THE PRESENT

By Ross Martin

Chapter One: The Journey Forth

She didn't resist when they came for her. It would have been foolish to have done so though part of her wanted to very much. The other part was tingling with excitement. When they knocked on the door she opened it for them.

They didn't impress her at first sight. They looked like ordinary delivery men and their van parked in front of her small suburban home looked ordinary as well. The taller of the two, a big bald fellow with thin cruel looking lips, tipped his hat to her politely and said in a gentlemanly tone: "G'Day, Miss. Is there a package here to pick up? Do we have the right address?"

Here she could simply answer inn the negative and send them on their way. No one would know and only one man in the entire world would care. But if she was to do it she had to do it now and she had to be firm about it. A simple straightforward denial, that's all it would take.

"Yes, there is a package," came out of her lips as she invited them in with a hand gesture meant to be inviting but may have been a little too fluttery though she didn't normally think of her hands as the kind of hands that can flutter.

"Sign here, Miss," said the shorter late teens other deliveryman. Being younger he was bound to be less experienced with deliveries. She wondered if this was a good or bad thing. His lips may have been even thinner and crueler.

He handed her the usual contract and a pen. He also looked her up and down. With trepidation mixed with anticipation of what was to come, she handed the contract back. He made a real show of touching her hand as he did so. She wasn't sure if she liked that or not but soon it wouldn't matter.

"Where's the package?" asked the taller of the two.

"Right here," she said, bowing her head.

"You, Miss?" said the taller of the two pretending to be surprised.

"Yes," she said feeling the blood rising in her cheeks.

"There must be some mistake," said the taller one, winking at his mate. "I don't think we can manage that much cargo."

"But a contract is a contract," said the younger deliveryman, "and we don't disappoint our customers."

"Point taken," said his mate. "Ready to go, Miss?"

"No!" she cried out more sharply and with more emphasis than she had intended. Damn! The scaredy-cat part of her was acting up.

"We could tear this up and go," suggested the taller one. The other looked a little disappointed. Good, she thought. Perhaps I won't be in for a dull trip after all.

"Please don't," she said. "Just give me a minute to freshen up in the bathroom."

"Very well," said the taller man. "But don't be too long. We're on a tight schedule and I always honor my contracts."

I bet you do, she thought, hurrying to her bathroom. I just bet you do.

The men settled into her plush lounge chairs. She knew they could see photos of her on the television set of when she was a little girl and there was a large one of her graduating high school. There were ones of her graduating college, getting married and her two kids, a boy and a girl at age nine, but she put them away. This weekend was about her and not them. Besides, it might help if they thought she only graduated high school. She was sure it did last time.

Looking at herself critically in the big bathroom mirror, she noted her shortcomings. She was fat. Not fat enough to take up a whole park bench or frighten an airline pilot, thank goodness, but enough for men to continually rag her about it. She'd been ragged through primary, high school, college and it was yet to stop. But she had made a strange peace with it over the years.

There were also qualities she knew she had which kept her going. For instance, her breasts were big and men liked that. Also, she had lovely, expressive eyes she was now highlighting with mascara. And then there were her large hips. Once she'd done with the mascara she painted her mouth a bright inviting pink. It should be noted, however, that though her lips were big like the rest her mouth was rather small and dainty. She wondered of this was an asset or a deficit. She knew some time today she'd be thinking of it as a definite deficit.

She had on a light cotton dress and high heeled shoes and nothing else. Only three times in her life had she left the house dressed like this and blushed at the thought of doing so now. Still, that's what she intended to do and that's what she would do.

"Coming Miss?" called out the taller of the deliverymen.

"Yes," she called back. She eyed her dress once more, combed her short hair and decided that the time had come. She quietly left her bathroom and handed the taller one her keys.

They'll be safe with me for when you get back," he said. "I'll give them to you when we get back."

"Thank you," she said with a faint smile.

"Your welcome, Miss," he replied.

It was the other one who twisted her arms behind her back and snapped the cuffs on her wrists. For a second there she thought she might resist but she didn't. Even the fraidy-cat part of her had now accepted her fate. The tingling in certain quarters increased – especially when she saw the grin on her younger captor's face.

To hide the cuffs from plain view, the tall one threw her pink cardigan over her shoulders as he marched her out of the house. He stopped to lock up her place and said: "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

"It said on the sheet she's a repeat delivery," murmured the younger one.

"Shut up!" snapped the taller man and turned once more to face her. "Well, Miss," he said in a gentler voice.

"Fulfill your contract," she said boldly and he took her by the elbow to the back of the van and said: "Get in."

She struggled in and they slammed the door on her and locked it. They drove off before she had settled properly and she banged her head on the side door. No more niceties now, she told herself as she surveyed where they had put her. It was nothing but an old van and she had nothing for company but an old tire and their voices drifting in. Her heart sank a little. This was it, no turning back.

"Who's paying for her?" asked the young one.

"It doesn't say," said the taller man.

"Her husband maybe?"

"If so, she be contrite when she gets back."

Once she was shuffled aboard the private plane they removed the cuffs and replaced them straight away with a spreader bar for her arms and a spreader bar for her legs. The cardigan was tossed aside. The tall one worked on making her spread her arms as far away from each other as they could possibly go before he tied her wrists to the device. The other did the same with her legs only he delighted in kicking her calves until her legs were spread to his satisfaction. It hurt a little but she didn't grunt, didn't complain. The tingling south of her belly button got stronger, more dominant, driving away her fears. Now, except for her vocal cords, she was completely helpless.

"Last chance, Miss," said the taller one, showing her a frighteningly large ball gag. How on earth were they going to get that in her mouth? Its small, the lips are fat, she wanted to tell them.

"I could tear up the contract, I could tell them you changed your mind," he said, dangling the great red ball under her nose.

"But I've already been paid for," she protested.

"He's a bastard, Miss," reasoned the taller one.

"I know," she sighed weakly. "Put the gag in now, please, nice and tight like you're supposed to. I won't change my mind."

