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SOUND
Sound. Who really appreciates this type of phenomenon for what it is. What generates it, or, more to the point, what can steal it away. Sound. How can something so innocuous, be so dangerous. Its absence on the other hand, can be equally life-threatening. Sound, could be either an ally or an adversary.
**************
CLACK…CLACK.
CLACK…CLACK.
CLACK*CLACK*CLACK*CLACK*CLACK!!!
Taylor paused, simultaneously trying to suck in as much air as possible, whilst not making too much Sound. She couldn’t allow the sobs she was fighting hard to suppress, drown out any signs of pursuit. She looked down accusingly at the offending footwear responsible for the “Clack-Clack”, each time she walked or scampered across the warehouse’s concrete floor.
Strapped to her feet were a pair of bejeweled, high-heel sandals, the heels no less than four inches. She might have kicked them off and proceeded barefoot, had it not been for the ankle straps. Ankle straps that had been padlocked in place. This fact alone would have made shedding the footwear a challenge, but at the moment, it was utterly impossible.
For currently the young woman had no hands (or arms, for that matter). They were wrenched up behind her back, her wrists crossing between her shoulder blades. Though Taylor couldn’t see much of it, she ascertained that her involuntary pose was a result of some kind of bizarre, “DeSade-esq” harness of black leather straps. They wrapped, trapped and squeezed her torso from waist to shoulders.
Playing no part in keeping her wrists firmly locked in place, there was a pair passing around her chest, above and below her breasts and trying their utmost to squeeze the air out of her lungs. These were connected in front by a short, adjustable strap passing between her “Perky” tits. The strap had been shortened so that the chest straps squeezed the base of each breast, causing them to blush beneath her diaphanous bra (oh, was it not mentioned that she was clad only in her underwear? Sorry.) making the crush on her ribs that much more severe. And yet there was more.
Another pair of straps followed a similar route, locking her arms firmly against her body. Yet more, a strap ran over each shoulder, fastening front and rear to their horizontal cousins. This apparently to eliminate the ridiculous notion that the wearer might somehow slough them off.
A set of vertical straps ran down her center, front and back. Each was attached to a belt around her waist. The belt too, seemed intent on robbing her of the ability to breath. The ascending straps, having been adjusted snug as possible, made the idea of the harness “riding up” was laughable.
And if that weren’t enough, each hand was locked in a thumb-squeezing grip, thanks to a set of tight leather pouches with thin leather belts. Each belt had been snugged firmly around the wrist. Aside from brushing feebly against the opposite shoulder, her hands were utterly useless. Thus making the annoyance of not immediately being able to remove the sandals, trivial.
Having caught her breath, Taylor set out once more in search of an exit. Her efforts to make as little noise as possible, still sounded like a car crash to her ears. One might think that calling out for help would have been the more sensible approach. Perhaps. But it was apparent that the warehouse was empty and a call for assistance would bring persons she’d just as soon not meet up with again.
And then of course there was the gag (What!? Another oversight? Again, my apologies). It was an abomination the young woman could never have conceived of, let alone know existed. Yet there it was clamped to her head and mouth like a lamprey. A huge mass was stuffed in her mouth, jacking her jaw painfully open. It gave only slightly when she bit down, conjuring up the image of a foam covered door knob. She’d be shocked to know that she wasn’t far off the mark.
In addition, a wide, padded panel crushed her lower face, mashing her full lips against her teeth. It cupped her gaping chin and jaw, the upper edge pressing hard against her septum. The whole thing ran from ear to ear. One whiff through her nose told her it was comprised mostly of leather. The portion touching her skin felt more like some kind of foam rubber.
Taylor had tried initially to spit it out or shake it off, but it was instantly apparent that it was going nowhere. A seemingly haphazard collection of straps saw to that. She did not need to cross her eyes to see a strap running up each side of her nose, apparently joining as one between her eyebrows.
From there, she could feel it pressing into her forehead and over the top of her skull. Although she could feel the tug on her scalp of a firmly fashioned ponytail, she could not know that it passed through a ring in the strap set high on the back of her head. This would prevent the strap from shifting out of position. Her own hair was aiding in her bondage. Above her eyebrows, Taylor felt the relentless squeeze of another strap passing around her head, just above her ears. It was anchored to the crown strap, further insuring stability.
But by far the cruelest, was the wider main strap attached the gag panel itself. It had been buckled at the nape of her neck with such ferocity, it made the girl’s eyes water. The buckle dug mercilessly into the tender spot where it lie. She’d tried once, and only once, to tip her head back in search of a weakness. The painful gouging this action had produced at the base of her skull had literally filled her vision with stars. So for now, the gag, body harness and mittens, and most certainly the sandals, where there to stay.
