wasn't making poor Jaybird suck on her half of the sliding
phallus continuously. Suck-sessions were several minutes
in length, punctuated by rest periods.
The rubber or latex phallus slid back and forth inside Jaybirds
mouth, never leaving it completely, as she visibly sucked on the
translucent, realistically shaped shaft. The strap buckled
at the nape of her neck prevented her from pulling her head far
enough back to expel the shaft from her mouth. Meanwhile,
the other end of the double-dong—which, to Frankie's relief,
Nurse Kim had anointed with some sort of lubricant before its
insertion and her departure—was cycling in and out of Frankie's
hoo-haw, also never leaving it completely. So far, the
electrical punishment pads and the copper studs in Frankie's
half of the phallus hadn't done their thing. Jaybird was
successfully keeping up with the machine's demands.
As far as Frankie could tell, "Poor Jaybird" wasn't getting
anything out of the exercise other than a workout for her mouth
and tongue and the privilege of not having her tits and pussy
zapped. On the other hand, "Poor Frankie" was getting
diddled... again... like yesterday... on the Salamandras 3100.
After Kim left and the initial five-minute countdown expired,
the machine hummed to life, Jaybird began to suck, and Frankie
began getting auto-fucked. Frankie was only building
towards her first climax when the phallus stopped cycling, a
chime sounded, and an artificial female voice spoke.
Its dulcet tones were striking similar to those of "Siri."
Whoever built the machine must have licensed the voice from
Apple. Either that or "Salamandras Medical" and/or "HG,"
the companies with their logos on the control pedestal, were
subsidiaries of Apple and the machine entertaining Frankie and
Jaybird was actually an "iFucker." Frankie considered that
Anyway, the voice spoke. "There will be a brief rest
period. 99... 98... 97..."
Frankie rolled her eyes. The countdown continued, as did
"96... 95... 94... 93..."
Also, while the phallus had stopped moving, the half buried in
Frankie's pussy was still vibrating... just a little... just
barely. It was like the damn thing's engine is idling,
"92... 91... 90... 89..."
Frankie locked eyes with Jaybird. Whoever she was—Frankie
assumed her real name began with "J"—her fellow brunette and
captive was definitely a looker, even gagged with a
rubber dildo, bound with rope, and strapped to her half of the
machine. Her big brown eyes were... gorgeous... and sad...
and... aroused? Maybe. It was hard to
tell. Frankie heaved a gagged sigh.
"88... 87... 86... 85..."
At the expiration of the countdown, the machine hummed back to
life. The full series of suck-sessions and rest periods
lasted what might have been an hour, maybe more. Then,
Nurse Kim returned, inserted her key in the console, and the
machine powered down. Frankie had experienced three
orgasms. The first two had been unremarkable and the third
downright marginal. The red LED never did illuminate and
she never was zapped in the pussy. Apparently, Jaybird had
demonstrated due diligence in her rubber dong sucking.
Kim removed Jaybird from the machine first, releasing her straps
and lifting her from the machine. She helped Jaybird stand
on her wobbly, bound legs, then supported her as she hopped the
three steps required to plop herself into the waiting
wheelchair. Frankie watched as Kim strapped Jaybird into
the wheelchair at the ankles, lap, waist, and chest, as
usual. All the wheelchairs had the same restraints and the
nurses always used them. Frankie heaved another gagged
sigh. More due diligence, she thought. Or
in this case, is it 'a high standard of care?' And is
'care' the right word? Frankie was tired.
This was Frankie's first look at Jaybird's entire face, and her
earlier assessment of beautiful and gorgeous (see also
hubba-hubba) was confirmed. The poor thing was trying to
work her jaws and lick her lips, but with limited success.
Obviously, keeping up with the machine had fatigued her jaws,
tongue, and facial muscles. Kim used a plastic bottle with
a curved, straw-like attachment to spritz water into Jaybird's
mouth, then sealed her lips with a wide strip of medical
tape. Then, as Frankie continued watching, Kim wheeled
Jaybird from the room.
"Mrrrk?" Frankie remained behind, of course, still
strapped to the machine and with her half of the phallus still
lodged in her pussy. She gave her restraints a perfunctory
struggle, confirmed that the armbinder and the machine's many
straps hadn't suddenly decided to magically release themselves,
and heaved yet another gagged sigh. Okay, Kim was busy
with Jaybird, but where was Clark? I guess Nurse Clark
has better things to do than take care of poor little Feisty,
And with that, Frankie did the logical thing possible: she
closed her eyes and took a nap.
