My head felt like lead. What happened to just drifting off to sleep? I had to pee, my arms ached, my legs were weak. I could hardly move, but I had to.

Someone kind decided I was in distress as I groveled unhappily on the bed. The chains attached to my cuffs were unclamped and I was tugged to my wobbly feet. The soggy panties were pulled from my mouth, their departure leaving a cottony aftertaste.

I expected some civility from these button-down weak-kneed corporate warriors. But as soon as I was finished taking care of my personal needs—which had to remain minimal, I was tied to a makeshift whipping post that was placed at one end of a very plush office. I could see outside, beyond a long series of frameless windows looking out to the sky and clouds and nothing more. Pretty matching brocade couches and chairs were strewn around the room, along with a strange assortment of people.

A secretarial looking redhead, wearing a mustard-colored dress, squashed a cigarette in an ashtray on the far side of the room. Two other women dressed in black sheaths, one long, one short, roamed the boardroom with cocktails in their hands. "She’s prettier than last year’s," short black sheath decided. She approached me, looking me straight in the eye as if I were a caged animal on display.

I hissed.

"Ooo, and a little piqued," she laughed.

I wanted to claw her eyes out.

"Shut up, Darlene, and leave her alone. We have things to do."

The two moved out of my line of vision as two men approached. The first was a portly, polished gentleman. What was left of his hair was turning grey and his bugged out eyes couldn’t get enough of me. Moving closer cautiously, as if I had some disease, he finally put a plastered smile on his oily face and reached for my nipple bar, giving it a firm tug.

"Ooch…" I muttered softly what I didn’t want him to hear.

The second fellow was much more perilous looking. Some would call him dapper, I’d call him forbidding. As his critical eye roved my body, I could see the calculator adding up the facts of me, determining my worth. He was a gray-haired patriarch; olive skin, shady, steamy eyes, husky well-built stock. Italian or Greek, I instantly concluded. He moved closer than his pudgy friend, close enough for me to feel his breath on my shoulders. "You’ll ransom well."

What the hell did that mean? I thought it loudly, but I didn’t say a word. I figured he ran the show and I’d better make a good impression.

"Scared?"

I couldn’t answer.

"You can talk," he told me.

"Yes, I’m scared."

"Funny, you don’t look scared at all."

"Must be hiding it under my clothes."

He smiled at the joke, then turned to the room of roving sexual goons. "What do you think?" The men in white shirts converged on the scene. "You suppose she’ll make the cut?"

"I think we need a demonstration."

I saw my dapper captor grin, and move his swarthy smile on me. Closer. His breath was warm on my clammy skin. Despite my fear of him, the sexual overtones were so strong, my body swayed toward him involuntarily seduced,

"She even breathes sex," he told the group, while staring directly into my eyes. "I think I’d like to see how she suffers."

"Pretty well, if you ask me," a voice from beyond chimed in.

"I mean really suffer. String her to the chains and let’s try her on the cycle."

Released from the post, I was moved to the center of the room, where a curious apparatus appeared simultaneous to my arrival. My first impression of the odd device was both accurate and frightening. Attached to gears and levers at its base was a strangely fashioned bicycle seat and pedals. A new pair of hefty metal cuffs was secured around my wrists, these thankfully lined with rabbit fur to minimize the cutting on my skin—nice touch! Each cuff was attached with chains to a rigid bar above me, which could be raised or lowered to ensure the proper strain.

The pudgy fellow bent me over while the greying patriarch watched him grease my crotch. There was no particular target for the thick cream; it filled both ass and cunt, coating the openings and the area around. The cycle seat was lowered enough, so that squatting I could lower my groin and have both holes impaled with thick dildos that were strategic parts of the molded seat. I was amazed at how easily the fixtures slid into my entrails and vagina. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised considering the amount of lubricant that greased their path. With my waist strapped to the seat, my feet strapped to the pedals, the entire mechanism, the cycle and the chains that bound my arms, began to rise until my hips were four feet off the ground and my upper body was stretched as taut as a bowstring.

"Pedal your bike, slut," my attentive patriarch ordered.

I anticipated the order, but what choice was this? My mind quickly considered the options, coming to the conclusion that there were none. I felt the sting of floggers and whips on my backside, urging me on, so I began pedaling in an act that graphically demonstrated the clever ingenuity of this dastardly contraption. Each time I worked the pedals, I worked the dildos into my ass and cunt. Each alternating thrust pushed them deeply into my interiors, fucking me soundly in both places and forcing my upper body to strain each time it moved.

The fight in my body was gruesome. Half of me could get off to this startling exhibition; the other half cried silently to be released. If I slowed the pace, the whips danced against my ass with stinging strikes, forcing me to pick up speed if I wanted the whipping to stop. I pedaled hard, heard gasping, panting, heavy breathing sounds issue from my mouth, unbidden. My sexual juices flowed as though I loved it. What a slutty thing of beauty, this self-created cum!