Taylor pressed onward, trying with equal measure to suppress her rising panic and find a way out. She knew if she were caught, consequences would be dire. Given her state, that might sound odd, but she recalled clearly what had happened when she’d arisen from her drug-induced slumber. On the other hand, she had little memory of her actual abduction. Nearly completing her morning jog, a glimpse of a dark colored van or truck, multiple and extremely unexpected hands jerking her off the ground and inside the vehicle, a foul smelling rag cutting off her air, then nothing.
When she’d awoken, she’d found herself seated, stuck in her present state. Taylor hadn’t even had time to fully appraise her situation, when a hooded man walked in front of her, having had secured the last buckle on the head harness. The man grasped a handful of multi-length belts, kneeling with the obvious intent to secure her legs.
Acting without thought, the self defense courses kicking in, Taylor brought her knee up, catching her abductor square on the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t the textbook shot she’d wanted to deliver, that of smashing the cartilage and temporarily blinding him, but it was effective enough. Stunned and off balance, the man tumbled backward. No stranger to high heels, Taylor was on her feet in an instant.
The man’s sprawled state presented an inviting target which his “prey” took immediate advantage of. She swung her foot with all her might, polished toes scoring a direct hit on the man’s groin. Taylor’s efforts were rewarded with a pained, raspy rush of air escaping her assailant. Wasting no time to gloat, she turned and fled, the extent of her restraints not yet fully comprehended. By the time she’d determined that she was on an unknown floor, in an unknown warehouse, at an unknown location, she knew all too well how wickedly she’d been bound.
Finally, she saw what she’d been searching for, a heavy steel door with the sign “EXIT” overhead. Even more promising, the door was equipped with a long ’press bar’, eliminating the need for hands. Taylor dashed towards it, all thought of stealth vanished. She paid little head to her ponytail swishing against her shoulders, nor the odd brushing of something against the back of her legs. She was about three paces away and bracing for impact, when her head wrenched back painfully, the pain in her scalp even worse.
“Got her, Boss.” Taylor heard through the haze of pain and defeat.
“Bring that bitch back here!” Came the reply.
The pain in her scalp, combined with the frustrating sense of failure, caused Taylor to screech out hysterically. She herself, cut the scream short, utterly stunned at how little noise she made. She hadn’t till this point, attempted to cry out, not knowing the gag’s effectiveness. In the soft, nasal bleat she heard coming out of her, she had the answer. Taylor instantly knew that she’d have to be standing right next to a rescuer in order to be heard.
Sounds now came out of involuntarily, as her unseen assailant (aside from his legs) maintained his vicious grip on her ponytail. He forced her head down, leaving Taylor no choice but to walk bent over at the waist. She watched the clutter-strewn floor whisk by as her attacker set a brutal pace.
“nnnnmmphh! mmmmnnhh!” She whimpered, begged and pleaded.
The whispered hums of her distress did nothing to slow the pace, nor alter their final destination. She had no sense of time or distance, only knowing the journey had ended, when she gazed upon a pair of expensive Italian shoes, coated with a light layer of dust from the surroundings. Without warning, the fire in her scalp trebled as she was jerked upright.
Taylor found herself gazing into a set of eyes that flickered with anger (and were more than a little bit bloodshot) from behind a black hood. She also noticed for the first time that, aside from the hood, the man was impeccably dressed. It made for a queer combination, but then again, this hadn’t been a typical day. Taylor’s eyes grew wide as she watched the man draw back his arm.
“nnnnnnnnghhh!” She screamed as she tried to turn away.
“Uh, Boss?” Came a voice from a third, as yet unknown attacker.
The man in front of her paused, while Taylor braced for the blow she couldn’t avoid. It did not come. She cautiously opened her eyes and she watched as he slowly lowered his arm. Taylor let out the breath she’d been holding in the form of a protracted, thoroughly nasal sigh.
“You’ve proven to be almost more trouble than your worth, my dear.” The man said with a clipped British accent.
“I’d hoped that this endeavor would have transpired more smoothly. However, a contract is a contract, thus it will honored. You will not be harmed.”
Taylor almost crumpled in relief, were it not for the firm grip on her hair.
“However,” the man continued while gingerly rubbing his crotch, “it is within my latitude to alter certain “provisions” of the agreement.”
“I’m sure General Sandoval won’t mind too much.”
“I had hoped to avoid the need of any ‘travel companions’ during this enterprise, but I see now that the situation not only warrants it,” he said, wincing as he touched a particularly sore spot, “but demands it.”
All of this meant nothing to Taylor, but it did leave her with a very unsettled feeling.
“Gentlemen,” he announced, “if you would be so good as to secure our bothersome little guest.”
“Little Guest” was an ironic thing to say, for not only was she not a ‘guest’, standing at 5’11” and bolstered by 4” heels, Taylor towered over all three of her abductors. Unfortunately, the ability to voice this discrepancy had been robbed from her.
