~ISLA PARAÍSO~ fiction by Van ©2005 art by Dea ©2005
			Chapter 5

To see the actresses I would cast in an ISLA PARAÍSO motion picture, follow the link below, and use your browser's "Back" feature to return.  (Please ignore characters who have not yet appeared.)

There was a flock of noisy, very rude parrots squawking their heads off... somewhere.  Not too far, but not too close.  That's what woke me up.  That, and the fact that I had to pee.  I lifted my head, yawned, and gently pulled the tangle of hair from my face.  Half of it was mine, and half of it Rosa's.  My Mistress and lover was waking up as well.

"Good morning, my Lorelai," Rosa whispered, then sat up and stretched.

"Good—ee'yaw—morning," I answered.  (Another yawn.)  It was dawn, and only a little later than the time I usually awoke.  Yellow-white light was streaming through the bedroom windows and a gentle ocean breeze was stirring the sheer drapes.  Rosa gave me a quick kiss on the lips, then I watched as she climbed from the bed.  Gloriously nude (and beautiful, as always), she pattered into the bathroom.  On the way, she passed through the sunlight and her body flashed a brilliant golden brown.  A thrill shivered through my body.   So beautiful.  I love her so!  

Okay, Chrissy, I know I sound like a silly schoolgirl with a crush, but I'm in love!!  Sue me! J

I heard her tinkle, followed by a flush... and now I really had to pee!  The slave collar was still locked around my throat, and the attached chain wasn't near long enough to reach the bathroom.  I waited (as patiently as I could) until Rosa emerged.  Now her hair was pinned back, and she was wearing an open silk robe.

She sensed my need.  The fact that I was sitting and fidgeting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and chewing on my lower lip may have been a clue.  Anyway, rather than release me from my collar as I'd expected, she walked to the lion sculpture.  As you might recall, the twenty feet or so of chain dangling from my collar was attached to a ring in its stone mouth.  She did something, I couldn't see what.  There was a click and a whirring noise, and the ring itself and more chain spilled out and pooled in a heap on the floor.

Meanwhile, Rosa walked to the bed, pulled me to my feet, and planted a deep, long kiss on my eager lips.  She then pulled me into a tight embrace.  Our breasts were crushed together, the chain from my collar was pressed between us, and that thrill was back, in spades.  The kiss went on and on.

Finally, Rosa took a step back.  "El baño," she ordered, and wrinkled her nose.  "And please, the shower.  You stink of the sex."

"Look who's talking," I teased in return.

Rosa laughed (and there was that thrill yet again).  She pulled her robe closed and cinched the sash.  "I fix breakfast," she announced, and left, pulling the bedroom door closed behind her.

I stood, naked and chained by the neck, and listened to the sound of a key turning in the lock.  You know me, Chrissy.  I'm not a timid little sub... but playing at being Rosa's slave was deliciously naughty.  I hurried into the bathroom and relieved myself.  As I passed the mirror above the sink, I noted the goofy smile curling my lips, the lips so recently kissed by my beautiful Mistress.  {Sigh} J

I hauled myself and my chain into the shower and got clean.  I then toweled myself dry, including the collar and chain, and used Rosa's comb, brush, and dryer to deal with my hair.

I pattered back into the bedroom, and found Rosa had returned.  She had restored the bedclothes to a semblance of order, and was sitting, cross-legged, on the bed.  A tray beside her held a pair of napkins, bowls, and spoons, a carafe of milk, and a glass canister of cereal.

"We nibble, only a little," she said.  "Then we run.  Come to mistress."

I scrambled onto the bed and sat facing my Rosa, being careful not to disturb the tray.  I draped my chain to the side, and smiled.

Rosa smiled back, then opened the canister and poured small portions of cereal into the bowls.  It was some sort of muselix-type concoction with raisins and other dried fruits.  Milk was poured over the top, and Rosa handed me a bowl and spoon.

We both shoveled a spoonful of cereal into our mouths and began chewing.  It was good stuff, and despite the excellent supper of the night before, I was hungry.

