Cage
by Nazgul
"What on earth is that!"
I cursed. My live-in house maid had entered my workroom silently and was looking
over my shoulder at the computer screen. On it was a photo from my bondage
collection. It showed a naked woman in a cage.
I swivelled round, to find myself nose-to-tit with a large, full pair of breasts
straining at a thin woollen sweater. I had taken on Mary after I became widowed
and she had been with me for about six months. She lived in two rooms on the
first floor of the rather large house I had acquired some years before and
looked after the place -cleaning, shopping, meals, you name it. I paid her quite
well, she was pleasant and did a good job, so I didn't particularly want to lose
her. I put my brain into top gear.
"Research", I said, succinctly. I thought she would swallow this, since I was a
university research scientist.
"Research into what?" she asked? "That looks very uncomfortable, and she's
naked! And she can't move, poor girl!"
True enough, the girl in the picture was kneeling in a very small cage made of
what looked like scaffolding rods. Her feet touched the bars at one end and her
head the other. Her torso was parallel to the ground, breasts hanging free and
her arms were hooked up behind her back and over one of the top cross bars of
the cage. Her wrists were pulled down the other side of the bar and tied
together by a strap that run under her belly Her face was hidden by a mass of
curly hair falling around her head. One thing was for sure - she wasn't going
anywhere!
"The effect of restraint on the female orgasm," I replied, looking her straight
in the eyes. She flushed.
"What does that mean?"
I sighed.
"Mary, sit down, I'll try to explain it. You see, it is a well-known fact that
many so-called frigid women are not frigid at all. It would be more correct to
say that they are hung-up about sex. At some time, often in childhood or their
early teens, they have had a bad experience or they have had parents, teachers
and so-on who have warned them about sex. This has had a psychological effect on
them, they're scared stiff of sex, so they stay away from it. That's why people
think they are frigid."
"But what's that got to do with her?" pointing to the screen.
"Well, there are a series of scientific experiments designed to show that this
phenomenon really exists. I came across it on the Net and got interested, so I
started doing some investigating of my own."
"But that's not your speciality."
"No, it isn't, but you should know that one thing about researchers is that they
are incurably inquisitive. The subject interested me, so I got into it. Did you
know that when one of these 'frigid' women is tied up and given an orgasm, the
degree of intensity of the orgasm is five to ten times greater than that of an
ordinary one?"
"But how do they know that?"
"Very simple, they ask for volunteers."
"But if they're frigid, surely they won't volunteer!"
"You're quite right, they rarely do, most of the volunteers are perfectly
ordinary young women. But they all say the same thing, it's the greatest
experience they have ever had."
"But she's not having an...a..."
"An orgasm?"
She nodded, flushing again.
"No, she's not, that photo is just one of the hundreds I have collected from the
Net, showing women in bondage. I want to see what all the possibilities are."
You mean you've got other photos like that?"
I nodded and clicked the mouse, showing one of a girl taped to an X-shaped
cross. The next one was a women tied to a chair, legs wide apart. I clicked back
to the cage, and then looked at Mary. She was still flushed and the tips of her
nipples were beginning to show through the thin sweater. It was obvious that the
photos were doing something to her.
"Anyway," I said, jokingly, "you've got nothing to worry about, you'd never fit
into that cage. And even if you could, I doubt you're supple enough to be
fastened up like that."
Mary was 32, about 5ft 9 and very well-built. She stared at me.
"Of course I am!" she said, almost angrily. Apart from the housework, she did
the gardening and, in her off-time, when for long bike rides. Then she realised
what she had just said and flushed even more deeply. I just shook my head in
disbelief.
"Mary, I'd bet you a month's wages that, supposing we had a cage like that, you
couldn't fit into it in the same position as that girl in the photo."
"I bet I could!" she flared up. "You be surprised how supple I am."
At this point I started getting ideas!
"OK, I'll take you up on that. I'll build a cage to those dimensions and if you
can take up that position in it, I'll give you an extra month's wages. If you
can't, you'll have to work for a month without getting paid. And I'll bet that's
one wager you won't take on!"
"Yes I will! If you build the cage, I'll get in it. But on one condition, not
naked."
"Not naked, but not completely clothed," I upped the ante. "If you tried that in
jeans the tissue would hinder you. The bet is you do it in bra and panties. OK?"
She chewed her lip. It was obvious she wasn't keen on having me see her in that
state of undress. I should point out that Mary was an orphan, brought up in a
Roman Catholic orphanage by nuns, and, from what I had seen of her, she was one
of the 'frigid' women I had mentioned. Since she started working for me she had
had no visits, never went out at night, no mention of any men in her life.