Goon #1, who still gripped her hair, was now joined by Goon #2. Both men, she noted, were more casually attired, dressed in black coveralls to compliment their black hoods. Taylor was manhandled over to a large support column and made to face it. She felt a wide leather belt press against her exposed lower spine. Suddenly, the belt tightened, driving out what little air there was in her lungs.
Taylor tried to lunge away from the column, but now realized she was fused to it. Things got worse, as a slightly narrower strap brushed the back of her neck. As it snugged down, the poor girl had to quickly turn her head in order to avoid her face being mashed into the post. One quick test told her she was well and truly stuck. And there was little she could do about it but weakly whine. There was a pause, then the leader spoke once more.
“Richard, I believe the #7 Persuaders are in order. No, wait. Make that the #8’s.”
“Something to remember me by my dear.” He whispered into her ear not pressed against the concrete. “Heaven knows, I’ll be thinking of you each and every day for the foreseeable future.”
Taylor felt a small amount of satisfaction at his veiled reference to his aching testicles.
“Good,” she thought, “I hope your balls swell to the size of coconuts!”
Her notion was definitely out of character. Never before had she even contemplated such an idea, yet alone think it so earnestly. However, things going the way they were, mental rebellion was about the only thing she had going for her.
Then, before she knew what was happening, fingers slipped behind the waistband of her silk panties and yanked them down her legs. There hadn’t even been time for her to splay her knees to make the job more difficult (not that that would have been the ideal countermeasure).
“My apologies, dear lady.” The man quipped. “But your actions today have rattled the very foundation of my sense of chivalry. It would have been so much easier if you had just accepted your fate.”
“Accepted my fate!” Taylor listened in disbelief. “Since when was I given a choice?”
Again, there a nerve rattling pause. However, the range of outcomes had been narrowed down considerably. Each henchman grabbed an ankle, jerking her legs out and up. The strain on her bowed spine was unbearable. Taylor writhed as if possessed, but no amount of struggling changed her situation. The young woman had no doubt that she was going to be raped. Her prediction turned out to be 100% accurate, though in a way that had never entered her mind.
The conical shaped butt plug was enormous, even to a seasoned veteran of such practices. To a young woman who’d never even dabbled in such things, it felt as if she was going to die. However, the ‘gentleman’ was well aware of the tolerances and elasticity of the feminine form and knew that no permanent damage would occur. Of course, that fact that it would be excruciating was another matter entirely.
Taylor hadn’t even been able to draw in a breath due to the pain, when the phallic shaped prod split her silken lips. Her brain threatened to snap, as the massive girth slid into a region never exposed to anything larger than a tampon. Her mind kept hitting ‘reset’, unable to comprehend what was happening to her body. This phenomenon continued, as the strap that had brushed the back of her legs during her escape, was drawn up between her legs and threaded (rather loosely) through the front buckle on the belt around her waist.
She did not feel through her daze of pain and disorientation, her legs being maneuvered together. Nor did she feel the straps being applied by the head hood as his minions continued to hold her legs aloft. The leather belts were secured with brutal strength at lower, middle and upper thighs. More passed around her knees, both above and below. Her mid-calves received similar treatment, as did her ankles. After removal of her footwear, there was even an odd tangle of straps, that when aligned and tightened, captured her heels, mid-step and big toes. An integrated strap between heel and toe was shortened, forcing her feet into a joint-testing ‘en pointe’ posture.
Taylor’s legs were lowered to the floor. Where her feet had once rested on high heeled shoes, now only her pointed toes touched concrete. The goons supported her by her bent elbows as their leader released the belts securing their prize to the column. As she was pulled away, the girl’s head lolled on her shoulders drunkenly, her fused legs bent and lifeless.
“Oh my,” the boss exclaimed, “that simply won’t do.”
Snapping open an ammonia cartridge, he held under the beauty’s nose. After a moment, Taylor’s head shot up, her eyes wide but unfocused. Another whiff of fumes and it was clear that she’d come back to the present, for her eyes grew wider still. Taylor looked around as if remembering for the first time, then screwed her eyes shut and let loose a gut-wrenching wail. The pitiful sound that emerged was no louder than a cat’s purr.
“There we are, my dear.” He cooed. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on this next bit of fun, what?”
Unbuckling the strap attached to the front of the waist belt and grasping it firmly, he nodded to his cohorts. The men all but released their grip on her arms. Hardly yet ready to stand and certainly not just on her toes, Taylor crumpled. At the same time, the boss jerked up on the strap. The leather cleaving her ass cheeks and splitting her vulva, tightened like a hose clamp. Once more, her eyes popped open and she threw her head back to wail, regardless of how this made the gag’s buckle gouge in to the back of her head. The sound produced this time, was nothing more than a deep, chesty moan of despair. The crotch strap was then secured.
