Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (10 page)

“Now Lucy,”
Peter said softly, “we have to do something about these.” Peter grasped Lucy’s
full, globular, white breasts in both hands, fingers around the outside and
thumbs pressing on the hard brown nipples. “What would you suggest, Henry?”

“Oh, it’s such a
long trip and she needs to know all the time that she has been a very bad girl,
hiding those things from us. Hummm. I don’t know, how about the traps?”

“Traps? Traps?
Oh, you mean those traps,” Peter said, getting the meaning of his partner’s
suggestion. “Sure, why not. Let’s trap her tits for awhile, at least until we
think of something else. Manfred will like that.”

“Screw Manfred.
Who cares what he likes?”

“No. She can’t
screw Manny. Manny has Hilde to screw. I think she should stick to screwing the
guy in Amsterdam. What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.
What’s his name, Lucy?” The bound girl shook her head soundlessly.

 
“Okay. Where are they?”

“In your pack.
Next to the super dongos.”

“I have them,”
Peter said with a bit of triumph, after digging around in the large pack that
had been leaning against the coach’s outside wall. He held out the two silver
half globes one in each hand. Imagine an elongated, egg-shaped, metal sphere,
about five or six inches in diameter, maybe ten inches long and cut in half.
That’s what Lucy saw in Peter’s hands.

“Now, let’s see
if they’ll fit this little cow.” Peter approached the bound girl with a half
globe in each hand. She was able to see that the metal cup had other hardware
attached to it, inside and out. He stopped in front of her and placed one of the
silver devices on the floor and began to stuff Lucy’s left breast into the
opening of the other.

The traps looked
like large, hollow, metal breast forms. The back of each was open and had a
flexible and adjustable metal band, like a large hose clamp, fastened at
several points on the edge of the hollow globe. The metal band could be
adjusted to a smaller diameter by turning an adjustment screw set in the top of
the globe. The outside of the globe was shaped like a very large, shiny, metal
breast. At the place where a nipple would be was what looked like a beer bottle
cap. It had plug type wire connections and small hoses leading out of it. Peter
carefully stuffed the soft breast tissue into the cold metal form, making sure
that the nipple went in first and ended up behind the bottle cap-like opening
in front. Lucy’s tits were large enough so that Peter had to work hard to get
all the tissue into the trap before he tightened the compression fitting that
closed the flexible band around the base of her breast. The circular band
tightened until it had reduced the root of the breast to a much smaller,
compressed diameter and retained the globe in place while squeezing the base of
the breast and distending the rest of the flesh into the confines of the metal
shell. Held in place by the constricting band, the heavy metal form hung from
the girl’s chest like a metallic bra cup, leaving Lucy to contemplate what
these two men had in store for her as the trap squeezed and dragged on her
aching tit. The second trap went onto her right breast and the spring clamp was
locked shut as well. A thin chain was fastened to the outside edge of the left
cup, left under her arm, across her back under the roped arms and under the
right arm, then locked to the right breast trap, forming a back band to the
twin metal globes and pulling them to the sides. A small metal link was
fastened between the cups at the cleavage and this combination of link and
chain put enough tension on the cups to form a strapless bra of sorts.

“Now,” said Henry,
hands on hips surveying the captive, “if you could only sing some Wagner.”

“I doubt she
knows any,” retorted Peter, realizing that the twin traps did bear some
resemblance to the metal bras sometimes worn by the Viking queens in Wagnerian
operas. “Maybe a pointy helmet with horns would help,” he added to the
allusion. “Also,” he said,” it’s time for a collar and some upward support of
those things.”

“Nothing pointy
in the pack,” said Henry. “But there is that little latex and leather job that
you like so much,” he smiled with a combination of evil and humorous intent.
Peter was already routing in the pack once again and came up with a bundle of
black leather and rubber in his left hand.

“Think it’ll fit
her, with all that long hair?” he snickered, unwrapping the bundle while Lucy
stared at what was apparently her next torment in the man’s hands.