At last she said,
"Well, alright, but no funny stuff, mind. I get in, get into that position, then
I get out, nothing more."
"That's OK by me," I answered.
..................
I quickly got to work. I ordered some lengths of heavy-duty aluminium rod and
multi-way connectors from a firm that supplies the university with what can only
be called scaffolding, used to hold big free-standing notice-boards at eye
level. I used a tape measure to size-up Mary's back, telling her that we would
have to have a cage the right size, since it was impossible to know how tall was
the girl in the photo.
I took all this up to a large, empty room in the top storey and started
building. It took me a couple of days to get it to my satisfaction and when it
was finished, all burnished metal, it looked good and very solid.
"Mary, I've finished building the cage, it's all ready for you," I told her over
supper. She flushed - again.
"Of course," I added, "If you want to back out that's up to you - but remember,
you'll lose a month's wages if you do."
That did it.
"I never said I was going to back out," she snapped. "When?"
"Why not this evening, around 10, give you time to digest," I suggested. And not
give you time to think up a reason for backing out, I added to myself. She
agreed, reluctantly, I thought. She'd backed herself into a corner and couldn't
see a way out.
Later, I hear the shower running and smiled to myself - she was obviously
getting herself all nicely clean and powdered for the attempt.
She hadn't seen the cage and when I let her into the room, dressed in a
house-robe, she gasped.
"It looks, I don't know, wicked, somehow." It did, too, the metal reflecting the
overhead light of its burnished surface.
"It can't be wicked," I reasoned, "it's an inanimate object, it doesn't have any
feelings about you, me or anyone else, one way or the other."
"Well..."
"Come on, off with your robe, we don't want to be here all night, do we."
Reluctantly, she undid the belt, took off her robe and dropped it on a chair.
Her skin was very white, almost the same colour as the heavy bra that enclosed
her breasts completely. Her panties were pretty much all-enveloping, too,
nothing sexy about them at all, just plain utilitarian underwear, designed to be
used, not attract. She was, nevertheless, quite something. Not skinny, but not
fat either. Nicely proportioned would be the term.
Give me your hand," I said. She held it out and I started to buckle a strap
around her wrist. She immediately began to pull away.
"Oh, come on, Mary. This is part of the bet. Exactly the same position, we
agreed. And that means your arms over the bar and your wrists fastened together
with a strap under your stomach. Otherwise, you lose!"
She hesitated, then let me finish fixing it in place. I put another one round
her other wrist. Then I opened the hinged top of the cage.
"Right, in you go," I said.
She hung back, fearfully for a moment, then moved slowly over to the cage. She
looked at it. Then she lifted one leg and put it inside. Then the other. I had
placed some thick rubber padding on the bar on which she would kneel. She had to
place her feet right at the end of the cage in order to get her knees on it.
Finally she was in the right position. She bent over, hugging her knees with her
hands and arms. I closed the lid and fastened it. I saw her flinch slightly as
she heard the metallic 'Click' of the lock.
"Now the difficult part. You've got to get your arms up behind you and through
the hole and over the bar."
And it wasn't easy. She ended up with her head touching the floor, bent over as
far as she could go, while I helped her poke her hands up through the opening.
When she had got her arms right through I pulled them down back into the cage so
that the insides of her elbows rested on the bar. I fastened the strap to one
wrist, flicked it across under her and then went round to the other side of the
cage. I fished for the end of the strap, got hold of it, pulled her other wrist
down and fed the strap through the one on her wrist. Then I started pulling. She
was raised so that her bare back was pressing against the top cross-bars to the
lid, the strap pulled tightly in to her belly, flattening it.
"That's enough," she gasped; "It hurts" I stopped tightening the strap and
stepped back. She had won her bet, that was for sure, and it was money well
spent, she looked perfect. Her long, jet-black hair fell done around her bent
head, her backside was raised up and her heavy breasts hung down, full,
straining against the thin material of the bra. Her nipples were fully
developed, clearly visible as protruding little points through the cotton.
Turning, I picked up the digital camera I had placed, hidden under a cloth on
the table, focused and pressed the shutter release. The sudden glare of the
flash alerted her to what I was doing.
"No!", she yelled. "No photos! That wasn't part of the bet. Stop it!"
