West Valley High Day 132: Decorative 02

It had been a long night for Susan Mitchell. Perched on the stool facing the open window, she had nodded off a few times, but sleeping in such an awkward position was never going to be easy. As dawn broke and Susan sat awake, she could see out into the street from her vantage point. The massive house was set fairly far back from the sidewalk so it was unlikely anyone could actually see her but she still felt more exposed than she had been all year. She secretly wished that someone would spot her. Maybe they would call the police and they would come and investigate and find her tied up here and set her free. The thought of the headmaster being arrested filled her with glee. She thought about her mother, who would surely be killed if she escaped. But that was probably as inevitable as her own demise.

Any hope of being saved was dashed when The Artist returned and began untying her. "Today, we practice our serving skills," he said as he helped Susan off the stool and led her back to the dining room. She was glad to be on her feet today and not being led around like a dog. But she was so tired from lack of sleep, it was hard to be too happy. The man led her back to the large dining table and again had her lie down on it, face up. She was glad to be off her feet for awhile. The Artist produced several lengths of rope and bound her ankles to each of the table's back legs and then her wrists to the front, spreadeagling her on the wooden surface.

A gag was shoved into Susan's mouth with a short post sticking out of it. On top of that, The Artist mounted a bowl. He had set up his camera on a tripod and Susan could hear the clicking of the shutter taking photos at regular intervals. The man brought over a box of cereal and poured his breakfast into the bowl, filling it near to the rim with corn flakes and milk. Then he sat on his knees on a chair just above her head and began eating. Susan was starving and the smell of the cereal was making her stomach rumble. She closed her weary eyes and listened to the man crunching the cereal.

When The Artist finished his breakfast, heremoved the bowl from the post and the gag from her mouth and refilled the bowl. Slowly he began feeding the corn flakes to Susan. She found it hard to swallow lying down, but as hungry as she was, she downed every spoonful the man gave her. He tipped the bowl against her mouth and she drank down the remaining milk. He asked he if she was still hungry, and when she said she was, he refilled the bowl and fed her again.

Following breakfast, The Artist untied Susan and helped her down from the table and brought her back to the living room. The coffee table had been pushed off to the side and The Artist told Susan to lie down on the hardwood floor in front of the couch. Susan felt odd. This man was not the sadist Krutz was. He was, in a way, kind, but in another very cruel. And even though she found what this man was having her do as very odd, the poses were also erotic and she had to admit they even turned her on a little. She didn't quite know how to process that, but her entire world was weird even since she had become Stephen Krutz' slave. She shouldn't be turned on by being tortured daily, but she knew in some ways she was. She thought about the girls she had met with Miss Jennifer at the farmhouse and wondered if this is how they felt.

Susan placed herself on the floor. The man got to work with his ropes. He lifted one of her legs in the air with her knee bent and then bent her arm back so her elbow was touching her knee. He tied the two joints together with a piece of rope and then did the same on the other side. Her forearms and shins now made the perfect platform for the glass table top from the coffee table. The Artist lifted it off its base and placed it on top of Susan's limbs, turning her into his new table. He retreated to the dining room and retrieved one of his cameras and began photographing her from all angles. He placed various knickknacks and vases on the table at different times to achieve the full effect. Then he sat down on the couch and propped his feet up on the glass and started reading a book.

Susan's feelings about the man changed during the hour she spent as a living coffee table. Seeing him sitting there reading his book and sipping coffee made her angry. But there was nothing she could do about it. Eventually the man sat his book down and removed the glass and untied her limbs. But rather than allow her to stand, he had her roll over and place her hands and knees on the floor in front of the couch. He positioned the glass table top onto her bare back and once again admonished her not to drop the glass. He returned to his reading as Susan fumed.

After another half-hour, The Artist removed the glass top again and sat it back on the actual coffee table. But he was not done with posing Susan. He asked the woman to roll onto her back again, and this time ordered her to prop herself up with her legs and arms in what she recognized as the 'wheel' yoga position, her hands and feet on the floor, her body forming a bridge. He adjusted her limbs for the minimal amount of arch in her back and again placed the glass on top of her. The glass smashed her round breasts and The Artist made sure to place glassware right on top of her nipples to cover them for the perfect artistic shot. This was the most difficult position for Susan to maintain, despite her years as a cheerleader so she was thankful he didn't have her hold it for too long.

The next position he placed her in, however, was not much better. Susan had to lie on her back and then the man bent her legs at the waist and pulled them back over her head. With her ass in the air, The Artist place the glass panel on the back of her legs and her bare butt. Susan had to use her arms to hold her body in place, her legs parallel to the floor, supporting the table.

