Here's the link to Part 1:
https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/her-infernal-machines-f-part-1-no-tickling-yet.442684/
Part 2: Anticipation
Claire stepped into the playroom, her naked skin bristling in response to the room’s cool, charged air. The subtle metallic weight of her piercings pulsing dully as her nipples hardened.
She paused, allowing her eyes to trail over the hard concrete floor. In the center of the small, windowless room, her sanctuary awaited. Years of tinkering, and a small fortune, had been devoted to perfecting this setup. To a casual observer, it might look almost cumbersome, with leather straps, polished wood, and gleaming wires woven together in a web of intense, complex precision. But to her, it was nothing short of art, a finely tuned machine designed for one purpose: to deliver the exquisite, breath-stealing torture she craved.
Closing her eyes, she let herself sink fully into the anticipation building within her, her breath deepening as her bare skin tingled. The familiar blend of scents enveloped her. Aged leather, cedar wood, faint hints of rubber and silicone. She inhaled deeply, breathing in memories of sweat, pleasure, and lust.
She stepped further into the room, each step pressing the cold, unyielding concrete against her bare size seven soles. Her gaze settled on the centerpiece of the setup, a modified, extra-long massage table. She leaned in, fingers gliding over the leather cuffs that would soon embrace her wrists, her touch lingering as a shiver coursed through her at the thought of surrendering to their unyielding grip. The polished pulley system, secured firmly to the top of the table, caught the soft light, gleaming with a silent, intimidating promise. It was a quiet force, poised to pull her taut, inch by inch, until she lay fully stretched and utterly exposed.
She turned her attention to the stocks at the base of the padded table, her pulse quickening as she traced her fingers over the smooth, unyielding hardwood, lingering on the padded cutouts designed to hold her ankles. It sent a delicious chill down to her red-polished toes, which she flexed gently, splaying them against the cool floor in anticipation.
Breathing slowly, Claire turned her attention to the pièce de résistance: her tickle machines. She liked to call them her "infernal machines," a term she’d borrowed from history purely because it sounded deliciously ominous. These devices were arranged and fixed to three sturdy side tables, aligned perfectly with her massage table; one on either side and one positioned at the base, near the stocks. Moving gracefully between them, her naked form brushed against each cold, unfeeling device as she doublechecked settings, tested angles, followed their cord connections to ensure they were connected to the main control power bar. Ensuring that every detail aligned with her meticulously planned setup.
Each mechanized brush waited in anticipation, strategically positioned to target her most vulnerable spots. On either side, the brushes were aimed with precision at her underarms and ribs, while the rotating bristles at the base were poised to work over her feet, once positioned. These instruments were tuned to deliver relentless, calculated torment, an impersonal cruelty, designed to undo her so completely. Already, she could hear the sounds that would soon fill the room; her own helpless gasps, stifled laughter, the desperate, muffled cries her gag would contain as she struggled against the sensations.
You little tickle slut. The thought ripped through her, as she felt the growing tingle between her groin. Her hand traced her toned stomach, the soft stubble of her shaved pussy, as her fingers came to rest on her enlarging clit.
She paused, taking a deep breath to suppress this insatiable arousal, if only for a moment, as she forced herself to refocus and moved over to her control center, as she called it. There was still work to be done. Her eyes scanned the cordless cameras positioned with exacting precision, each angle carefully chosen to capture every detail of her impending vulnerability. On the TV monitor, a four-way split screen displayed the soon-to-be stage of her surrender.
One lens would frame her entire body, stretched out in exquisite submission, while another was dedicated to her feet, capturing each subtle movement, each involuntary twitch of her gorgeous soles locked in the stocks. A third camera focused on her face, ready to document every helpless, gagged expression of exquisite torture. The last camera, centered on her hands, had been an afterthought in a past session, but had quickly became her favourite, owing to it's subtly. The sight of her hands clenching, straining, reaching for something, anything, as she thrashed, was a raw testament to her helplessness. The very thought of it almost made her hand drift southward again
Pull yourself together you insatiable slut.