"But Mary," I said calmly, "We need a proof that you won your bet, don't we? And
in any case, I promise that I won't show them to anyone. I'll give you one set
and I'll have the other. I'm using a digital camera, so there isn't any
development needed, so no-one else will ever see them. OK?"
After a moment, "Well, alright, then, but you promise?"
"I promise."
She shook her head to ensure that her face was completely hidden by the long
cascading hair. I moved round the cage, racking off shots as I went. When I had
finished I put the camera down, went over to the cage and ran the tip of my
finger down her spine, gently, until it caught in the elastic of her panties. I
tugged slightly.
"Ah, NO!" she screamed. "You promised not to! Don't touch me! Let me out!"
"Don't worry, I promised, and I won't do anything you don't want me to. But tell
me, this is not unpleasant, is it?" And with that I put my other hand through
the bars and caressed her smooth back. "Is it?"
"Noooo," she said, in a half-groan. I kept caressing her for several minutes,
feeling the tremors run through her body as she became more and more aroused,
despite herself. When I figured she was well on the way, I took my hands away
from her and said,
"Well, I guess it's time to let you out of there." She shook her head, but said
nothing. I undid the strap, then the lock and pulled her arms up, then opened
the lid, it was easier that way. She remained in her bent-over position for a
minute or two, then slowly stood up, her face still hidden by her hair.
Without saying anything I picked her robe up off the chair and held it out for
her to get into. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and I lifted it to cover
her shoulders. She kept her head bent as she knotted the belt, stepping out of
the cage.
"Let's go downstairs and have a drink," I suggested, holding open the door. She
walked out on bare feet and I followed her down the stairs.
Seated across the kitchen table from each other, two glasses of wine between us,
I handed her a wad of notes.
"Well, you won the bet," I said. She took the notes and placed them on the table
without really looking at them.
"I'm curious. What was it like, Mary?"
"Weird!"
"Weird?"
"yes, weird. You know, strange, sort of scary."
"Were you frightened?"
"Yes. I didn't know if you'd keep your promise."
"What do you mean."
"You know, you promised just to put me in the cage, then let me out, nothing
else. I didn't know if you would."
"You must have thought about that before you did it. So why did you go through
with it? For the money?"
"Well, there was that, but not really."
"Why, then?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, come on, you must have had a reason!"
There was a long silence, during which she kept her eyes fixed firmly on her
glass on the table. Finally, she said,
"I was scared, but I wanted to know what it was like to feel helpless,
vulnerable, exposed."
"And what was it like?"
"I don't know, it's difficult to explain. Frightened, and at the same time
excited."
"So it wasn't all bad, then?"
"No, no it was .... well, weird. I can't explain."
"You don't have to, I can guess. Now you begin to see what I was telling you
about the orgasm while in bondage. Not that you had one of course! From what I
have learned, it's a mixture of all those things. The helplessness, the fear,
the anticipation of what might happen, the excitement, all those things combine
to make the adrenaline pump, and then...Bam! - explosion. Well, you won, you
really are pretty supple." I drained my glass. "I'm off to bed, see you in the
morning. 'Night." And I left her sitting at the table. Frustrated and, I hoped,
hooked!
.............
Next day I hooked the camera in to the computer and stored the photos on the
hard disc. Then I printed a set. Nice. Mary came in with my tea at 11. I handed
her the photos. She flushed, then sat down and started looking at them.
"Well?"
She shrugged. I pulled the original photo of the unknown girl in the cage onto
the screen.
"The position is the same. Only thing is, she's got no clothes on. Makes quite a
difference to the finished product, doesn't it?" She nodded.
"Do you always wear cotton underwear?"
She nodded again.
"Why?"
She shrugged. "It's comfortable, and it's easy to wash," she said.
"Fair enough, but it doesn't do much for you, does it? Pity, you've got a lovely
body."
Deeper flush. Silence.
"You have, really. It's a pity we don't have shots of you like that one," and I
pointed at the screen. She said nothing, bent her head.
"Tell you what, I'll bet you another month's wages you won't do it again, but
naked."
Still not looking at me, she shook her head. I sighed.
"Pity. I thought you trusted me. Oh well." And with that I turned my back on her
and called up a succession of photos of bound, naked women. Mary didn't move,
and I could almost FEEL her looking over my shoulder at the screen as the bodies
followed, one after another. Finally I heard her get to her feet and leave the
room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
After lunch Mary collected up the dishes and turned to take them to the machine.
As she did so, she said, very quietly, in almost a whisper,
"Alright."
"Sorry?"
"Alright, I'll do it."
"When?"
