Dr. Winthrop Samuels Series E-Book

Chris Bellows

• Herausgeber: pinkflamingo
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Sunny Sudenskaya is a mischievous eighteen year old, who has just emigrated to the United States from Eastern Europe illegally. The nymphlike beauty has perfected her talent for oral gratification, exchanging blowjobs for passage to her new life in the US. But she's looking for far more than oral sex to satisfy her carnal needs. Sunny has a penchant for masochism. Her desire? A modernized version of an ancient African tribal torture that employs a intricate means of suspension bondage. All she needs now is the right sadist to carry out her cherished fantasies for extreme submission. She seeks out Dr. Winthrop Samuels, a medical professional who's been known to enjoy bdsm as a recreational pursuit. While cautious in making any commitment to the girl, he can't resist her beguiling charm. He soon proceeds with the elaborate and most unique bondage apparatus that is required. In painstaking and methodical steps, he'll take the unsuspecting Sunny far further into the extreme bondage fantasy than she ever expected to go, as she becomes the doctor's hanging trinket.Dr. Winthrop Samuels returns to Pink Flamingo Publications, after the ‘Suspension Bondage’ affair, to once again care for a masochistic morsel of feminine flesh, plying his medical and engineering skills to abet the girl’s bizarre penchant for bondage and restraint.Male dominant, some female dominance, Dr. Samuels plies his craft with zeal, determined to assuage the needs of the Blacksmith’s Daughter, her deep inner quest for the gothic bondage of iron... black and crude... found to be unending.

Leseprobe

Dr. Winthrop Samuels

A Series by Chris Bellows

ISBN: 978-1-942331-77-3

A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

Copyright © 2015, All rights reserved

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

For information contact:

Pink Flamingo Publications

www.pinkflamingo.com

P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

USA

Suspension Bondage

Author’s Note:

Do not Google the term arroycoo. It is fictionally contrived and has no known real meaning.

Chapter One

Dr. Winthrop Samuels

“So are you familiar with the practice of arroycoo, Dr. Samuels?” the voice husky, the accent well disguised.

The girl is composed, comfortable in speaking to a full adult some fifteen years her senior. The uncharacteristic deep voice serves to remind me that Sunny Sudenskaya is not the child she appears to be. The woman has an effervescent disposition and short styled hair which enhances her youthful presentation... bringing one to think in terms of adolescence. If she were indeed under eighteen years of age many of my thoughts would border on criminal. I cannot, for example, help wonder whether I could grasp enough hair at the back of her head to properly direct her during doggie style sex. I am concluding that I would need to hold onto her ears...

Sunny turns and lifts her face to blow a puff of smoke into the upper reaches of the nearly empty restaurant. Though well before the dinner hour, the maitre d’ notably gasps and hustles toward us. Smoking is banned by law. Sunny’s naughty smile suggests she is well aware of her transgression and stubs out the cigarette on the bread dish before the animated form arrives. All ash trays have been relegated to a makeshift smoking area... a patch of sidewalk at the entrance of the Upper East Side bistro.

“I forgot,” Sunny’s words contrite but her look one of playful mischief.

The maitre d’ wordlessly removes the soiled dish and snaps his fingers to a busboy.

The momentary event is telling... Sunny having this inclination to challenge rules and authority and yet to so quickly and easily capitulate.

“I have read of arroycoo. Some tribal ritual involving the suspension of the body,” I cautiously reply as the busboy places a clean bread dish before her.

I demure in saying more. As a medical professional my penchants must be kept quiet lest I endanger my license to practice. Though I am in research and do not treat patients, conventional wisdom suggests I not imperil potential return on my investment, the many hours and tedious study which anointed me with advanced degrees. Sunny Sudenskaya came to learn of my ‘hobby’ and enticed me into this off hours meeting. Just a little talk at a quiet restaurant long before the dinner crowd, so she said.

I could not resist her charms.

Sunny smiles. So cute, so disarming when juxtaposing the subject matter with a girl who appears so childlike in many respects.

Sunny reaches into her purse and removes pictures torn from some magazine.

“Your reputation in the community precedes you, doctor. I would think you’d have more interest in something like this.”

She pushes the packet my way. I glance through a couple and immediately push the remainder back toward her.

“Someone has been telling stories out of school,” my tone one of rebuke.

Though in being torn from some mainstream nature publication, possibly as mundane as National Geographic, the pictures bring concern. Even with the bistro being void of customers, I dare not broach more of the matter in which Sunny attempts to immerse me.

“I think you can do something like that. Tribes have been safely engaging in it for years. Certainly modern science and medicine can do the same... perhaps more easily and quickly,” her tone of voice shifting to alluringly beseech.

Yes, she verbally challenges then coquettishly concedes. She is a minx. And as much as she is aware of my ‘reputation’ in the community, her own precedes as well. In fact, as she entices, her posture shifts, her shoulders roll back in retreat to exhibit evidence of sizable mammary glands... exceeding expectations for a girl aptly described as svelte.

She performs a tease. When she licks her lips, I understand with clarity her intent. I am being seduced.

But in the ‘community’, as she references my occasional weekend recreation, seduction has twists.

Sunny Sudenskaya is a masochist. And sometimes, as the old adage goes, when a masochist begs to be flogged, the role of the true sadist is best fulfilled by saying ‘no’.

So I shake my head, acknowledging her message and communicating my reply. She sulks then leans forward, finally aware of my concern for discretion despite the limited presence of others.

“I will fellate you. Yours to command,” she whispers in a sultry voice.

I smile. Though a medical professional should be more insouciant, the thought of warm, smooth and wet feminine skin engulfing that which brings the ultimate masculine pleasure can bring enthusiastic visions. I begin to understand that Sunny Sudenskaya is in earnest. I sit back in contemplation, more fully focusing on the emptiness of the restaurant and becoming more comfortable.

“You have family, Sunny?”

She shakes her head.