Her final check was always her release mechanisms. The primary was an electromagnetic lock placed between her wrist cuffs and the pulley connection. Linked to Wi-Fi and controlled through an app on her computer, it was set to release precisely one hour after activation. She confirmed it was working, ensuring the app was connected and operational. Reliable and meticulously tested, it had never failed her. But in case of the unexpected, she’d prepared a secondary release; its gleam catching her eye as she completed her inspection. A sturdy pair of safety shears hung from a block of ice suspended just above her hands. With the ice melting at a calculated rate, she estimated the shears would drop within reach in roughly an hour and a half. This would allow her to cut the short section of rope that attached the cuffs to the electromagnetic lock. Offering a failsafe if the primary lock somehow malfunctioned.
For her final contingency, Claire had an additional backup plan she considered both desperate and essential. An app on her phone, once started along with the main program, would automatically trigger a pre-recorded message to her two closest friends if not canceled within three hours of activation. She’d carefully crafted the message, attempting to keep her tone calm and straightforward as she explained her predicament, provided instructions for entering her house, and described where to find her. She’d never come close to needing this option; she had no desire, no rational desire at least, for anyone, especially those closest to her, to learn of the twisted, intimate fantasies she enacted in her basement storage room.
Yet, there was a dark thrill in the thought. The possibility of being discovered stirred something primal within her. She knew she’d never let it reach that point. But even the faintest chance of it, the risk of being found, naked, helpless, teased to orgasmic tickle torture by machines of her own creation, added an edge of forbidden excitement to everything.
Claire’s arousal had reached a fever pitch, her skin prickling with a raw, undeniable need that bordered on desperation. Her heart hammered as she took in the room one last time, every detail; the glinting restraints, the poised devices, the empty stocks awaiting her ankles. She could almost feel the leather cuffs already around her wrists, her body helplessly exposed, vulnerable to the impersonal, relentless torment she craved.
Deciding it was time, she opened the main app on her computer, feeling the weight of her anticipation settle like a warm ache in her chest. With one final, steadying breath, she pressed "Start." All her careful planning, all the intricate programming, faded into the background; they were mere preludes to the sensations that would soon flood her world. On the screen, a small timer appeared in the bottom corner, its numbers glowing softly; a countdown of 20 minutes. Her heart quickened at the sight; this was the time she had to secure herself, a choreographed routine she had all but memorized by now.
She turned her attention to the stocks, her pulse pounding as she mounted the padded table. It's soft, cool leather meeting her bare skin. She positioned herself and slid her ankles into place. The smooth padding conformed to her ankles as she closed the stocks with a satisfying click, securing her delicate ankles in place. She reached further, testing her flexibility, as she reached for the elastic loops she’d set up in advance, hooking one around the base of her shapely right big toe, pulling it back just enough to feel a delicious tension. Her gaze moved to the monitor in the room, showing the live feed from each camera.
Look at those sexy soles.
On the screen, her feet filled the quarter frame. A soft peachy-pink, smooth and pampered. The delicate skin seemed to glow under the dim light, accentuating the shadows of her high arches. In the pixels of the monitor, Claire could make out the slight blush across her heels, the faint rosiness along the balls of her feet, and the creamy shaded softness of her high arches. She wiggled her long, perfectly tapered toes, watching them wiggle and flex. Except for her right big toe, which twitched futilely against it's tie, a delicious visual of what was to come
She finished securing each toe, feeling the cool press of her toe ring as she tightened the tie around her left second toe. Claire’s gaze returned to the screen, where her soles were finally displayed in all their vulnerable glory. Her arches stretched beautifully, deep and inviting, every tender inch exposed, each curve accentuated by the tautness of the toe ties. She could see how her feet flexed slightly, held firmly with no chance to pull away, every futile twitch promising to be captured in exquisite, intimate detail.
