This story contains explicit sexual themes. If you are a minor, or if you are offended by writing about sex, bdsm or bondage, then this story is not for you. Please navigate somewhere less scary.
Like all of the material posted in the BeautifulFetish set of blogs, this is a carefully constructed FANTASY. The characters in this story are not real. If you have trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality, then again this story is not for you. Go and look at some nice things instead.
And if none of that applies to you, then enjoy…
(Detective Inspector Sarah Harding is young and ambitious, on her first undercover assignment helping to break the shadowy slave dealing ring of Clancy & Allaouite. Equipped with a little training and a radio tracer embedded beneath her skin, she has successfully allowed herself to be taken on by slave collector Carl McKan (who is calling himself Craig Marshall in her presence). Carl/Craig has led Sarah through test after test,gradually placing her in kinkier and kinkier situations, alienating the friends she has made and finally severing all of her links with her existing reality, without Sarah really realizing what he is doing.
We pick up the story just as Sarah believes she has made her big break. Carl/Craig has finally brought her to Clancy Hall, the heart of Clancy & Allaouite’s British operation. She is about to find out exactly how much difference you can make when you’re in helpless bondage.)
The maid, Trina, was waiting when she emerged from the shower room. She fought the reflexive urge to cover herself and continued to towel her hair dry.
“I’ll do that for you if you wish, miss.”
“Well, since you’re here…” She handed over the towel and sat down on the chair in the middle of what she had come to think of as the ‘bondage area’, reflecting on how unnatural it felt to just let the servants do their job.
As the girl rubbed away, Sarah eyed the trolley by the door with trepidation. On top of it lay a corset and pairs of boots and gloves, all in heavy black rubber, and a tub with a pump dispenser on its top. Anything else the trolley might contain was hidden inside metal drawers.
Sarah found herself staring in fascination and dread at those drawers, her heart quickening with imaginings of what today might hold for her.
After a few minutes of towelling, the maid conjured up a bungee and placed Sarah’s hair in a high ponytail. “Shall we begin then, miss? If you’ll stand up for me I’ll start to apply the oil.”
Oil? Oh, to help with the rubber, of course. The oil turned out to be the contents of the tub - thick, almost like a gel, and the room slowly filled with its rich, strawberry scent as Trina took evident pleasure in applying it slowly and thoroughly to every square inch of Sarah’s body. Again Sarah found the sensation of the servant’s hands rubbing and massaging her distinctly strange – but also decidedly erotic! Finally, and the whole process seemed to take forever, Trina wiped her hands on her apron and smiled. “There,” she said, standing back and admiring her work. “Like a glossy goddess!”
“Or a slippery greased pig.” But the oil did give her skin an amazingly sexy sheen. “What’s next?”
“Corset, miss,” she said, holding it up for inspection. It was like no corset Sarah had ever seen. It was constructed from black rubber, with boned vertical ribs, and it was absolutely covered in buckles and straps, some of which just had to be a bizarre attempt at decoration. Even more strangely, instead of cups for her breasts there were only holes – about two inches in diameter. Unlike any corset she had ever seen, the garment actually had straps that went over the shoulders. Intrigued, Sarah lifted her arms forward and allowed the thing to be placed on her. The maid stepped behind her and began fastening the straps, top first, and as the garment wrapped her in its embrace she watched her breasts, shiny with oil, slide steadily out through the holes.
Trina finished buckling down her back and started again at the top, hauling in slack, until Sarah began to find it difficult to breathe. Forced through the little holes, her breasts had been transformed into bulbous mounds, her ringed nipples pointing proudly outwards. Trina completed the fitting by fastening buckles over the elastic shoulder straps, lifting the whole garment by half an inch or so.
“How does that feel, miss?”
“Tight.” Her ribcage was constricted, but the rubber gave as she breathed. “Weird!”
“Too tight?” she asked, although she didn’t look very concerned.
“No. I’ll get used to it.”
Next Trina sat her back down to fit the boots. Sarah had seen ballet boots before, heels so high that the wearer was forced onto tip-toes, and she imagined they would be impossible to balance in and agony to walk in. These had no heel at all, but were designed to minimise both problems, with the feet sliding snugly into cushioned cradles that spread out into what almost looked like a horse’s hoof. Thigh-length, they zipped up the outside to where a padlock waited to secure the zip fastener. More buckles right up their length pulled them snugly and tightly, especially around the feet, until the heavy rubber felt like a second skin and her feet felt snug and well-supported despite their unfamiliar pose. Trina finished the fitting with two thick straps that attached, suspender-like, to the corset.
“Shall we try standing you up, miss?” she said. “Grip the bar over your head if you feel unsteady.”