She shrugged.
"OK, 10 tomorrow evening."
She nodded. And that was it. Hooked!
I spent the intervening time modifying the cage. At 10 we met outside the room
again, she in bare feet and the house-robe. We went in, she took of the robe and
put it on the chair, as she had done two evenings previously. She was naked. I
slowly placed the straps on her wrists. Once again she got into the cage and
knelt down. I pulled her arms up, over the bar, and fastened the strap under her
belly, pulling it a little tighter then the last time. She said nothing. I
stepped back and looked at her. Now I could see her bare breasts, hanging
loosely, full, the nipples pouting. She looked gorgeous - and completely
helpless.
One of the modifications to the cage allowed me to lift part of the lid,
directly above her head. I put my hand in, grasped a handful of hair and gently
pulled her head back.
"Open your mouth," I said, quietly. I don't know if she knew what was coming
next, but she obediently opened it anyway. I took the red rubber O-ring gag out
of my pocket and, holding it low so that she couldn't see it, forced it between
her teeth. The minute she felt it she panicked and tried to struggle. Of course,
she couldn't, the only thing she could possibly move was her head and I kept a
firm grip on her hair. The ring was a bit big, so when I had managed to get it
in place, behind her teeth, there was no way she could spit it out. I pulled her
hair up into a pony-tail and tied it with a piece of string. Then I fastened the
straps of the gag firmly behind her neck and let go of her hair. Her head
dropped. I shut the lid of the cage.
For a moment there was complete silence. Mary hung from her bent arms, head
bowed. Then suddenly, she lifted her head, shook it violently and SCREAMED, as
what was happening to her - and undoubtedly what was going to happen to her- got
through to her brain. The ring gag only kept her mouth open, it didn't stop any
sound, and that scream was shrill, high-pitched, deafening. Not to worry, I had
foreseen this eventuality and was prepared for it.
Right in front of Mary's bowed head was a cross-bar, and on it was a 4-way
connector. I picked up a shortish alu bar, the end of which finished in a
plastic plug, shaped like a bullet. I opened a tube of KY jelly, rubbed some of
it over the bar and then slid it into the connector. Next, I pulled Mary's head
up by her hair so that the bar was pointing straight at her open mouth. Her next
scream turned to a gurgle as the bar slid smoothly into her mouth and half-way
down her throat. Still holding her hair, I picked up a spanner and tightened all
the nuts until the bar was fixed absolutely rigidly to the cross-bar, then I let
go. Her head didn't move - it couldn't, with her throat impaled on the bar.
Pulling up a low stool, I sat down in front of her. Her head was tilted up so
that she was looking directly into my eyes. I looked into hers.
"You forgot something, Mary," I said gently. "You forgot to make me promise not
to do anything other than put you in the cage and then let you out. Either that,
or you deliberately didn't ask me to. Trouble is, I don't know which it is, and
given the noise you were making, I don't feel it safe to take that bar out of
your mouth, you might disturb the neighbours;" Not that there was much chance of
that, the nearest house was several hundred yards away.
"Now, if it was deliberate, you did it for a reason. Could it be that you want
to find out if you are really frigid or not?" It the state she was in, she
couldn't even nod or shake her head. I waited a minute before going on.
"Nothing to say for yourself? Oh well, I'll just have to decide for you. But
first, I should tell you that I left something out of my explanation about the
augmented female orgasm. It's true that fear and excitement play there part, but
there's another element, too. Pain."
She just stared at me, her eyes about as wide as they would go.
"Yes, you heard me right, my dear, pain. Quite a lot, actually. Because the more
there is, the more intense the orgasm. And I hope to give you the most intense
orgasm of your life. Which, of course, means quite a lot of pain. And not just
any old where, but in the most intimate parts of that lovely body. When I've
finished, you'll wonder however you lived without it, believe me. You'll never
be satisfied with anything less. Which means that when you beg me for an orgasm,
you'll be begging me for the pain as well. In fact, you'll become what I believe
is known as a pain-slut. Apparently, it's like a drug, you won't be able to get
enough of it. Of course, I'll do my very best to satisfy you, I have a very
inventive mind, I'm sure I can think up lots of different ways of hurting you,
so you won't get bored by the same old thing, over and over again."
She couldn't make any signs, but the fear in her eyes was all too apparent, she
was really scared. Quite rightly.
"Time's going on, we'd better get started, don't you think? Or rather, I'd
better get started - you don't seem to be in a position to do anything much at
the moment. Except feel."