Slowly, she leaned down, putting her flexibility to the very limit, past her securely bound toes, adjusting her position to set up the first of her devices, the motorized foot scrubber, her first “infernal machine.” It was mounted on a rigid, adjustable metal arm bolted securely to the edge of the end table, allowing her to adjust its angle with meticulous precision. She carefully tilted the scrubber so that the soft silicone bristles would make full contact with her sole, ensuring they’d trace every curve, from the base of her heel to the ball of her foot.
Next, she shifted to her right foot, positioning an identical scrubber in the same way. She made small adjustments, angling it perfectly to maximize its reach over every sensitive spot. Her fingers lingered on the devices, already envisioning the maddening sensations. Even before they sprang to life, she felt a tingle spread across her skin, as if the bristles were already caressing her soles, teasing and tormenting.
Her attention then moved to the series of small nozzles mounted around her feet, each one directed to target a specific area. She adjusted them carefully; one aimed at the tender spot beneath her left toes, another at the ball of her right foot. Set to release quick, controlled puffs of cool air, each nozzle would mimic the feeling of light, teasing fingers brushing over her skin, heightening her sensitivity with every breath of air.
14 minutes left.
A rush of heat stirred within her as she moved to her next step in the process. She sat back to straighten out her legs. Her fingers gliding over each of the straps attached to the padded table. Starting with her calves, she wrapped the soft, wide strap a little her below her left knee, pulling it snugly. She repeated the motion on her right calf, each restraint adding to the delicious sensation of immobility that was slowly consuming her, working it's way methodically up from her ankles. She repeated this process with straps around each thigh, just above the knee. The fabric pressed lightly against her bare skin
Her breath hitched slightly as she moved to her hips, her eyes drifting over to the monitor, catching a quick glimpse of her growing helplessness in the full length view. She secured a thick waist strap that crossed her pelvis, pressing her lower back firmly against the padding. She pulled it taut, feeling a shiver.
With her legs and hips now bound, she reached for the final elements of this part of her process. First was the cordless Hitachi Magic wand, positioned on the side table. Her fingers brushed over its smooth surface, her heart pounding as she positioned it just above her inner thigh. Carefully, looping a belt around her thigh to hold it in place. The first whisper of contact against her shaven skin was electric, the cool surface stirring a potent thrill as she imagined the sensations that would follow once it was switched on. She adjusted the wand delicately, aligning it so that any movement, no matter how small, would press it against her clit. Claire closed her eyes, savoring the build-up. Even without it activated, the mere pressure sent jolts through her groin.
Her gaze shifted back to the side table, her collection of accessories sprawled out. She picked up a rather large butt plug, feeling its smooth, cool stainless steel surface between her fingers, and took a steadying breath. The weight pressed reassuringly into her palm. She applied a generous coating of lube, and slowly, she reached down to work the plug into place. It took a few tries, some feeling for her sphincter with her fingers, but finally, a gasp escaping her lips as it settled fully inside her, grounding her in its presence. The cool steel sent chills up her spines.
10 minutes left.
With her lower body secured, Claire shifted her focus to the final stages of her preparation. Her breath came in soft, measured sighs, each inhale now centered on the subtle feelings of pressure on her body. The soft bristles on her soles, the silicone against her clit, and the fullness in her ass. Her fingers trailed up from her groin, lingered over her skin of her stomach for a moment as she lay onto her back, savoring its softness, already sensitized. Her gaze lingered on her next 'infernal machines'. The motorized brushes were fixed in place to the side table on either side, positioned to precisely sweep along her waist, targeting each inch of her sensitive sides, once she was fully stretched. She made some minor adjustments, angling them slightly. Claire closed her eyes, picturing the sensation; the bristles sliding over her skin, igniting her nerves, while her muscles involuntarily tensed.
She moved up to her last set of motorized brushes, similarly mounted on each of the side tables, ensuring that the soft bristles would target the delicate hollows of her shaved armpits. A slow shiver coursed through, her skin already tingling as she imagined those bristles grazing the delicate hollows relentlessly.