The goons picked her up and she received yet another dose of smelling salts. When her vision finally cleared, she saw her well dressed assailant standing in front of her. Other than her condition, the only thing that had changed was that his eyes were now smiling.
“Right then,” he said, “let’s get you into your traveling togs.”
Even if Taylor had the strength to struggle, it would have proven futile. She was so inconceivably bound, so heinously violated, that even if she had the strength of ten men, she literally would have been unable to wriggle a finger. At least the thugs were considerate enough to carry her in a ‘seated’ fashion, thus not dragging her toes across the concrete. Of course, a major drawback to this was the dramatic shifting of the 2 prods lodged inside her.
The poor girl took scant note of the black object lying on the floor ahead, their apparent destination, her mind being on a completely different plane. If quizzed, Taylor would have said the thing looked like a weird sleeping bag. The boss arranged the base of the object upright and his accomplices dutifully lowered their burden’s feet into it. Starting to come around, Taylor felt as though her feet were being lowered into an ever narrowing mine shaft. A final shove and her strapped feet were forced into an even more severely pointed posture.
“Dear me,” the boss said to himself more anyone else, “wouldn’t be proper for you to nap through this exciting adventure now, would it. This stimulant will make sure that you don’t miss a thing.”
Taylor hardly felt the pin prick in her backside. It didn’t take long for the drug to take effect. Before long, her eyes were darting about and she found herself unable to stop struggling, no matter how much it hurt. As she was set down, her bare buttocks informed her that the coarse material she was lying on was rawhide. She craned her head up to watch the two goons close both halves of the weird garment. Too late, she thought to thrash her legs, making their job more difficult. More to the point, she feared what the two monstrous invaders inside her would feel like if she did.
Impotently, she watched as a zipper was worked up her shins to her knees. This required quite a bit of tugging and stretching on the thugs part. Once past her knees, the process grew even more arduous. The boss noticed her shocked, yet rapt fascination and felt it his duty to offer an explanation.
“Made of only the finest quality leather, good lady.” He explained. “Crafted with only one person in mind. You.”
“Why,” he chuckled, “you might even say that it was ‘Taylor-Made’.”
All three villains had a good laugh at that one.
For poor Taylor, it felt as though she was slowly being crushed by a buckskin python. There was nothing, absolutely NOTHING, she could to arrest its progress. The process slowed when it reached her full hips, but never ever stopped. The pace quickened up her narrow waist. When the zipper reached the bottom of her ribcage, the order to halt was given. Her neck muscles straining to keep her head up in order to watch the closure’s advancement, she gratefully allowed it to rest on the hard concrete floor. During the respite, Taylor tested the flexibility of the “sheath”, as she’d heard it been called. Although rigid overall, she found a surprising amount of ‘give’ at the knees. Other testing would have to wait, as the head villain’s hooded face hovered into view.
“Sorry love, but it appears that you’re a bit overdressed.”
Confused, she didn’t understand his meaning until she felt the cold edge of a blade slide under the shoulder strap of her bra. A slight pressure and the elastic gave up without a fight. The same went for the other. Taylor couldn’t suppress a shudder, as the steel slid up between her breasts. The cups flew off in opposite direction, exposing her wares for all to see. A surprising amount of struggle was needed to wrench the flimsy garment free. Then it was tossed to the ground, fifteen feet from the dainty clump that was her panties.
Taylor looked up teary eyed to see that the man was holding what looked like a plastic drinking cup, a rubber tube was attached at its base.
“I’m told that you are an A-Cup.” He purred. “One mustn’t allow oneself to surrender to such classifications. Where there’s a will there’s a way, what?”
Taylor’s head snapped up when she felt his fingers smearing something slick around the base of her left breast. She watched as he placed the cup upside-down over the same breast. Then, he began squeezing what looked like the bulb to a blood pressure cuff. Nothing happened at first, but then she felt an odd suckling sensation. Then, to her utter disbelief, her teet began to rise inside the cup.
“Suction!” It finally dawned on her.
Higher and higher her breast rose, growing to unimagined proportions. It didn’t take long for things to begin to hurt quite noticeably. Finally, the pumping stopped, but the suction remained constant. He took a moment to show her a wide, yet ordinary looking rubber band. He slid the band over the inflation bulb (deflation bulb?) and down the hose. When it reached the cup, he used both hands to stretch it out, then continued to slide it down its exterior.
When the band reached the spot where cup met flesh, it hovered. Taylor tore her eyes away from the sight and glanced at the hooded leader. The man’s smile grew wider and he released his grip. The rubber band instantly snapped back to its natural state of rest. Well, almost, for Taylor’s breast and a great deal of surrounding tissue sucked up into the cup, stood in its way. The retracting rubber stung as it contacted her skin and the airtight seal was broken with a soft “pop!”