"Very well, Miss," he said, pushing the ball gag as far as she thought it could reasonably go and then shoving it deeper and deeper by manipulating her mouth with his fingers. He was none too gentle about it. She didn't expect him to be. She wobbled a bit on her feet but managed to hold her balance. Her expanded mouth ached horribly and would continue to ache more as the journey continued. He secured it tightly to her head with a strap and then patted her on the head as if he were patting a dog. "All done," he said, satisfied with his work.

"You should have let me do it," groused the younger man.

"Maybe next time," said the older one with a wink, "She travels back this way too, doesn't she?"

"I suppose so."

She tried to sit on the bench provided and, after three goes, managed to succeed in doing it. They watched her and applauded her efforts.

"Maybe he'll get something out of the old bitch after all," commented the younger one.

"He did the last time or so I've been told," replied the taller one with a glint of pleasure in his eye.

An hour passed and her mouth seemed beyond caring. Her jaw, however, wasn't. Already drool was threatening to burst forth. Good.

"Tight enough?" asked the tall one in a professional tone as he examined her bonds.

She nodded and a wisp of spittle left the ball and touched her cotton covered left breast.

"What kind of a mongrel would send her three times to that bloke?" asked the younger man.

Someone who really hates you dear?" asked the taller one of her. She nodded and a second line of spittle touched her breast.

But it's none of my business," said the other one. "You gave her the chance to get out of this. Can I feel her up?"

"Naw!" cried the taller one. "We're to deliver her undamaged. It's in the contract."

"I just want to cop a feel," the younger one said grinning.

She'd been wondering if she'd have enough sex appeal for them to risk the contract and possibly a future complaint from her to their boss. Now she felt as if the contract was hanging loose and anything could happen. Part of her couldn't have been more pleased.

The flight was four hours long and, by the second hour, the cabin they were in was really beginning to hot up. The taller one put on the air conditioning above his seat and the younger one followed suit. They looked to her but left her to sweat. It was what they'd been told to do.

The older man took out a bottle of water from an Esky and took a long refreshing swig. He then handed the bottle to his mate who also took a long refreshing swig and handed it back. He was about to put it away when as a seeming afterthought he showed it to her. If her tongue could have gotten past the ball she would have licked her lips at the sight of it. He even let the open bottle drift for a couple of precious seconds under her nose before taking it away.

"Want some, hon.?" He asked, putting the bottle this time up to her eyes. He took some of the webbing of accumulated drool handing down from her mouth and wiped it on her knees. She nodded eagerly and, though her mouth couldn't smile, her eyes did their best. They were, after all, so very expressive.

"Sorry, Miss," he said after a moment of pretend thought. "We don't feed or water cargo on this flight. Yes, I know it's been left up to us but I think you can go without unless, of course, you're willing to do something for us."

If she could have shrugged her shoulders she would have. Instead she cocked her head to one side.

"Can we cop a feel then, Miss?" asked the younger of the two, making groping movements with his fingers.

"You can't get fairer than that," said the other. "One mouthful a grope."

She thought about it knowing full well they could quite easily force themselves onto her. The water was tempting, very tempting but not in the spirit of the thing. Slowly she shook her head. If they were going to cop a feel it would be on their own volition and not with her blessings. She knew it was a dangerous move on her part and it felt dangerous but oh so right. What would happen next? Nothing apparently except for her sweating and drooling and aching.

When the plane did touch down in a remote field outside some outback town (part of the contract as stipulated by the organizer was the she was never to be privy to its locale) she felt exhausted. For the whole flight neither of her buttocks had made full contact with her seat because of the way her legs were spread and it took some effort, via the use of her spread out arms, to keep what could be balanced there balanced.

"Maybe on the return you'll be more sociable," opined the younger man as the helped the other haul her to her feet. She shook her head vehemently preventing a stream of sweat from going into her eyes and stinging them like other such streams had.

She was jostled off the plane and into the back of a waiting pick up where she was shoved up against several bags of feed and a box full of barbed wire and nails. It was the barbed wire which caught her attention.

"Let's go," said the older man getting into the seat opposite the driver. The younger one got behind the wheel and they were off.

The trip from the airport to their destination was at best rough and rugged. She was bounced around a lot, her arms and legs flailing helplessly, her buttocks bouncing on hard metal and her breasts occasionally doing the same. For once she was glad of her extra padding. She suspected the driver was trying to hit every pot hole he could possibly find and to run over every rock he came across. What made matters worse was she had an itch in her somewhat hairy triangle that started up when they pulled out and wouldn't stop. If one of the men had been in back with her she would have surely given in to him copping a feel. All he would have to do was ask once more.

The sun was like a blast furnace and it was all she could do to occasionally blink away sweat from her eyes. She didn't want her mascara to run – not just yet – but she was certain that it had. She knew her arms and legs were also bursting forth with sweat and she could smell her hairy armpits. Her lips were as dry as parchment and it was beginning to seem she had run out of saliva.

Just as she was about to doze with the heat, the pick-up stopped amid a cloud of dust which momentarily choked her. Brutal hands that didn't care what part of her they grabbed took her down from where she was to the dirt below. She grunted in protest but no one heeded her. No one cared. She felt happy and apprehensive and worn all at the same time.

THE PRESENT

By Ross Martin

Chapter 2: The Arrival

Old Bill who lived on a small property a mile from the nearest neighbor and five miles to the nearest town had received a phone call that morning about a package he should be expecting to arrive that day. It was Friday and he was told he could have the package all weekend. This, as always, suited him down to the ground.

Of course he could always refuse a package but he'd never done that. There was only one way he would and it had thankfully never come up. He liked packages and had handled a dozen already for the company since his retirement five years ago. It was a pleasure sometimes just to be able to keep his hand in and give some customer what they want. Once he even handled a particular package twice. Now that was really something but he didn't expect it to happen again. He didn't expect to have that package for a third time but he could always cross his fingers it might happen.

The pick-up came to a jarring Holt for its passenger in the back a few feet from his porch. It also kicked up a lot of road as id did so and he imagined he could hear coughing. He knew the men getting out probably could but they would pay no never mind to that. They moved slowly getting around the back to pull out and deliver the goods. Once there they made swift work getting it down and onto its rather shaky feet. Then they pushed and pulled it toward his stairs.