Rosa was openly staring at me as I ate.  I swallowed my second spoon-load of breakfast and cleared my throat.  "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Rosa answered, her smile turned coy.  "I was thinking what a beautiful slavegirl you make, my Lorelai."  I blushed and filled my mouth with cereal.  "With your pretty hair and smooth skin," Rosa continued.

Now I was really blushing.  "Stop it!" I muttered.

Still smiling, Rosa chewed and swallowed more of her breakfast.  "I think you stay the slavegirl all day, today."

I chewed cereal and watched Rosa do the same.  Finally, I swallowed.  "Okay," I said softly.  "If it makes you happy."

Once again, my Rosa's smile turned coy.  "Your permission is not required, slavegirl.  Now, finish your breakfast... or Rosa spank."

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered, and to my surprise, Rosa blushed.  I guess my expression was a little too openly worshipful, or something.  Not that it bothered me, of course.  I was in love, and Rosa, my beautiful Mistress, loved me!

Several minutes later, Rosa had changed into her running shorts and top, and she was dressing me in my new running costume.  Obedient to orders, I was standing in the center of the bedroom with my feet apart and and my hands clasped behind my head.  The collar and chain were still locked around my throat.

First came a long, narrow strip of coarse-woven brown cloth, which she wrapped around my waist, through my crotch, and tied in the back.  It fit like a skimpy diaper bikini-bottom, barely preserving my modesty.  Whatever the material was, it was comfortable, as soft as cashmere; yet, it looked like raw burlap.

A top was next.  It was a narrow bandeau of the same material, in combination with a ribbon-like thong of butter-soft leather.  The thong was was tied over the bandeau and around my breasts and upper torso like a harness, looping my shoulders, criss-crossing between my breasts, and with the terminal knot behind my back.

Finally, a wide thong of leather was tied across my brow as a headband, to keep my hair out of my face.  It had long free ends, which dangled down my back, tangled in my hair.

Rosa took a step back and looked me up and down.  My hands were still behind my head and my bare feet apart.  "Very pretty," Rosa whispered, then stepped forward and cupped my "burlap"-covered and thong-restrained breasts.  I gasped and flinched at the touch.  "Steady," Rosa purred.  "Hold position, slavegirl."

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered, but was unable to suppress a shiver of delight as she gave my tits a gentle squeeze.  Rosa went up on her toes and kissed my lips, and it was all I could do not to pull her into a tight embrace.

The kiss ended and Rosa took a step back.  "We run now," she announced.  "From now on, whenever you walk in the castle, you are to cross your wrists behind your back and walk on tiptoes, whether Rosa is there or not.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I whispered again.  It was fun playing this slavegirl game.  I mean, it wasn't like I was really a slavegirl, or anything, right?

Rosa turned me so I could see myself in a full-length mirror.  "If you disobey, Rosa will bind and punish you."  Standing close at my side, she placed one hand at the small of my back, and slid the other through my "burlap" covered crotch.  "The properly dressed slavegirl wears the elements of her own restraint."  Her hand continued rubbing my loincloth.  "This is your gag..."  Her hand wandered up my body to my head and she tugged on my thong headband.  "And this can be used to bind your wrists.  That is why the ends are so long, dangling behind in your pretty red hair."

I started to correct her about my hair, then stopped.  If Lorelai-the-Red is what Rosa and Lucia want me to be, then Lorelai-the-Red it is.  After all, auburn/chestnut/russet is kinda red.  There, fully rationalized.  On with the game! J

Rosa's hand slithered down to tug at a ragged seam of my bandeau.  "This is a blindfold, or, it can be stuffed in your mouth, if Rosa must keep you extra quiet..."  She tugged on the long thong harnessing my breasts and shoulders.  "And this is a leash, or to bind you in the hog-tie—or perhaps to tie in your pretty hair, and up over a tree limb—far out in the jungle—leaving Rosa's disobedient slavegirl naked, bound, gagged, and up on her tiptoes—praying that Rosa returns before her pretty feet grow too tired."

At this point, Chrissy, I was squirming, sweating, and really struggling not to break position and embrace my Rosa.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  My slavegirl costume was hot, Rosa-my-Mistress was hot, her fantasy of my domination and punishment was hot, and I was very hot, as in hot-and-bothered.  If she touched my sex again—I'd probably explode!