“Distant cousins in Bulgaria. I would not recognize them if we shared a cab.”

My question spurs more discussion. This could work. I have an old friend who enjoys ‘adopting’ miscreant young girls.

“No one would know,” she emphasizes. “I could work during the day. Nights I would be yours.”

She has me thinking and she knows it, letting my imagination percolate. Many factors rush through my mind. Career, social life... both vanilla and in the community..., my ‘hobby’. Finally the time required, procuring supplies and the apparatus necessary for arroycoo.

Sunny seems to read my thoughts.

“I have a loft. Not quite Nolita,” she says. “The building has not been fully gentrified. It’s quiet... but large.”

Sunny references the latest New York apartment phenomenon... the transition of what was once one of the seediest areas of Manhattan... north of little Italy (Nolita)... where only the specters of Bowery bums remain. Now quite the trendy area, she is merely nearby, I am sure the modesty of her digs mandated by limited income.

“It will be painful. I will not administer anesthetic,” I forewarn.

She nods, her ostensible reluctance mixed with that peculiar inward frisson when a masochist encounters the eventuality of pain... the body’s need to avoid... the mind challenging it to endure.

“And expensive, Sunny. You’ll offer more than fellatio. But you will enjoy it.”

She beams, but then feigns concern... playing the role of Scarlet O’Hara... imagining what a manly brute would force from her helpless form. I know that vulnerability excites... as does the unknown. Yes... a minx... and one whose proclivity so nicely complements mine.

“I will need some time... for equipment,” I conclude.

Sunny happily blushes as I reach forth and gather the packet of pictures.

“And you will need to practice... opening a zipper... with your lips and teeth.”

***

Medical research can sometimes be compared to flying a commercial aircraft... many hours of boredom punctuated by moments of frazzling activity... such as when the weather closes in... or in the lab when many weeks of testing conclude and there is hurried need to statistically analyze and evaluate. Most times I wait, reviewing interim reports which need to be monitored for gross malfunction, experiments going bad. But otherwise letting the passage of time bring results.

So the boredom often brings thoughts of Sunny Sudenskaya and her proposal. Short hair, boyish good looks, appropriately attired she could pass for an altar boy. Yet I recall the shoulder movement, intended to project those glands and attract, which they did. She is alluring, a temptress. And in knowing my ‘hobby’ she tempts most seductively. The deep guttural voice, accented, is provocative on a dark haired girl of some one hundred pounds. She is not to be forgotten.

In my field of medical devices, I have access to a sophisticated metal working shop. We make artificial joints... mainly knees and hips. We even do knuckles. Each of those is custom made... the high expense reserved for the occasional professional who too early in life has lost the use of a finger through arthritis or injury.

So making implements for Sunny’s desired arroycoo is easy. I am known to work late in the lab. And the scrap pile of nickel cobalt yields dozens of small bits which will not be missed. Shaping such to my needs and polishing to fine smoothness takes time, but as I picture such adorning the lithe form of Sunny, the time goes quickly. The alloy is readily accepted by the human body. And is strong.

Research on the internet brings some ideas. Gadgets for introducing grommets to clothing, leather and canvas attract my attention. With a master’s degree in mechanical engineering, it appears to me that one such apparatus, used in sail making, can be purchased and modified. Sunny’s flesh will more easily yield than the coarse and rugged textiles used on large yachts. But I have plans for the temptress which will take her far beyond her current limits and what she envisions.

In nearing readiness, I call a plumbing supply store. Having sketched what I need, I list the number of feet of pipe along with numerous fittings. It is an easy matter to fax the order and have all delivered to Sunny’s loft.

***

Weeks later we meet again. Same restaurant near me. Same time, late afternoon. The maitre d’ glances at Sunny with concern. She offers no concession that she will not light up again. Always challenging.

“Some men arrived. Brought in lots of metal,” Sunny exclaims as we are shown to a table. “Am I expecting a plumbing problem?”

A girlish giggle disguises a tinge of concern. My planned frame is now just a pile of pipes that Sunny obviously cannot mentally transform to usefulness.

“You will see in time,” I vaguely reply.

We sit. She brazenly orders wine, knowing she is not old enough to drink. Knowing once again to challenge the rules. I am going to have fun taming her.

I come to the point as our drink order is completed and the waiter leaves us alone.

“Before we begin, taking you down a road from which you will not return, I want to show you this.”

I retrieve from my jacket pocket what appears to be a staple gun. Modified after many hours of toil I load it with a finely crafted lump of nickel cobalt and thread my napkin between two jutting prongs. With a forceful press there comes a click, a notable snap and the prongs pinch the cloth.

“Presto.”

I toss the napkin to Sunny. Embedded in the corner is a newly made small hole bordered by a circle of metal of one centimeter.

“In one motion it penetrates, pushes aside the cloth to widen the opening and rolls the bordering metal to seal with permanency. A grommet... but penetrating quite formidably.”

An amazed Sunny toys with her fingers. The dull metal is securely attached.

“I’d show you again but the nickel cobalt is rather expensive.”

“The metal is hard, yes?” her excitement exposing her normally cloaked accent.

“Extremely,” I advise as her fingers toy, amazed with the smoothness of the finished opening.

While she busies herself I find a clasp in my pocket, reach forth and clip it through the hole. With zeal, Sunny reaches to grasp the clasp and dangles the napkin over the table. She giggles.

“This can be... me?” she utters in a combination of apprehension and odd joy.

The waiter approaches and the napkin is lowered, even Sunny having some sense of decorum. We are silent as the drinks are poured. Chardonnay for her. A cold brew for me.

“Yes, it will be you. Consider carefully. I have made many grommets... and of various sizes.”

Sunny’s eyes glaze over, obviously fantasizing some sadomasochistic scene. Her hand goes to the napkin to inspect again, pulling the clasp to ensure permanency. She seems to shiver as the well embedded grommet withstands her testing stress. My hand goes to her wine.

“You’re not twenty one,” I admonish. “You’re going to learn to be a good girl.”