He watched fascinated as it slipped here and there and was hauled back onto its feet and made to continue. The most wonderful grunting sounds came out of it as it was shoved and pushed, especially when the stairs had to be navigated. They would be tough for anyone in high heels, even tougher with legs spread wide. Being tired from a long trip with pins and needles in the legs from lying wrong most of the time or not lying at all didn't help either. Still the deliverymen kept it moving.

He watched them from his window trying as he did so to get a good look and what he'd have for the weekend. It was big that's for sure but he couldn't get a good look at the face. The head drooped down too much. Mind you, the shock of red hair did give him pause. He wondered how far he could go with this one and who would want it delivered in such a state. He let the door bell ring three times before opening the door.

"About bloody time," said a tall bald man who was resting his arms on the package's broad shoulders.

Bill looked at what he was getting more closely. It was plump without being over the top fat. He'd have plenty to work with and he always liked that. Yes, it was definitely plump and juicy in all the right places but surely it couldn't be….not a third time! He lifted its chin and looked at what he always thought were the loveliest, deepest, big brown eyes that ever existed on a package. Even desperately blinking away sweat the way they were they retained their loveliness. Betty, despite the odds, had returned! He almost smiled but was fortunately able to check himself at the last millisecond and grimaced instead.

"What have we here?" he inquired grimly as he got behind Betty the package and gave her a hearty slap on her left rump. She gave a pained squeal but managed somehow to retain her footing. He then grabbed a handful of ass flesh and squeezed until a soft, slow moan came from her. When he stopped she snorted and stamped her foot. Doing so made her feel like an animal, like a mule at auction. She felt lousy, she felt humiliated and, strangely enough, she felt great.

"Someone mustn't like this silly cow very much," opined the older of the deliverymen.

"And she is a cow," agreed the other fellow. "Look at those udders. Moo, moo, hon'. You got a bull for her?"

"Nah," said Bill, taking her nipples in hand and making her breasts wobble. It wasn't too difficult to grab them despite still being covered by cotton. They were rock hard and like champagne corks. What's more, she couldn't help looking at him with those eyes big and wide as if pleading with him to stop. Sweat had made the cloth cling a little to her so she didn't quite wobble as much as usual but it was enough to make the deliverymen and for her face to turn beet red.

"Why not?" gasped the younger deliveryman, trying to control his mirth.

"She don't deserve it," said Bill. "Any paper work?"

He let go of her nipples after giving the breasts one more shake and grabbed for the contract and pen being offered to him by the older deliverymen. He was also handed a short list of instructions.

"She's special delivery," mused the older deliveryman. "We might have felt her up on the way here only we had orders not to. We might have given her some water before dumping her on you but we had an understanding not to do that…more's the pity…for her."

"You thirsty Betty?" asked Bill.

The big woman shook her head up and down in the affirmative though she really didn't expect any water to be forthcoming.

"It says here no limits or safety words," said Bill. "It also says you come to collect her Sunday at 4pm."

"That's right," said the older deliveryman. "Mind you I don't think you have to accept delivery if you don't want to. I think there's a clause somewhere saying you can send her right back."

This stopped Bill in his tracks. Of course he wouldn't refuse but why let Betty know straight away? Part of her being here was not to know what would happen next. Also there were her looks to consider…

Sure, Betty did have a lovely peach of a face which the ball gag in her mouth only enhanced for his pleasure. Her small but pudgy mouth had already been through a lot just getting here. She also had a cute nose. Everything else about her, however, was economy sized. Her rust-colored hair had been cut short revealing her thick, heavy ears. The freckles around her tree stump neck were hidden under a layer of dust but he knew they were there. The same with the freckles on her face, arms and chest.

She looked at Bill and her mouth, blocked as it was by the gag, quivered pathetically in his direction for an answer. You really do want this don't you bitch, he said to himself.

"I'm thinking," said Bill after a while.

There she was, Betty, with her arms spread wide in greeting and her legs spread equally wide. She was wearing a rather ugly cotton thing that hid the color and texture of her ass, arms, legs and knockers but not their general shape, never their general shape.

"Look, we're going and we'll be back Sunday," said the older of the deliverymen. "Surely you can put up with her that long."

"Fine!" grumbled Bill loudly as if he was being talked into something. "As a favor to the company I'll take her. Next time bring me someone younger, prettier and…not so fat."

At the word fat he pinched her middle with both hands drawing out her spare tire for all to see. She snorted angrily and they laughed. When he let go the flab jiggled of its own accord for a few seconds before settling down.

"Good on ya, mate," said the younger one as he got into the pick-up ready to roll.

Bill put his signature on the contact to acknowledge delivery and the older deliveryman got into the pick-up and took off with the younger one, raising a second cloud of dust.

Betty started coughing loudly, uncontrollably and so Bill took the gag out with his fingers by first unfastening the strap and then poking around the sides of her mouth. Then he slapped her hard on the back. She responded by spluttered some, got teary-eyed, sniffled, shook her arms and legs and almost fell over but somehow didn't. For a fat bitch she could hold her balance real well.

"I guess I'm stuck with you," Bill told Betty. In reality he couldn't have been happier. To him she was a prize, a package worth having, even if only for a weekend. She nodded her understanding and he shoved the ball gag back into her mouth and somehow got it further in than the older deliveryman. She winced as he did so but tried not to move.

"Good girl," he said, patting her on the rump when he was done. She nodded her understanding and he pushed and pulled her slowly into his living room and closed and locked the door behind him.

There Betty enjoyed the coolness of not being under the direct rays of the sun. It was a minor thing but not to her at that moment in time. It was something to be cherished or, at least, that was what one half of her believed. As surprised as the deliverymen were to find her home in the dull suburb where she normally lived so ordinary she had similar reactions, always, upon seeing his lounge room. The walls were lacquered wood and gave off a nice, rich masculine woodsy smell and feel. There were cushy brown chairs and a deep comfortable sofa, there were rather ordinary framed outback photos on the walls and pot plants on stands strategically placed seemingly to add a sense of serenity to the scene. The old fire place and the heavy wooden coffee table were also nice touches.