After another few hours of posing as a table, including some more time spent being used as a footrest as The Artist sat on the couch reviewing the morning's photos, the glass was removed and Susan was told to stand. The man attached a metal bar to her ankles, spreading them several feet apart. He attached another bar to her wrists behind her back and then told her to bend over. He placed a strap around her neck connected to a long wooden dowel which extended down to the floor. He used a hook to attach this to the bar between her legs, holding her in the bent-over position. A second bar was attached behind her and ran up between her legs to the bar between her wrists. This one extended her wrists away from her back, straining her shoulders.

The glass table top was positioned on her bare back again, resting on her wrists and the spreader bar and continuing past her head. Her pulled down on the bar at her neck to level the table and placed a glass pitcher on the table. "That pitcher is Waterford crystal. Very expensive and very important to me. Do not drop it." Susan breathed slowly, trying to move as little as possible while The Artist filmed his latest creation. She wanted to just lift up and smash the pitcher but was unsure what this man might do to her if she did so. So far, none of his punishments had reached the level of cruelty she had come to expect this year.

So Susan did as she was told and stayed as still as possible until she was eventually was freed from that precarious position, only to be positioned into another. The Artist had her lie down on the floor again. He tied her wrists together in front of her and had her prop herself up on her arms, her palms flat on the floor. Then he bent her legs at the knee and told her to flex her feet so her toes were pointing at the ceiling. He picked up the table top and rested it on the back of her head and balanced the other end on her toes. She had to keep her back arched, using her arms to keep the table level.

Pleased with his work, The Artist finally sat the table aside and led the woman to the kitchen. Lunch was another protein shake, served to her once again as she sat on the tiny post in the kitchen while the Artist ate a more substantial meal. Following lunch, the Artist told Susan they would be working on some 'serving girl' positions. Susan had seen this before at the farmhouse where women had been used to serve food. It was degrading and disgusting, but that was also her life now.

First she was told to stand and bend at the waist. The Artist tied her wrists and ankles tightly together. Then he fetched a wooden serving tray that had a leather strap attached to it. He buckled the strap around her waist like a saddle. He placed a bottle of wine and some wine glasses on top of it for his photos and used the tripod again to get photos of himself pouring wine and drinking it from his human serving tray.

While Susan was left to stand there bent over, The Artist retrieved some items for the next set of poses. He untied her and handed her a pair of black high heel pumps. She was suspicious that he had a pair that fit her perfectly but if he was a friend of Krutz, the man knew everything about her. She put the heels on. The Artist wrapped a silk blindfold over her eyes and then he felt her attaching something to her waist. It was a silver serving tray. He placed the wine glasses on it and took Susan's hand, leading her in a circle around the room.

After getting some good shots of his blindfolded maid, he removed the serving tray and had her kneel. He placed the silver tray on top of her head and ordered her to balance it there. He filled the wine glasses to the rim with red wine and told her she would be whipped if even a drop was spilled. The task was nearly impossible and eventually she felt the tray slip a little and was sure she had spilled some of the liquid.

But The Artist did not reach for the whip. Instead he picked up the wine glasses and removed the serving tray. He told the girl to open her mouth and he placed the lip of the tray between her teeth. She clamped down on it and held it as steady as she could. But that was also impossible and she spilled even more wine. Still he did not reach for the whip and Susan wondered if that had just been an idle bluff.

Finally, the man removed the blindfold and brought over what looked like a standard stockade. It was a heavy wooden plank with holes for her head and wrists. He placed it around her and locked it in place and placed the wine glasses on it between her wrists and head. He filled them again and then told her to make a circle of the room. Walking in heels again after being barefoot most of the year was hard enough but trying to balance the plank was nearly impossible. But Susan had good posture and she managed to make it around the room without toppling the glasses and only sloshing a little liquid.

Susan was treated to a much more substantial dinner and even got to sit at the dining room table unfettered. She felt odd sitting there naked across from this well dressed older man, but she was very hungry and happy for the meal.

After dinner, she was exhausted and glad that he suggested she turn in for the night. He took her to a spare bedroom with a huge four poster bed and she was excited that she would spend the night on a comfortable bed instead of the thin mattress on the concrete floor of her room at West Valley. She didn't even mind when he had her lie on her stomach and he proceeded to tie her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. She was so tired, she thought she could sleep in any position.

Her thoughts of rest were shattered when the leather whip came down hard against her bare buttocks. She screamed as the whip smacked hard against her naked skin. The Artist raised the whip and struck her again and again, producing red welts on her butt and lower back. The girl was sobbing heavily as the man turned off the bedside lamp and leaned over her. "Never spill my wine," he said, and left her alone with her pain and sobbing.