Her arms moved back to the side table, her movement growing more restricted, driven more by touch then by sight. Her hand grazed over the nipple clamps she’d set aside. She held them for a moment, savoring the anticipation. She leaned forward, positioning the first clamp over her left nipple, feeling the initial pinch as it secured. The blood rushing around her piercing. The sharpness was enough to keep her aware, adding a layer of heightened sensitivity. Breathing through the ache, she secured the second clamp to her right nipple. Allowing herself a moment to acclimate, Claire closed her eyes, feeling the tug from the clamps, the faint ache settling into an intoxicating blend of pain and pleasure.
Finally, her hand fell to the gag resting on the table. She placed it between her lips, feeling its familiar weight fill her mouth. The soft but firm material silenced any sound she might make, adding a muffling element to her anticipation. She secured it tightly, letting herself adjust to the helpless feeling. Her breaths grew faster, shallower, and she watched herself on the screen, her naked, shapely body, body brutalized by harsh leather, metal, and silicone.
5 minutes left.
One final wide strap was left, which she would use to secure her upper torso. With slow, deliberate care, she wrapped it just below her breasts, feeling the firm fabric press snugly against her bare skin. She pulled it tight, fastening it securely, the strap restricting her movement and anchoring her upper body firmly against the table. Each breath now was shallow, her chest rising in rhythmic waves as she let herself sink into the immobility.
With her torso secured, Claire brushed her fingertips over the leather cuffs positioned above her head, tracing the cool, supple leather, feeling the weight of what this final restraint meant. In a few moments, once her wrists were bound, she would be entirely at the mercy of her setup, unable to escape until her first failsafe activated.
Her fingers brushing over the blindfold.
4 minutes.
She lifted it carefully, feeling its soft fabric against her hands, and slipped it over her eyes, securing it snugly. Darkness closed around her, shrinking her world to the sounds and sensations of the playroom. Her pulse quickened, and she found herself savoring this moment of total surrender.
She reached up to the leather cuffs she’d positioned just above her head. She’d practiced securing herself countless times, her fingers adeptly locating each buckle and loop, even without sight. In the silence, her hands moved with precision, fastening the cuffs securely around her wrists. The leather pressed gently but firmly, holding her hands in place, and with a final, soft click, she was bound.
A faint hum filled the room; the gentle start of the pulley system beginning its slow, deliberate work, indicating there was one minute left. Over the next minute, it would gradually pull her hands upward, stretching her arms until they were fully extended above her head. Claire lay still, feeling the gradual, unhurried tug, inch by inch, the tension mounting in her body as her hands were drawn higher, keeping her arms in a controlled stretch.
Each incremental pull added to the delicious tension, her muscles elongating as her wrists remained snugly fixed in the cuffs. She could feel the subtle shifting of her weight in straps. Ever tiny pull slightly justling the butt plug filling her tight ass, sending bursts of sensation radiating up her back.
She had calibrated the pulley to bring her to just the right level of tension; high enough to make her feel utterly restrained and powerless, yet comfortable enough to remain bound for the hour duration of the program. Her heart raced as her arms reached their final position, stretching her body taut and exposed. As her wrists settled securely above her, she felt the first faint contact of the brushes positioned at her ribs and underarms, their soft bristles grazing her sensitive skin with a whisper of sensation. A shiver ran through her as she gave a small, instinctive tug, testing her bonds. The restraints were firm and unyielding, her body stretched and primed.
With her arms finally fully restrained, Claire felt the excitement build as the reality of her helplessness settled over her. She could feel the sensation of the stationary brushes now, at her armpits and ribs, the cool touch of the vibrator. Her carefully planned program would slowly escalate, forcing her to endure every touch, every tickle, every pulse of vibration, her hands out of reach of any escape. She could only wait, every detail set to unfold at her own design.
In her mind, she counted the seconds, each one bringing her closer to the sensations she knew would soon begin. The first touches were set to start at the lowest intensity, 10%, barely there, a whisper against her skin. She took a final, deep breath, letting herself sink fully into the experience. Bound, blindfolded, and gagged. Feeling the thrill of surrender as the devices awakened.