He made her stand in front of his sofa as he got a pair of scissors out of his kitchen and also his new camera. He was so glad she'd be the one he'd first try it out on though the pictures, strictly speaking, wouldn't be for him though he did sometimes keep choice copies for himself.

When he got back he took a look at her, repositioned her so he could see her face clearly, told her to look at the camera rather than down so he caught the look in her eyes and snapped away merrily. He snapped a few close-ups of her face, concentrating on where the mascara ran making her look a little like she's wearing a black mask, on her lips frothing a little around the gag and her nose powdered pleasantly with dust. He'd concentrate more on the boobs later. He'd save them for later though her nipples were standing out nicely since he'd given her breasts a shaking though they may well have been standing out in anticipation.

He put the camera on his table and approached her with the scissors. He rubbed them against her nose, dispelling some of the dust and against her puffed up cheeks, first one cheek and then the other. She didn't make a sound, she didn't even plead with her eyes. In fact, she didn't mind what he was doing at all. The metal was cool against her skin and that was lovely. What's more, she knew he was only going to cut two holes in her dress and pull out her great, lumbering boobs for an airing. This he did and she found the resulting airing quite refreshing. What's more, they were wet with sweat and she imagined they were glistening for him magnificently, daring him to do his best…or was it his worst?

"So I have you until 4pm Sunday," Bill said to her as he picked up his camera. She nodded her head and he snapped a few photos. Then he removed the gag. It took him almost as long to get it out as it did to put it in and it was a bigger struggle this time for her to keep still while he did it but keep still she did. She was glad when it came free but wondered why he had done it. She flexed her jaws and sucked in air through her mouth as well as her nose. Despite the continuing aches it was bliss.

"You have given your consent freely?" he asked then smiled politely at her. "If you haven't, I suppose I could always untie you, provide you with a new dress and get out the radio for my own amusement."

Of course! she told herself. It was the same as last time and the time before only she'd let it slip her mind. She was being given her very last chance to bail out. Part of her screamed to take it, the other part, the part she was listening to, screamed no.

"Yes," she said softly, working her stressed jaws as she did so.

Bill then did what she expected him to do. He slapped her hard in the face, jolting her, almost knocking her down. It felt awful. Her cheek radiated angrily and a tear formed at the corner of her left eye near the developing slap mark.

"Yes, what?' he demanded.

"Yes, Master," she said meekly in a soft, trembling little-girl-lost voice. Oh, how he loved that voice. Fancy returning here for a third time! he told himself in wonder. He imagined there were women who would rather divorce than let that happen. He, in fact, had little doubt of it.

She was all of thirty-eight with two kids and a husband that doesn't fit into the picture but is there anyway. There were always men who don't fit a particular profile but are there anyway. She was a teacher of some sort. Her bio, which he'd once been sent to best understand how to treat her, naturally didn't have her real name or where she came from but it did list her interests. She was a good cook and a keen gardener. As for why she allowed herself to be a package, she'd written down that she'd almost always been picked on by guys and had gotten used to it.

Using scissors and bare hands, Bill ripped the rest of her dress apart. In doing so she was pulled this way and that with the tearing fabric but still managed to somehow keep her balance. She grunted and fought hard to keep on her feet and he could admire her for that. He dumped the rags that were once a dress on the lounge and took another photo or two. Now she was naked except fort the studded dog collar he'd given her during her last visit. He'd told her at the beginning of her last visit that if she made it through without complaint he'd have something for her. She didn't seem at all disappointed when he fastened it around her neck. It didn't seem as tight a fit as last time. Maybe she'd lost a little weight. Regardless he thought it was a nice touch to her otherwise naked body. He liked nice touches. Then he spied on her great belly the smudged but still readable words: "Birthday Present." He wondered what that meant. It wasn't his birthday. Of course someone may have gotten the date wrong but he didn't reckon that was the answer.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing at the writing.

"What does it say, Master?" was her reply.

"Birthday present," he said. "But what does it mean?"

"I'm not telling," she said.

Bill grabbed her by one of her thick ears and savagely twisted twice.

"Not telling," he breathed in her face, twisting a third time for emphasis.

"Ouch! Yes! Yes! Not telling…Master!" she cried.

He took her other ear and also twisted that hard three times then he stepped back and inspected her with his eyes.

"Do you think you're in any position to say you're not telling?" he asked.

Betty thought about this for a few seconds. Her arms and legs were almost numb with pain from being stretched for so long but this had been planned and she was not going to go against it now. It would be like quitting and she was no quitter. "Yes, Master," she finally said. She waited for a blow across the shops or for some more ear-twisting but nothing came. Grinning he said: "So you want me to get it out of you?"

She was silent for a moment then boldly looked into his eyes and said: "If it is your wish, Master. I have my instructions from the one who sent me. I am not to reveal the answer to you. I will attempt to keep that pledge. You may do what you will."

"How cruel of whoever sent you," Bill said. "I take it you won't give me his name?"

"No, Master," she said.

"Very well," said Bill. "We have some weekend ahead of us it would seem. But getting these things out of you will have to wait. You need cleaning up. You stink."

"Yes, Master."

THE PRESENT

FINAL CHAPTER

By Ross Martin

I am writing this because I am being force to and because I really want to. Obviously, in my situation, it doesn't matter what I want and that's the way it should be. It took me a long time to arrive at where I am but I am so glad that I did.

May last escapade as a free woman had me signing away my freedom for a weekend to a man in the outback with a reputation for treating women the way I need to be treated. How I would be delivered was all arranged with a Sydney based company. All I had to do was sign on the doted line which I did.

And so I left my comfy home in the suburbs and took a private flight to the never-never or as close to it as I will ever get. The guys doing the delivery were happy not to use the air conditioning if this made me less comfortable. Such sacrifices they were willing to make. So why didn't I just turn it on myself? Well, my arms were spread apart by a spreader bar and the same can be said for my legs. It was in the contract that Bill, the guy in the outback, first notices me this way. Lovely contract that. You'd think I'd be out to get whoever put that damn thing together and you'd be wrong. For, you see, I knew that person pretty well and knew they weren't going to get away with it.