Luckily (or unfortunately), she didn't.  Instead, she unlocked my collar and let it clatter to the floor, along with its chain.  "Down to the North Jungle Postern!" she ordered.  "You go first, slavegirl, so Rosa can watch you obey."

The North Jungle Postern was where we kept our running shoes, where we always started our morning runs.  I crossed my wrists at the small of my back, hooked my thumbs in my loincloth, and minced down to the gate room on tippy-toe, as ordered.

"Good slavegirl!" Rosa purred, and followed.

My trail-runners are a uniform brown suede, with minimal fancy stitching, and have matching laces, so they more or less matched my costume.  Rosa tossed me a pair of anklet running socks dyed to match my burlap bikini.  They were comfortable, right down to the ragged fringe of faux-burlap that peeked around the tops of the shoes.  So... I was ready to run in the Paradise Island Slavegirl-athon.

And run we did.  Rosa decided I needed some hill work... (Thanks a lot, Mistress!) ...so we huffed and puffed through the jungle up a nearby mountain.  This was a new trail (to me), and we went higher than we'd ever run before.  The trees became stunted and sparse, then gave way to a jumbled mass of rocks overgrown with vines and groundcover.  The trail twisted and turned, threading around house-sized boulders.  We finally approached the crest, and I gaped in surprise.

The summit was level, about thirty yards across.  It was paved with large cobbles in a sort of five-sided spiral, like a huge starfish.  Each arm of the mosaic curled around the base of one of five wooden posts.  They were hard, smooth, weathered teak (or some tropical hardwood), and rounded at the top in a vaguely phallic manner.  Each was about ten yards from its nearest neighbors, seven or eight feet tall, and eight to ten inches in diameter.  Iron bands with dangling iron rings encircled the top of each post.

Centered between the five posts was a low stone altar.  It was a star-like pentacle with elongated arms.  Altar, you ask?  It wasn't no picnic table, Chrissy!

"What is this place?" I gasped, between pants.  Both of us were out of breath, but we were recovering fast.

Rosa went to the altar and caressed its smooth, weathered surface with one hand.  "The Star of Sacrifice," she answered.

"Sacrifice?"

Rosa laughed.  "Oh Lorelai, you should see your face."  She hopped up and reclined on the altar, flat on her back, then extended her arms and legs, each down a separate arm of the star.  "Wide leather cuffs go around the wrists and ankles," she explained. "and the hair is braided with a cord and steel ring."  She stretched her hands and feet full-length, then sat up and rolled off the altar.

She patted the stone.  "Hop up," she told me.

"Yeah, right," I snorted.  "In your dreams, Mistress."  Fun is fun, Chrissy, but this was getting a little too... Aztec for my tastes.

"Silly girl," Rosa scolded.  She could tell I was more scared than disobedient.  "The cuffs and ropes are back at the castle.  I just want you to see what it is like to be on the stone."

I swallowed nervously, stepped forward, and eased onto the altar.  I laid back, and let Rosa arrange my arms and legs in the spread-eagle position.  She leaned close and kissed my lips.  "Pretend for Rosa," she whispered.  "Pretend you are bound and helpless."

I nodded, gravely, and shuddered.  The morning sun had warmed the stone, but there was a cool ocean breeze blowing across the summit, and it was evaporating the sweat on my skin... or that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

"The Star can be used to entertain the sun god or the rain god," Rosa explained.  She pointed down the segment of the altar under my right arm to the corresponding post.  "If the sun god is to be appeased, the sacrifice..."  She kissed me again.  "...is stretched and tied with wet leather ropes.  The ropes dry in the sun... and shrink... and the sacrifice is very unhappy."

I shuddered again.  "That's cruel," I whispered.

"Very cruel," Rosa agreed.  "If it is for the rain god," she continued her story, "ropes are used, with buckets suspended between the altar and the posts.  The rain god slowly fills the buckets... and again, the sacrifice is unhappy."

"Unhappy is bad," I said.  "I don't want to be unhappy."

Rosa laughed and helped me off the altar.  "The ropes are adjusted so there is no injury," she reassured me.  "To suffer on the Star of Sacrifice is a forfeit of La Marquesa's Great Wheel Game."

