first I’ll fit the compression bands,” he chortled. “This is like having your tits squeezed…” and to illustrate his words, Randall placed both hands around one girl’s breast, making a small circle with his thumbs and forefingers, squeezing the circle tighter and compressing the base of the breast, forcing the rest of the tissue outward into a pear-like shape.
“So, as you will see, or more likely feel, we need to get your tits a bit more stationary, more rigid. Like this…” He removed his hands and slid a rubber lined, stainless steel pipe clamp over Lynda’s left breast, pulling it back towards her chest while feeding the breast through the circular steel and rubber band while Lynda bucked and twisted, trying to prevent the inevitable banding of her left tit.
“Humm, that’s no fun,” muttered Randall, sweating as he struggled against the girl’s resistance. “Maybe I am doing this wrong.” He removed the band and, reaching up, fastened a chain that was hanging from the overhead to the steel ring mounted on the harness on top of Lynda’s hood. This pulled the girl suddenly more upright and stopped her struggles for the moment. “Sorry about that,” he said, tightening the chain and forcing an even more straight and upright position on the bound girl. “I have to get you to stand still before this will work.” Again, Randall placed the band around Lynda’s breast, slid it back against her chest wall and slowly closed the band, using a small power screwdriver on the embedded worm gear that tightened the band. As it tightened, the band compressed the base of the breast tissue, forcing the rest of it to protrude outward, rigidly tense, away from the chest. The closing ring of the confining steel band continued to contract and terrible sounds emanated from inside the hood. The tit began to take on a red, shiny, pear-like appearance, its nipple pointing straight out, hardened by the trapped blood in the tissue. The girl howled and Randall finally stopped the power driver, leaving at least, he thought, an inch and a half or more of inside diameter clutching the base of the tit.
“Oh, but I think you both know,” said Bibi. “And you are unfortunate enough to have me as your inquisitor because, you morons, I have had this done to me a few times and I know exactly how to get you to tell me what I need to know. So we can do this,” she raised her voice as the bamboo stick came down on Naomi’s buttocks and the girl screamed again, “or we can simply do this.” The bamboo swished through the air and landed with a thud on the exposed breasts of Joan, also naked, totally gagged, spread-eagle and pinned to the wall. Rusty metal staples set deep into the old building’s walls held her wrists and ankles outspread and her mouth was so thoroughly packed with remnants of her panties and bra and very little sound actually emerged, no matter how Bibi used her thin bamboo stick.
Bibi’s skills at interrogation were less professional than her martial arts talent, but she knew well enough what parts of a girl were most sensitive and she carefully prepared her two subjects in order to get the most truth as soon as possible. Playing the game of inflicting pain on one in order to get the other to open up was always risky, Bibi knew, but given the urgency of the situation, this seemed to be at least one option.
Suddenly Bibi stopped her pacing. The room was cool and damp, the air unmoving except when Bibi swished her stick about. Her team members stood or sat against the far wall, absorbing the interrogation and ready to step in should Bibi need help. Both captives sobbed quietly, hurting from the shallow stabs inflicted by the sharpened point of the stick and the more horrific strikes when Bibi used it as a cane. The hard and narrow bamboo rod was far less flexible than a common cane and its damage, if used with deadly intent, could be fatal, from either the shear impact of the hardened rod or the long and drawn out lighter strokes applied to all parts of the captives’ bodies.
Joan was the younger of the two and apparently, little more than a go-fer in the gang that operated from the old fortress. How she got ashore initially was not clear, but it seemed apparent that she had alerted the slavers that Ann and the girls were staying at the hotel. Her job, it seemed, from what Bibi had been able to extract from her, was to get the drugs into the room service food and beverages and then help subdue the five women so that they could be quietly and easily taken. But when she and her friend were spotted on the street, the tables suddenly turned. Now it was their turn to suffer and fearfully wonder what might happen to them if Bibi and the Altuna team didn’t get the information they wanted. Without warning, Bibi struck the woman with a hardened edge of her right palm, hitting her in a nerve center on the side of her head and stupefying the girl so that her head lulled to one side as though she was drunk. Looking around, Bibi saw no one paying any attention, so she put Joan’s arm over her shoulder and more or less dragged her to a taxi, told the driver that she was ill and had him drive them to the safe house with its accommodating basement where Naomi was already strung up from the overhead and well gagged.
“Shadow two, this is shadow one, you read?” said Bibi into her radio.
“Shadow two here. Where are you?”
“Shut up and maintain radio stand-by. Come to Safe. Copy?”