I am a big woman so it wasn't surprising pig sweat was coming off me because of the heat and the ball gag crowding my mouth made it difficult to articulate any pressing needs I might have. Still, those blokes knew I was thirsty and so offered me some water if I just let them cop a feel. It was on the paper that they couldn't cop it without my say-so which was all well and good. I shook my head vehemently in the negative and so remained hot, sweaty and thirsty up until I was at Bill's doorstep. Oh, and you can add dusty to that because of the trip from the makeshift airport to his home.

Naturally, when offered the choice of taking me or sending me back, Bill made out like he was in a quandary. Eventually, my deliverers left and I got into the house and out of the sun. My clothing was soaked and I must have smelled awful. I was feeling less than human I can tell you.

After feeling me up and undressing me, he gave me a bit of attention because I wouldn't tell him what 'Happy Birthday' written on my stomach meant. He pushed and pulled me into the bathroom because, he figured, if he was going to have me around it wouldn't be with a clothes pin on his nose. There he took a large sponge, soaked it in warm water, added liquid soap and rubbed me down.

He started with my nose, mouth, ears and neck. Somehow he got the sponge under my collar without choking me to death though I thought at the time it was a near thing. He scrubbed extra hard on my tummy to get the letters off. They were very stubborn and my stomach was cherry red and tender by the time he succeeded. Believe me it was a lot of me to be red and tender. He soaped me under the arms good and rough nearly bowling me over twice with his enthusiasm. Then he told me what a hairy bitch I was. He soaped my cunt and poked around my asshole, too, grumbling about the hair. To get to my snatch he had to lift my belly which made my face go red knowing he wouldn't have to do this with other subs sent him. "Quite a pot," he commented and squeezed a handful of it. I squealed. It really was raw there. He squeezed again but this time I refused to squeal. Overall, the sponging felt good.

"You're hairier than last time," he told me. He gave a look of disgust. Actually I hadn't shaved my arm pits or vaginal area for two months and was pleased he noticed. What he was hopefully also noticing was the trembling in my arms and legs. Thanks to the spreader bars, it had been a long while since I'd been able to rest them. But what did that matter to him? My shoulders and calves were aching but I was sound enough. Why, if he wanted me to, I knew I could stay in these spreaders all weekend and then some. Part of me wanted him to want to.

"So you won't tell me what those words mean?" he said as he put away the sponge. He grabbed me b y my head of hair and brought my face to his. He was grinning when he said: "Very well. I just might have made your stay more pleasant. Do you know I can do whatever I like to you?"

"Yes, Master," I sighed.

He kept his face close to mine with one hand and was now finding my clit with the other. It took some doing but he got his fingers on it and squeezed. I yelped and he laughed. Then he patted my snatch and said: "And this is all with your own consent, right?"

"Yes, Master," I said firmly.

"What an absolute dumb fuck you are," he commented.

He pushed and pulled me back into the lounge room. There I was positioned near the lounge as he took down the plants on one wall to reveal strategically placed hooks for what I suspected he next had in mind. Slowly, carefully he removed the bar separating my arms and then the bar separating my legs from me. I let my arms drop to my sides and brought my knees closer together. What I most wanted to do was sit and that lounge looked mighty inviting but he wasn't going to give me permission so I could forget about it.

What's more, having my arms free didn't last long. He grabbed my collar chain near the collar and dragged me over to the hooks. Then he said: "Hands above your head." I did as I was told and he stretched my left arm until he had me connected via the ring in my leather bracelet to an overhead hook. He did the same with my right arm. At the end of this my feet were barely touching the ground and there was considerable strain on already strained arm muscles. He grabbed his camera and took a few shots. Then he looked at his watch, turned on his television set and settled in to watch the evening news. And why not? I wasn't going anywhere.

During commercials he came over to me and grabbed some pussy hair and pulled. What did I do? Yelped mostly. Then a Pavlov's dog thing sort of happened. The forth commercial came and so did I. Ahead of him grabbing and yanking, I came. I did it in anticipation and when he did grab my cunt hairs he found them sticky. In response he grabbed my nose and tweaked it savagely, took his handkerchief out and with it grabbed some cunt hair to pull. I yelped louder than I had before and moaned a real, deep doggy moan. He showed me his hanky and it had at least twelve hairs. He held them up to my nose and said: "Smell it, bitch. That's what I've got to put up with." He took a sniff himself and put the hanky away. At the end of the show he went to one of his drawers and brought out a few items to show me.

"For tomorrow," he said, brandishing a paddle about twelve inches in diameter at the business end and spiked with sharpened nails. The nails were an inch in length and straight. To say it terrified would be an understatement.

"Last time you refused," he reminded me. "By the contract you cannot refuse."

"Yes, Master," I gulped, looking at the formidable object with dread. I also tingled with anticipation and dripped. Well, a dog is a dog I suppose.

He then showed me two enema bags and the biggest plug I'd ever seen. The nozzle wasn't much smaller. What scared me the most though were four twelve inch stainless steel spikes. I could guess what they were for and I wasn't sure I was ready for them.

"What do you think of these beauties?" he said, holding them up to my lips.

"Horrible," I said and meant it then added quickly, "Master."

"Want me to use them?"

"No, Master." I shook my head emphatically knowing it wouldn't make a scrap of difference.

"What do the words mean?" he asked. "Tell me and I will spare you everything I just showed you."

I didn't give myself time to think, I just blurted out: "No Master" real quick. He put everything away in the drawer, took me down from the hooks and secured my hands behind my back. I heard muscles creak as he did so and softly grunted. He took a small whip and applied it to my behind to get me down the stairs. I dripped some more and somehow he managed to hit one o9f my cunt lips. I yelped sharply and my speed toward the stairs and the dungeon below increased considerably despite my weariness.

Down in the dungeon he gave me a few tepid mouthfuls of water from a glass. Then he pulled out some more of my cunt hair with his hanky. I whimpered and dripped. Next he took a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a cloth. He soaked the cloth in the alcohol and applied it liberally to my vaginal region. I screamed because it burned like you wouldn't believe where I'd been royally deforested and he had to slap my face a few times to get me to stop fidgeting about so much so that it would go on liberally.

