Housebound Ch. 09

The metal bar hurt her teeth. Katie glared up at James, nostrils flaring, trying to keep her jaws clenched and not let him pry them apart, but he was always so damn patient. As soon as her tired muscles slackened the slightest bit, he pushed it a little farther, and farther still. It didn't take long for Katie to find her mouth distorted by it, grimacing around the thing, like a rough iron bit to which he held the reins.

She was still unprepared when he actually used it that way, though. His sharp yank back forced a little grunt of surprise from her, and let him twist the bar so its broad side was turned up, wedging her jaw open farther still.

"Let's review, shall we?" James murmured in her ear. Katie tried to snarl at him, but barely made one choked-off noise before she found herself struggling not to gag on metal.

She was back in the basement, in the most fearsome room at all, the one with the reconfigurable machine and its endless array of armature devices. This time James had her in a deeply uncomfortable inverted C-shape: shoulders resting on a flat bench, head hanging down, torso lifted up and curled over, her hips positioned over her chin. She was naked, of course, her pale body spotlit, brown hair a tumble down below her. He'd even removed her plug-belt and control collar for the time being. Her arms were pulled out straight to each side; he'd made the sadistic choice to bind them to the bench at intervals with zip-ties, pinning them across her biceps, elbows, wrists and individual fingers with sharp tight lines of pain. Her knees were doubled over two metal bars, set at angles to each other, which served the dual purpose of keeping them elevated and keeping her thighs open. And her calves were bound up against her thighs, secured with their own set of thin, horrible plastic bands. It was impossible to breathe deeply, and the pressure of being upside-down made her ears pound. And here he was yanking her around like a pack animal and talking about a review.

"Lesson one," he said, and flipped on a monitor, angled down just right for her field of view. It was a video of her: three simultaneous feeds, one of her full body, one of her upper torso, one of her vulva. The only thing it didn't show was her face, hidden by a dehumanizing rubber hood. This was a recording of the first time he'd brought her down here and made her come on command. She trembled with humiliation, seeing it. She also felt an uncontrollable swelling flood between her legs.

"Lesson two," he said, and flipped to another video—their session the following day. Different configuration, different techniques, same unbelievable humiliation as he forced her body to writhe to his tune. Despite herself, she did realize she was reviewing the last several days, going over the things he'd forcibly taught her about her own capacity.

Katie had learned that her that nipples were, in fact, sensitive enough—with the right mix of stimulation and adrenaline—to bring her to orgasm. She had learned that the region on the anterior wall of her vagina, which James regularly tormented with the angular steel buzzer, was in fact an internal adjunct to her clitoris, a larger organ than the little hooded glans with which she was familiar. It, too, could drive an orgasmic response, and indeed could do so over and over until her body tried to double up with cramping pain.

There were weirdly-named places deeper within her, too, that his machines had violently fucked: so deep they made Katie almost sick, pinned down on her belly, feeling her internal organs actually shift with each thrust of a long metal shaft. That could make her orgasm. The painful, pleasurable, humiliating things with which he had penetrated her ass were not enough to make her come—yet—but vibration and pressure on her perineum, the place she would have called her "taint," certainly were. And, of course, direct electric current through pads applied to the nerve cluster branching from the base of her spine could induce a response that technically qualified as orgasm. It was a revolting, dehumanizing feeling, possibly the one she hated most.

"And lesson seven," James concluded, with a recording of her convulsing like a wet fish, mouth open and gasping as he dialed down the current through her sweat-drenched and thrashing body. "You're doing exceptionally well so far," he said. "Everything's going as expected with induction—your nervous system has accepted the trigger word as a strong climactic motivator. Remember when I said one word and made you come even with the numbing gel on your clit?" He smiled fondly, and she shuddered, unwilling to think about how that one had felt. "That's usually the marker I use as a clear sign to move forward. I'm certain we have your gas pedal well installed."

He ran one hand along her rib cage, feeling her shallow breaths, and gave her a proprietary slap on her hip. Katie didn't even flinch. She was too busy thinking that, in this metaphor, he had to start talking about giving her a set of—

"That's right," James grinned, reading her eyes. "Brakes."