She lugubriously pouts as I slide away her glass.

***

By design, I have Sunny drink water and deny her substantial food... a light salad. She has consented to be modified. And in having spent many hours redesigning the grommet contraption and stealthily working in the lab’s metal shop, my enthusiasm grows. Plus there is Sunny, such ostensible innocence tinged with immoral thought. So girlishly innocent... yet so wicked.

“I want to see your loft,” I summarily announce in paying the check.

“We will need to the take the Lex to the BMT,” Sunny delighted to display her knowledge of New York’s subway system.

“A cab will do. I will pay.”

We depart. As I follow her to the exit, Sunny does not see me reload my grommet device. There will be no changing of minds. Not hers... and certainly not mine.

“How do you handle pain?” I casually inquire while awaiting a cab.

She smiles, looking away in shyness.

“Pain is something created by the mind...and therefore something the mind needs to overcome.”

Among my weekend adventurers, those trusted few with whom I share my hobby, Sunny has a reputation for endurance. I have not ‘scened’ with her, but she has been known to withstand lengthy floggings at the all too public S&M clubs, places that I avoid.

I contemplate her succinct reply... flippant reply?.. as a cab pulls up and a couple exits to enter the restaurant. We commandeer and Sunny slides in behind the driver. She offers the address, Ludlow Street, a part of Manhattan I have never before reconnoitered.

“I will go slowly with you, Sunny. But I reiterate, there will be no going back. I’m not really sure how this can be reversed. You saw the napkin. My contraption is frightfully efficient. Rather reminds me of firing a gun, such devastating results from the simple pull of a trigger.”

Sunny nods in thought. There is no hint of reservation. It appears that she is indeed thinking of the napkin and the relative permanence of the embedded circle of nickel cobalt. To remove it one would need to shred the cloth.

“It is quick, this ‘gun’ of yours?”

“You saw how quick.”

“I prefer something slower. Something that challenges me... suffering that I must overcome... if I can.”

“That will come as well. You shall endure both.”

In turning onto First Avenue, the cab picks up pace. I note that the driver cannot see Sunny in the rear view mirror. And in approaching wave after wave of traffic lights, he only has opportunity to glance back on occasion. I remove my contraption and again show it to Sunny.

“Quick. Painful. Permanent. And I shall enjoy using it on you, Sunny. Probably as effective as a brand or tattoo.”

She shudders. Yes the brisance of the masochist. The delightful mental conflict which the curious proclivity brings.

“Will I bleed?”

“About as much as you would in receiving a hypodermic injection. The device creates an initial pinprick which I have designed to instantly widen to accommodate the circle of metal... which with equal quickness folds at the perimeter to form the smooth opening you examined... and make it unremovable.”

“Where?”

“Any place I decide. That is for me to control... not you.”

She nods. There is fear... but there is enjoyment. Her eyes glaze in thought.

“Ready to begin your journey, Sunny?”

She nods. There is reluctance but acceptance... the masochist long ago having surrendered herself to life as a pin cushion.

I lean. My left hand reaches to the back of her neck. I note that my curiosity is indulged in that I can indeed grasp enough hair to guide her head. In one smooth and continuous motion I tilt back her head, my right hand lifts the contraption.

“Steady now, Sunny. Bear a little pain for me. Be a good girl for Dr. Samuels.”

As I slip the prongs up her nostrils, I am reminded of my years as an intern, offering the myriad of injections to frightened children. I press, pulling the trigger on my peculiar gun. It clicks. It snaps. There comes the stifled shriek of a little girl. I quickly withdraw. A handkerchief is offered. There are more tears than blood. As described the opening is small. Plus I have pierced the cartilage of her septum well up her nostrils where there is limited circulation.

I have grommeted the interior of Sunny’s nose. Not detectable to the unwary. But I cannot dismiss Sunny with a mere puncture... a little hole between her nostrils. No I have in my pocket a little clasp with a slim connecting cord. And as she dabs away her tears... not a word of protest I note... my hand returns to thrust the open clasp up her left nostril, thread it through her new grommet and hook it down her right nostril where it clicks shut.

“Feel better Sunny? A girl like you pines for control. And you shall have it.”

A little tug on the cord demonstrates. The tension cannot be resisted. That pretty little head moves about in response as I toy. And Sunny stares into my eyes in wonderment. Yes, sometimes the role of the sadist is fulfilled by saying ‘no’. But other times it is more fun to offer an emphatic ‘Yes’.

***

Twilight provides a modicum of cover as we exit the cab. It is amusing to observe Sunny acclimate to her simple leash. I keep moderate tension on the line, and though the cabdriver offers a perplexed look, there is a bit of a shrug as he accepts payment with a sizable tip, my hand jostling the makeshift leash to bring a muffled gasp of pain.

The street is void of people. Remaining somewhat industrial, few are the buildings converted to residential space. The seclusion is ideal for directing a girl on a leash and I must laugh as Sunny attempts to step toward her apartment without my concurrence. Like a puppy, she strains the leash and whimpers as the myriad of nerve endings in her nose serve to chastise her rash motion.

“Whoa, Sunny. Going somewhere without me?” I laugh in taunting.

I pull to reel in my leashed plaything, forcing her to step towards me and look up at my face.

“How do you feel? You’re being governed by a simple length of string.”

I lift my arm. Having wrapped the twine about my index finger, her nose and face follow.

“You can unhook the clasp, but you do not. You can ask to be released, but you do not. Your muffled gasps suggest pain, yet there is enjoyment.”

She nods, the motion comically adding to the tension on the string.

“We’re going to enjoy each other’s company, Sunny. Come.”

She is surprised when I lead her away from the entrance. Across the street, down the block. Fortunately, perhaps unfortunately for she starved for masochistic attention, there are no passersby. Still I establish my control. She most subserviently follows knowing that the slightest tug brings agony.

“I’ll want to see how nimble that tongue is, Sunny. You promised fellatio.”