With a nervous laugh, Sarah slowly lifted herself up to her new full height, grabbing for the bar as her knees straightened. “Wow!” Standing on tiptoes and platforms, she felt dizzyingly tall: Trina, looking on with a faint smile, came no higher than her shoulders.
The boots really were surprisingly comfortable, filling her with a surge of confidence. Releasing the bar, she strutted up and down experimentally, the boots “clop-clopping” authentically as she paced. She answered the maid’s smile with a relieved grin. This really wasn’t too bad, all things considered, though walking placed an unfamiliar pressure across her insteps. There was very little give in the thick fabric: she might trip and fall, but she wasn’t about to twist an ankle in them.
She hardly felt graceful, though. The boots forced her into an awkward, flat-footed gait, bouncing her squeezed-out tits alarmingly. She would have to learn a new way to walk. Robbed of the movement in her ankles, she was unable to launch herself forward with her calf muscles at every step. Now she was finding that by rolling her hips she could use the muscles of her back to do the same job. Done right, she imagined, it would look very sexy.
Her high vantage-point gave her an excellent view of her next garments. The gloves were clearly designed to match her new boots, although “gauntlets” would have been a better name for them. Carefully, she bent to pick one up. Again, it zipped up its whole length. Padlocks would secure the zip, and buckles would grip the glove at upper arm, elbow and wrist, where steel rings attached. It had no fingers or thumbs, only what she might describe as a mitten. “Shall I, miss?” Trina held out her hand, and Sarah thought she detected a gleeful anticipation in the girl’s eyes. Feeling very dubious, she handed the glove over. It fit snugly surrounded her hand, pushing her fingers and thumb together into a useless fist, and Trina took her time stretching the rubber inch by inch to fasten the zip up her arm. She started on the second glove with quiet concentration, before standing behind Sarah and guiding her arms behind her, folding them. There was a clicking of padlocks, and before Sarah realised the consequences of what was happening, she had allowed Trina to bend her arms at the elbow and to lock each wrist to the opposite elbow behind her back.
She was helpless. With a sick thrill she realised that once more she had crossed the line between freedom and slavery.
“Sit down again.” Just like the boots, the tops of the gauntlets connected to the corset via thick straps. Sarah licked suddenly dry lips and said, “This isn’t just different bits of clothing, is it? It’s all one costume.”
“Of course,” said the maid as she delved into a drawer. “It’s a rubber pony costume”
“Rubber pony,” Sarah repeated to herself. “I’m to be a ponygirl.” She should have guessed from the shape of the boots.
“Your designated role today. Open wide.” Sarah could only see the inside of the mask she held. Form-fitting, it would completely encase Sarah’s head and neck. A wide flaring of ribbed rubber would spread around the shoulders, where more straps would secure it to the corset. The familiar zip and padlock fastened it down the back. There were small holes for eyes and nostrils, and a complicated-looking mouthpiece with a wide circular hole.
“Is that really necessary?” The panicky shrillness to Sarah’s own voice surprised her.
“Oh, yes,” Trina sounded surprised, too. “You need the whole costume, otherwise the training mill won’t work. Trust me: this mask has to go on.”
“What on earth is the ‘training mill’?”
“You’ll see. Now, open wide.” The maid’s voice had taken on a hard edge, and when had she girl stopped calling her ‘Miss’? As ever, she had no choice but to do as the girl requested. One hand steadied her head by her ponytail, rather more roughly than was strictly necessary, while the other manipulated the gag into her mouth. Her teeth were forced apart by a bitter-tasting rubber ring, more rubber filling the space behind her lips. She explored the inside of the gag with her tongue. She couldn’t feel her teeth at all, only a smooth rubber wall that would have completely sealed her mouth but for the wide breathing hole right through its middle. Trina quickly fitted the mask over her head, pulling all the time on her hair to aim her head, and the small sounds of the room, the click of heels on the floor and the creaking of the chair, faded to nothing as the zip fastened inch by inch, fingers smoothing hair on her scalp and pulling the stiff rubber around her head as it advanced. She was deaf and half blind, the face of the mask almost covering her eyes, reducing her field of vision to a narrow tunnel. The neck of the mask was boned like the corset, and very stiff. As Trina fastened the straps to the corset, her head became completely immobilised.
All was still for a minute, then something was clipped to the top of her head, and she found herself being hauled up off the chair. She spun around on her feet to find Trina winding the wall-mounted handle of a winch. “Hey! I coug ha’ skoog uck gy ngysel’, you kno’”
The girl only smirked. She stopped winding when Sarah was fully upright, then ducked under the tunnel of her vision. Sarah felt a tug at her ankle and reacted instinctively, bending her knee and pulling her leg free. For long seconds, nothing happened. Then Trina’s face appeared before her again. She wagged a scolding finger and waved a riding crop before her eyes.
