Message-ID: <12639eli$9807012259@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Seurat" Subject: {ASSD} Seurat's Twighlight Zone, chapetr 5: Max (femdom? bond, mast, fetish) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <01bda4f2$36349ae0$1010aacc@seurat7> Gee, and only a month overdue. I must be getting better. Standard disclaimers apply (no under 18, this may be offensive, you mileage may vary, etc). Don't know where this one came from; it's a little bizarre, even for me. If you like it or have ideas,let me know Seurat's Twighlight Zone, Chapter 5: Max and the trainer. Ever wonder what happened to Max at the end of 'Elizabeth'? Well, here is the (short) explanation. A hammer pounded inside Max's head and, with each clang of that hammer on the anvil behind his eyes, an image from his recent past flashed through his head like some bizarre slide show. Bang! The door of his porsche slamming shut as he walked towards Elizabeth's house. Bang! The front door of her house closing as he saw the pile of boxes waiting for him in the foyer. Bang! Bang! The sound of his feet as they hit the stairs on his final trip to her bedroom. Bang! Bang! Bang! The sound of a paddle hitting his flesh as he was 'disciplined' by the woman that had since taken control of his life. The pounding suddenly lessened as Max returned to full conciousness. The images continued, though, and he wasn't sure he remembered all of the events associated with them. A beautiful woman talking about him in disparaging tones as if he were an object. Nurses, whose latex uniforms seemed designed more to elicit a sexual response then to provide a modicrum of modesty. And an operating room. What had they done to him in that operating room? The images stopped short there, leaving him with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. A voice that originated in the deepest pit of his head spoke to him, and Max's eyes fluttered open when they did. "Greetings, contestants, and welcome to our challenge arena. Thomas, you are here for losing a bet with your trainer. Nicholas, you are here for insubordinate activities against your owner. Maxwell, you are here for crimes against an employee of the company. Gregory, you are here because your contract is due for renewal." Max looked around him. He was in a large square room with no discernable entries or exits. In the middle of each wall a steel plate three feet wide rose from floor to ceiling. And in the center of the room, lying naked on the floor, were Max and what he guessed were the other three men mentioned. They all looked as groggy as he felt. "There are four possible results of this competition. One of you will be submitted to 30 days of intense personal servitor training as penance before being judged again. One of you will be submitted to 30 days as a torture mannequin in the shop before being judged again. One of you will be submitted to 30 days of domestic service to an owner or trainer other than your own. And one of you will be given your freedom. May the best man win." What the hell was this? Max stumbled to his feet as the four steel plates dropped into the floor, revealing niches in the wall with ladders going up. He began to stumble towards one when a hand on his shoulder spun him around. Immediately a knee lifted into his crotch, doubling him over in pain. "That's mine! I'm not going back! They can't make me!" The man grabbed the rungs and began climbing as the steel plate rose out of the floor, covering the niche again. Max heard another plate rise as he tried to straighten, then the remaining man spoke to him. "It's a test, really. How far will you go, and all that. You'll do things you would have found repulsive in the real world. But if you have any hope of getting out of here with an ounce of will, you'll do it. My name's Gregory. We sort of all in this together. Hope to see you in the real world, if we make it. Good luck." "I'm Max. Good luck to you, too." Gregory moved to a third niche and was soon covered, leaving Max with the sole remaining one. He got off the floor and stumbled to the rungs, then began to climb. The steel plate rose as Max climbed, and in a minute he entered the end of a corridor lit with recessed lights. On the floor at the top of the ladder was a pair of swimming goggles, sans strap. Five feet down the corridor the floor changed from rough concrete to what looked like white linoleum that stretched for another twenty feet. Max could see a room beyond that. He walked up to the white section and tentatively touched it with a toe. It wasn't solid, being the consistency of hand soap. He turned around and picked up the goggles and touched the rubber seal around them. It was sticky. Max positioned them over his eyes and pressed them into place, where they stayed. He then turned back to the white stuff. Obviously, he was meant to move through it, but why? The voice entered his head again, and he realized it was feminine. "Thomas has already passed stage two, Maxwell, and you haven't even started stage one yet. I had more faith in you than that." Max reached up to his ears, wondering where the voice came from, and found earpulugs which were evidently receiver/speakers. Again he approached the white