The Control Strap Page 5

  But it was the real Goethe who had said, “Treat people as if they were what they ought to be, and you help them to become what they are capable of being."

  Such wise words, thought Sanders. And so fitting to the good work he was doing here. A public service, truly. For he was not subjugating this woman, or any of the others who passed through this room, he was merely helping them become what they were meant to be. And if he and the company profited handsomely while doing it, so much the better.

  It was a shame Haller was no longer around, thought Sanders. But it had been necessary to have him ... dispatched when he had. The man's prior ventures had started to catch up with him, and the last thing the fledgling airline needed was to attract suspicion. With Haller dead, the hounds soon lost interest.

  Rousing himself now from his ruminations, Sanders saw that Number Twelve was almost finished changing Ten's bindings. The control strap had been locked in place first, of course. He smiled as he imagined Ten's reaction to it. But he wouldn't need to merely imagine it for long; the whimpers coming from her lips were becoming more emphatic as the first signs of dawning consciousness.

  Twelve stood and nodded at him. “I think she's awake, sir."

  "So she is,” he said. “Good. Now we can continue."

  * * * *

  As Brenda came to, she instinctively took stock of her situation. Her arms were behind her still, but the incessant ache was gone. It was obvious they were no longer roped together so tightly, but when she tried moving them, her wrists remained joined. From the feel of it, and the scent as well, she decided she must be wearing leather cuffs.

  And when she tried moving her legs, she found they had quite a bit more freedom than before, yet she could only move her ankles a foot or so apart. A soft metallic clinking sound told her they were joined by a chain.

  Thankfully, her mouth remained ungagged.

  As she rolled over to find a more comfortable position on the floor, she realized that all her clothing was gone. With the exception of whatever straps of leather restrained her limbs, she was now nude.

  But not quite, she thought with a start. There was something around her waist as well. A wide belt, cinched snug enough to compress her already slender midriff. And attached to the belt was another strap that descended from her navel. It covered her pussy completely, before ascending again in back, between her ass cheeks. With her cuffed hands, she could feel the vertical strap where it joined the belt again behind her.

  The strange accoutrement wasn't the most comfortable “garment” she'd ever worn, but at least she had some sort of covering down there. Not that it mattered much after hanging upside down and spread like an obscene wishbone.

  There was something odd about the vertical strap, however, beyond the basic strangeness of having a band of leather between her legs. It didn't feel completely smooth on the inside. There were protrusions in what seemed to be very strategic locations. One of them pressed noticeably against her clit, while the other intruded upon her anus.

  "Get up,” said Sanders. “Time to practice serving in the simulator."

  "Get up?” she said. “My hands are cuffed!"

  "Number Ten, do you recall what I said once about making me repeat my commands?"

  "But how—"

  Brenda's protest had barely begun when it was cut short by a jolt of current that emanated from the entire length the crotch strap.

  "OW!” she cried. “You did that!"

  "The jolts will continue, and gradually build, until the command is obeyed."

  "But—OW!” Oh God, she thought. He's not kidding around. I have to get up somehow.

  With no time to think, she acted out of sheer terror of the next shock. First she flopped onto her tummy, and slithered over to a nearby post. After flipping onto her back again, she tightened her abdominal muscles, and used her cuffed hands as best she could, to sit herself up. Then, bracing her shoulder against the post, she folded her legs beneath her, and managed to shift her upper body over them so she ended up in a kneeling position.

  As she struggled, the belt continued jolting her every few seconds, causing her to squeal and lose some of her momentum. By the time she had gotten up on her knees, she was beyond desperate.

  "Please make it stop!” she cried. “I'm trying to obey. You can see that!"

  Sanders shook his head and repeated, “The jolts will continue until the command is obeyed."

  "Ohh!” she whined.

  But the next shock actually helped her, making her body jerk and propelling her upward like a tiny rocket booster. Instinctively, she used the momentum to continue rising, slowly, steadily, until she was at a full standing position. With a sense of accomplishment, she turned to Sanders expectantly.

  He said nothing for a while, and she remained silent as well. After a moment, she realized the shocks had stopped.

  "The shocks stopped. Because I did it!"

  "Yes. Just as I said they would. And,” he added, "you didn't think it was even possible."

  "No, sir. I didn't."

  "The control strap is very persuasive."

  "Yes, sir, it is."

  "You were wrong, and I was right."

  "Yes, sir.” She resented the way he said it, but held her tongue.

  "Repeat what I just said, Ten."

  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to say it. “I—I was wrong and you were right."

  "That's a very important lesson, Number Ten. Never forget it. Whenever you and I are not in agreement, you are always wrong. And I am always right."

  For some reason those words now brought tears to her eyes. She didn't want to be always wrong. In fact, she knew she wouldn't be. But she knew as well that she couldn't argue with him. To do so would be ... wrong, of course.

  "Now,” he continued, “you happened to find one way of standing up while in restraints. There are other variations of the maneuver, but you'll have plenty of chances to experiment."

  "Yes, sir,” she sniffed, still stewing over the “always wrong” remark.

  "Before we continue, tell me what you just learned."

  "I—I learned how to stand up while bound."