To be continued.
https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/her-infernal-machines-f-part-1-no-tickling-yet.442684/
Part 2: Anticipation
Claire stepped into the playroom, her naked skin bristling in response to the room’s cool, charged air. The subtle metallic weight of her piercings pulsing dully as her nipples hardened.
She paused, allowing her eyes to trail over the hard concrete floor. In the center of the small, windowless room, her sanctuary awaited. Years of tinkering, and a small fortune, had been devoted to perfecting this setup. To a casual observer, it might look almost cumbersome, with leather straps, polished wood, and gleaming wires woven together in a web of intense, complex precision. But to her, it was nothing short of art, a finely tuned machine designed for one purpose: to deliver the exquisite, breath-stealing torture she craved.
Closing her eyes, she let herself sink fully into the anticipation building within her, her breath deepening as her bare skin tingled. The familiar blend of scents enveloped her. Aged leather, cedar wood, faint hints of rubber and silicone. She inhaled deeply, breathing in memories of sweat, pleasure, and lust.
She stepped further into the room, each step pressing the cold, unyielding concrete against her bare size seven soles. Her gaze settled on the centerpiece of the setup, a modified, extra-long massage table. She leaned in, fingers gliding over the leather cuffs that would soon embrace her wrists, her touch lingering as a shiver coursed through her at the thought of surrendering to their unyielding grip. The polished pulley system, secured firmly to the top of the table, caught the soft light, gleaming with a silent, intimidating promise. It was a quiet force, poised to pull her taut, inch by inch, until she lay fully stretched and utterly exposed.
She turned her attention to the stocks at the base of the padded table, her pulse quickening as she traced her fingers over the smooth, unyielding hardwood, lingering on the padded cutouts designed to hold her ankles. It sent a delicious chill down to her red-polished toes, which she flexed gently, splaying them against the cool floor in anticipation.
Breathing slowly, Claire turned her attention to the pièce de résistance: her tickle machines. She liked to call them her "infernal machines," a term she’d borrowed from history purely because it sounded deliciously ominous. These devices were arranged and fixed to three sturdy side tables, aligned perfectly with her massage table; one on either side and one positioned at the base, near the stocks. Moving gracefully between them, her naked form brushed against each cold, unfeeling device as she doublechecked settings, tested angles, followed their cord connections to ensure they were connected to the main control power bar. Ensuring that every detail aligned with her meticulously planned setup.
Each mechanized brush waited in anticipation, strategically positioned to target her most vulnerable spots. On either side, the brushes were aimed with precision at her underarms and ribs, while the rotating bristles at the base were poised to work over her feet, once positioned. These instruments were tuned to deliver relentless, calculated torment, an impersonal cruelty, designed to undo her so completely. Already, she could hear the sounds that would soon fill the room; her own helpless gasps, stifled laughter, the desperate, muffled cries her gag would contain as she struggled against the sensations.
You little tickle slut. The thought ripped through her, as she felt the growing tingle between her groin. Her hand traced her toned stomach, the soft stubble of her shaved pussy, as her fingers came to rest on her enlarging clit.
She paused, taking a deep breath to suppress this insatiable arousal, if only for a moment, as she forced herself to refocus and moved over to her control center, as she called it. There was still work to be done. Her eyes scanned the cordless cameras positioned with exacting precision, each angle carefully chosen to capture every detail of her impending vulnerability. On the TV monitor, a four-way split screen displayed the soon-to-be stage of her surrender.
One lens would frame her entire body, stretched out in exquisite submission, while another was dedicated to her feet, capturing each subtle movement, each involuntary twitch of her gorgeous soles locked in the stocks. A third camera focused on her face, ready to document every helpless, gagged expression of exquisite torture. The last camera, centered on her hands, had been an afterthought in a past session, but had quickly became her favourite, owing to it's subtly. The sight of her hands clenching, straining, reaching for something, anything, as she thrashed, was a raw testament to her helplessness. The very thought of it almost made her hand drift southward again
Pull yourself together you insatiable slut.