***

A dreary day of reviewing data is interspersed with thoughts of that minx Sunny endeavoring to lower my zipper with her teeth.

For a girl of her age, not a bad blow job. I recall in medical school the sardonic discussions concerning the outbreak of teen pregnancy. One wag made the suggestion that more proficiency in oral sex would serve to blunt the epidemic.

Finally walking her back to her apartment Sunny knelt before me, nose leash removed, her arms behind her back, folded upward as I grasped her wrists to render her hands useless.

“Practice, practice, practice,” I lectured as she finally caught the zipper tab in her teeth and pulled downward.

Okay, I helped a little in freeing my penis of my underwear. But thereafter she seemed to be all tongue and lips. Working with zeal, at a young age she has learned to control her gag reflex. When the time came, it seemed like I ejaculated directly into her stomach, my spending accompanied by a slight gulp and a devilish smile in offering such sublime submission.

An inspection of her loft followed. Her clothing removed, she pranced about naked as I learned her abode was large indeed. High ceilinged. Understandably grimy. Otherwise perfect for the games to be played.

In the glow of a gratifying explosion of semen, I learned more about my pet minx. I had her sit at my feet as we talked.

Sunny emigrated from Bulgaria trading casual sex for favors. A truck ride across this country and that. Working westward. Some bigger favors from men of Dominance. A bondage scene here, some flogging there, her age instilled concern in those desiring something long term. All used... abused?.. and encouraged her to move onward.

Eventually came New York. It seems the doggie style sex I envisioned was a favorite of some immigration clerk. An illegitimate visa cost Sunny Sudenskaya three couplings. The clerk’s marital status made the arrangement easy to terminate once papers were received. Vanilla is not Sunny’s thing, but the practicality of accepting penetration earned her a stay.

Sunny is undereducated but bright. Her effervescence brought a job as some minion in an advertising firm.

Gazing down as she spoke, I reached to palpate her flesh, pinching here, prodding there. Supple, lithe, nicely curved, her loose clothing veils an otherwise engaging form. I could not help thinking that she could be folded up and placed in a surprisingly small box. Sans covering Sunny seems to be all breasts and buttocks and such meaty softness is easily shaped for confinement.

Yes, a simple box. Wrapped, labeled and shipped. A packaged masochist, eager to extend her submission, her obedience, an offering of anguish for those who would be amused... such as me.

“I will return tomorrow night at 7:00 p.m. Greet me at the front door downstairs. Naked. I will leash your nose and lead you up the elevator.”

Her flesh turned anserine with the thought. Then she silently nodded.

I look at my watch. For some reason my attention is diverted from reviewing the inspection results of hips placed years ago in dogs. We donate hips to the family pooch with the agreement that upon the animal’s demise, an autopsy can be performed to ascertain wear and tear on our design. Thus Fido’s arthritic hip can be replaced considerably more cheaply than his master’s... one of the ironies of medicine.

It is 6:15 p.m. My grommet device awaits. I load and call for a cab.

***

Sunny shivers deliciously. Though not a cool night the fear of discovery heightens her enjoyment of the abject humiliation of awaiting totally naked in the converted lobby of her building. It was once the loading dock of the converted warehouse and is thus an expansive area partially partitioned to offer a ground floor apartment along with access to the elevator. There are places for her to duck out of sight if neighbors descend on the elevator. But arriving occupants could enter with little notice. Thus Sunny lingers as instructed, prepared to bolt like a frightened rabbit with the creak of the outer door.

I enter and spot her peeking out from behind some crates. I waggle my finger and hold up the little clasp and thin cord, her nose leash. She knows to obediently approach.

“Maybe I’ll walk you up and down the street again, Sunny. So shy.”

She steps forth and I once again admire the girlish form. Breasts which belie her one hundred pounds. Rounded buttocks which enticingly roll with each footfall. She places her hands behind her neck and politely smiles as the clasp enters one nostril, my fingers directing the tip to exit the other. It clicks closed.

“Been a good girl?”

She nods as my right hand raises the cord and with it her face. My left lowers to her pubes. Sunny shaves there, of course, knowing that body hair distracts. My limited training in gynecology offers a quick splay of the outer labia, my middle finger plunging inward... with ease. The minx parts her feet to offer better access.

“You’re wet. Lurking about naked excites you.”

She smiles quite shyly, listening for the descending elevator... or more significantly another creak of the outer door.

“We have work to do. I will walk you outdoors and naked at another time.”

The dripping fingers of my left hand press against her lips. She knows to lick them dry. I direct her to the elevator. In pressing the button, I can only imagine the mental torment as the industrial motor grinds, Sunny wondering whether the car will arrive empty.

“How will you explain this to your neighbors, Sunny? Naked and walking about leashed.”

Stepping into the vast car, I do believe it could lift automobiles, I have Sunny kneel at my feet for the long ascent to the top floor.

“Stay,” I command master to dog.

I do so enjoy the beseeching look as she stares directly up at me. She is more deer in the headlights than canine. The thought that a neighbor may be skulking about offers genuine concern.

Still, the six floors are negotiated without mishap and I bring Sunny into her loft to the sound of a sigh of relief.

The grommet device is ready in my jacket pocket. She’s been waiting and thinking all day about this visit. Over and above the apprehension of prancing about the lobby naked is the brief but intense pain she will soon feel. I again place her kneeling and step behind her. I tie off her nose leash to a heating pipe, the bondage more symbolic than real. In drawing back her arms I inspect. Just above the right elbow at the inside I swab the surface of her skin with alcohol. Then I pinch the flesh, align, press and the contraption clicks then snaps. Sunny cries out. A second grommet instantaneously pierces her flesh. As stated, it is the equivalent of a hypodermic needle upon entry but the grommet expands the opening and then folds over. Not to be removed. Never to slip back out the opening.

I dab away the blood of a pinprick. I reload.

“Every evening, Sunny. One by one I’ll have your body altered for quick bondage.”