  "Yes, but after that."

  She hesitated and felt her face flush. “I—I learned I'm always wrong,” she managed to say.

  "And?"

  "And ... You're always right."

  "Hm,” he muttered. “Are you sure you said that correctly?"

  "Y—” She caught herself. She had said it right, she was sure of it. But he sounded doubtful, so if she said she was right, would she be violating the so-called lesson? “I—I'm not sure.” She sniffed back a sob. “Probably not."

  "Good girl. Now to continue, I want you to turn to the simulator and take exactly five steps toward it."

  Knowing what awaited further disobedience, Brenda turned at once and took five steps. With the chain connecting her ankle cuffs, she could only manage short, hobbled steps which did not take her very far.

  She stopped after the fifth and waited for further orders. But as soon as she came to a stop, she felt the strap become active again. She winced, fearing another shock even though she had obeyed his order, but instead found herself cooing with delight.

  The protrusions inside the strap, front and rear, had started to pulse. It felt like fingers probing her, massaging her most sensitive places. The combined effect sent a different kind of shock, one of pleasure, through her body. She stood there moaning and rocking her hips against the stimulation until the pulsations ceased.

  "Take another five steps,” said Sanders.

  "Yes, sir!” she said enthusiastically.

  Again, after the fifth step, the built-in vibrators came to life.

  "This,” said Sanders, “is the other aspect of the control strap. It administers the pleasant sensation you're experiencing now when you're a good girl. And the not so pleasant one when you're naughty."

  As he spoke, the vibrations stopped again. Brenda glanced at him. “Can you demonstrate the nice
part just a little more? Please?"

  Sanders smiled, and shook his head. Without another word, he turned and headed toward a cabinet along the wall. He had only gone a few steps, when the strap came to life again. It zapped her for a second, then immediately switched to vibrator mode, then back to shock mode again. It continued to flip back and forth wildly.

  Brenda shrieked at what seemed to be a horrible malfunction. Sanders turned at once. He glared right past her. She spun around and found herself staring at a grinning Number Twelve.

  "Oops,” said Twelve. “Did I do that?"

  "Number Twelve!” snapped Sanders. “You know better than that."

  Twelve's expression changed from haughty delight to submissive regret in a flash. “Yes, sir. I—I don't know what got into me."

  "Don't bullshit me, Twelve. I'll deal with you later.” He turned again and continued toward the cabinet.

  As Brenda caught her breath, Twelve dangled the small remote control device in front of her and whispered, “It was worth it, slut."

  Thinking back to the wicked lashes the girl had administered to her poor pussy, Brenda began to wonder if she had more the fear from her than from Sanders. But she had little time to think about it, as he was soon beside her again. He held a large white ball with a strap through it in front of her mouth.

  "Open up, Ten,” he said.

  "You don't have to gag me, Mr. Sanders, I won't—"

  The jolt from the strap cut her short again. She gasped, then opened her jaws immediately as wide as she could. Don't argue; obey! she reminded herself. Sanders jammed the ball into her mouth, forcing it behind her teeth as far as it would go. Then he pulled the strap around and buckled it tightly in place.

  "Hmmph!” she whimpered. The ball was huge. It stretched her mouth so far that her jaws already ached. She tried biting down, but the rubber was solid and yielded little. Why did everything have to be so difficult around here?

  It was only then that she noticed the metallic ring protruding from the front of the ball. An eyebolt. That can't be good, she thought.

  Meanwhile, Twelve had produced a pair of white high-heeled sandals. She set them on the floor in front of Brenda and looked up expectantly. Assuming the obvious, Brenda lifted her right foot and stepped into the shoe. Of course, it fit. Twelve nodded and immediately set about buckling the sandal straps. Soon the left shoe was on as well.

  As soon as both shoes were strapped on, Sanders took hold of her arms and forced them closer together. As he held them in place, Twelve stood up and bound her elbows with a leather strap.

  "Now you're ready for your simulator practice, Ten. Come along."

  "Uh!” she protested. But she followed along anyway, knowing what would happen if she refused. Even so, the strap delivered another quick jolt.

  "Inappropriate vocalizations will be punished as well, Ten."

  "I'm sorry,” she muttered around the huge ball. “I won't do it again."

  Sanders nodded and smiled as he deciphered her muffled words. “Very good, Ten. At this rate, you'll be joining one of our crews in no time at all."

  CHAPTER 7: INSIDE THE SIMULATOR

  Brenda found the chain connecting her ankles to be much too short to allow her to take her normal stride. As she approached the simulator, she had to think about each step in order to avoid tripping. But at the same time, she had to quicken her pace in order to keep up with Sanders. It made for a halting, shuffling gait, and she wondered if she looked as awkward as she felt.

  She was so preoccupied with remaining upright as she hobbled along that she almost missed the subtle variation of the company's logo displayed on the simulator. This time, beside the silhouette of the howling wolf, it read, “Holler Airline.” With a groan, she recalled the way the name had been altered on the trunk in which she'd been transported. That version of the airline's name had a specific significance; “haul ‘er” was exactly what the trunk did.

  As she contemplated the new variation and what it might signify, she thought, that can't be good either.