Katie didn't like that thought at all, but she wrinkled her nose in disdain at him anyway. What the fuck was he going to do to stop her from coming? Hurt her? She wasn't exactly thrilled about it, but he had shown her already that pain was no impediment to orgasm—several times, she had come from pain, screaming through her teeth as he struck or shocked or wrenched her most sensitive places.

Do your worst, she almost wanted to dare him. He'd performed unthinkable torture on her. He'd twisted and raped and wrecked her. But she knew that she, alone out of all his victims, hadn't broken yet.

James locked eyes with her. His gaze was light and mocking. He picked up a little square of plastic, maybe half an inch on a side, glossy and transparent; she only caught a brief glimpse of some kind of tracery etched into it as it flashed in the glare of his spotlights. Then he reached into her mouth, still forced wide open, and pressed it against her hard palate.

"You should be grateful for this part, Katie," he said, eyes crinkled in that almost-smile. She didn't think she'd ever hear anyone speak with tolerant amusement again without feeling a murderous rage. "Girls like you who get trained into induction, but not aversion, burn out pretty fast. I've seen it happen; it's not very nice—" She choked on something like a laugh. "—And frankly, it's a waste of a precious commodity. So don't worry about your safety. Given the way you've been shaped already, I promise, it's for your own good."

Katie's tongue was busy and frantic, trying to find and dislodge whatever he'd stuck to the top of her mouth, but she couldn't even find it. Maybe there was something that felt a little slippery, tiny, clinging—but the bar was in the way. Fuck!

As she grunted in frustration over that, he was reaching up to one of the limbs of the machine, drawing down one that was tipped with a large, silicone tool. It had three asymmetrical prongs, and a quick glance was enough to give Katie a guess at their purpose. The smallest, most distinctly flared part was going in her ass. The one with the tip shaped like a little bag of marbles was going to press her clit and upper labia. And the thing that looked like a barely-tapered rubber beer can was going to push its well-lubricated way into her cunt.

Once, such a thing would have intimidated her—and it did make her pulse speed up to think about how fucking thick and tight would feel, taking that cylindrical shaft. But by now she'd taken bigger and survived. She could even glean from her glance an idea of both precisely how much it would hurt and how fast it would be able to drive her to the edge of orgasm.

What worried Katie, right then, wasn't the machine. It was whatever twist James had coming with it.

She felt the bar start to move back out of her mouth, scraping painfully sideways and making her ears ring. Before she could close her mouth and rest her aching jaw, though, it was replaced by short, thick hard rubber dildo on another of the arms. It resisted her desperate tongue and slid just a couple inches in—not enough to throatfuck her, but enough to remind her that she was more or less being forced to suck cock. She gave James a look that she hoped conveyed withering disdain.

James accepted that look, reached down, and tweaked her ear very hard. She betrayed herself with a pained little squeak, muffled by the tool in her mouth. He had such a way of hurting her in the places she wasn't ready for.

"Stimulus, response," he said. The arm above her hissed and sprayed her orifices with the horribly-familiar cold lubricant mist. "Let's get you up to speed."

The silicone tool moved in with a robotic whine, and Katie's hunched form gave one uncontrollable shudder, bracing her to be penetrated once more.

It wasn't any easier than she'd expected.

When the cylinder had sunk itself to the hilt inside her, the pressure of its girth seemed to be somehow pushing her clit out, spreading her unbearably wide and taut; the oscillating beads on its forward head barely had to touch her clit before her nerves redlined, jamming her right up against the limit at which her arousal could accelerate. Fuck, it was cruel. The pleasure barely even read as pleasure to her; it was just edge, the only true name for that feeling and what it did to her. It raced like a razor along her skin. Katie stiffened and strained, gurgling a little behind her cock gag. James wasn't just stepping on her gas pedal, he was trying to strip her gears.

James traced an idle circle with his fingertips around her small breast, which lay flat against her tense, bent chest. Then he palmed it and began to knead, hard, squeezing the soft flesh in his hand like a ball of dough. Katie panted through her nose and glared at him. The arm penetrating her had begun to move slowly in and out of its own accord, and the way her body was all jammed together by his positioning forced a grunt from her lungs with each thrust.