“Copy. Shadow Two out.”
Bibi knew that time was running out and so she switched to pure brutality with her two captives. The bamboo stick whistled through the air and landed hard on Naomi’s upper thighs. Another stroke, a bit higher, landed a few seconds later and Bibi stood at the side, addressing new patches of the woman’s pale skin until the terrible shrieks and screams emerged from behind the gag and the head nodded vigorously in the affirmative when Bibi again asked where the Norquist girls were.
“The gag is coming out and if you don’t tell me, and tell me the truth, you will not leave here alive,” Bibi shouted angrily as she unstrapped the narrow bra gag and pulled out the soggy panties from the woman’s mouth.
“The old prison fort,” Joan said quickly. “At the park.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. We went there with them and then we were paid off and told to get lost and not go back to the boat.”
“Okay. What was the plan? Are they still at the Fort?”
“I don’t know. They were to be moved, but I’m not sure when.”
“We’re going to the fort right now and you two are going to stay here until we get them back. Then I’ll have Norquist deal with you. Regag them, tie them to those pipes and make sure they aren’t getting away,” Bibi said.
“Wait,” Joan said. “They may be on the ship.”
“What ship?”
“The Carlos Andiamo, out of Belize,” Naomi whispered. “Please, can I have some water?”
“When you finish,” said Bibi. “Where is it now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Too bad. Maybe a bit of this stick on your pussy will refresh your….”
“No, no please,” Naomi whimpered. “It’s offshore at a sea buoy. Outbound on Thursday at noon. They wait until all of the slaves are brought aboard, then head east.”
“Destination?”
“Depends. But usually Nigeria or some West African country where they are transferred offshore in small craft and taken inland by riverboat. Water, please. My ass is on fire.”
“You want to drink or shall I put it on your ass,” Bibi said sarcastically as she picked up a thermos jug and poured a cup of water which she offered to the sweating, shivering woman.
“Drink,” she said.
“Now,” said Bibi, running her hands roughly over the woman’s expansive and well-marked breasts. “We can continue this or you can spill everything you know about this network. I need details, names and places and I need it quick. If you two want out of here, you will tell me without the rest of the bullshit.”
Wanting desperately to remain ungagged, both women flooded Bibi with information, begging to be allowed to leave and promising they would get out of the country at once because they didn’t want contact with any of their pals who probably assumed that they had been compromised already.
“They’ll kill us,” Joan said, as Bibi lowered her slowly from the wall, cuffing her hands behind her before she released the woman’s feet from the wall shackles.
“That’s your problem,” Bibi said, making sure both women were now well-fastened to rings on the walls, but in more comfortable positions than they had been. “You continue to cooperative, stay quiet and I’ll make sure you get out of here and onto a boat or a flight. Screw with us and you are fish food. Got that?”
“Yesss,” the two echoed at once.
At that moment, the rest of Bibi’s team entered the basement room with weapons drawn and safeties off.
“Nice of you to drop by,” Bibi said, getting her own gear back on and heading for the door.
“What about them?” the team leader asked, nodding at the two chained women on the wall.
“Gag ‘em and we’ll pick them up later, if their information holds. If it doesn’t, we have no further need for them. We need to find a ship and find it fast.”
Chapter Twenty One
Milk Run
“This is going to take some time, Sweethearts,” he said, turning his back on the twins and adjusting the multitude of dials and gauges on the panel that stretched along one wall. “We can’t expect immediate results, no matter how well equipped you appear to be, but we are patient and you will, in time, provide exactly what we promised the Nobles…if not, we just take you back and rework a few things.”
Behind him, Lynda and Gail Johnson cried and mewed into the hoods and full-face masks, incoherently pleading alternately for mercy and release. They stood rigidly upright, perched on two stout chromed poles deeply set into the decking. Their attire would have been more appropriate if they were suited up for a rubber porn video, but in this case, they were dressed for their own discomfort and equipped for the multiple unpleasantries that Randall planned for them that night and for the near future.