  But Sanders left her no time to worry about it. As soon as they got inside the simulator, she learned what the ring attached to her gag was for. Without a word of explanation, Sanders clasped the back of her neck, forced her to bend down, and attached the ring to a short chain anchored to the wall by the simulator's entrance.

  The chain was very short. With no more than a few links, it gave her just enough slack to keep her nose from rubbing against the wall, and nothing more. It was also set at the worst possible height: too low to allow her to stand upright, yet too high to let her get down on her knees. All she could do was remain stooped over with her face an inch from the wall.

  Meanwhile, Sanders strolled off. She tried to turn her head to see where he was going, but she didn't have enough mobility and he was soon lost to her peripheral vision. Just standing there, or almost standing there, she felt as vulnerable as when she had been dangling by her feet. Her body seemed every bit as exposed, and she was just as powerless to protect herself.

  Glancing down, she became aware of her breasts now. Normally no more than a handful, her bent posture allowed gravity to display them at their fullest. They swayed gently as she shifted her weight, and their rosy tips, exposed to the cool air, were puckered and full. And, she thought, much too inviting.

  A sudden chill ran through her, and she became aware of Sanders, standing next to her again. She hadn't heard him return. She tilted her head as much as she could and tried to look up at him. It had to be obvious to him that she knew he was there, yet he said nothing to her. He merely stared down at her as she shuffled continually, trying to find a comfortable position where none was possible.

  Beneath his cold, steady, silent gaze, her anxiety rose. Involuntary whimpers purred from around the curved edges of the ball wedged between her lips. “Hummm ... Hummm..."

  She could just see his face as his lips curled slowly into an evil smile. He was enjoying her discomfort! Her whimpers became more strident, giving voice now to her indignation. He licked his lips at that and chuckled, infuriating her all the more.

  At last, he stepped back a few feet, out of her line of sight once more. She could hear him now, still softly chuckling behind her as his footsteps moved from one side to the other and then back again. His wordless amusement at her humiliating posture was torture in itself and she hated him for it.

  But more than that, she hated the warm tingle that swept over her, and especially the wetness between her legs. His despicable treatment of her ought to elicit anger, she told herself. Revulsion even. But certainly not arousal!

  "Ermmph!” she protested when she could stand his silent torment no more. “Wed me hoe!” she added with a stamp of her foot. But her muffled attempt to say “Let me go,” sounded comical even to her, especially given the sheer pointlessness of the demand. Behind her, she heard his chuckle escalate to laughter.

  Then, as his laughter began to die down, the control strap sprang to life. She'd almost forgotten she had it on. It was in reward mode, and the soft, finger-like probes gyrated with maddening effectiveness.

  Moaning loudly, she tried to control her hips as they rocked and swayed, but she simply couldn't stop herself. As she yanked madly at the chain that tethered her head to the wall, she saw him now clearly. He had stepped around from behind her and stooped down at her side. To her dismay, she realized his gaze was fixed upon her full, dangling breasts. Their undulations were much more pronounced now than before and held him mesmerized.

  At that, she finally forced herself to stop moving against the stimulus of the strap. Her breasts quickly fell still as well. But the effort to remain motionless was constant, as the pulsing of the strap continued its unrelenting teasing of her pussy and anus.

  "Please stop it,” she mumbled, glancing toward Sanders’ strangely serious face. And much to her surprise, he did exactly that, with a casual flip of the remote switch he clasped in his hand.

  With the buzzing stopped, she sighed and
relaxed again, as if her awkwardly bent position could be called relaxed. But soon the absence of the stimulus became as bad as its presence. She found her hips writhing once more on their own, this time in pursuit of the withdrawn stimulation.

  Frustrated, she shifted her eyes toward him again and murmured, “M—maybe a little more? Please?"

  A slight flicker of his eyes was the only indication that he'd understood her muffled plea. Otherwise, his rapt attention to her breasts was unbroken. Slowly, he reached out for the near one, her left. The nipple, already swollen to the point of soreness, seemed to plump up even more in anticipation of his touch.

  As his hand approached, she panicked at just how utterly exposed and defenseless her breasts were. He could do anything he wanted to them. She shifted her bound wrists from side to side in a vain attempt to reach around to protect herself.

  But all she could do was watch as his fingers closed around the eager, ripe bud. The first touch was barely anything, a light pluck, yet the effect was almost as intense as the strap. A jolt shot through her, straight from tit to cunt. Her whole body shuddered as if it had been struck, and she whimpered in frustration.

  He immediately grasped the nipple again, holding on this time. His grip became quickly firm, too firm, tightening past the point of pain. Brenda's flailing arms stiffened. Her fingers flexed and clenched at the air. As she wailed in pain, he mashed the poor nipple as though trying to squash a bug, twisted it as if it were something he could unscrew.

  "Uhh! Please!” she pleaded against his unstoppable determination.

  But rather than release her, he actually began pulling on the nipple, stretching her breast into an unnaturally straight-edged cone. She tried to bend down to relieve the unbearable tension, but her tethered gag permitted only so much movement. When she could stoop no further, she could only wince and whine and endure Sanders’ apparent effort to extend her breast all the way to the floor.