I could hear the capital letters, Chrissy, if you know what I mean.  "What wheel?" I asked.  "And what's so great about it?"

Rosa smiled at me.  "I was hoping you would ask, slavegirl," she answered.  "We play a little and I show you.  That is the best way to learn.  Come."  She turned and trotted towards the trail back down to the castle.

I took a last look at the altar, the five poles, and the breathtaking view of the ocean and neighboring peaks of the island, then followed.

We ran back to the castle, entered the North Jungle Postern, and removed our running shoes.  We then returned to Rosa's room and I got my first inkling that playing slavegirl wasn't going to be all kisses and giggles.

"Undress your mistress," Rosa ordered.  I did so, stepping behind her and pulling her top over her head and arms.  Her bra was next, then I pulled down her shorts... and panties... and her perfect, brown, sweaty body was gloriously nude.

That wasn't the inkling part, Chrissy.  That was the oh-god-I-want-to-kiss-her-and-fondle-her-and-etc. part.  The inkling part came next.

Rosa spun on her heel.  "Strip!" she barked.

I blinked uncertainly.  "Rosa... don't you want to do me like I did you—Hey!"

Rosa had grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head close.  "As if your mistress would soil her hands on your smelly slavegirl rags," she sneered.  "Strip!"

Okay, if she wanted to be sweaty-naked-bitch for a while, I'd go along.  I fumbled with the knot of the thong harness tied over my bandeau. finally succeeded in removing both, then loosened and removed my loincloth.

"Kneel!" Rosa barked.

I did so, and she untied my thong headband, pulled my hands behind my back, crossed my wrists, and lashed them together.  She then tied a loose overhand knot in the center of my loincloth (right at the sweaty wet spot) thrust it in my mouth, and tied a tight square knot at the nape of my neck.  She made sure none of my hair was trapped by the gag.  I watched as she retrieved my bandeau and used it to give me a blindfold that covered my face from forehead to mouth.  From that point, the only thing I was watching was a dull, reddish-brown glow, the only light that penetrated the cloth.

"Quiet!" Rosa ordered when I forced a complaint past my gag, "or I get the whip."

Okay, quiet is good!  I'll be quiet!  Quiet as a mouse!—a bound and gagged mouse that's trying to be quiet!

I felt something (probably my breast-harness thong) being tied around my ankles, then Rosa forced me down and forward until my breasts were squashed against my thighs and my gagged and blindfolded face was against the carpet.  More of the thong encircled my legs, torso, and arms in a single loop, then was tied off to itself.

"There," Rosa said.  There was an unmistakable gloating tone in her husky voice, which I found simultaneously irritating and sexy.  "You cannot escape, but if you struggle, the thong will slip and slide and Rosa will know you have disobeyed.  If you are not exactly as you are now when I return, slavegirl, we will not play the Marquesa's game, but Rosa will spend the afternoon teaching you obedience.  Do not move!"

Okay, inkling.  Inkling big time!  I was actually a little scared at that point, Chrissy.  I mean there's loss of control, and then there's loss of control!  I look back on it now, and I gotta laugh.  There was a lot more to come.  Anyway, I heard Rosa gather her running clothes and depart.  Several seconds later, I heard the shower start.

I sat there, balanced on my bound feet, knees, shoulders, and the left side of my face, and thought about how much I loved Rosa.  I had to do that, you see, 'cause I was also getting somewhat peeved that she was bein' so mean.

The shower stopped, more time passed, then Rosa's hair dryer started.   More time passed, I stewed in my sweaty slavegirl juices, and finally my Mistress returned.  The thong was untied from around my ankles, arms, and torso, and Rosa helped me to my feet.  She then tied one end of the thong around my throat and removed my blindfold.

I blinked in the bright light, my eyes adapted, and I stared in amazement.  To date, I'd only seen Rosa in three kinds of costumes: her birthday suit (my favorite), various sundresses, and sundry evening gowns.  Now there was a fourth category: dominatrix loungewear!  She was wearing a one-piece black leather harness—!!!—with a g-string bottom and skimpy bra, all joined by a complex network of thin straps and secured with a dozen or so tiny steel buckles.  She also had steel bracers on her wrists, a steel choker around her throat, and wide steel bangles above her ankles.  Her hair was combed back in a tight ponytail, secured with a steel clip.  She looked hot—in the sense that the Marquesa's castle is a pile of rocks.