Oh shit! she thought to herself, beginning to realise how much her status had changed. “What are ‘oo gooing?”
Trina swung the crop back, the look in her eyes sliding from mock-angry to gleeful, and a searing smack caught Sarah on the underside of her right breast. “Aaag, Gikch!” Silently, the servant loomed forward in her face, and she moaned as a nipple was pinched sharply between fingernails. The girl’s eyebrows rose and she raised a finger to her lips. Her meaning was plain: shut up and behave, or suffer.
Again the face disappeared, and again Sarah felt her foot being pulled to one side, more roughly this time. Steeling herself, she made herself passive as, one after the other, her legs were spread and secured.
What was going to happen next? She swallowed with difficulty.
Trina’s brown hair and the black ribbon that decorated it bounced before her eyes, and her nostrils filled with strawberry scent as oil-covered hands began massaging her breasts. Using the rings through her nipples to haul them up and down, to left and right, the girl was pulling as much flesh as possible through the tight holes in the corset. Over past few months Sarah had learned to enjoy a little rough breast handling, and she was soon gasping with pleasure at the sensation. Presently, though, she felt the touch of cold metal around her breast.
“Whak are you gooing?”
The manipulation stopped, and a stinging impact to the wide-spread tissue between her legs drew a yelp of surprise and pain from her. She reeled, then, in the stinging aftertaste of the blow, helpless as Trina forced a thick rod into her mouth, sealing the hole in her gag.
Trina continued on her breast, certain now of no interruptions. Tension on her nipple pulled her flesh while the metal was forced over the soft tissue. It was a ring, like a metal bangle that she might have worn over her wrist as jewellery in a different life, and she experienced the sweet mingling of pleasure and pain as the maid used her nipple ring as a lever, pulling her tit this way and that to ensure that just the right amount of her breast poked through the hoop. The procedure was repeated with her right breast.
What must she look like? Blood pressure was beginning to make her breasts throb and her nipples swell and sensitise. Despite the oily slickness of her skin, the hoops were staying just where they had been left. Perhaps Trina had fastened them to the corset.
Something pressed against her crotch and suddenly her sex exploded with agony. She screamed into the gag and desperately twisted her hips, and for a moment she escaped the pain, but a steadying arm wrapped itself around her upper leg. The thing found her sex again, and this time she couldn’t shake free. Slowly she fathomed what the feeling must be: it was a vibrator, unbelievably powerful, buzzing against the metal of her clit-ring, and her body was already responding, turning the pain into pleasure – more and more pleasure. Fingers snaked from behind and sought her most intimate spots, spreading her lips and thrusting inside her, and she felt the lubricating slickness already pooling there. The brutal vibration pressed harder yet and slick fingers probed her vagina and anus, spreading her, fucking her. Oh god! She was going to come! Was that Trina’s whole hand inside her?
The vibration stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the hand withdrew from her, leaving her whimpering and panting with frustrated lust, her sex dripping wet. Trina looked into her eyes again, smirking. …you bitch you bitch you bitch… her mind chanted in time with her panting breath. With deliberate slowness, her ‘servant’ lifted an object for Sarah’s inspection, one that made her gasp in surprise and fear. It was a rubber strap, and threaded along it through holes at their ends were two black rods: a dildo easily eight inches long and two in diameter, and a butt-plug not much smaller. In front of the dildo the strap was split by a steel ring perhaps two inches across, just like those that she imagined now ringed her breasts. This one would fit around her labia and clitoris, leaving them exposed.
The session with the vibrator had been to loosen her up for that enormous shaft – she had that much at least to thank Trina for.
Now the girl was holding the dildo and pulling on something at its bottom end, a chord that she pulled out six inches or so, then released to spring back into the boy of the dildo. Her eyes widened and her mouth shaped an ‘O’ of mock delight. Sarah was mystified by the performance, but it was already over. Trina disappeared and she braced herself for what was coming.
The girl didn’t bother to be gentle with her. Sarah’s body shuddered involuntarily at the first contact with her aroused sex, then she let forth a wracking, desperate grunt as, with one hard, smooth thrust, the shaft entered her to its hilt, stretching her wide and forcing her viscera against the rigid corset.
She was going to faint. Suddenly she couldn’t pull enough air through the two tiny holes over her nostrils. Her two narrow circles of vision began to close like the dots on old televisions and she felt her knees giving way, leaving her hanging by the rope on her head. Through her sick dizziness, she felt the butt-plug being pushed against her slickly lubed anus, forcing her open, deeper and deeper, and then the tortures of the world faded away completely.