“Make it fit,”
was the terse retort from Henry. “But first, let’s tape up her eyes and hair.”

They did. A bit
of tape over a cotton make-up pad sealed her eyes. They gathered her lush, dark
mane into a single ponytail at the top, not the back, of her head and wrapped
an elastic band from her luggage cosmetic kit around the base of the tail.

The thick latex
hood fit Lucy like it had been painted on her head, with her hair streaming out
from the small hole at the top back. It took time to get it on right and Lucy
did not make any effort to help with the encapsulation of her head with this
slick, tight cocoon. The hood had a lower section that came down around her neck,
reaching all the way to the collarbone and providing a complete seal of the
skull and face with only two holes for the nose breaking the otherwise total
capsule. Lucy huffed and snorted as the hood was being adjusted and both men
worked to assure that her nostrils were aligned with the nose holes.

Once the latex
hood was in place, they put the heavy leather helmet/hood over it, using the
same careful techniques of fitting and adjustment until this too was smoothly
covering every inch of the girl’s head, face and neck. The leather helmet had a
thick collar at its base just above the zipper that ran from there to the
collar around her thin, pulsating neck. It took some time to get all of her
head into it, with both men pushing and straining to get the tight leather
stretched over the girl’s latex-covered facial features. They positioned her
nose in the too small nose space, shoved her strong smooth chin into the formed
cup and pulled her pony tail hair up and back again until the top of the helmet
was back as far as her ears, then they threaded the hair through the circular
aperture at the top, rear of the helmet. Once the hair was in place and the
latex-sealed nose, tape-sealed mouth, taped eyes and ears were in their places,
the hood was pulled further back and the heavy Delrin zipper engaged. Then,
with Henry pulling back and down and Peter pulling back and down on the other
side, they zipped the enclosure shut, encapsulating poor Lucy in the stiffly
secure structure that was in fact at least two sizes too small for her. The
pressure was immense. Lucy struggled to free herself, to breathe and to get
away from these crazy people who were doing these sadistic things to her. Once
the collar was in place, they used a thin chain to finish the metal bra they had
fashioned from the metal traps. The chain fastened to the top of each cup, went
up and through rings on the collar and then down to the other cup, making a
steel halter bra complete.

All of this
seemingly random and painful activity had been carefully laid out in advance
and Henry, Peter and the two others who joined the party in Munich followed
precise plans they had been given for the young woman. They had explicit orders
to sadistically torment her, using a range of BDSM techniques and devices, for the
length of the trip, but not to do any long term harm whatsoever to her
physically.

The foundation
of this exercise, which involved recruiting and training the entire team at
considerable cost, lay with Fabian Moumakis, a Dutchman, born in The Netherlands
of wealthy Greek parents. He had met Lucy in Frankfurt a few months before and
relentlessly courted her, sending messengers with flowers, jewels and other
expensive, but thoughtful gifts. They had enjoyed a long weekend in Gstaad and
even shared a room in the crowded resort hotel when two separate rooms had not
been available. Out of deference to her, Fabian had spent three nights on the
convertible couch in the room and she had enjoyed the bed. They danced until
early morning hours at several fancy jet set night spots and dined privately at
Michelin three star establishments where the owners and chefs had fawned over
them and presented endless minute courses of artistically prepared dishes.
Neither of them had any interest in drugs and they both drank moderately but
had never gotten drunk or stoned together.