cream, and tentatively slid his foot into it. It was warm, like bathwater, and he found a step nearly a foot down. He lowered the other foot down to the step, then over the edge and down again, finding another step. This continued until he was nearly halfway across the 'pit' and was about to have his heaad go under. Taking one last breath he plunged down the step and began to walk forward through the stuff. After only three steps, the stairs rose up out of the other side. When he reached the top, he was covered head to toe in the slick substance. He started to try to wipe the stuff off when the voice returned. "How long are you going to stand around, Max? Get moving!" There was something familiar to the voice, but he couldn't pinpoint it. He gave up trying to clean himself and entered the room. Another square chamber greeted him, a single exit on the wall opposite. Max trudged across, dragging his feet so that he would not slip. A whirring noise emminated from the other archway. Looking in, he saw what looked like a car wash, only for humans. Dozens of whirring brushes and water jets lined the walls, ceiling, and floor. It was then Max noticed that his skin was starting to burn. "Come on, stupid. Wash the stuff off before you get third degree chemical burns. If I'd realized you could be this stupid, I would have let them kill you at your girlfriend's house." Something about that voice, mutated as it was by electronics, tugged at the back of his mind. He did feel his skin getting hotter, though, and ran head first into the hallway. Brushes battered his entire body as warm water jets sprayed him, trying to invade his every orifice as he ran for the other end of the hall. He tripped as the pressure of the brushes receded, and fell into the room at the end. "Oh well," the voice spoke, "I guess it'll grow back." Huh? Max looked down at his now kneeling body to see nothing but skin - hairless skin. His hand reached up to his now bald head and felt the abscence of curling dark brown hair. "You MOTHER FUCKER!" he screamed. "Why?! Why are you doing this to me?!" "Better get that prick of yours in action, Maxwell. The cup needs additional weight to trigger the door." Max looked up, and in the center of the room saw a glass pedestal four feet high, bolted to the ground. On one side was a rubber-ringed hole two inches in diameter, about hip level. Inside the pedestal, about four inches from the opening, was a shot glass attached to a rod which disappeared into the floor. Max tried to get his hand in through the hole, but it wouldn't fit. He looked down at his dick, now sans the mass of curly pubic hair it had once nestled in. Well healed scars, each an inch long, ran lengthwise around the base of his cock. They weren't there before. "What did you do to me?" Nothing. In another room a woman dressed in white watched his progress on a computer monitor, and checked boxes on a paper attched to a clipboard. Tentatively, Max began stroking his prick. It quickly stiffened, and Max kept up the stroking. As he felt himself about to climax, he stuck his cock into the hole. Shot after shot of jism fell into the glass, and it sunk down an inch. A steel plate on the side of the room opposite where he came in rose up, revealing another ladder up. He pulled himself out of the opening and headed for the ladder, his still stiff prick bobbing in the air. His arms began to ache from climbing as he reached the top of the tall ladder. Another room, this one with four chairs in it. They faced a wall with four steel plates that he now recognized as doors. He approached the chairs carefully. They had a solid base and were bolted to the floor. On two of the chairs were strange plastic cones, about three inches high. Each cone had a short stem, then flared out to a bannana shaped base. "Fuck you. You hear me? FUCK YOU!", he screamed to the empty walls. "I'm not going to play any more of these asinine games!" "Max, the only way out is to sit on one of those butt plugs. Better hurry, you're currently in third. As you can see, two have been here before you." "I'm gonna kill you, whoever you are!" "You'll have to get out first, though, won't you?" He looked at the buttplug in frustration, and remembering what Gregory had said, turned and positioned his asshole over it, pulling his now hairless cheeks apart as he lowered himself onto it. It must have been well lubricated, for after a moment of stretching pain, it slid right in. Max's still erect cock dribbled out some more cum as the plug rubbed his prostate. Nothing happened with the doors, though. He got up to yell again, but couldn't rise off the chair. The plug was stuck to his ass and attached to the chair. It must have been coated with the same stuff as the goggles! Max realized he still wore the goggles and immediately tried to take the off, but they held fast. A gurgling sound reached his ears, like somebody flushing the toilet in another room, and liquid began to enter his body through the buttplug. He looked down to see his belly begin to swell over his still erect cock. For a moment he forgot his situation and wondered why he hadn't gone limp after cumming. His insides were beginning to cramp when the flow reversed direction. Everything