The left elbow is next. The swab. The click. The snap. The yelp. The blood. The dab.

“Good girl,” I compliment as I inspect the two new openings.

Small, as with the nose grommet, there are open circles of about a centimeter thrust through a tuft of epidermis, as thick as I could gather. The resulting holes are quite limited in size. Wearing clothing, the traces of metal would not be noticeable to the unwary.

A double ‘D’ clamp unites the two new grommets and thus her elbows. Though supple the short connection renders her hands useless. This is now real bondage.

My hand lowers again. Under the buttocks, slipping past the rose bud of her anus, I explore again to find even more wetness. I smile knowingly. The girl yelps with each snap but she enjoys.

“Come.”

I release the leash and walk her to the pile of pipes and fixtures delivered days ago.

“You can watch as I work.”

A supporting pillar awaits. I take the time to tie off her nose leash high above. Elbows held behind her back, her bondage is no longer symbolic and I take the time to assure she must stand on her toes. Whereas I found her shivering in the lobby, now she shudders. I know it to be a systemic reaction to both the pain and the intrusive action of the grommet device. Similar to having a tooth pulled or some other seemingly minor procedure... the mind shrugs but the body mourns.

“Arroycoo,” I announce with evil glee. “Only a girl with your nasty mind could contrive modern fantasies from such an ancient custom.”

***

As I finish, I note that Sunny struggles to remain on her toes.

“Please Dr. Samuels, my legs...”

Yes, I’ve forced her to her toes for well over an hour. A simple stress position, the slow torment is something she has not before faced. As stated, known for accepting lengthy floggings, the mental endurance utilized in standing on toes, relief coming only with increased tension on the nose leash, is considerable.

“It is good for you, Sunny. Builds character and stronger legs.”

I otherwise ignore her entreaty, fix myself a drink and take a chair to review my work.

Standing in Sunny’s industrial living quarters is a work of industry. I have assembled the many pipes and fixtures into a frame. There are two sturdy rectangles, each some seven feet long and three feet wide. Four six foot pipes hold one rectangle atop the other to join all dozen lengths. The piping is steel and three inches in diameter making the structure quite strong and heavy. As I envision its use, I become stimulated. Gazing at Sunny’s naked form stimulates more.

“I have to go, Dr. Samuels.”

Yes the girl fidgets, clenching her thighs in obvious discomfort in holding the contents of her bladder. I smile.

“Well, we can’t have you soiling the floor.”

The stained hardwood floor remains from the building’s original usage as a warehouse or whatever. So actually, soiling the floor would be of little consequence. Still I arise and move to the kitchen area of the large single room. In a cabinet I find a basin. I return to Sunny, release her nose leash and have her squat. Her legs quake as stiffened muscles labor to position her pubes over the vessel. I hold it in my left hand, and standing to her rear, reach to her cunny with my right.

“Like this?” her deep voice softening to elicit sympathy.

“You’ll perform for me any way I command,” my reply firm as I part her outer labia.

Despite her need, it requires a moment for her to compose herself. But she soon releases. Such an obedient girl.

I dispose of the basin and return to the chair, Sunny in tow. She reacts to the leash marvelously, quickly learning to minimize painful tension by anticipating my moves. She knows to kneel between my legs. She knows to begin working my zipper... with her teeth. Her elbows remain encumbered as I offer slack on the nose leash.

While Sunny’s face disappears, tongue and lips rummaging within my zipper and underwear, I palpate her back, an expanse of unblemished skin, neckline to where her buttocks cleave. I smile in noting the plump roundness of the two hillocks. Nicely athletic on such a wispy wench. I sigh as her lips find my penis tip, smiling as she lures my engorging organ from its nest.

“You’ll learn to enjoy the frame. Just a few more days.”

My manhood rises and Sunny dutifully engulfs. Fellatio begins in earnest. Sunny’s impressive oral skills contrast her age. Some how, some way, the eighteen year old has the tongue of an aging whore. A lifetime of talent learned in months... convincing truck drivers of their need for her company. From Bulgaria to Britain, Sunny sucked her way across Europe... to her new life.

Yet her guilt is apparent. Arroycoo. Such a thought.

It is without pretense that I once again spend strongly and deeply into Sunny’s gullet. It’s her purpose for being as far as I am concerned. And it seems that I am feeding her. Male seed has become some form of nutrition in Sunny’s world of submission, humiliation and masochism.

I pause in the glow of satiation.

“I will masturbate you,” I calmly announce.

With a girl of Sunny’s ilk, one must offer the proper catalyst. I position a nearby lamp, move her to straddle my knees facing away, then pull down on her nose leash to force her to slump over. My foot catches the end of the leash and continues to tension. Sunny’s torso slowly lowers until her forehead touches the floor between my shoes. Her buttocks are widely parted. I lift one of her feet then the other to place her calves outside the arms of the chair, further parting her thighs and offering unfettered access to her charms.

The lamp burns brightly. Widely spread, held almost upside down, the extreme exposure and humiliation is just what the doctor ordered... Dr. Winthrop Samuels, of course.

“Let’s explore a little, Sunny. Every girl is just a little different...”

***

For the third day in a row, thoughts of Sunny come to mind as the afternoon of reviewing reports becomes tedious.

The dichotomy of yesterday’s visit... first the quick but intense pain of adding grommets, the slow stress of standing on toes, the slower pleasure offered as I leisurely masturbated her, upside down, extremely spread and lit up like a statue... brings a smile. Both Sunny’s body and emotions became toys... for me. And I played without compunction.

Sunny’s vagina was tight and responsive. For all the kink, all her oral offerings, Sunny has had limited vaginal penetration of late. I worked her urethral sponge, the so termed ‘G’ spot, and manipulated her clitoris... endlessly. When I finally wanted to bring an ultimate climax, I palpated about her urethral opening, tracing then rubbing my index finger along the ‘U’ shaped erogenous area of which not even most women are aware.