I forgave her for my mistreatment, instantly.  I was also instantly... how shall I put this delicately... wet!  God, Chrissy, I wanted to jump her right there.  Maybe she knew what she was doing, keeping me tied up.

My reaction must have been somewhat transparent, 'cause Rosa's dominant façade crumbled.  She blushed and pulled me into a tight embrace.  "Naughty slavegirl," she whispered in my ear.  "How can I be the cruel mistress when you are so beautiful and delicious?"

I shivered with delight and snuggled against Rosa's leather harnessed body.

Rosa gave me a final squeeze, cleared her throat, and took a step back.  "Enough," she muttered.  "We have time for that later."  She took my leash thong in her right hand and gave it a playful tug.  "Come, sweet slavegirl.  We play the Great Wheel Game."

She led me through the castle to a tower I'd never visited before.  We climbed a flight of spiral stairs, paused while she unlocked a huge pair of doors, and I got my first look at the setting for La Marquesa's Great Wheel Game.

The room was circular, with a round table in the center.  The walls were lined with glass-front cabinets alternating with tall, narrow, gothic windows, but the dominant feature was the table.  It had a shallow well in its center, and in the well was what I at first took to be a roulette wheel.  On closer inspection I could see it was simpler in design.  For one thing, there was no track for a counter-spinning marble.  For another, it had a single, ornately carved arrow inlaid in its surface.  It was really just a heavy, carefully balanced spinner, a flat disk made of wedges of stained wood and the arrow.  I also noticed a uniformly spaced ring of glass disks set in depressions on the upper surface of the table, twelve of them.

I heard a cabinet open, and turned to find Rosa approaching the table with a painted statuette in her hand.  "For this, your first time of play," she announced, "I give you easy penalties."  The figure was a nude woman, action figure size.  Her tiny back was against a little wooden post and bound in place with what, in her scale, would have been many yards of rope.  Rosa set the figure on one of the glass disks, then turned back to the cabinets.  She made a total of six trips, until half of the twelve disks were occupied with statuettes of helpless captives in various predicaments:

1. The original post-tie.
2. Astride an oversized rocking horse.
3. In a close, form-fitting iron cage.
4. Tied to a chair.
5. Bound to a table by dozens of iron clamps.
6. In chains... a lot of chains.

All of the models were remarkable in craftsmanship and detail.  I leaned close and inspected each in turn.  They were exquisite works of art.  There were more statuettes waiting in the cabinets, hundreds more.  Some of them looked quite elaborate, but I couldn't see much detail through the thick, bubbled glass.

"We only use six objet d'chance," Rosa said.  "If the wheel stops on an empty disk, we will consider the arrow reversed."

I got her meaning.  The basics of The Great Wheel Game were obvious: the wheel was spun, the arrow stopped at or opposite one of the models, and that decided the outcome.  Of course, I didn't know what each of the models represented.  I suspected, of course, but I didn't actually know.

I watched as Rosa lifted a tiny concealed cover on one of the table legs and flipped a switch.  She then reached out and gave the wheel a spin.  She was careful not to disturb any of the "objet", and from the way she heaved to overcome the initial inertia, I could tell the wheel was very heavy.  It spun easily, however, and as its pointer passed each object, the disk underneath flashed with bright, white light, lit from below.

Rosa came to my side, and we watched the wheel turn, and turn.  The disks flashed, and finally, it began to slow... and slow... and it came to a stop... on the woman bound to the table.  The underlighting gave the tiny figure an eerie, sinister look.

Rosa smiled.  Now normally, that's a good thing, a very good thing; but I gotta tell you, Chrissy, that was the most evilest, most sadistical, most nastiest (and beautiful) smile I've even seen.  I shivered, despite the heat.  She was gonna do something to me!  I could tell!  And I was tied up and gagged and naked and couldn't stop her!  (As if I wanted to!)  It was wonderful!  J

Rosa untied my leash from the table ring.  "Come, slavegirl," she purred, "to your horrible fate."