I was crying when he locked me in. Great fat tears rolled down my fat face. I wondered how long the terrible burning would last. It was mounting to pure agony, or so I thought, and wasn't to leave off for hours. I made myself as comfortable as I could on the straw provided. Sleep eventually overcame me.

I awaked the next morning to the sound of his footsteps and that of the opening of the dungeon door. He picked me up off the ground and set me on my feet. He then looked intensely at me and said: "Have you thought about it? Have you decided to take up my offer and just tell me?" He had his bag of tricks with him and showed me. I shook my head, no. I was in awe of the fact that I could do that, especially when he now had the dreaded spiked paddle in his hands. He laid it down on his work bench with the bag and trudged up the stairs. I wondered what he was up to. He returned an hour later with a handsome breakfast of eggs, toast, orange juice and coffee just for me. He even allowed me the use of my hands and a knife and fork.

"Enjoy," he said and left. He returned in another hour to take the plates, cup and mug away. Some minutes after that he came back He tied my hands behind my back with cord and picked up the spiked paddle. He smiled what I thought was a warm smile and sprayed the nails with special stuff so I wouldn't get lockjaw.

"Lean against the wall," he told me and I leaned. He spread my legs apart with hand slaps to my thighs and said: "Hold that pose." I held. Then one cheek exploded with pain and then the other. I screamed and stamped my foot. It was worse than the alcohol over deforested cunt had been the night before. He hit me again and again in quick succession. I gulped for air and assimilated the pain as best I could. Three more whacks and I was gyrating that bum like nobody's business. My legs were starting to close so he whacked them open with paddle hits to my thighs which were a lot worse than the hand slaps had been. Then he managed to score one of my cunt lips and I howled and stamped my foot to his glee.

"You know," he said. "They tell me fatties like you don't register pain like other bitches. I don't really think that's true but what I do appreciate at times like this is there's so much more of you to hit." Before I could think if he's said that before the paddle came down and hit the other vaginal lip. I cried that cry of agony that sounds so much like high spirited laughter and shook spasmodically. "No….," I blubbered when he stopped hitting me and managed to think to chuck in "Master" to please him. He brought me around to face him and wiped my face with a clean cloth and even had me blow my nose on it.

"Better?" he asked.

"Y…Yes," I said softly. "Yes, Master."

"Turn around."

I did so and spread my legs dutifully. He hit both cheeks twenty times more then stopped.

"Please…Master," I said in a whimper.

"Please what?"

"Please…Master."

He took some photos of me and then took the cloth and smeared my backside with it. He then reefed my head around by grabbing the hair on my head and said: "Look at this!" I looked and there was blood on the cloth, my blood from thousands of puncture holes. My eyes must have spoke volumes but he just put the cloth in his pocket and hit me some more with the paddle. At this stage I was grunting with each impact, snorting out my fury at what was being done to me and stamping my foot a lot. I was also dripping. He stopped altogether at fifty and had me turn around to face him.

"You know I could keep this up till they pick you up," he said. "I like this paddle so I just might."

"Yes, Master," I blubbered, little bubbles breaking on my lower lip which was quivering. Part of me was excited at just such a prospect.

"But no," he said and put the paddle on his work bench. He tied my wrists together and then to a single ring above my head and attached a spreader bar to my legs to separate them. The cold stone of the wall against my bleeding bum smarted something fierce.

With great skill he tied rope around each of my breasts and pulled tightly. I grunted my displeasure and he showed me a ball gag. It was the same size as the one I came in with but blue instead of red. He said: "Last chance" and I shook my head in the negative. The gag went in tight and was fastened. It filled my whole mouth and I snorted at it being there.

Bill took more photos and then had a cup of coffee from a flask he'd brought down with him. He set up the enema bags which were full of icy water so I'd cramp a lot where I'd see them. He then moved my stomach and wet pussy out of the way so that he could get at my asshole. The nozzle was greased but it didn't feel that way going in. It felt like it was going to split me wide and I was wide enough already. I involuntarily rubbed my ass against the wall which wasn't a good thing to do.

So, with my ass bleeding some more and my asshole filled I awaited his pleasure. It came in about two minutes after he turned the release valve. It came as a cold shock like a cold punch to my extremities. Half way through the first bag he undid the gag and removed it. A great stream of spit came out of my mouth with it and washed over my left breast. By now my breasts were starting to gain color from the roping and were throbbing away. They were bigger and so was my belly which was growling. Also, I'd been hit a number of times by the cramps already and this was only the beginning.

"Stick out your tongue and beg," he said.

I stuck out my tongue and said in a wobbly voice: "Please, Master."

As I was assaying "Please, Master" he was snapping away on his camera.

He picked up a small bamboo rod and approached me with it. He put it to my lips and said: "Kiss it."

I did as I was told and put plenty of saliva on it. There seemed to be plenty to go around.

The rod whistled through the air once, twice then collided savagely with my left nipple. My eyes crinkled up and I grimaced with the pain. It then collided with the other nipple. This time I yelped and my left leg came up presumably to somehow protect them. Considering the spreader bar and my advancing stomach this was some feat on my part. Something I couldn't have done if I'd thought about it and something I instantly regretted by the extra strain it put on my arms and belly. He hit around the nipples for a while after that and then came down hard on my belly button which was coming out to greet him. This caused one hell of a cramp and a rumble from my stomach. I made that scream that sounds like laughter and juiced. He took a taste. "Not bad," he said and put the rod away.

He left me alone after that until the last of the first bag was in. I was groaning lightly trying not to cry or blubber because any movement at all was likely to bring on more cramps and they were rocketing my way frequently enough. He took some more happy snaps with his camera.

"Want this to end?" he asked conversationally, his hand on the valve that would release the second bag's contents.

"Yes, Master," I said in a girly voice that was just short of a sob.

"So what's the deal with the writing?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said still in that voice. "I won't say."

He released the valve and in two minutes there was a shock and I shuddered with the new cold. He sat down on a comfy chair and watched me closely. I went back to groaning lightly though my belly was doing serious flip-flops and sweat had broken out large as life on my forehead. According to him, this called for more photos.