To Fabian’s
initial surprise, there had been no sex between them. Lucy had demonstrated
that she enjoyed Fabian’s attentions, but she had also said that, for her own
reasons, it was important to her not to make sex a part of their relationship.
At least for the time being, that they avoid it. Fabian discovered that Lucy,
in her own private way of dealing with other people, was something of a
manipulative, dominating young woman. At first thought, Fabian was pleased that
Lucy had not jumped into bed with him as so many other sweet young things had
quickly done. He assumed that she had a set of higher standards or that perhaps
this was simply her playing a game of courtship. But later on, he concluded that
she would take whatever he offered, except sex. She would cuddle up close to
him, allowing him considerable contact with her fully clothed body, but would
then break away and engage in some other sexless activity when he persisted or
sought to advance the contact. She had, on two different occasions when they
were alone, engaged in an erotic strip tease, ending up in revealing bra, a
tiny pair of transparent bikini panties and white stockings. She allowed him to
fondle and touch, but he had gotten nowhere when he attempted to get her into
bed. On their outings in private and in public, she was a brilliant,
crowd-stopping trophy, well and sexily dressed. People turned and looked at her
in restaurants and on the street. She returned their admiring glances with a
smile and often a show of more leg than one might expect. Most people, Fabian
thought, considered her to be a very delectable, gourmet dish. But he wasn’t
getting anything more than the appetizer thus far. Fabian had become more and
more perturbed. He finally concluded that this beautiful young woman was little
more than a lovely, big breasted, long legged, conniving tease, taking his
money, affection, status and attention and giving him only the pleasure of her
lovely, but sexless company. This, the more he thought about it, infuriated him
and thus, he had sought to make a secret deal, the first part of which was this
First Class journey into Hell. He had met an American businessman in an
Amsterdam hotel and, for a large amount of Euro cash, had arranged for Lucy to
have what he and the businessman called “a permanent lifestyle change.” He
fashioned a detailed and complex plan, the basis of which was telling her that
he planned to take a short holiday from work and arranged a long week’s holiday
for the two of them at Hotel de l’ Europe, a luxury 19th century palace in
Amsterdam, not far from one of his city apartments. He booked a two room
penthouse tower suite and invited her to fly to Amsterdam, sending her a round
trip, first class ticket on KLM, the Dutch airline. Lucy agreed, but insisted
on taking the train. He quickly altered the plan, dumped the hotel
reservations, booked a premium, first class compartment on one of the crack ICE
trains from Rosenheim, Germany, near where Lucy lived, to Amsterdam. He heard
from the American that he had called together a special team of Fabian’s
friends and experts from within Amsterdam’s BDSM scene, where, unknown to Lucy,
he was a frequent and active player. Having already seen photos and some
covertly taken videos of Lucy, the gang all agreed with the plan and began
gathering the toys and tools needed to execute it with style. At their planning
sessions, they jokingly christened the project as TOTICE, the acronym for
Torment on the Intercity Express, taking a page from Agatha Christie’s mystery
novel, Murder on the Orient Express. The crew included Henry and Peter, who got
to Rosenheim with plenty of time to board the train ahead of Lucy, and Manfred
and Gloria, who got aboard at the Munich Hauptbahnhof. Fabian remained distant
from the execution, just in case anything went wrong. He took steps to assure
that in the event of failure, his tracks would be well covered and the American
would be the fall guy.

Thus, working
under Fabian’s strict orders, the kidnapping crew tormented the stringently
bound Lucy for hours, tying, strapping, chaining and retying her, propping her
slim legs apart with a series of spreaders strapped to her legs above her knees
and at her ankles. Holding her legs apart with these adjustable bars, they
untied the ropes through her crotch, inserted larger and larger dongs into her
body from front and back, turned the girl as she hung suspended on her hook,
listening to and ignoring her whines and hissings through the double hoods.
What sexual enjoyment she had denied Fabian was hers in a perverse sort of way,
bound and tormented as she was, experiencing more orgasms on the trip then she
had enjoyed so far in her entire life. By the time the train had covered the
nearly 900 kilometers to Amsterdam, Lucy was still hooded, tied and impaled
with two monster inflated probes up cunt and ass, held in place by a leather
harness and more rope. Using a stout animal control net obtained from a company
that supplied such things to animal trainers and zoos, they bound her into a
tiny, compressed ball, head pressed to her knees, feet pulled up behind and
roped to her ass. The rope net held her immobile. Nothing moved. She breathed
carefully, working hard to get enough air through the hood’s twin tubes, into
her compressed lungs. Her massive breasts, still captive in the steel traps,
were jammed against her thighs, oozing out the sides of the cups and still
chained as well.