Nurse Clark who finally showed up to release the straps, remove
Frankie from the "Dual Damsel Diddler" (or whatever they called
the machine), strap her into a wheelchair, and wheel her from
the chamber. Their immediate destination was a bathroom,
where Frankie was released from the chair, allowed to relieve
herself, and a refreshing (and humiliating) douche was
administered by her nurse/handler. Next, her head-harness
gag was loosened enough for Clark to squirt a half-pint or so of
cold sports drink into Frankie's mouth by means of a plastic
squeeze-bottle with an attached straw. This was
accomplished at a slow enough rate that Frankie could swallow
without choking. Then, the gag was fully restored and it
was back in the chair, back on with the straps, and down the
hallway to an elevator.
Thus it was that Frankie found herself in a large, open room on
the top floor. A wall of windows provided abundant light
and yet another mountain vista. Obviously, the place was a
gym. The floor was carpeted in exercise mats and there
were various exercise machines positioned around the room,
including a stationary bike, a rowing machine, a tread-climber,
an adjustable, Nautilus-style resistance station, and a running
machine. All the machines were top of the line and had
been customized with straps and padded retraining bars at
The exception, restraint-wise, was the running machine.
Its only restraints, if you could call them that, here
horizontal, elbow-height steel rails on either side of the
treadmill. A control console in front faced a large,
flat-screen monitor suspended from a ceiling mount. There
was something odd: directly above the treadmill a small
electric winch was mounted to the ceiling and dangling from it
was a light steel cable with a terminal clip.
As Clark released Frankie from the chair and led her to the
running machine, Frankie decided that enough was enough!
The ensuing ruckus was a decidedly one sided affair. Clark
had a firm grip on Frankie's ponytail and Frankie was finding it
very difficult to deliver the kick to the nurse's muffin-basket
she'd so desperately wanted to deliver to somebody in a
white uniform ever since her capture. Ever the competent
patient manager, Clark pulled Frankie close and grabbed her
right ankle when she tried another kick.
"Feisty, honey," Clark chuckled, "what do you think you're
doing? Stop this nonsense or you'll do your afternoon walk
with nipple-clamps and weights. Understand?"
Frankie decided she did not want to walk on the
treadmill with weights swinging from her nipples, especially
if the clamps in question were of the hungry alligator variety
Kim had used on her earlier. She put an end to her
comically pathetic kung-fu act and let herself be led to the
treadmill. Her bare feet firmly on the rubber track,
Frankie heard a click and realized Clark had somehow attached
the cable dangling from the winch to the top of her
armbinder. She glared at Clark as the nurse punched
buttons and threw switches on yet another machine
console. The machine hummed to life and the overhead
whirred and took in the slack on the cable. Finally, Clark
then turned, withdrew, and pocketed yet another key.
"Semi-random intervals of running and walking, at various
treadmill speeds and angles," Clark said with a grin.
Sentence fragment, Frankie silently scolded her handler.
"You may have noticed the silver and copper wires running
through the track under your feet and the contacts regularly
embedded in the rails on either side," Clarke continued with an
evil grin. "Fail to keep up or try and get off the
treadmill and you'll receive ever-increasing reminders that Dr.
Stanton puts a premium on patient exercise." She pointed
up at the winch overhead. "The cable will keep you
centered and prevent you from falling. Enjoy yourself."
The treadmill began to turn, slowly picking up speed.
Frankie had no choice but to start walking. She stared
daggers at Clark's disappearing back as the nurse turned and
left the room.
walked... and walked... and walked.
All things considered, Frankie decided, trudging on the
treadmill was better than having a vibrating dildo sliding in
and out of her pussy, especially with the threat of electrical
punishment looming over her head—or in her pussy, in the case of
the Double Damsel Diddler—or under her feet, in the case of the
current machine. I'm losing it, Frankie
thought. How can something 'loom' under your
feet? Anyway... walking is better than being
auto-fucked. That's the point.
More walking... And was it her imagination, or was the
treadmill picking up speed? Yes, it was a slow crescendo,
but eventually Frankie found herself power-walking. She
was also seriously considering sweating... maybe... just a
little. The treadmill continued turning, time passed, and
Frankie reached a decision. It's definitely time to
glow. And soon, she was doing just that. A
sheen of sweat glistened on her nude body as she repeatedly
planted one bare foot in front of the other.
And the treadmill kept turning.