Once all the liquid was in me and seething he showed me the large plug and said: "I'm removing the nozzle but you hold it in until I get the plug in place."

It was a hell of a strain but I did as I was told and the plug, big as it was, managed to get inside me. I grunted lightly, ever so lightly, at the intrusion so as not to start the internal volcano. He felt my stomach and said: "Hard as a rock." It gurgled in reply.

Then he showed me the four very thin ultra sharp spikes. He waved them under my nose and then pressed the business end of one lightly against my left breast.

"Please," I murmured pitifully. "Please, don't."

"Why?"

"I…I…Pity?"

"That don't buy nothing here," he said with a smirk driving a spike through my complete left breast. I breathed in as it went in and so felt its presence as I exhaled. "Oh!" I cried loudly. Tears were forming in my eyes. I uttered the same "Oh" after it went through my right breast. A red haze then engulfed me. I was swimming in it. I don't think I noticed him sticking the third and forth through my cunt flaps. But he slapped my face hard twice to get my attention as he put alligator clips on my nipples to complete the picture. They were put close to the edge for maximum bite and their bite did bring me around.

He snapped more photos of me and told me to keep my eyes open and smile for the camera. When I closed them he slapped my face hard again and said: "I have a stimulant here. I have a medical background and so you are not going to go into real shock. You are not going to faint. Got that?"

He showed me a syringe filled with God knows what. If I could I would have shrunk from it. So, hurting incredibly the way I was, I kept my eyes open and smiled for him. My big purpling skewered boobs I took to be the main focus of his artistic endeavors with the Kodak experience. Little did I know then his fascination with my face in agony pretending on his cue that it wasn't.

"Pretty," I said looking down at m y own pained boobs and stomach then added: "Master."

"Yeah," he said, touching my boobs, face and stomach gently. He positioned a bucket under me and pulled out the plug. It came out with an almighty pop and a deluge. I groaned my new situation which was improving. It took two buckets and some squeezing from Bill to get it all out but boy was I relieved.

"Thank you Master," I sighed as he took the buckets away. He untied my boobs and then removed the spikes and clips. That way the rushing blood would hit me with awful pins an' needles which it did. I sobbed loudly and dripped.

He left me hanging there awhile and returned with his afternoon tea. He gave me a taste. The tea was refreshing but hurtful to my stomach all at the same time. The clips on my nipples were now really giving me grief but still they remained. He fiddled with them a bit aggravating them, getting me to grunt. He also fiddled with the spikes going through my cunt lips.

"I bet you wish you'd told me now," he said.

"Yes, Master," I answered.

He had some magazines to read so he left me there just hanging from my wrists with my nipples beating to their own band and my boobs in general still feeling where the spikes had entered and left. I was like that for hours. He removed the nipple clips and cunt spikes and took me down sometime before his dinner. He left me there in the dark for at least an hour. When he came back it was with a glass of cold milk and a biscuit.

"There," he said, handing me the plate it came on, " that should tide you over till morning."

I thanked him and he left. It took me awhile, with the way I was hurting, to fall asleep but eventually I did.

The next morning he took me on a naked run around a square mile of his property. It was hot and dusty. Here I was out of breath most of the time, naked, my hands secured behind my back, trying not to be strangled by him as he dragged me around by my lead. I sweated a lot. I collapsed twice and was whipped to my feet. Somehow I made it back to where he showered me with the hose and pulled more cunt hairs out of me. I wondered if I had any left.

Lunch time came and he gave me an apple to eat which I was grateful for. Then he had me on all fours in his barn. I wondered what was going to happen next. I could guess when he pulled down his pants and, for a man older than myself, showed me one corker of a cock. I dripped. He mounted my still smarting ass, getting between my pained vaginal lips, rubbing table salt on my paddle punctures to excite them. I reared up with pain and anguish and he pushed down. This went on for I don't know how long. He rode me hard and savage. I resented it and loved it at the same time. I was crying when he finished and slapped my behind to let me know. I'd never been ridden so cruel in my life but there was more to come. He had me suck him hard and then rode me again. I howled, came and cried. When he put his pants on I thought that would be it but he tied me up so that my cunt was out and I couldn't move. He put kitty bites in my vaginal area and called his cat to lick then and eat them out of me. What's more, he took pictures of the cat doing so. The cat had a sandpaper tongue.

He left me like that for an hour then untied me. He took me into the house and had me sit on the lounge.

"I've been thinking about you," he said. "I made some calls. It seems it was you who paid for this little weekend get-together and you paid the last couple of times, too. What's more, you asked for me and I am flattered. Not many ask for me a second time, let me tell you, let alone a third time. I know you live alone and it costs you plenty to come out here."

"I don't mind, Master," I said weakly, a tear forming in my eye.

"I know," he said. "But I've got a proposition for you. I'll arrange for you to fly out again next weekend and if you can help me with this problem I have then our next weekend together I'll pay the company for. And if you continue solving my problem, I'll continue giving you what for. Deal?"

"Deal, Master," I murmured. "By the by, did you work out why I had 'Happy Birthday' on my stomach?"

"It's your birthday. Today, Sunday, to be precise."

"How long have you known, Master?"

"Since before you arrived Friday. I figured it out from the other times you arrived here."

"Why then, Master, did you try to torture it out of me?"

"I figured you had your reasons for keeping quiet."

"It was to give you a reason to really go to town on me. The clause in the contract saying you could do anything meant you'd be especially mean and you were."

"It's not yet over," he said. He had me stand up and turn around. I screamed in great pain as he poured rubbing alcohol over my ass and then my boobs. I pounded my feet against the floor for it to stop but the awful high-powered stinging continued.

"Oh, Master!" I sobbed loudly as he put me into an old dress and fitted me to the spreader bars. Slowly he pushed and pulled me sobbing greatly up the stairs and, by the time we got to the front door, the pickup men were waiting to take me home. On the way they asked to cop a feel for a few aspirin and a drink of water. I refused. The stinging persisted for hours after I'd returned to my house as did the ache in my gut and the throbbing in my boobs which resurfaced with the pushing and pulling. I continued to drip.