Thighs clenched, vaginal walls oscillated, she ejaculated, wetting my trousers.

I removed my leash, unclipped her elbows and left her as a pile of spent flesh.

Yes, I graciously offered a treat, returning what she has trained herself to offer others without contrition... that is unbridled pleasure. Something about remaining fully clothed and having Sunny expose herself to the extreme, her wet pink love canal glistening under the lamp, brought her need for humiliation to a furious level of satiation.

Time for my cab ride to Ludlow Street. Grommet device at the ready, leash, clamps... Sunny awaits naked in the lobby, dodging arriving building dwellers. I instructed her to be there at 5:30 p.m. I did not inform her when I would arrive.

I will take my time. Perhaps she will meet one of her neighbors...

***

Past 6:30 p.m., the cab delivers me to Ludlow Street. Sunny has obediently been waiting as instructed. When the creaking door announces my arrival I note the minx is once again hiding her naked form.

“I have had to duck so many times,” she pouts in a childish voice. “You said 5:30.”

“I instructed you to be naked and waiting in the lobby at 5:30. I did not indicate when I would arrive.”

My tone is direct yet carefree as Sunny knows to turn so I can clip her elbows together. I note that just as with hypodermic injections there is little evidence about the small tufts of skin grommeted the day before. Quite the clever device I have developed. Instant body bondage. Limited extended reaction and trauma.

I clip on the nose leash. She expects to go to the elevator. Instead I take her to the door. I can feel her resistance through the taut string wrapped about my finger.

“It’s a nice night for a walk,” I declare pulling firmly.

Having just traversed the block, I know there is limited activity. And though remaining warm, the autumnal equinox has brought early darkness. Still Sunny demurs, futilely fighting my controlling hand as the pain of the nose grommet prevails and we step from the building. A slight breeze brings her perky nipples to stand like begging puppies. I detect goose bumps.

“Snotty little girls need discipline. You’ll not again question my instructions or my deeds.”

Naked, bound, outdoors and exposed to all, the masochistic mental conflict is palpable. The humiliation of possible discovery is both craved and feared. How will she explain this to unwitting neighbors?

Alas, with few buildings being converted to residential quarters, the street is eerily empty. Warehouses have closed for the day. Others are abandoned. There is no reason not to push the envelope of acceptable behavior.

I walk one to two steps ahead. I detect whimpering. Oh! this is delicious.

A van turns the corner, headlights beaming. I pause to torment then lead to an alleyway, the driver focused on building numbers and not on my naked and leashed pet. The vehicle stops adjacent to where we are concealed, the driver making a delivery. Sunny is momentarily trapped.

“While we’re waiting, Sunny. You may squat and do your business. Go ahead... psst, psst.”

She does, parting her feet, bending at the knees, urinating in the ally as the van driver returns, revs the engine and departs. I reach and knead Sunny’s left ear as her bladder empties. In the gloaming I can see the nipples standing even firmer. She protests yet she enjoys, her stimulation quite evident.

“I like your neighborhood, Sunny. Nice and quiet for evening walks. Come. We have work do to.”

***

I suppose I should have chosen surgery over a career in medical research. Something about my controlling demeanor which is gratified in having a human form completely subject to my whim.

These thoughts divert as I prepare. I lead Sunny to my assembled framework of pipes. The nose leash is tied overhead and tightened to the shorter pipe at the front. I then release the double ‘D’ clamp holding her elbows and use two more cords to attach her arms to each of the longer overhead pipes to the sides, right and left. I adjust, taking in some slack to force Sunny to bend at the waist... which wickedly stresses her nose leash and greatly increases immobility.

“Spread your feet. Steady yourself.”

She complies and I inspect her back... that seemingly long expense of unblemished skin. Smooth, soft I count the vertebra using such as a guide. Then at the top, just below the neckline and to the right, I swab. I gather a tuft. I align. Then comes the click, the snap, the yelp, the blood, the dab. Grommet number four penetrates Sunny’s flesh.

“Good girl,” I commend, master to dog.

I hear sniffling. I am somewhat heartened that one cannot become accustomed to the intensity, that Sunny feels the same pain and will feel the same pain with each press and resulting snap.

I swab to the left and just a tad lower. I gather a tuft. I align. Grommet number five. The click, the snap, the yelp, the blood, the dab.

Sunny once again shudders with the ordeal, her bindings adding to the torment in that she cannot more demonstrably exhibit resistance to what her psyche craves. Yes, the mental dissonance of the masochist, the deep desire for suffering, nature’s instinctive urge to avoid pain.

My hand smoothes over her buttocks. A wondrous covering of gelatinous flesh with impressive firmness beneath. Slipping between her thighs, I explore her mons. Wetness again. Sunny is predictably aroused... her reaction to my governance one of stimulation.

I step to the front and unhook the clasp from her nose grommet. She sighs in relief. Elbows remaining high, I grasp a clump of hair and guide her mouth to my zipper. She begins her evening task, and she is reasonably dexterous, if such is the proper term for a nimble tongue.

***

Within a week, Sunny’s spine is paralleled with columns of grommets, one line right, one line left. And I’ve had great blow jobs. There is something triumphant in spending so deeply, copulating with her face. Not a word of protest, just a satisfying murmur as a gush of male seed seemingly explodes into her stomach... though I know it to be merely splattered into her well disciplined throat.

In the quiet confines of my office I retrieve the pictures torn from magazines, those fostering Sunny’s curious request and precipitating our nightly rendezvous.

Yes, arroycoo. Anthropologists believe the practice began as a method for tormenting, perhaps better termed torturing, the captives of opposing tribes. Later, enduring the torment became a form of training for warriors. The inability to withstand arroycoo indicated lack of fortitude, which if captured, the warrior would too rapidly concede, crack under duress and bring disgrace to his tribe.

