Saturday, March 9, 2013

Midnight - Segment VIII

Reunited at the Ranch

A windowless panel truck, appropriate bindings, we bring the mammoth and naked Midnight back to the family ranch where years ago mother trained, I bathed and fed, and we both worked to elongate day after day.

The ride is not long but not short either. Victoria oozes with enthusiasm, occasionally looking back into the rear compartment where I have Midnight trussed kneeling upright.

“It would have been more comfortable to restrain her lying down, Oliver. But it’s fun watching the labia sway about,” Victoria observes.

Nose loop hooked well above, yoke remaining, straps about the thighs tied right and left to the van’s walls mandate Midnight display herself. The van’s motion causes the lengthy strips of flesh to swing to and fro, reminding Midnight of her modified pussy. The motion also brings titillating arousal, much like when she is run in harness, and in the closed compartment my nose detects the fragrance of a sopping wet vagina.

Pony girls are not ever douched. As a result their condition of sexual excitement is well announced.

“It’s best she be kept somewhat stressed. Tension on the nose loop forces her to stay balanced rigidly upright, thus conditioning and exercising the thigh muscles, stomach muscles and those buttocks you admire.”

“I do so much want to cane her, Oliver. They’re so large but so well shaped and proportioned.”

“I think it would best for both of you to do so,” I encourage. “Certain girls need discipline.... crave a correcting touch.”    

Victoria of course is well aware of that, spending many Saturday nights at a certain club, owned by dominant libertines, open to subordinate masochists who feel a necessary urge to visit and challenge the correcting hands of the members.

My need for dominance is less episodic. Sporadic encounters don’t do it. With the arrival of Midnight years ago, the power exchange was constant... day in, day out. Mother immersed me. Had she been teaching me how to swim, the first lesson would have been to toss me into the Atlantic Ocean. I remember when Midnight was first yoked...

Yoking Midnight

“The hands must never be free for mischief, Oliver. But cuffs and neck collar are too restrictive. So we’ll yoke her. Light and smooth, but strong. To be removed only by cutting.”

Midnight lies supine, bound on the table where I will be tending to her daily. She is well strapped down, knees and thighs spread to obscenely reveal feminine charms... I am to learn always to reveal her feminine charms.

‘It is best for girls like her... to be exposed... the humiliation demeans... but also excites,’ I recall Mother attempting to explain the psyche of the masochist... that which the likes of Midnight will never be able to fully understand herself. Over the years I have come to learn that if her ilk understood, the masochist would suffer... lose the excitement... subjugation never again to stimulate. But alas it does not happen. We sadists must instead accommodate.

Mother has fastened the arms at the biceps leaving the upper forearms, wrists uncovered. With elbows bent, Midnight’s hands are at the level of her head. If standing she would be in a position of surrender.

Mother shows me the yoke, comprised of two lengths of smooth bright white plastic. Each have semi circular indentations, one large in the center for the neck, two smaller, right and left for the wrists. When pressed together such align to form circles.

Mother hands me what will be the front portion. Light indeed, it’s some four inches thick where there are no indentations for limbs and neck 

“Coat the inner surface with this glue, and be careful not to get it near your eyes. If you get it on your skin, rinse it away as soon as possible.”

The jar contains a gelatinous mass with a brush attached to the lid. The substance smells of acetone and as mother slips the back half under Midnight’s head and arranges the wrists to rest in the semicircles, I slather the inner surface with the gooey brush, noting that the powerful chemical begins to turn the firm plastic into pudding, somewhat melting the surface.

“Now do this side as well,” mother taking the upper portion from me.

I coat, the barn filling with the intoxicating smell. The surface likewise melts and my well experienced mother pauses, letting the acetone soften the plastic. Then she bends and presses the top portion in place, entrapping neck and wrists. Midnight says not a word, in my mind oddly accepting of her fate. Yes, it is an early age to be exposed to the needs of girls like Midnight. She makes not sound, frowns not but neither smiles. She concedes without struggle, without protest, seeming to know that although the thick special polymer may some day be cut away, it is not by her hand, not by her will, her behest, that she will ever again be free.

Realizing this, I feel a twitch below. Also, with my nose acclimating to the chemical, wafting in place of the strong scent of acetone comes another fragrance.... musky. I am later to learn the redolence is from spread labia, a sopping wet cunny evidencing what Midnight prefers not to reveal. Ceding power arouses!

Yes, Midnight is owned, her subconscious accepting, her physicality resisting not, and most ignominiously her feminine charms reveling with the abdication of all control.  

Encircling bungee cords complete the task, holding the two halves firmly in place atop the shoulders while the acetone drys.

In time, essentially the two halves will become one, the opposing plastic surfaces chemically melting together. There are no locks, no straps. When the glue sets, Midnight will forever be one with the simple single piece of white plastic.

“Now for your next task, Oliver. The girl is to be made hairless... every strand removed... every follicle destroyed. I want her well exposed, nothing covering that fine black skin. It will take time, be one of your daily chores. But in doing so you’ll get to know her well... especially when working about her genitalia. The depilatory is quite strong and can burn the more sensitive flesh. You see the soft dark moist skin... no chemicals to be applied. So you’ll need to take your time there.”

I sense my penis engorging, my slacks suddenly becoming quite confining. Meanwhile Midnight just looks at me with this beseeching look. I am newly empowered and it thrills... me. For Midnight there is apprehension... but in thinking back... the odoriferous genitalia suggested deeper emotions were roiled as well. 

Mother hands me shears and points to Midnight’s head.

“Please no!” the strident plea surprising both Mother and me.

Words of English!    

“Begin here. If you don’t wish to listen to her, I’ll gag her for you,” mother offers.

I shake my head. For some reason I’d rather hear her beg.

No comments: