Short Story III

Glad so many are enjoying this story.

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The planks of the pillory impede the form’s view of his hands and feet. But he can feel. Both wrists are encumbered between thick strips of black iron. Curved in the center to form a semi circle and accommodate the wrists, the flat ends have been riveted together. Red hot shards of metal have been inserted into holes and well hammered by Kendra’s inordinate strength. Such are not to be removed... not through wear or anything other then high powered cutting tools, or worse, intense heat to reverse the forged bindings. A short chain, unnecessarily large links, has been secured to his right wrist shackle, the joining link similarly heated then hammered closed.

The right and left ankles are also encumbered. Identical strips of iron, heated, curved on the anvil to form welcoming openings for the ankles, then riveted together by Kendra’s rigorous hammer blows. Once again the naked, well-bound male ogles Kendra’s dark sudoriferous form as she labors in the sun. It is the second day. The process of permanently shackling a man is not to be rushed. The many hours of toil will be rewarded... an investment in slow torment. For not only will motion be greatly restricted, the combined weight, the burden not yet felt, is considerable.

One end link of a heavy hobbling chain has been hammer closed about the right ankle shackle. Kendra works the other to be attached to the left. The form counts the blows, amazed at the industry expended in assuring his bondage.

“You are well rested my pet. It is good. The pump awaits your toil.”

A final blow closes the last link. The ankle shackles are connected. The length permits constricted footsteps... certainly not to run... possibly a quick shuffle... full strides are something of the past.

Kendra once again presses her hips to the pillory, mischievously offering her mons to the fingers of the shackled right hand. Once again she leans and thumb and index fingers pushes aside the nostril tubing and slips into the form’s mouth with disconcerting ease. Once again the male fingers cannot be repressed, libidinously exploring the offered warm wetness of her quim.

“I am going to open the stocks and release your wrists. Your ankles will remain pilloried. When I do so you will meekly and obediently draw your arms behind your back.”

As Kendra speaks, the tongue is once again pinched and forcibly pulled past the lips. Kendra’s full hand then closes over the slippery wetness and cruelly tugs... a full yank. She then twists. Clockwise... counterclockwise... a pull to the right... to the left. The form is helpless to resist. Up... then down. Kendra then begins the milking motion, the pink appendage turned into a cow’s udder to be milked.

“Yes, I can feel your naughty fingers exploring and such suggests certain hunger. This tongue of yours will soon be feasting.”

A cackling Kendra releases the tongue and withdraws her hand. After a pause she grasps the nostril tube and yanks, affirming her authority. This brings a cry of anguish and suggests the price of disobedience. Upon release, the form will comply.

The male’s awe returns as Kendra steps away and effortlessly picks up the anvil, muscles rippling anew. She moves it to the rear of the stool where he sits. Kendra then returns to the coking oven and retrieves a heated chain link with a set of tongs.

“The last link,” she proclaims with enthusiasm.

The glowing open circle is placed on the anvil. The upper planks are parted, the hands released for the first time in two days. As commanded, the form moves his burdened arms behind his back. There Kendra works to join the short chain with the left wrist shackle. He can feel the intense heat of the seething hot link.

“I will not be able to ush my hands,” the words of protest slurred by the cruel dental work.

Kendra hammers and laughs.

“You will not need them. And have you noticed your penis? It’s stiffening.”