Suddenly, an electronic ping sounded from the TV mounted
above the control console, the screen began to glow (with light,
not sweat), and Frankie found herself staring at the Quaking
Aspens logo. Soothing, earth-tone colors swirled in the
background. This continued for about a minute... Trudge,
trudge, trudge... then the screen changed to something much
Frankie's eyes widened, even as she continued walking (and
Onscreen was the unmistakable image of Judge Bowden. She
was nude, like Frankie, and reclined on her back on what might
be called a minimalist gynecological exam table. Her arms
were outstretched to either side, her legs splayed and bent at
the knees, and she was held in that pose by a plethora of wide,
black, nylon straps tightened around her ankles, shins and
calves, above and below her knees, her thighs, waist, above and
below her heaving breasts, her upper arms, forearms, and
wrists. Needless to say, Her Honor wasn't going
anywhere. She squirmed and tugged on her bonds, her
fingers flexed and toes wiggled, but that was it.
Once again—in Frankie's humble opinion—it was clear that Bowden
was a fit, curvaceous, and very attractive
example of mature pulchritude. That is, she was just as
much a looker as Frankie's fellow patients—Jaybird, Red, and
Blondie—only older. Frankie considered a "fine wine,
maturing with age" metaphor, but now was a bad time to think
about refreshing beverages. Anyway, Her Honor was
helpless, but at the moment she wasn't gagged.
"No!" Bowden pleaded in a whining voice. "Not again!
Please, not again!" Her fair skin glistened with sweat,
much like Frankie's.
Dr. Stanton stepped into the frame, her lips curled in the same
gloating, sinister smile that Frankie usually found so
infuriating. She reached out with her right hand and
gently stroked the side of Bowden's face. "I know you're
tired and your labia are sensitive," she sighed, "but your
therapy must continue. And we're making such progress."
Her desperate brown eyes locked with Stanton, the judge
continued testing her bonds. "Please," she gasped in a
near whisper. Suddenly, her gaze sifted away from Stanton
to the area beyond her helpless body and splayed legs and her
eyes widened. "No!" This time it wasn't a
whisper. "Not her! Not the little blonde!"
Two more figures entered the frame, Nurse Kim and Blondie.
Just about all Frankie could see was the backs of their heads
and bodies, but she had a perfect view of Blondie's
bondage. The blonde's arms were behind her back, her
elbows bent, forearms and hands raised, and wrists lashed
together with her hands palm-to-palm and bound against her spine
to a torso-harness of Quaking Aspens' ubiquitous white
rope. Frankie's fellow patient was gagged in some manner,
but her pale hair was masking the details.
Bowden redirected her gaze to Stanton. "Please... not the
Stanton stroked the side of Bowden's face, again. "I know
Patient 'T' can be a little... enthusiastic, but this is therapy
for her, as well. The spider-gag will prevent her from
biting you... this time."
Bowden shook her hear, causing her dark curls to stir.
Stanton had eased a ball-gag into the judge's mouth and was
tightening its strap. The two-inch rubber sphere not only
filled Her Honor's mouth, but the strap pinned her head against
the table's headrest. Stanton finished buckling the strap
somewhere behind, then reinforced the arrangement by tightening
and buckling a second strap, this one across Bowden's
forehead. The table and headrest were both at angles that
allowed Bowden to continue gazing down her body at the bound and
gagged blonde between her splayed legs.
Meanwhile, Kim had forced Blondie to her knees and was strapping
her in place with her gagged face even with the Judicial
Crotch. And although most of Frankie's attention had been
on the gagging of Bowden, Frankie had managed to catch a glimpse
of Blondie's gag. It was some sort of stainless steel ring
with curved, blunt steel flanges or horns. Rather than
plugging the blonde's mouth, it propped it open and kept it that
Apparently, that's what they call a 'spider-gag,' Frankie
Kim planted Blondie's gagged mouth against Bowden's pussy, then
tightened another strap, enforcing the mouth-to-pussy
contact. Blondie's head started squirming, and so did the
judge, as much as her straps would allow.
"My goodness, Patient 'T' is rather enthusiastic,"
Stanton chuckled. She smiled at Kim. "You didn't
even have to order her to begin."
"I seldom do," Kim purred, then tightened additional straps
around Blondie's kneeling form, anchoring her even more firmly
in place between Bowden's legs and against the table.
Frankie stared in wonder, so amazed that she stumbled and
staggered against the running machine's left side-rail. Two
things happened in response: (1) the cable linking the back of
her armbinder to the winch overhead twanged and snapped taut;
and, (2) an electrical shock sizzled through Frankie's feet and
where her side touched the rail! "Mfffff!" It wasn't
all that painful, but it certainly got her
attention. A shudder rippled through her sweaty body and
she resumed walking—not that she'd actually stopped.