Initially, he left them bound as they had been when they were delivered in a simple hog-tie with ankles tied closely together and pulled up to meet their wrists. Their elbows were fastened so that they touched and their forearms were parallel bound so that their arms formed a very taut “Y” from the shoulders to fingertips. He used nylon, single use, locking bindings like the police often carried for large, unruly demonstrations where they had to arrest and hold many people and there would not be enough handcuffs to go around. The beauty of the nylon binders was that they did not require locks and keys, yet were extremely efficient and cheap. Both girls had their arms fastened at their wrists and elbows with another band at the mid point between the first two. All three were very tight. A single nylon band connected their wrists and ankles, making for a highly restrictive and effective hog-tie without any need for rope or chain. Additional nylon bands joined their legs just above the knees. Their bras, lace-topped stockings and panties were left in place and the extra high heels that had seemed so fitting for the shore shopping party remained on their feet, held in place with yet another set of nylon cable ties. They were gagged with cut up parts of their own mini dresses, stuffed into begging, open mouths and held in place with yet another nylon cable tie. Ordinary black carpet tape sealed their mouth and eyes.
That was how they’d been delivered to the cabin on one of the lower decks and that was how they stayed while preparations were made for their long term visit. Now they stood upright, perched on sturdy chrome poles, topped with adjustable, “Y” shaped, cradle-like branches. Each branch was fitted with its own firm and realistically molded rubber prick. These were inserted into the lower regions of each girl while they stood, with ankles locked snugly into the thick metal stocks bolted to the deck.
“Just step into these fittings, please,” he had said quietly, once he raised and held Lynda upright, gently urging her forward until her nylon bound feet were inside the wide metal clamps of the stocks. He told her to stand still while he closed the cuffs around both ankles and then cut away the nylon ties, allowing better circulation to return to her feet. Lynda breathed a bit easier, glad that her feet were at least less stringently restrained. The comfort factor increased as Randall cut the bindings above her knees as well.
“You can flex your legs a bit, if you want,” he said, leaning over to speak into her ear. Lynda cautiously bent her knees a bit, wavered, and was about to fall forward when Randall grabbed her around the waist and steadied her.
What is he going to do? Lynda wondered. This is horrible. How did I get into this? She felt Randall’s strong arms around her waist.
“Easy does it, Sweetheart,” Randall said smoothly. “You’re going to need to get used to this. You’ll be here awhile.” Lynda shivered and mumbled in fear and didn’t try again. She simply stood still and waited for the next horror.
Randall went over to Gail, Lynda’s twin sister, and easily picked her up after cutting the hog tie bands and positioned her over the second set of stocks. In a minute, the two girls stood back to back, about eight inches apart, unable to do more than twist and shout meaningless complaints into their gags.
Randall removed the eye tape and gags and let them holler and look around in horror for a bit while he pulled thick rubber hoods over their heads and then slowly adjusted it until the collar around the neck was in place and snug. He aligned the mouth and nose holes and let them continue to scream and shout, enjoying the sounds of desperation while he worked. He eased the heavy-duty zipper gradually down from the top of the hood until it was closed, smoothing the fabric over their heads until the hood fit like second skin, sealing their heads in its warm, rubber enclosure.
My God, this thing is like the ones I’ve seen in the movies. Some kind of head squeezing punishment hood, Gail thought. I don’t believe this. Is it going to hurt? Where are they taking us like this? Who would want us all sealed up in rubber anyway. I thought they would dress us up nicely and this doesn’t feel nice. The smell of rubber is almost sickening.
The mouthpiece/gag combinations went in next and were fastened to straps already in place on the sides of the hoods. Once fitted and filling each oral cavity to its fullest, the straps were tightened until the entire feeding and breathing apparatus was firmly in place and the sounds of fear and discomfort faded. The full-face masks came next, integrating the mouthpiece/gag and held with a myriad of straps that enveloped the hood. When he was finished, both girls wore the black rubber hoods with the masks clamped in place over their face. They were blind, deaf and unable to do more than moan and whimper. Their heads resembled something more alien than human and the collection of straps, and hoses enhanced this illusion.
“Now that you have been shut up, literally,” Randall said, laughing at his pun, “I’ll explain this situation so you won’t panic. The gag and mouthpiece allow you to get air, although I can control it. If you misbehave, your air supply may be endangered. Allow me to demonstrate. I am now shutting off your air supply. Let me know when you want more air.” He slowly twisted two identical knobs on the panel. Two gauges showed that air flow to the tubes and into the masks had ceased and almost immediately the two upright bound and hooded bodies began to twist, contort, shake and make terrible sounds even with the gags in place. Randall allowed for ten seconds and then turned the knobs back and the gauges went back to the original levels while the girls shivered and shook and sucked on their mouthpieces, taking in great gulps of air.
“I presume you got the message and that we won’t need any further demonstrations, right?”
Oh God, right, right, right, you son-of-a-bitch. Anything you want, but don’t shut off my air, Lynda thought as she tried again to get a more comfortable position for her stocks-enclosed ankles and her feet in the too high heels.