Later than that, the advent of civilization ending internecine conflict, arroycoo became a form of hazing. Young males eager to display bravado challenged each other. Thus what began as a form of torture became a form of adolescent dare. There also evolved the method of restraint. Formerly penetration of the flesh utilizing sharpened wooden stakes preceded arroycoo. In the picture before me, the virile males of some unknown tribe are instead restrained by tightly pinching sizeable tufts of skin on the back or about the pectoral muscles.

Yes, one cannot help imagining the slow anguish as the entire human form dangles vertically, head high, feet held off the ground, utilizing wooden stakes, suspended by his own flesh. Originally skewered, now held by vise-like lengths of wood.

Obviously, as opposed to ancient times when the captive was left to slowly die, the modern version has become a contest... who will first implore for relief... to beg for the restraining rope to be lowered, for the pinched skin to be relieved of large clamps of wood. Yes, it is apparent that the initial agony of the pinched and stretched flesh forestalls the phenomenon of orthostatic syncope, the body’s tendency to shut down when positioned vertically and immobile for long periods. Soldiers standing at attention often experience syncope.

And that is how I perceive that many of the challenges conclude... a draw is declared when the contestants faint. If returned to a horizontal position within a reasonable time, there is no long term effect from orthostatic syncope. However, remaining vertical brings eventual death as endorphins flood and overwhelm the endocrine system and the body shuts down.

How could Sunny, my masochistic toy, not find attraction? One’s own flesh becoming the source of slow suffering. The control factor quite apparent. Hanging as someone’s puppet... a puppet in slow inextricable pain.

I stare at one photo. A group shot. Two African males hang facing each other. A circle of tribal members observe. The looks on their collective faces resemble those of spectators at a sporting event, smiling in amusement. Then my eyes shift to the contestants. There is agony yet determination. Each bears formidable clamps just above the mammary glands, huge tufts of skin wedged between dowels with wrapping strands of cowhide assuring a steadfast grip. In ancient times the pinched flesh would be skewered for good measure, adding to the suffering and the security of the restraint.

I am amused to note in one photo that two women stare in rapture as the bulge in the contestant’s loin cloth evidences a second phenomenon... the tendency of the male to tumefy as tension is applied to the spinal cord.

He who endures wins the admiration of tribal elders... anointed as a warrior. He who first beseeches for release, to be lowered and relieved, loses face.

And so one can understand the entertainment offered by the contest. For the males, displays of bravado as with many modern sports... for the females the exhibition of the rampaging phallus.

I envision my plans for Sunny. Augmenting the torment will be the extreme humiliation I shall instill. And I will assure that release does not bring the loss of face of surrender... for her entreaties will be ignored.

My watch indicates it is time for another cab ride to Ludlow Street. I spent Saturday afternoon furtively working in the machine shop. New grommets. Specially sized. A neck collar. I also modified my contraption, increasing the separation of the prongs. I can now penetrate thicker flesh. Since it is Friday evening, Sunny will have the weekend to acclimate... and she will need it.

***

Sunny has become somewhat accustomed to her walks, unfortunately. Still I believe there remains the inner thrill of being outdoors and naked, akin to the childhood quiver of delight experienced in skinny dipping, the fear of being caught.

She now relieves herself upon command and knows not to resist the leash when an interloping truck or car turns onto the isolated street... that I am in control and that she is to quietly obey... that I will decide whether to exhibit her or lead her to the simple cover of a nearby garbage bin or alleyway.

“Tonight will be quite painful, Sunny. I am going to penetrate deeply. Snag a muscle. You’ll be somewhat lame over the weekend. I will check on you.”

She nods. In her reticence it is difficult to judge her level of apprehension... eager for the arroycoo to begin, yet knowing the pain to be borne. The mental conflict is oddly welcomed in the masochist.

We return to the building. The elevator grinds away as Sunny kneels at my feet.

“You will hang me soon?” that deep voice unusually sullen.

A condemned prisoner inquiring about his/her execution?

“In time. I’ll want you thoroughly restrained. No nominal bindings such as in those pictures you gave me. I’ll want you and my frame to be one. I’ll want you to sense complete helplessness.”

She nods as the motor stops and I work the massive metal elevator doors.

Into her apartment I lead to my frame. The nose leash is tied first. Then the elbows are disconnected, drawn high and secured right and left forcing her to bend further at the waist. Thereafter, it is time to corset my naked toy. Another cord is strung from the front pipe, tied to where the nose leash is secured. I then unravel and thread the loose end through the spinal grommets... top right, top left, second right, second left, third pair, fourth, fifth... there are eight pairs. Then the free end is pulled taut and tied high to the rear pipe. In tugging, the cord becomes a defacto corset. Sunny gasps as the single strand forces the sets of grommets to move together, tightening her flesh, pulling the skin of her torso and more forcefully presenting those marvelous breasts.

Yes, a skin corset, bringing a sense of total confinement as every square inch of flesh, neck line to belly, is stretched to tautness.

“Feel good?” I taunt, knowing the sense of thorough bondage can overwhelm.

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

I load the modified grommet device. I swab the top of the left buttock with alcohol, a larger expanse than at the elbows and spine. I pinch a massive section and align.

“This will require a moment, Sunny. I want to catch some of the gluteus maximus muscle. The penetration will be quite deep.”

I press, there is an initial click then snap, the device strains. Sunny howls. One moment. Two. Then comes the final click indicating the penetration is complete and the grommet perimeter has been thrust completely through and the edge rolled for permanency. I dab. More blood than other penetrations, but limited considering the size and depth of the newly made aperture in Sunny’s skin.

I step to her side and caress her left breast to sooth. Her knees begin to buckle, for the first time sensing a degree of arroycoo as the cords bear more of her weight. In feeling the pain, her flesh holding her weight, she struggles to renew normal posture.

“Yes, quite cathartic, deeply penetrating to catch the muscle. You will be lame until you acclimate.”

I move to the rear to swab the right buttock. Sunny pleads.

“Please not again!”

“Just one more, Sunny. Be a brave girl for me.”