Her final check was always her release mechanisms. The primary was an electromagnetic lock placed between her wrist cuffs and the pulley connection. Linked to Wi-Fi and controlled through an app on her computer, it was set to release precisely one hour after activation. She confirmed it was working, ensuring the app was connected and operational. Reliable and meticulously tested, it had never failed her. But in case of the unexpected, she’d prepared a secondary release; its gleam catching her eye as she completed her inspection. A sturdy pair of safety shears hung from a block of ice suspended just above her hands. With the ice melting at a calculated rate, she estimated the shears would drop within reach in roughly an hour and a half. This would allow her to cut the short section of rope that attached the cuffs to the electromagnetic lock. Offering a failsafe if the primary lock somehow malfunctioned.
For her final contingency, Claire had an additional backup plan she considered both desperate and essential. An app on her phone, once started along with the main program, would automatically trigger a pre-recorded message to her two closest friends if not canceled within three hours of activation. She’d carefully crafted the message, attempting to keep her tone calm and straightforward as she explained her predicament, provided instructions for entering her house, and described where to find her. She’d never come close to needing this option; she had no desire, no rational desire at least, for anyone, especially those closest to her, to learn of the twisted, intimate fantasies she enacted in her basement storage room.
Yet, there was a dark thrill in the thought. The possibility of being discovered stirred something primal within her. She knew she’d never let it reach that point. But even the faintest chance of it, the risk of being found, naked, helpless, teased to orgasmic tickle torture by machines of her own creation, added an edge of forbidden excitement to everything.
Claire’s arousal had reached a fever pitch, her skin prickling with a raw, undeniable need that bordered on desperation. Her heart hammered as she took in the room one last time, every detail; the glinting restraints, the poised devices, the empty stocks awaiting her ankles. She could almost feel the leather cuffs already around her wrists, her body helplessly exposed, vulnerable to the impersonal, relentless torment she craved.
Deciding it was time, she opened the main app on her computer, feeling the weight of her anticipation settle like a warm ache in her chest. With one final, steadying breath, she pressed "Start." All her careful planning, all the intricate programming, faded into the background; they were mere preludes to the sensations that would soon flood her world. On the screen, a small timer appeared in the bottom corner, its numbers glowing softly; a countdown of 20 minutes. Her heart quickened at the sight; this was the time she had to secure herself, a choreographed routine she had all but memorized by now.
She turned her attention to the stocks, her pulse pounding as she mounted the padded table. It's soft, cool leather meeting her bare skin. She positioned herself and slid her ankles into place. The smooth padding conformed to her ankles as she closed the stocks with a satisfying click, securing her delicate ankles in place. She reached further, testing her flexibility, as she reached for the elastic loops she’d set up in advance, hooking one around the base of her shapely right big toe, pulling it back just enough to feel a delicious tension. Her gaze moved to the monitor in the room, showing the live feed from each camera.
Look at those sexy soles.
On the screen, her feet filled the quarter frame. A soft peachy-pink, smooth and pampered. The delicate skin seemed to glow under the dim light, accentuating the shadows of her high arches. In the pixels of the monitor, Claire could make out the slight blush across her heels, the faint rosiness along the balls of her feet, and the creamy shaded softness of her high arches. She wiggled her long, perfectly tapered toes, watching them wiggle and flex. Except for her right big toe, which twitched futilely against it's tie, a delicious visual of what was to come
She finished securing each toe, feeling the cool press of her toe ring as she tightened the tie around her left second toe. Claire’s gaze returned to the screen, where her soles were finally displayed in all their vulnerable glory. Her arches stretched beautifully, deep and inviting, every tender inch exposed, each curve accentuated by the tautness of the toe ties. She could see how her feet flexed slightly, held firmly with no chance to pull away, every futile twitch promising to be captured in exquisite, intimate detail.
Slowly, she leaned down, putting her flexibility to the very limit, past her securely bound toes, adjusting her position to set up the first of her devices, the motorized foot scrubber, her first “infernal machine.” It was mounted on a rigid, adjustable metal arm bolted securely to the edge of the end table, allowing her to adjust its angle with meticulous precision. She carefully tilted the scrubber so that the soft silicone bristles would make full contact with her sole, ensuring they’d trace every curve, from the base of her heel to the ball of her foot.
Next, she shifted to her right foot, positioning an identical scrubber in the same way. She made small adjustments, angling it perfectly to maximize its reach over every sensitive spot. Her fingers lingered on the devices, already envisioning the maddening sensations. Even before they sprang to life, she felt a tingle spread across her skin, as if the bristles were already caressing her soles, teasing and tormenting.
Her attention then moved to the series of small nozzles mounted around her feet, each one directed to target a specific area. She adjusted them carefully; one aimed at the tender spot beneath her left toes, another at the ball of her right foot. Set to release quick, controlled puffs of cool air, each nozzle would mimic the feeling of light, teasing fingers brushing over her skin, heightening her sensitivity with every breath of air.
14 minutes left.
A rush of heat stirred within her as she moved to her next step in the process. She sat back to straighten out her legs. Her fingers gliding over each of the straps attached to the padded table. Starting with her calves, she wrapped the soft, wide strap a little her below her left knee, pulling it snugly. She repeated the motion on her right calf, each restraint adding to the delicious sensation of immobility that was slowly consuming her, working it's way methodically up from her ankles. She repeated this process with straps around each thigh, just above the knee. The fabric pressed lightly against her bare skin
Her breath hitched slightly as she moved to her hips, her eyes drifting over to the monitor, catching a quick glimpse of her growing helplessness in the full length view. She secured a thick waist strap that crossed her pelvis, pressing her lower back firmly against the padding. She pulled it taut, feeling a shiver.
With her legs and hips now bound, she reached for the final elements of this part of her process. First was the cordless Hitachi Magic wand, positioned on the side table. Her fingers brushed over its smooth surface, her heart pounding as she positioned it just above her inner thigh. Carefully, looping a belt around her thigh to hold it in place. The first whisper of contact against her shaven skin was electric, the cool surface stirring a potent thrill as she imagined the sensations that would follow once it was switched on. She adjusted the wand delicately, aligning it so that any movement, no matter how small, would press it against her clit. Claire closed her eyes, savoring the build-up. Even without it activated, the mere pressure sent jolts through her groin.
Her gaze shifted back to the side table, her collection of accessories sprawled out. She picked up a rather large butt plug, feeling its smooth, cool stainless steel surface between her fingers, and took a steadying breath. The weight pressed reassuringly into her palm. She applied a generous coating of lube, and slowly, she reached down to work the plug into place. It took a few tries, some feeling for her sphincter with her fingers, but finally, a gasp escaping her lips as it settled fully inside her, grounding her in its presence. The cool steel sent chills up her spines.
10 minutes left.
With her lower body secured, Claire shifted her focus to the final stages of her preparation. Her breath came in soft, measured sighs, each inhale now centered on the subtle feelings of pressure on her body. The soft bristles on her soles, the silicone against her clit, and the fullness in her ass. Her fingers trailed up from her groin, lingered over her skin of her stomach for a moment as she lay onto her back, savoring its softness, already sensitized. Her gaze lingered on her next 'infernal machines'. The motorized brushes were fixed in place to the side table on either side, positioned to precisely sweep along her waist, targeting each inch of her sensitive sides, once she was fully stretched. She made some minor adjustments, angling them slightly. Claire closed her eyes, picturing the sensation; the bristles sliding over her skin, igniting her nerves, while her muscles involuntarily tensed.
She moved up to her last set of motorized brushes, similarly mounted on each of the side tables, ensuring that the soft bristles would target the delicate hollows of her shaved armpits. A slow shiver coursed through, her skin already tingling as she imagined those bristles grazing the delicate hollows relentlessly.