Behind James, she could still see the monitor, which had switched from recorded video to a live feed: one of the camera-tipped arms must have been looking directly down on them, and its primary view was of her distended orifices. He'd waxed her clean a few days ago—yet another of the times she'd come in pain. The sight would have been obscene, even if her bright pink and swollen face hadn't been just visible between her thighs, nostrils flared, mouth stuffed.

The edge rose fast and hard inside her. Katie felt sweat break out on her forehead and chest. James dug his fingers in hard, pressing the heel of his hand against her nipple, and she clenched her eyes shut against it. Any second now, she was sure, he was going to say her trigger word and force her to come, and then hurt her for it. Any second.

But he kept not saying it. And not saying it. And not saying it again. The machine fucked her onward like an animal being driven toward a cliff. She felt her labored breath hitching, felt her feet tighten and flex against her will. The edge climbed the nape of her neck, her scalp, her ears—

She felt herself tip over into orgasm, and then, before the rush hit, there was a faint tingle in the back of her throat as the little square on the roof of her mouth activated.

Revulsion. Sheer blank disgust, a deep hindbrain reaction, every part of Katie flinching hard back from the explosion of pleasure that was trying to go off inside her. It was akin to nausea, and her stomach heaved slightly, but her body didn't need to vomit, and she didn't. It just revolted.

Her skin felt clammy, greasy, cold. She felt completely coated with a sickening film, outside and in. Her anus tightened around the tool penetrating it and she found herself trying to climb down somehow, away from it, away from the violent, filthy foreign object—a reaction that had somehow dulled over the last week, now renewed and multiplied. She couldn't climb anywhere, of course, and the result was panic.

Katie screamed, a high-pitched squeal of animal desperation, as her orgasm collapsed underneath her like a burst balloon. Her holes pulsed a little, weakly, around the inescapable things she couldn't push out. She thrashed as the pathetic, tiny firework of her climax fizzled out and died, producing nothing but another layer of furious frustration.

The tool slowed, pulling almost all the way out of her, then suddenly reversed and shot hard and deep down into her—and kept pushing, past the point of pain. Katie was made to realize, for the first time, that the bench-and-bars frame she was bound to was hung on some kind of spring. She felt the unbearable pressure shoving her whole body down, farther and farther, until she was face to face with James's feet instead of his crotch.

"Brakes," said James. A floor panel just in front of him slid open with a hiss, and Katie's head and shoulders plunged into the water pool beneath the floor.

It was a shocking chill, of course. He did love cold things. Her whole crotch was throbbing with pain, stretched to its limit by the tool that was forcing her entire frame downward. Katie twisted her head back and forth as best she could with the cock-gag still in her mouth, and the scream of pure hate that bubbled from her lips must have rung through the room even from underwater.

The tool relented. Her body bounced back up out of the water with a splash, just another mechanical element in the middle of this apparatus, as the spring lifted her once again to his waist level. Water streamed from her flushed face and down the tangle of her hair. Katie could just glimpse, in the monitor, the visible line of pink across her chest that marked where the icy water had reached. No wonder he'd taken off her shock collar; it would have played haywire with her getting dunked like this. He didn't need to jolt her. Every part of her hurt already. She was gasping and shivering uncontrollably. James crouched down to bring his face close to hers, idly tugging at one of her stiff nipples.

"I hope it's clear by now that you really are nothing but a bundle of nerves, Katie," he said, his voice a murmur. "Stimulate them one way: pleasure." He tugged her nipple to one side. "Another: pain." He tugged back the other way. "A third: repugnance, horror, aversion." He rolled the tip of her breast hard between his finger and thumb and pulled up a couple of times, making it bounce a little. Katie was still too busy sobbing for breath to wince.

James released his grip and stood, reaching up to pat the arm still positioned between her legs affectionately. "Even if you do understand, though, I'm afraid we're going to have to drill this one in a few times. No way around it. It's the only way to teach your body to really fear an orgasm without permission—to put the brakes on for you automatically." He tilted his head, looking down at her. "Go ahead and dissociate if you want. Or can. I don't really need you conscious for this."