Two day's later, as per the other times, I got a whole swag of photos of myself undergoing torture via email from Bill. I particularly liked the facial shots of near panic or of burbling suffering because it showed my torturer to have a liking for my dial as well as other parts of me. He genuinely liked to make me suffer and to try to capture choice moments on film. I felt flattered. These were the best snaps yet.

With trepidation I came out to Bill's home the following week not as a prisoner but as a guest. He greeted me cordially and offered me tea and biscuits. He examined my breasts and ass and told me they were healing up nicely.

"What is this pressing problem, Master?" I asked him and he escorted me down the stairs to the dungeon to look for myself.

There a woman was standing dead center with a collar around her neck and a lead in her hand. She had long red hair down to her shoulders and a slightly trimmer figure than mine. It was clear we were both of the same age but, whereas I had a cute nose, hers was long and she wasn't as fat. She was wearing a frilly white blouse and a pair of black hot pants. Her thighs were big but not as big as mine and her bust was slightly smaller. What took me about a little was the enormous ring through her nose. It was so beautiful. It was the mark of a real slave and I wanted one just like it.

"She's my sister-in-law," Bill said, giving me her lead. "Her husband will be away for eight weeks and he wants me to look after her every second weekend while he's away. Since I can't I told him I'd get someone who can."

"Who?"

"You."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Guess."

I looked at the equipment on the work bench and noticed my ball gag and the rag he'd taken blood off my bum with.

"Right," I said. "Fine. What does she have to say about this?"

"Tell her," she prompted the woman.

"I am a cunt, Mistress. I obey."

"No permanent damage, though," put in Bill. "The holes I put in your breasts will heal up nice into tiny scars but I did that because you said no holds barred and it had been a while since I was able to do it."

Sitting in a corner were the two buckets still filled with my excrement. Suddenly I had plans for them.

"Otherwise anything goes?" I asked.

"Yes. That's right. I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Do a good job."

I'd punished women before and he apparently knew that. What's more, I can be a real bitch.

"What's your name?" I asked the woman still holding out the lead.

"Cunt."

"Your real name."

"Cunt."

I had her strip and then I tied her wrists together and over an overhead hook, her legs were spread apart via a spreader bar. I took my old ball gag that still had traces of my saliva on it and forced it into her mouth. She made a face over the taste but I didn't care. Tied her tits good and tight with two thin cords because they bite better than rope and added each bucket of excrement to the end of each cord. Letting the buckets drop made her shudder. The stink then hit her nostrils and they flared in horror. I took a bamboo rod up and swished it around. I hit her on the breasts scoring the nipples ten times out of the twenty. She rolled her head backwards and forwards with each impact and a tear ran down her face.

After the twenty I surveyed her boobs and saw lines reddening up nicely. The rest was also coloring up and getting bigger. She sighed as I patted her knockers and a stream of her own saliva exited her mouth when I removed the gag. I checked her snatch and it was noticeable she'd come for me. "Dirty bitch," I said and slapped her face. She smiled an enigmatic smile and so I slapped her again. The smile remained.

"Name," I said.

"Cunt," she sobbed.

I sat down on the chair provided and watched her struggling to get away from the stench. It was starting to get to me so it must have really been burning her nostril hairs.

"Don't worry your pretty little head," I told her, "we've got all weekend."

"You think I'm pretty, Mistress?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then how can you do this to me, Mistress?"

"Because I can."

"Please…Mistress…the smell…"

"Tell me then?"

"Cunt."

I gave her an hour or more like that then removed the buckets and gave her breasts a good slapping with a light paddle. She tried to move away from the impacts but she was tied too securely. I gave her thirty per breast and she gave me a deep growl. I notice she'd come again and so shoved the rag with my sweat and blood stains on it in to her mouth and told her to hold it. She did so as I took two small pins and forced them into the center of each nipple. She struggled and screamed as I forced them in but, to her credit, didn't drop the rag. I took it out and asked: "How does that feel?"

"Hurts?" she said in a sobbing voice.

"Want me to hurt you some more?"

"No, Mistress."

"Good. We're going to get along fine," I said, toying with one of the pins in one of her nipples. I was looking at the enema equipment and at then strap-on artificial cock I could ride her with later.

"Please…," she began, "please, Mistress…"

"What?"

"I shouldn't ask, Mistress."

"Ask."

"Please…Mistress…Hurt me some more."

What can I say except that I was obliging? At the end of Sunday I dressed her back into her clothes complete with collar and leash. She was very sore but I don't think she was sorry.

"So do you know her real name?" asked Bill as he said his farewell of me.

"No," I said. "But I'm determined to find out."

"Hey! Cunt," he said to her, "She treating you okay?"

"Yes, Master," came the reply. It was accompanied with a shy grin.

"Then I'll see you weekend to punish you for abusing my poor sister-in-law."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"And two weeks from now you'll abuse her some more?"

"Yes, Master."

At this answer from me, his sister-in0law had a Pavlov's dog reaction.

"Just smell that," he said. "She misses you already."

On my flight home I laid down my plans for Cunt as I'm sure my Master Bill laid down his plans for me. He told me – ordered me – to keep a diary of what he does to me and what I do for Cunt. I find this passes the time nicely during my normal working week.

Skipping two weeks in my notes (this being only a supplementary scribbling on my part) and getting to the third, I can say I've lost a little weight but not Bill's interest in me. My boobs are in recovery from the whipping with a light flogger he last gave them and from the heavy nipple rings he gave me without, I might add, anesthetic. This satisfied my masochistic leaning greatly. Still, finding out Cunt's Christian name is Betty like mine was my treasured moment as a sadistic pig. I think it was the two glasses of beer while two bags of cold water were in her that did it for me. She bellowed out her secret amid lots of tears and rumbles from her belly. Then, as I was about to pull the plug, she begged me to continue her punishment and so I did. I wanted her to suffer. I quite enjoyed her that way. So I gave her an extra twenty minutes. And she thanked me for it. Betty, after she returns to her husband with visit Bill on special occasions – occasions I will be invited to. Gee, I am so lucky nowadays to have Bill and that other Betty in my life. Very lucky.