that was inside was quickly being expelled to his relief. Except, it seemed, for the plug. Max tried to twist his body off, hoping to be free of the device, when the entire thing came loose form the chair. He knew now why only two chairs had the plugs on them. The plug was now firmly attached to his backside instead of the chair, the banana shaped base filling is butt crack nearly perfectly. Whatever the glue was, he would have to rip his skin to get the thing off now. In the other room, the woman giggled at his predicament. As he stood and contemplated his predicament, one of the steel doors slid up, leading into another room. Max entered, walking a little awkwardly, and the door slid shut behind him. In the center of this room, looking like a bizarre statue, stood the lower half of a woman. Spike heeled shoes adorning the feet were bolted to a small platform. The legs were encased in fishnet stockings, held up by garters that peeked from under a revealing leather skirt that instead of stopping at the waist, was molded over the top, forming a black cap to the statue. Two red buttons, one on each hip, poked through holes in the leather. Max walked around the odd statue. The back had been peeled up, revealing the ass cheeks and what looked to be an anus. He pushed one of the red buttons, and another door opened up, revealing a second one behind it. Pushing the other button opened that door. He smiled at the ease with which he had figured this out, and started walking to the doors only to watch them shut before him. Returning to the statue, Max got down on his knees to examine it more closely. Above the faux anus were written the words, 'insert tongue here'. Lick somebody's ass? It was only a fucking mannequin, after all. With both hands holding onto the hips (and also pressing down the red buttons), Max wiggled his tongue deep into the pliable plastic anus until he felt it reach the little knob. Smiling to himself, he forced his tongue even deeper in order to push the button, locking the doors in place. Not too bad, he thought. "Time's getting short, Maxwell." That voice again. He remembered it now! The night he went over to Elizabeth's, the last night he went over to Elizabeth's, she was the one in her room. The one who had tortured him sexually while he lay tied down on the bed. She was the one who...he didn't want to think about it. His dick was still hard. In fact, it wasn't limp at all. He pulled his tongue free and ran down the next hallway. The room if front of him was familiar. Glass pedestal, shot glass. He began stroking his already stiff prick and remebered the scars, and put two and two together. The nurses, the operating room...they had operated on his dick so that it wouldn't go soft anymore. His normal recovery time had been at least twenty minutes. His orgasm cut his thoughts short, filling the glass and revealing an alcove that led to a hallway. He pulled out and ran over, then saw what lay on the floor. In front of the hallway were a box and a pair of white high heeled shoes that looked to be in his size (naturally). Opening the box he found a slick white body suit that felt almost oily to his touch. Finding no opening with which to enter the suit, he tentatively pulled at the neck and found it to be quite stretchy. Elastic enough that he had no trouble getting into the strange outfit, which seemed to be seemless and included gloves, socks, and a hood. Instead of tenting over his still raging hard-on, it seemed to mold itself around his erection, allowing it to jut out from his body. Once dressed, he picked up the shoes. A quick check showed them to have the same sticky substance that kept his goggles on and his buttplug attached to his rear. Fuck this, he thought. The floor of the hallway was metal for a change and, leaving the shoes behind, Max stepped onto it. Pain shot through his feet as the electrified floor shocked through his toes and the soles of his feet. Resigned, he slipped the shoes on and walked as fast as he could on the towering points. They somehow insulated him from the floor, but he figured they would. He was now completely covered except for his lower face, from the bridge of his nose down. A second woman, dressed in green and yellow diamonds, joined the first. "Still had a moment there, didn't he?" "Yes, but lets's see what happens now." He passed through another small, empty room. Another hallway in front of him was hissing and filled with a black mist. No stopping now, he thought, and ran as best he could while holding his breath. Whatever was being sprayed was quickly covering his body in a layer of black liquid the consistency of motor oil. Wherever it touched his the bodysuit or his skin it adheered, but it slid away from the lenses of the goggles. When he reached the end of the hall he was covered completely in a thick layer of black. He tried scraping it off, but it flowed right back over his slick suit. The room he entered was lit with huge pink lamps imbedded in the ceiling, and it was uncomfortably warm. But that wasn't what drew his attention. It was the thing on the other side of the room. The thing in front of the steel door with the glowing 'exit' sign above it. Max looked at the bizarre