At first she felt nothing but the stinging contact of the elastic. But then her whole breast seemed to be assaulted by pins. Taylor looked and was horrified to see that her breast had assumed the shape of a turnip and was rapidly turning the same shade.
“Oh God, OH GOD!” She screamed. “It’s gotta come off! It’s gotta come off RIGHT NOW!!!”
But of course, no effort was made to remove it. Taylor buck and thrashed, first to try and shake the offender off, then in an attempt to keep the same thing from happening to her other teet. Neither was successful. Her efforts only resulted in one of the thugs moving up to hold her shoulders down. He was gracious enough to leave enough room between his arms for Taylor to watch the process being repeated, if she cared to do so. She did in fact watch, if only in the shallow hope that something would malfunction. It did not, and soon her chest looked as though it was sprouting a plum colored pair of minarets.
Taylor’s head crashed back to the floor, her ponytail thankfully providing some cushioning. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse. But oh, how wrong she was. She began hoping that the sheath would not fit, her arms being secured the way they were. But her present posture must have been taken into account, for the zipper kept advancing toward her head. Just before the stifling leather closed over her tortured breasts, the man’s head hovered over her once more.
“Just one more small token,” he riddled, “to remind us of our time together.”
“What more could he poss…” Taylor’s train of thought was derailed by an explosion in her chest, followed quickly by another. Her head shot up and her eyes grew wide at the sight of a gleaming set of alligator clamps latching on to her blood engorged nipples. She thrashed her head viciously from side to side, all the while wishing for madness or unconsciousness. Neither came to sweep her away from this incomprehensible horror.
She prayed then for the pain to ebb, but it seemed to strengthen. She barely noticed the sheath closing over her altered and agony-filled bosom. Ironically, the sheath was tailored with small alcove which would have housed her tits in almost comfortable fashion. Such accommodations were now woefully inadequate. From there, it was child’s play to maneuver the zipper up to its terminus, which was at the top of a high collar.
Taylor lay there, barely able to breath and not really wishing to. It just hurt too much. She felt something happening down at her ankles, but was too tired, too sore and too miserable to look. The sensation repeated itself a little higher up. Finally, when the repetitive action reached her thighs, she struggled like a drunkard to lift her head and see what they were doing.
Unbelievably, the men were working leather straps through belt loops stitched to the exterior of the sheath. When encirclement of the area was achieved, the belts were cinched as tightly as possible then buckled. The most recent application was at the widest portion of her hips. Already, her ankles, calves, above her knees and mid-thigh had been strapped. This was followed by one around her waist. The next one went around her arms. Unfortunately, its path ran directly over her mis-shapened breasts. When it tightened, Taylor went absolutely rigid, certain that her head was going to explode. It did not. The final strap passed around her chest and upper arms.
She her a faint metallic *snick* but cared not what it was. This was followed by another and another and another, repeating itself countless times. Wondering what else it was these bastards could do to her, she looked and saw that each strap was being secured with a padlock through its buckle. Her mind swooned. After the last padlocked had been installed, the evil gentleman leaned over her yet again.
“Isn’t it a marvelous piece of craftsmanship?” He asked almost reverently.
“Of course, it might have been a bit more comfortable if you had not kicked me in the royal jewels. Let‘s have a look, shall we?”
He did not wait for a reply for obvious reasons, he simply grasped her ponytail and lifted her head.
“Richard, be a good fellow and show our guest her stunning new footwear.”
The goon responded by lifting Taylor’s fused legs and rapped his knuckles on the gleaming hard case which trapped her feet in such a strenuous position. From her knees to her toes, the line ran perfectly straight. When he twisted her legs slightly, Taylor saw that the cone shaped shell even sported a pair of 7” stiletto heels jutting from the back. It was impossible for her to see how, higher up the sheath, the shapely bulge of her ass was divided horizontally by the hip strap. Neither could she see how the leather had been configured to accommodate her folded arms.
“Thank you, Richard. That will be enough for now.”
“Well, my dear. I guess it’s time to help you sort out exactly just what is going on.”
The hooded leader again paused. He felt no need to worry, for he knew he had a captive audience.
Taylor half heard his words, most of her focus was on the hell she was trapped in. The stimulants coursing through her blood left her agitated and anxious (as if the situation weren’t enough). A sudden, hard slap across her face spun her head in the direction of her lead assailant. Although the gag panel took much of the blow, she was still shocked, nonetheless. Never before in her life had she been struck.
“Pay attention, dovey.” He growled. “I’ll not repeat myself.”
“You, my lovely creature, have caught the attention of one, General Earnesto Garcia Sandoval. I’m certain you’ve not heard of him, but that’s no matter.”
“The General has some, shall we say, eccentric tastes. He enjoys being in the company of beautiful young women. I should say, what man doesn’t. His tastes however, drift markedly toward fresh, young Senioritas Yankee.”