I was dragged (not kicking and screaming; in fact, deliciously curious) into the subterranean depths of the castle.  I think we were in the general neighborhood of the "Whipping Couch" I'd visited earlier, but if I haven't made it clear yet, Chrissy, the castle is a 3-D maze the size of a small convention center.  My earlier "exploration" could have been three levels up and over or down and under.  Anyhoo... dark corridors lit by flickering artificial torches, periodic iron gates to be unlocked and relocked behind us, spiral staircases leading ever downward, yadda-yadda-yadda.

We finally stopped at a heavy timber door bound with iron bands.  The end of my leash firmly in one hand, Rosa unlocked the door, pulled it open, and thrust me inside.

The chamber was quite large, with a high domed ceiling.  A ring of blazing torches set in the wall illuminated the centerpiece, a most curious table.  The model back in the game room had been a "normal" table, a simple rectangular slab on four legs, but this thing looked like an oversized cookie-cutter for making giant gingerbread men.  It had a circular disk for a head and five slabs for the arms, legs, and torso.  I couldn't be sure in the dim lighting, but I think it was polished black marble, except for in the center.  That was a sort of shallow depression, lined with stainless steel, and it was the exact size and shape of a human body... negative shape I mean... of half a body.

Let me try again: Imagine an expanse of smooth, wet sand on a beach.  You carefully lay down, put your arms out from your sides and spread your legs about thirty degrees, and wiggle a little.  You then very carefully stand.  The impression left in the sand would be the shape of the steel part of the table.  Get it?  There were also numerous slots and holes in the steel and marble, all around the outside of the human shape.

I was still examining the table when Rosa got my attention by grabbing a handful of my hair.  I yelped through my gag in complaint, but all Rosa did was give me another of her evil smiles.  "You are going on the table, slavegirl," she said.  "If you give Rosa any trouble, I whip your nalgas until they are red like the cherry."  Her grip loosened a little.  "Nod your pretty head if you wish to be good."  I nodded.  "Good," Rosa whispered, and kissed my ear (with tongue).  I shivered in my bonds (of course).  "Rosa does not enjoy whipping her slavegirl," Rosa continued.  "She enjoys torturing her in other ways."

I sat on the edge of the table and let Rosa ease me onto my back and into the steel trough.  It was a comfortable fit.  The metal was smooth and cool and its various depressions and ridges fit the curves of my body, with the exception of where my arms and bound wrists interfered.  I watched as she stepped to an alcove near the door and pulled open a drawer in a large cabinet of dark-stained wood.  She returned to the table with what looked like two half pipe-clamps of stainless steel.  These went over my ankles, first on the left, then on the right.  They were heavy and wide, and had substantial pins that clicked into slots in the table.  I flexed my feet and found the clamps to be reasonably comfortable, smooth and sculpted to fit the contours of my ankles.  Also, and no big surprise here, I wasn't going anywhere.

Rosa's next move caught me by surprise.  She took the end of the thong leash still tied around my neck, pulled it under the circular head region of the table, back across my throat, then tied it off.  Now I was really helpless.  Rosa leaned close and smiled down at my gagged face.  "It is easier to control slavegirls when the Marquesa is here," she said.  "She has many strong servants who enjoy holding down a slavegirl while she is made helpless."  She reached out, cupped my left breast, and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "Imagine," she purred, "the hands of a dozen strangers holding you down..."  She let her hand wander down my tummy to my sex, and began a slow, intimate massage.  "...while the clamps and frames of the table are positioned and locked in place."

Her hand still teasing my labia, Rosa kissed my nipples, first the left... then the right.  I squirmed in my bonds and moaned through my gag.  "Of course, Rosa doesn't need servants to control poor little Lorelai."  She paused to give my left nipple a gentle, teasing tug with her teeth, then continued.  "All Rosa needs to control Lorelai is the threat of the whip..."  She tugged on my right nipple.  "And the promise of another night of the sex in Rosa's bed."