contraption in front of him. A long clear plastic tube reached straight down from the ceiling, bending at a 120 degree anlge toward the floor about seven feet off the floor and turning black. The last nine inches were molded into a black phallus. The tube itself was filled with a opaque yellow liquid, like a banana shake, to a point about a foot above the bend. Just above the bend a red ring encircled the tube, and resting on the top of the fluid was a red ball. Drop the ball to the line, he thought, and I'm free. Looks like they want me to suck a cock. At least it isn't a real one. Resigned to his fate, he approached the tube. The tip of the tube was positioned high enough that Max was having trouble keeping his balance in order to do what he thought he must. Max spread his legs a bit to maintain balance, and grabbed the phallus with both hands in order to steady himself, then realized what he was about to do. At this point he realized he didn't care; he just wanted out of this nightmare. It was obvious what they wanted him to do, and something within him rebelled against the very idea but was quickly quelled by his desire for freedom. He encircled the phallus head with his lips and began to suck on it like it was a straw. "You know, I almost feel sorry for him." "Why?" "Because he thought he might win his freedom. I'll bet you didn't tell him at the beginning that who got what reward had been predetermined." "I never do. It makes it that much more fun to watch them, to watch as their hopes and dignity are stripped away piece by piece. I think what I like the best is that they are actually doing it to themselves, and willingly. Sort of makes me feel warm inside. Especially here." One hand pointed to her croth, and both woman began laughing at the joke. Inside the tube, the liquid started to drop. Encouraged, he sucked harder, inadvertantly drawing more of the plastic dick into his mouth. Suddenly, the liquid inside flowed into his mouth, but because the phallus was so deep, he never tasted it as it flowed down his throat. Max supressed his gag reflex as he had so often in college, when he used to do funnels of beer, and let the stuff flow in. The little red ball dropped quickly to the red line, and he saw the door in front of him open. Standing in the doorway was a woman dress all in a white leather version of a business suit. She looked at him and supressed a laugh. His tried to let go of the tube, but found that his hands were now stuck fast to the phallus. In fact, Max could see that the stuff he had been sprayed with had leaked onto the shaft before drying, making his hands one with the black dick. His mouth then, too, must be dried giving the tube a blow job. Panic swept over Max as he realized he couldn't move at all. He was completely encased in the hardened spray. Realization that the pink lights were in fact heat lamps flickered in his mind. The woman lifted a small microphone to her lips. "Not bad, Maxwell. Sorry that you didn't win your freedom. Missed by that much. Maybe next time. You did show promise, though. It only took a little prodding for you to show your willingness to do what I wanted you to do. It wasn't long after the start of my little contest that you were anticipating my very thoughts. That's a sign of a good slave. I'll have to see about further training, once your pennance is complete." Epilogue The woman once known as Elizabeth looked with disgust at the mannequin before her. Molded out of black latex, it looked very human. The molded body was certainly muscular, and the erect penis was attractive, but she wasn't one much for guys who wore high heels or sucked cocks. This one, it seemed, was molded in a fallatio position. Not that she cared. She'd found her one true love when she'd left Max for John, and didn't think about sex with anyone or anything unless told to by John. She finished dressing the mannequin, putting on it a frilly latex wedding gown and adding some false breasts and a wig. She then positioned it in the front window, second to the left, right where she had been told. As final thought, she filled the hollow dildo in it's mouth from a canister on her cart marked 'mannequin food' and hooked the cleaning hose to the dummy's rear end, then pulled the wedding dress down over it. June was the wedding month, after all. She packed up her cart, and wheeled it to the next display. Behind one way lenses which had replaced the original clear ones in the mannequin's goggles, two eyes watched her go, straining to see the woman that once had filled his heart with lust. Under the hard latex casing, a white bodysuit designed by engineers at Baum-Dietrich recycled the dead skin his body sloughed off; it also absorbed any hair that might begin to grow back. And light electrical currents, which he had gotten used to and now didn't even notice, stimulated his muscles so they wouldn't atrophy during his time as a mannequin. Thirty days has September, April, June, and... Thirty days, and he would be given another chance. He would do better then, and win a better reward. He sucked hard, draining his dinner from his feeding tube. Oh, yes, he would do much better. End. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----