“Unfortunately, the General has garnered a reputation of being quite the deviant, a very cruel and heartless deviant.”
“I’m told, that he likes to ‘accessorize’ his new toys. This includes, but is not limited to, piercings…” he said, indicating Taylor’s nose, breasts and privates, “…and brandings. Thus his need for fresh product is constant. You are here to fill that need.”
“The General is known to tire of his ‘playthings’ quickly. However, being a competent business man, he knows it would be a waste simply to discard them once he has finished. So, he has made arrangements for those, ah, “assets” to be shipped to other Central and South American persons of power for compensation.”
“I suppose one could say it’s quite a bit like recycling, what?”
Taylor listened in abject horror. Was she supposed to be some sort of…sex slave!?
“But enough of that.” The hooded man continued. “Allow me to show you a rather marvelous example of modern technology and craftsmanship.”
He held up 2 identical pieces of…something. Each formed a semi-circle, the bottom edges flat, whilst the top edges curved from 4” down to something like 2-½. The black exterior surfaces gleamed like mirrors, the interiors lined with the same black leather as her body sheath. As the man drew the two halves together, Taylor saw that the would form a circle. Small, odd looking teeth jutted from the vertical edges on one half.
“This is to be your posture collar.” He explained. “Truly an amazing piece of equipment. It’s made of Titanium, thus virtually impossible to damage or cut off. I might say, given the proximity, any attempts to do so could prove quite hazardous to the wearer.”
He stopped to give her a meaningful look.
“Once closed, it can only be opened with a special magnetic key. A key that you will have on your person.”
He showed Taylor a rather insignificant strip of metal. With a slight of hand, he slipped the key into a pocket hidden in one of the body sheath’s belt loops without his accomplices noticing. It was the strap wrapped around her ankles.
“And now for the Masterpiece.” He crowed.
Setting the collar halves down, he picked up what was obviously a head-shaped object. However, it appeared to be oddly misshapen. Although it’s exterior was leather identical to the sheath, it did not lie limp like it should. Nor did it remain rigid like the horrible ballet boot her feet were crammed in to. He pulled it open so that she could look inside. The hood had no holes, but for the small pair sitting at the bottom of the recess meant for her nose. The mere sight of it was horrifying. Bulging ovals were positioned in the areas where the eyes, ears and mouth would be.
“Sound dampening composite.” He explained. “Quite effective, I assure you.”
“Ah, but the pure beauty lies within what the eye cannot see. Between the interior and exterior linings, is a mesh of Titanium, making the helmet as impervious to cutting instruments as the collar. Even the laces used to secure it cannot be cut.”
“So, in summation. Once the helmet is installed and the collar secured over the terminal knot, without the key, not even the finest technology can hope to remove them without significant damage to the wearer. You.”
Were she able, Taylor would still be too stunned to speak.
“I’ve taken these precautions, for the General can be quite nefarious at times.”
“Should he refuse to make payment, I shan’t tell him the location of the key.”
“Oh, he’ll still be able to remove your other bonds and use your body as he wishes, but if I’m not paid, he will never have the opportunity to gaze upon your beautiful face.”
“Who knows? He may prefer it that way.”
“But we can hope otherwise.” He said with a wink.
It was a horrific irony. Were he not paid, her assailant would not reveal the location of the key. Were that to happen, the only other person on earth knowing the secret, would be unable to voice it.
“Oh,” he added, “being a frequent traveler myself, I know how bothersome it is to be in want of information. So, here is your itinerary.”
“Once we’re ready to depart, it should take us an hour to arrive at the airport. You needn’t worry about customs, the General has diplomatic immunity. Once aboard his private plane, flight time is roughly four hours. From there, transit time to his compound is approximately 90 minutes.”
“Ghastly roads down there, by the way. I’m afraid you’ll be in for quite a bit of jostling. But, it can’t be helped. I‘m sure you‘ll do your best, old girl.”
“Well then,” he said merrily, “let’s finish up now, shall we? Oh and don’t worry about the fit. For the past month, laser imaging measurements have made of you whilst out in public. I can assure you that these items were made to exacting detail and will accommodate the, uh, alterations created by the muzzle gag. It may be a bit snug, but you should be used to that by now, what?”
Pressing down on her forehead to quiet her struggles, he inserted a foam ear plug into her right ear. He was just about to close off the left, when he stopped.
“Oh bugger!” He said crossly. “I knew I was forgetting something.”
“Of course you realize my dear, that once we’ve finished here, you’ll still have to be crated. You know, concealment and all that. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay there for the duration of your journey.”
“Firstly for the benefit of the General’s passengers who do not share his passions. Then there’s the threat of being stopped by the Federal Police. The General has no authority over them, but they will not open any containers that are locked, which of course, your’s will be.”