Katie had her gaze locked on his again. She didn't know if the wet feeling in the corners of her eyes was from getting dunked or from tears of helpless rage. But she could see, somehow, that there was a flicker of genuine curiosity in his expression.

The fucking machine seemed to ready itself, then struck.

This time it didn't bother with a warmup phase. It jammed its thick shaft down so deep into her swollen pussy that she screamed again, extending the spring that held her bondage frame to its limit in a breathless second. She plummeted back under the water. The oscillating, bumpy tip rolled against her trapped clit, throbbing with vibration, and her body struggled to respond.

Katie felt herself dragged unwillingly onto the edge again, jerkily rising and falling in time with her repeated plunges into the suffocating chill. Her ass hurt. Her cunt hurt. Her back and arms hurt, but it didn't stop her core from tightening with stuttered tension.

She couldn't seem to decide whether to breathe, or when, and then the machine broke its rhythm for a second and she mistimed her inhale and choked. That was a new level of panic. She tried to blow out through her nose, then pulled reflexively on the cock gag in her mouth—which rewarded her with a stream of pure, welcome air through a previously unknown hole, like a perverted snorkel.

Christ. Of course. A little extra level of training, trying to teach her to suck cock in order to survive. Katie felt herself pulled back up out of the pool, wracked with what would have been full-body shivers if she wasn't so immobilized, water pouring off of her. And then the tool fucked back into her and she was submerged with a splash again.

The prong in her ass shifted slightly that time, and hit her with a burst of unexpected vibration. Underwater, with her upper torso one pure wall of aching cold, she started to come again. And then James hit her brakes.

Katie fell over the edge just as she rose up out of the water, and "fell" was the only word for it—amid the violent disgust that tore through her, the sub-nausea and instinctive loathing of everything she felt, Katie's orgasm dropped once more into disappointment, a flat pile of spasming nothing. No satisfaction. No relief. No afterglow.

No break, either, as the fucking machine didn't bother to pause for James to talk to her this time. The revulsion faded as her arousal was grindingly forced into her again. Katie realized, with a little shock, that she was barely clinging to consciousness.

She thought of James's dismissive permission to pass out, though, and something left in her still rebelled. She was. Not. Broken. Katie cast about, through the punishing sensory overload, and latched onto something she'd first noticed days ago.

On the back wall of the cold concrete room, behind all the frightening instruments and degrading video monitors, there was some kind of electrical junction box. It wasn't a breaker panel or anything, just a place where steel conduit ran in and out, enclosing some kind of cables. It had a warning sticker on it.

That had struck her, when she saw it. It made her think about the circumstances of this place: this house, this prison. Someone had built it. Not James. Maybe not even someone who knew what it would be used for. And they had believed that someone would need to be warned about electricity.

Katie started to come, again, and felt her weaponized revulsion tear through it, again. She heaved for air and twisted her arms uselessly, feeling the plastic ties dig into her flesh. She was being tortured. She was being tortured right in front of a sticker that pretended to care about human life.

She took all the loathing she felt and focused her eyes, each time she rose above the water's surface, on the stupid little metal box on that wall. She hated it. She felt her veins stand out with tension and her eyes blur as she focused on it, again and again. She hated it. She hated it.

She hated it so hard the lights flickered.

Instantly the machine stopped. Katie hunched there, her hair dangling in the water as she choked for breath, while James flicked his gaze around the room. He wasn't quite wary, but he was aware, and listening.

After a moment he looked down at her, and his face was calculating. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to pause this lesson, Katie," he said. "It shouldn't be long. Try not to let your body forget what we're doing here. I'd hate to have to start over again."

Then he walked to the heavy steel door, twisted its industrial lock open and slipped out. Katie didn't think she'd ever exactly seen him in a hurry before.

She expected the machine to start up soon, to keep running her through the paces of this unique new brutalization, but it didn't. Maybe James had to be watching her readouts to time the punishment for orgasm properly. Or maybe the sick bastard just wanted to.