My body answered quickly, lurching forward, straining, cumming, mouth roaring unintelligible garbage, "Ah, shhhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiit noooooooooooooo." Pain and orgasm rolled through me like a barreling locomotive, while the whips and the pedaling continued at their furious rate. I was on one glorious, fucking high. Faster. Pedaling faster. The action of the fucking machine took over my efforts. Faster still. Another cum replaced the last, spasms, clenching, rhythmic, forceful until my entire body froze. Every muscle in me tightened in an instant; I couldn’t move. I was unable to pedal, even though the stinging leather on my rear did not stop. "Augh, gawwwwwwwwwwd, gawwwwwwwwwwd yessssssssss, yes, yes, yes, yesssssssssssss!" I screamed as though hell had taken me captive.

I wilted as the tension began to drain from my body. Fainting for a time, I pedaled slowly now, involuntarily, while I regained my strength. The dildos jabbed more easily now as if mimicking the softly spasming rhythms of my spent form. My juices covered the entire seat. And as I came back to consciousness from my moments of forgetfulness, I opened my eyes to see the master of this vehicle staring happily my way.

The wrist chains tightened one more time, intensifying the strain on my body, leaving me urgently afraid I’d be stretched in two.

"Don’t worry, slut, we haven’t lost one on the cycle yet."

I stared his way, unable to move my eyes, thinking, wishing it were Alec. He would be kind now after this kind of battle. He’d help me down and love me.

My crotch felt far too big for my body, expanded beyond its natural size, remaining orgasmic. The easy pedaling recharged the orgasmic waves. But I couldn’t go another round. Please, didn’t he see that in my eyes, my fainting, surrendered, exhausted body?

"Yes," the grey-haired patriarch paced thoughtfully in front of me, while talking to his watching minions. "She could do very well for me. I might just keep her."

"Like the last, Loris," someone laughed behind me.

"Better, I think. This bitch needs some training, she’s a little crude, but she’s all whore at heart. Just look at her, sweating, undulating, rocking on her little playthings like she wants to start all over again."

I grimaced knowing that I wanted down, not more.

"I think you’ll kill her," a female voice chimed in.

"No, slut," he approached me directly, fingering my nipples and giving them a good squeeze. "You’ve showed me all I need to know." His touch was light, delicately moving over my skin, caressingly gentle as he raked his nails over the wounded flesh at my flanks and ass. I squeezed the double dildo penetrations like they were cocks. But they didn’t respond this time. I wasn’t pedaling; someone was undoing the straps at my feet and setting them free.

My arms were lowered, my waist detached from the harness that secured me to the seat, and as my feet touched ground, the cycle lowered and the dildos withdrew. A fearful emptiness consumed m and the desire to sleep followed. But instead of a comforting bed, I was lead back to the whipping post and locked in one more time. Left alone.

The room went dark as I tried to get some life back in my body. A movie began to play on the far wall. I was not at an angle to see well, but I deduced enough to realize that it was black and white, the grainy look of amateur porn.

The room was getting heated. Long black sheath and the redhead were taking off their clothes and dancing, while I remained bound and thankfully ignored against my post.

Someone offered me a cocktail, practically pouring it down my throat. The alcohol tasted bad, but my mouth was so parched that I drank it anyway. The three tarts in the room were all fucking executives; a few were watching the show and I was alone, watching too.

My mind drifted thoughtlessly to all the events of my recent past, starting with Walker and moving to Alec, and finally returning to this bizarre scene.

I should have been scared, petrified, screaming to be let go. The gist of my patriarch’s speech was enough to scare any woman sober, even a bonafide slut like me. But that wasn’t the effect reality had on my thoughts. My mind aimlessly wandered, I was too exhausted to bother thinking. Perhaps that was a good thing. I might have gone mad with worry.

Alone. Apart. Forgotten. Wasted.

I was left to my musings, feeling strangely sad.

The music in the room was gentle rock and roll, something I should have recognized, but nothing was recognizable to me now. Not until I felt the fingers of a hand, a draft of air and the warmth of body heat behind me.

Reaching out to me from nowhere special, one solitary, anonymous hand began to play my body like a drum; first softly running a palm over my skin, then tapping my body parts with soft slaps. The intensity increased and my crazed endorphins began to tear though me. I fell back into the land of sensuous forgetfulness, realizing that, astonishingly, I’d cum again. As long as I was bound, there was nothing else to occupy my time and these hands were exquisitely involved with me, as if they knew me personally. I thought of Alec, even Walker, but had to give up trying to figure out who was harassing my peace with another mystery. They weren’t about to let me see their face.


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