Taylor’s expressive eyes widened yet again. As if the horror of being violated, tortured and redundantly restrained wasn’t enough, ever since childhood, she’d been driven to near paralysis by a terrifying case of claustrophobia. To this day, despite therapy, there were certain places where she could not to go. Small closets, elevators, tanning booths, all sent her in to a soul ripping panic attack!
Now, the idea of being crammed into a crate for hours on end with no hope for quick release sent her ballistic. She thrashed and screeched, all in an effort to break free or tell them of her condition. Despite her impressive efforts, she only managed to twist slightly and bend her knees and waist like a hypothermic inchworm. She tried to beseech to him that he couldn’t possibly do this, but her hums drifted out like a sorrowful sigh of resignation.
“Not to worry, love.” he soothed. “We made sure to catheterize you and gave you a couple of nice cleansing enemas whilst you were slumbering. Using the loo shouldn’t be a problem.”
Taylor continued to struggle until her energy was used up. Soft tears trickled out of her closed eyes. This can’t be happening!
The leader moved forward to insert the other ear plug. As he did, he leaned in and whispered into the frightened girl’s ear.
“A little secret about those passengers your carrying.” He said, patting the area of the sheath covering her privates.
“Both are essentially just a big Nickel-Cadmium battery. I’ve been assured of at least a twelve hour lifespan.”
“Inside each is a trembler switch. Too much motion will trigger a shock.”
“Hurts like the dickens when I tested it out on my forearm earlier. Can’t quite imagine what it would feel like on regions a tad more…sensitive, Hmm?”
“They’re designed not to administer a charge for longer than thirty seconds. Wouldn’t want to desensitize the area, now would we?”
“I imagine the trip to the airport and takeoff will be quite distressing, as well landing and the long drive to the general’s villa. The plane ride should offer you a respite. That is if you don’t hit turbulence.”
“So my dear, it’s time to finish things up and go find some ice for my willy.”
“Tah-tah.”
He shoved the plug in Taylor’s ear, blocking off the majority of sound. Despite her weakened efforts to shake her head away from the approaching discipline helmet, it was slipped in place with the minimum of fuss. Rolling her over like a frankfurter on the grill, he maneuvered her ponytail through a small hole in the leather and began the methodical lacing of the helmet.
As it turned out, Taylor didn’t have to wait until she was placed in the crate, to experience the symptoms of claustrophobia. As soon as the stifling leather closed over her face, she became gripped in the throes of pure, primal terror. No matter how she wailed, twisted, dolphin-kicked and screeched, the thick covering engulfed her head. Even when she was rolled on to her stomach, her abused breasts screaming in protest, Taylor continued to struggle. She simply had to find some way to stop this from happening.
Suddenly, her head began to jerk back involuntarily. This action corresponded with the noticeable tightening of the hood.
“no-no-no-no-no-NO!!!!!” She wailed.
But the relentless squeeze intensified with every tug. She realized she couldn’t breath! She thought briefly, that death would perhaps be a blessing. But no, she cherished life too much, in spite of what the future held for her. Her will to live was just too strong and it would subject her to a myriad of horrors rather than let her succumb.
She realized whilst pondering this, that she was still breathing. Nothing like a normal breath (the brutal tightness of her restraints negated that), but trickles of oxygen were passing through her nose with each pained breath nonetheless. So, she wasn’t going to die. This left her more time to ponder her bleak future.
By the time the lacing was finished, the hooded man’s description of “a bit snug” was astronomically inadequate. Taylor felt as though her head was set in concrete. Sight had left her early in this newest ordeal, now she realized she could hear nothing but the nasal rasp of her breathing and thump of her pulse. She continued fighting to slough the discipline helmet off, but her efforts were clumsy. She had very little strength left and the hood’s enclosure left her disoriented.
She could do nothing but groan as her ponytail was yanked, dragging her head up with it. Puzzled, the beauty didn’t get an answer until she felt an even pressure encompassing her neck. The pressure increased…then remained constant. The strain on her flaxen tresses eased. Neck muscles taxed beyond measure allowed her head to drop. Drop that was, until a firm, narrow pressure halted the decent. Something was digging into her jaw, forcing her head up.
“Oh, God! How could I have forgotten the collar!”
She knew now, that only a finite series of circumstances would release her from the hellacious abomination encasing her head. She held all the pieces of the puzzle, but was unable to share them with anyone.
Taylor wished nothing more than to rest her head but weep. But she discovered that she could no longer do even that. She recalled the strange curvature of the collar. Now that it was locked on, she realized the 4” high portion of the device must be in front, forcing her head up. Not in a posture of pompous arrogance, but one of helpless servitude. She could only gaze up blindly, until someone chose to release her. “Choice” was no longer within with in her control. It had been robbed from her for only a relatively short period of time at this point, but promised to remain that way for much, much longer.