But not for long. She returned to consciousness to find her predicament hardly changed. The two impossibly huge shafts still penetrated her, so that she doubted she would be able to close her legs. The rubber strap had been attached to the front and rear of her corset, and she could feel it being adjusted, fingers spreading her cheeks to allow it to hug her tightly, the cold steel ring pressing into the flesh around her labia, pushing them into the cool air. With a mighty heave, the rear half of the strap was drawn tight, the pull on anus and vagina forcing her to hinge her hips back and arch her spine.
There was a fiddling at her nipples, and a sudden weight there as something was hooked onto each ring. The feeling was repeated on the ring through her outthrust clitoris. The weights felt huge.
…you bitch you bitch you bitch…
It seemed the bitch had finished dressing her. The bindings that spread her legs were released and, one by one, her feet were dragged together beneath her, generating a fluttering vibration inside her as the motion forced the shafts deeper inside her. Encouraged by a series of light blows to her knees and thighs, she reluctantly stood on her own feet again, staggering drunkenly despite the hands that supported her. The tension on the top of her head was released and again she stood unsupported, swaying back and forth.
Trina appeared in her blinkered vision again. This time, her smile broad and cruel, she held up a length of chain. She pulled on it and Sarah felt an answering tension on nipples and clitoris, obliging her to take a step forward. With a wink, Trina turned and walked towards the door. Sarah had no choice but to follow.
“She’s dressed, sir.”
Carl looked up from his paper, still lost in the article he had been reading. “Sorry?”
“Your candidate, sir, Sarah,” the girl said. “If you recall, you asked to see her training.”
“Of course.” He felt a surge of sexual anticipation at the thought. He carefully folded the paper and stood. “Lead the way, Carrie.”
She had well turned legs and a distracting swing to her walk, all accentuated by her short, flaring skirt and high heels. She was powerfully built, wide enough in the shoulders to make her look short, but that was an illusion. The maids were mostly ex-army: recruited for their mercenary attitude and a wide sadistic streak. Carrie had left the Scots’ Guard as a Sergeant, and had ended up in charge of the current staff. From the looks she had been giving him, she was more hetero than most of her girls. Despite Sarah’s fully-booked day, he reflected that he might find some entertainment if he played his cards right. Perhaps Carrie could show him around the gym, to start with…
She led the way out of the main building and into a small courtyard. Another maid awaited them, and with her stood a fetishist vision in glossy black rubber.
“Sarah? Is that you?” The woman was virtually unidentifiable. She towered over him on tip-toe, easily six feet tall, with only her shoulders, breasts and the region between her wasp-waisted corset and her crotch-length boots left uncovered by tight rubber. Her breasts were perhaps her most striking feature, moulded and pressed by rubber and steel into bulbous tubes that protruded six inches from her chest. He circled her. Clearly visible were the protruding ends of her dildo and butt plug. “Well, You told me extreme and this is certainly extreme. Can she hear me?”
“No chance,” Carrie replied. “Look at her head.”
The mask swelled to huge padded muffs over her ears. He continued to pace around her, taking in the metalwork over her face. “The bit looks complicated.”
“You’ll see that in action later. For now it’s only holding the gag in place.”
He was passing in front of her when she suddenly staggered backwards. “MMMM!” she screamed through the tiny nostril holes, stamping her hooves and shaking herself from side to side. “Mmmm mmmm!”
“I don’t think she likes it,” said the other maid. “She’s been moody since I plugged her.”
“She’ll get used to it,” Carrie smiled. “Maybe.”
“She recognised me! She can see!” Even close up, her eyes looked to be completely covered. She was still jumping around and screaming furiously. It was impossible to tell what she was looking at, but her anger was definitely directed at him.
“Just a narrow tunnel. We find it that a little vision helps with balance.”
“Fascinating.” Sarah was waving her upper body from side, searching for him through the tiny pinpoints of her vision. He prudently strode to one side. “What is this training you mentioned?”
“If you’ll follow me, sir, I’ll show you,” said Carrie. “Would you care to lead her?”
“It’ll be my pleasure,” he grinned. Sarah’s screaming fury boiled over again when she saw who was leading her, but her muffled shrieks were ignored as the slack was taken up in the chains, and she had no choice but to meekly let him lead her as the two maids led the way into a dimly-lit outbuilding. There already, the glossy, feminine form of a second identical ponygirl marched on the spot, waiting within a great machine of timber and iron.
“This is the training mill,” Carrie announced.
CONTINUED IN Sarah as Extreme Ponygirl - Part 2
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