Her hands disappeared, and I whined in complaint.  She'd gone back to the cabinet.  This time she returned with two clamps.  She set one on the end of each arm branch of the table, then pulled my hands out from under my body until she could reach the thong, and untied my wrists.  "If you touch your gag," she warned me, "I come back later with a breast flogger."  The issue of gag tampering rapidly became moot.  The clamps settled over my wrists and clicked into slots.  Like the ankle clamps, they were thick, wide, heavy, smooth and fit the relevant contours of my anatomy perfectly.  In fact, now that my hands were at my sides, every part of the trough fit perfectly.

More than a dozen trips later, I found myself clamped to the table at the ankles, above and below the knees, at the upper thighs, around the waist, above and below the breasts, the wrists, above and below the elbows, and around the throat.  The final clamp was more like a mask.  Rosa removed my cloth gag, gave me a quick kiss, then stuffed a large foam ball in my mouth—before I could kiss her back, dammit!  She then lowered the mask.  It pinned my head to the table across the forehead and covered my mouth with a rigid plate of steel.  She made adjustments with a key-like tool, and a steel bit clicked down on heavy gears under the mouth plate.  It cleaved my lips and anchored the foam gag.  A few more adjustments were made, and the plate itself settled over my lips as tight as a hand-gag.

I could flutter and flex my fingers and toes, blink my eyes, but that was about it, Chrissy.  I was one helpless damsel!  Rosa's grinning face loomed over my semi-encased head.  "I give you the rest of the day off, slavegirl," she whispered, then cocked her head in a charming, gloating little gesture.  "Oh, silly me.  I forget the most important part."

She left my rather limited line of sight.  Seconds passed.  I heard a drawer slide open, then I heard more noises at the base of the table, between my splayed legs.  Something metallic snapped into more of the table's slots and holes, then something nudged my labia!  My eyes popped wide and I yelped through my gag as that something parted my labia, and slid right into my sex!  It then slid most of the way out again, but remained nestled between my nether lips, at the entrance of my sex.

"There!" Rosa exclaimed, then her face loomed into view again.  "This is what we call the fucking machine, slavegirl."  Her fingers began playing with my nipples.  "A very rude name, I know..."  Her fingers gave my nipples a final tweak, and then they were gone.  "...but very descriptive."  Her smile was very evil.  "The machine has gone through many generations," she explained.  "The first were mechanical, like the pendulum clock.  Then came tiny steam engines, then they were replaced by  versions with electrical motors.  The current machine, the one about to entertain Rosa's slavegirl for the afternoon, is electrical as well, and is computer controlled."

She leaned close, until her gorgeous brown eyes were inches from my own.  "I have set the program on its slowest setting, with random timing and maximum interval.  You are already very wet, and if I know my Lorelai, lubrication will not be an issue.  But just in case, there is a vessel of oil suspended over your sex that will sloooowly drip onto the shaft, drop by drop, providing extra slipperiness.  I do not know if it will be enough to make you cum, my Lorelai.  Probably so.  You will have to tell me, later."

Her face disappeared, seconds passed, and then she kissed my nipples again.

"I come for you at sunset, my Lorelai," her disembodied voice announced.  "I am thinking you may be ready for the whip, so I may bring a breast flogger when I return, even though you have been good.  It stings like the wasp, or the nettle," she said, "but it makes the breasts a very pretty pink, if applied with skill.  Maybe I bring the whip, and maybe I don't.  Something for you to think about, slavegirl."

I heard the hinges of the door creak, then there was a solid thud and the click of the turning lock.  I was alone.  I stared up at the torch light flickering on the ceiling stones... then realized the light was fading!  Soon... I was alone in total darkness!

The shaft parting my labia began to move.  It took six seconds to move what may have been as many inches... it paused and buzzed slightly... then took six seconds to slide back out.  It may have been spinning on its axis as it moved, and it felt like it was irregularly shaped.  It was difficult to tell.  It began sliding in, once again.

I gotta tell you, Chrissy...  Actually, I don't know what to tell you.  Talk about your itch you can't scratch!  I was so helpless, so horny, and...  Just the memory of it makes me quiver.  I'll get back to you on this later, Chrissy.  I've got something to do right now that won't wait!