The three, hooded kidnappers stood back, watching this shapely, faceless apparition writhe in an unintentionally erotic manner on the dusty floor. The plume of flaxen hair erupting from the helmet reminded all of the helpless human being trapped within. All three knew the true beauty, that this black leather chrysalis contained. There wasn’t a slack pair of trousers in the room, including the leader, who winced as his stiffened manhood throbbed, but reveled in the revenge he’d extracted.
But their work was not yet complete. No command needed to be spoken. The two goons grabbed the hand straps on the sheath’s shoulders and hoisted the package to her “feet”. In a bout of sadistic playfulness, they tried to allow her to balance on the ridiculously pointed footwear. Taylor’s body immediately crumpled to the limit of her handlers’ support, her posture forming a shallow ’S’.
No effort was made to carry her this time, they merely hauled her by the shoulder straps, the fiberglass toe of the uni-boot dragging along on the floor. It was a short trip, the open crate waiting just 20 feet away. The exterior dimensions were exacting, allowing for it to just fit through the portal of the General’s vintage McDonnell Douglas DC-3. He wasn’t that influential, as generals go. The interior volume of the crate was dramatically smaller.
The quilted canvas lining inside the box, covered a honeycombed, semi-rigid padding that swallowed up noise, yet allowed for airflow. This to accommodate the circulation of oxygen and the integrated cooling system, whose electric motor ran virtually silent. It would get dangerously hot within the sheath and it was bad business to deliver dead product. Even with the interior at 50 degrees (F), Taylor would still be uncomfortably hot. But of course, this wasn’t a pleasure flight. Firmly, strategically placed straps lie open, awaiting to secure its cargo.
When Taylor felt herself being lifted, her shins bumping into a hard edge, she knew exactly what was happening, despite being blind, deaf and dumb. Once more, she twisted and writhed, trying to prevent what she had not yet accepted as a certainty. She did not know, that once her pointed feet settled on the bottom of the crate, her fate was sealed.
While the goons held her aloft, the leader wrestled the beauty’s pinioned legs toward the rear of the container. Although she jerked and swung her legs, leverage just wasn’t on her side. At the appropriate moment, the goons lowered her a bit more, so that her knees came in contact with the spongy surface. Waiting until he had her positioned just right, the leader yanked on the nylon strap, its friction buckle buzzing as the slack was removed. The strap locked down behind her knees. The rest, as they say, was gravy.
A strap immobilized her ankles. There was even an unnecessary restraint that passed between the heels and sole of her uni-boot, fusing it in place. With her lower legs restrained, they forced Taylor to sit back on her haunches. This caused a most unpleasant shifting of the prods inside her. “Better her than me”, each of the trio thought.
Pressing down on her shoulders, not to prevent her from rising, but rather to make sure her legs were as compressed as possible, another strap cinched down across her upper thighs, dimpling the leather and the flesh within. Just above her knees, the process was repeated with equal tension. Their prize could still twist her torso (slightly), but any true resistance had vanished long ago.
Taylor fought them, as God is her witness, she truly did. But no matter what she tried, she still felt herself being bent forward. Lower and lower she went, her leather clad forehead bumping in something solid. She realized it was the front edge of the tomb they were condemning her to. Firm pressure on her shoulders held her down, a sudden, more intense line of tension passed across her back, mashing her breasts against her legs and driving the air from her lungs. Her head was held at and awkward angle, her forehead pressed against the wall of the crate.
Once the cargo strap held her folded, the leader reached in and connected a strap from and eyebolt anchored in the floor, to the ring on her posture collar. A quick jerk, followed by another, and yet another, drew her shoulders down to a spine-cracking contortion. He secured a final strap to her hair and a ‘D‘ ring on the back of the sheath. When all chance of slippage was eliminated, the strap was shortened until Taylor’s head craned back, no longer touching the wall of the crate. Her eyes stared sightlessly ahead, her nose positioned in front of the main circulation vent.
The only sign that the poor, bundled soul within was a human being, was the rapid, shallow whistling coming from the nose of a featureless head.
And yet still Taylor struggled. She tensed and lurched, trying anything she could think of to break free. She tried even after the lid of the crate had been closed and locked, for robbed of her senses, she had not known that had taken place. She had to struggle. For if she didn’t, it would mean that she had surrendered that last spark of hope. Hope, was the only ally she had left.
The crate was secured and locked, proper labeling and information already affixed. Special diplomatic wire seals were applied to inform authorities of any tampering. The leader pressed a key fob, activating the dildos inside their “special package”. A hand truck was brought forward and the trio prepared for the last leg of their mission.
************
Sound. It can be enchanting or haunting. Sound. It can break hearts or make them swell. The right sound, by the right voice, at the right time, can make one famous. When the crate was tipped and the dildos triggered, there was no sound from the crate. Inside, however, the sound was a symphony of muted agony. And this was how Taylor Swift began the first leg of her Central and South American tour.
The End?
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