Both bound figures were still bobbing about on their locked feet, their bra-enclosed breasts bouncing madly up and down and their asses jiggling around, shaking in fright.
“Am I right?” Randall shouted loud enough so they heard through the hoods. Both girls hummed as loud as they could. “I assume that means yes,” Randall added.
The twins finally settled down and Randall, who had been watching them in rapt fascination for more than five minutes, went on with the program that he and his associates planned a few days before. He narrated while he worked.
“So now your noisy little heads have been secured and it is time for some other body parts to get into the act.” Randall used a pair of scissors to cut the side panels of the two girls’ bikini panties and pulled them away. He did the same with the bras, cutting the shoulder straps and then the center between the cups.
“This,” he said quietly, “is what every guy here is hoping to do to you.” He ran his hands lightly over the newly exposed twin pairs of breasts, telling the girls that they shouldn’t worry about this exposure because, in fact, they had been showing a great deal of tit even before their thin cotton T shirts and skirts had been removed hours before.
“I think these little gems will yield enough excitement,” Randall said to his watching crew, “once we get them properly set up, but I am not pleased to see that you are still jumping around so much. When you jump about, your tits jiggle and that is unacceptable because it will probably interfere with the milking process.”
Milking process? Both pinioned bodies froze. They couldn’t possibly have heard him right. Milking? Unintelligible cries and moans emanated from behind the gags. Heads shook and bodies trembled in horror and anticipation.
“Yes, you sweet little sluts. You heard right. Not to sound moralistic, but you have obviously devoted a lot of time and energy in your young lives to attracting boys and men with your generously exposed breasts. You spare no efforts to show as much as you can without giving away the prize. These nice, full, round, post-teen globes are great fun to watch while you prance around town or in the hotel, but they will also do very nicely for what we have in mind here. You are going to enjoy it…after awhile…” Randall’s voice trailed off as he gathered his new equipment and began attaching it to first one well-tanned, nude young body and then to the other.
Oh God, Lynda thought. He’s actually turning me on with his rubbing my tits. How do I stop this? He’ll notice and want to fuck me, right here.
“The deep penetrators are what will hurt the most,” Randall continued. “They are a bit like miniature water well-probes, because they are hollow tubes with multiple inlet holes in the side walls of the needle tube. As they go deeper, they suck the liquid from the spongy glands and send it up the tube. When I put them in place, you will know it. It’s a very painful process.” As he talked, Randall handled each of the four shivering tits, massaging and smoothing the rounded surface, tweaking the nipples and inspecting each breast as though he were preparing for a major operation.
“To encourage this sucking function,” he continued, “we’ll need some additional hardware. So, first I’ll fit the compression bands,” he chortled. “This is like having your tits squeezed…” and to illustrate his words, Randall placed both hands around one girl’s breast, making a small circle with his thumbs and forefingers, squeezing the circle tighter and compressing the base of the breast, forcing the rest of the tissue outward into a pear-like shape.
“So, as you will see, or more likely feel, we need to get your tits a bit more stationary, more rigid. Like this…” He removed his hands and slid a rubber lined, stainless steel pipe clamp over Lynda’s left breast, pulling it back towards her chest while feeding the breast through the circular steel and rubber band while Lynda bucked and twisted, trying to prevent the inevitable banding of her left tit.
“Humm, that’s no fun,” muttered Randall, sweating as he struggled against the girl’s resistance. “Maybe I am doing this wrong.” He removed the band and, reaching up, fastened a chain that was hanging from the overhead to the steel ring mounted on the harness on top of Lynda’s hood. This pulled the girl suddenly more upright and stopped her struggles for the moment. “Sorry about that,” he said, tightening the chain and forcing an even more straight and upright position on the bound girl. “I have to get you to stand still before this will work.” Again, Randall placed the band around Lynda’s breast, slid it back against her chest wall and slowly closed the band, using a small power screwdriver on the embedded worm gear that tightened the band. As it tightened, the band compressed the base of the breast tissue, forcing the rest of it to protrude outward, rigidly tense, away from the chest. The closing ring of the confining steel band continued to contract and terrible sounds emanated from inside the hood. The tit began to take on a red, shiny, pear-like appearance, its nipple pointing straight out, hardened by the trapped blood in the tissue. The girl howled and Randall finally stopped the power driver, leaving at least, he thought, an inch and a half or more of inside diameter clutching the base of the tit.