The current episode of the hit series Blondie & the
Judge continued playing out on the screen. Blondie
continued doing her best to diddle Bowden with her tongue,
despite the handicap of her mouth-propping gag, and Her Honor
continued to resist, if you could call it that. Anyway,
Frankie could tell that the court was not pleased—and
the court was certainly not pleased when Kim wheeled
over a tray-size, stainless steel equipment table and joined the
doctor at the head of the table.
Frankie and Bowden watched with anxious eyes as Stanton and Kim
donned latex gloves, followed by surgical masks. Kim then
removed the green cloth covering whatever was on the cart, and—
"M'mpfh!" Bowden fought her bonds with all her strength,
but got nowhere, fast.
On the cart was a plastic cup full of cotton-tipped swabs, a
small glass jar of pink fluid, various forceps and probes, and a
pair of stainless steel... Frankie wasn't sure what they
were. Clamps? Cages? Whatever they were, they
were each about the size of a shot glass with a round, ring-like
base, a cluster of curved steel rods regularly arranged in an
open circle, a central clamp with serrated jaws, and two small
adjustment screws projecting at right angles. They
reminded Frankie of the wire safety cages used to keep corks
from exploding from champagne bottles, only they were heftier
and more complicated... with clamps! Truth be
told, Frankie had no idea what she was looking at; however,
Bowden seemed to have a very good idea. Her eyes
locked with Stanton as she continued fighting the straps.
"Nrrrrk!" Her Honor's breasts bobbed, just a little, but
that was all.
Wait a minute! Frankie thought. The
clamps! Those things might be... No!
Kim selected a swab, opened the jar and dipped the swab it its
red, oily contents, then proceeded to paint Bowden's left nipple
with a thorough coating, from its erect tip to the margin of the
areola. Bowden shivered and mewled in response.
"Yes, I know, it stings a little," Stanton purred from behind
her mask, "but it sterilizes the skin and sensitizes the nerve
endings. It will enhance the procedure."
Bowden's brown eyes glistened as Kim replenished the red fluid
and painted her
right nipple. Soon, both nipples were rigid and shining
with the oily substance. They were also flushed, either that or it was
the fluid's color. Frankie couldn't see any way
the judge's nipples could be more erect. Unfortunately for
the judge, that turned out to be a lack of imagination on
Kim selected one of the steel cage-thingies, placed it over
Bowden's left nipple, and made adjustments. Bowden
shivered and complained, but soon the clamp's serrated jaws were
gripping, lifting, and stretching the nipple. The
steel monstrosity jiggled a little as Bowden continued
struggling, but clearly,
nothing she could do would dislodge the device.
"Nrrrrrrf!" Kim picked up the second thingie, positioned
it over Bowden's right breast—"Mrrrf!"—and soon both nipples
were captured and stretched.
Stanton pulled down her mask, smiled, then placed her gloved
hand on Bowden's flat tummy, over her bellybutton. "I'll
let you get used to those for a while," she said. "Patient
'T' will continue your
joint therapy, and when I return, I'll give the
relevant screws a quarter turn... and the piercing process will
A tear rolled down Bowden's right cheek. Her eyes were
locked with Stanton's. "Mrrrpfh."
"Yes, I suppose I could simply turn the screws and get
all of this over with." Her smile became even more
evil. "But this way the experience will be much
more memorable, don't you agree?"
Apparently, either Judge Bowden did not agree, or had
decided she'd just as soon forgo the entire exercise.
Tears continued trailing down her cheeks and she continued
shivering, squirming, and mewling. "Nrrrr."
Stanton is piercing her nipples? Frankie thought, and
making an over-the-top melodrama out of the whole thing?
Why? And why let me watch? No, why make me
watch? What does it all mean?
Meanwhile, back on the screen, Stanton pulled off her gloves,
dropped them on the tray, and left the field of view of the
camera. Kim was next. The camera remained focused on
Bowden's helpless, gagged, and very unhappy form; as
well as Blondie's bound body and bobbing head as she did her
spider-gagged best to lick Her Honor's pussy.
Frankie continued walking and pondering what she'd been
shown—what she was still being shown.
I really stepped in it this time, she thought.
Meanwhile, the treadmill was picking up the pace. Soon
Frankie would have no choice but to break into a run.