I take my time, not only enhancing Sunny’s apprehension, but also ensuring a symmetrical penetrating grommet. I detect a sob as I carefully align the device. Then a muffled cry of anguish as I press and the grommet forcefully works its way through thick layers of epidermis and a modicum of muscle. With the final click, I think to myself as I dab away... Sunny has no concept of what such deep penetration can bring. But as her knees give way... she is beginning to learn.

***

Saturday afternoon I take the subway to the lower east side then walk. It is a pleasant day in late September. I purchase some Danish on Mulberry Street, continuing onward to Sunny’s loft. She will need food.

I assume the noisy elevator announces my arrival for I find Sunny’s door unlocked and when I push it open she lies nearby the entrance on the floor. I smile. She has greeted me naked, as instructed. And as expected I will not soon be walking her about Ludlow Street.

“Sore?”

She nods.

“Now you know why it’s a common act of revenge to stab your adversary in the buttocks. Quite prevalent in prisons, getting shanked there. You can imagine the immobility inflicted with a full penetration of the gluteus. I only nicked it with the grommet. Come.”

“I can’t stand.”

“That cramped? Well we’ll have to tend to that.”

I move to the bathroom, really just some internal partitions added to the vast open space to offer privacy. I run hot water in a sizable bathtub. I return to my naked minx, bend and pick up her svelte form. Her one hundred pounds feel like feathers

“Hot bath and massage. Then you must walk about. It’s the only way to loosen up.”

I place my toy in the tub kneeling on all fours. She knows to keep her knees parted, offering an enticing view of her charms. I retrieve soap and cloth and as one would bathe an infant begin to lather and lave. Her skin is sublime. Knowing of her penchant, the many grommets of dull nickel cobalt bring strange attraction. My restricting augmentation, embedding some twenty circles of metal into her very flesh, announces to the world the wondrous proclivity of Sunny Sudenskaya. In nakedness, she will no longer, cannot deny, her flawed psyche. She needs governance, craves discipline, too much enjoys the attention of a correcting and controlling hand.

Soaped and cleansed, I have her rinse, momentarily dunking her cramped buttocks into the hot water. I have her return to all fours. She smiles as I begin to knead, forcing from one of the largest sets of muscles the stiffness induced by my penetrating device. She has a lovely posterior.

I cannot help soaping a finger and impaling her anus as my other hand works. She’s tight. She moans and clenches in resistance.

“My goodness, Sunny. Your gift for fellatio seems to have obviated anal intercourse. Surely a girl of your ilk offers all she has.”

“Not easy when riding in trucks,” her accented voice comically explaining the obvious.

Fellatio was perfected during her sojourn from Bulgaria. I envision a meter, somewhat like in a taxi, where every hundred kilometers the zipper comes down and the truck driver demands that feminine lips be applied.

“That will change.”

I continue anal penetration, curtail kneading her buttocks and instead toy with her labia. She moans, further parting her knees in welcome. So I masturbate her, bringing forth the endorphins which will further ease the tension on the impinged gluteus maximus muscles. This time I work my fingers well past her urethral sponge, gliding inward to the anterior fornix. Caresses there bring spasmodic oscillations of the PC muscles which involuntarily also cause her buttocks to clench more. In simultaneously penetrating both vagina and anus, my masochistic plaything experiences the ultimate in vulnerability, double penetration of her most intimate anatomy. But I achieve my goal. The cramps ease enough so I can walk her about the loft.

Thereafter some Danish. She enjoys being hand fed morsels, tossed and lapped up from the floor. How else would the likes of Sunny Sudenskaya partake?

***

Grabbing my digital camera, on Sunday morning I repeat my journey... subway, Mulberry Street, Danish, on to Ludlow. I enter the loft to find Sunny nude and waiting for me. She is more ambulatory but still struggles to walk. She is again wallowing on the floor.

“I have something for you. This metal will not be easily concealed.”

I reference the concern of all practitioners of the quirky and the kinky... that some article of clothing, body adornment, whatever... that which evidences a life of sexual aberration... will someday will be uncloseted in the vanilla world... that in which we must make a living... and the resulting clash brings economic pressure. Financial strain of job loss. After all, one must make a living.

To date, Sunny’s transforming grommets are easily concealed beneath clothing.

Still, Sunny finds little concern as I produce the latest effort of tinkering in the metal shop. It is a neck collar of matching metal, the alloy which has come to oddly enthrall... the hardness, the permanency, the ease with which something I craft can become one with her body.

In Sunny’s mind, she is not wearing jewelry, she is bearing my offering... much as if I’d have her tattooed or branded.

“It is beautiful,” she smiles, the accent adding to her girlish charm.

Crawling about on all fours, I must reach down to encircle her neck. A simple clasp keeps the thinly gauged ring closed. Sunny seems to thrill with both my offering and the attention of my fingers.

“You must walk, Sunny. Your buttocks are merely sore in reaction to the penetration. There is nothing else wrong.”

I comment as I begin to corset her. Yes the neck collar is functional despite Sunny accepting it as a decorative gift. Her smile remains, again reacting to the attention of my fingers, as I connect a cord to the back of the neck collar then begin to thread it through the many grommets adorning her spine. Right, left, right, left, the cord slips through eight pairs weaving back and forth. At the bottom I pull to tighten, the tension serving to straighten the cord and act as a corset, as designed. Sunny moans as the tight cord forces the grommets into alignment, my action tensioning the flesh of her entire torso as she remains on all fours.

“It nicely projects your breasts, Sunny. You enjoy showing them... you certainly have before.”

That introductory meeting in the restaurant cannot be forgotten. The sultry shoulder shift which served to better exhibit her mammary glands is now forced upon her... by my hand.

“You’ll have to stand. I will help.”

Stiffness remains. Athletes know that one must ‘gut it out’ in returning sore muscles to complete mobility. Under my tutelage, Sunny’s will always be somewhat impaired. But she will walk.