Her arms moved back to the side table, her movement growing more restricted, driven more by touch then by sight. Her hand grazed over the nipple clamps she’d set aside. She held them for a moment, savoring the anticipation. She leaned forward, positioning the first clamp over her left nipple, feeling the initial pinch as it secured. The blood rushing around her piercing. The sharpness was enough to keep her aware, adding a layer of heightened sensitivity. Breathing through the ache, she secured the second clamp to her right nipple. Allowing herself a moment to acclimate, Claire closed her eyes, feeling the tug from the clamps, the faint ache settling into an intoxicating blend of pain and pleasure.
Finally, her hand fell to the gag resting on the table. She placed it between her lips, feeling its familiar weight fill her mouth. The soft but firm material silenced any sound she might make, adding a muffling element to her anticipation. She secured it tightly, letting herself adjust to the helpless feeling. Her breaths grew faster, shallower, and she watched herself on the screen, her naked, shapely body, body brutalized by harsh leather, metal, and silicone.
5 minutes left.
One final wide strap was left, which she would use to secure her upper torso. With slow, deliberate care, she wrapped it just below her breasts, feeling the firm fabric press snugly against her bare skin. She pulled it tight, fastening it securely, the strap restricting her movement and anchoring her upper body firmly against the table. Each breath now was shallow, her chest rising in rhythmic waves as she let herself sink into the immobility.
With her torso secured, Claire brushed her fingertips over the leather cuffs positioned above her head, tracing the cool, supple leather, feeling the weight of what this final restraint meant. In a few moments, once her wrists were bound, she would be entirely at the mercy of her setup, unable to escape until her first failsafe activated.
Her fingers brushing over the blindfold.
4 minutes.
She lifted it carefully, feeling its soft fabric against her hands, and slipped it over her eyes, securing it snugly. Darkness closed around her, shrinking her world to the sounds and sensations of the playroom. Her pulse quickened, and she found herself savoring this moment of total surrender.
She reached up to the leather cuffs she’d positioned just above her head. She’d practiced securing herself countless times, her fingers adeptly locating each buckle and loop, even without sight. In the silence, her hands moved with precision, fastening the cuffs securely around her wrists. The leather pressed gently but firmly, holding her hands in place, and with a final, soft click, she was bound.
A faint hum filled the room; the gentle start of the pulley system beginning its slow, deliberate work, indicating there was one minute left. Over the next minute, it would gradually pull her hands upward, stretching her arms until they were fully extended above her head. Claire lay still, feeling the gradual, unhurried tug, inch by inch, the tension mounting in her body as her hands were drawn higher, keeping her arms in a controlled stretch.
Each incremental pull added to the delicious tension, her muscles elongating as her wrists remained snugly fixed in the cuffs. She could feel the subtle shifting of her weight in straps. Ever tiny pull slightly justling the butt plug filling her tight ass, sending bursts of sensation radiating up her back.
She had calibrated the pulley to bring her to just the right level of tension; high enough to make her feel utterly restrained and powerless, yet comfortable enough to remain bound for the hour duration of the program. Her heart raced as her arms reached their final position, stretching her body taut and exposed. As her wrists settled securely above her, she felt the first faint contact of the brushes positioned at her ribs and underarms, their soft bristles grazing her sensitive skin with a whisper of sensation. A shiver ran through her as she gave a small, instinctive tug, testing her bonds. The restraints were firm and unyielding, her body stretched and primed.
With her arms finally fully restrained, Claire felt the excitement build as the reality of her helplessness settled over her. She could feel the sensation of the stationary brushes now, at her armpits and ribs, the cool touch of the vibrator. Her carefully planned program would slowly escalate, forcing her to endure every touch, every tickle, every pulse of vibration, her hands out of reach of any escape. She could only wait, every detail set to unfold at her own design.
In her mind, she counted the seconds, each one bringing her closer to the sensations she knew would soon begin. The first touches were set to start at the lowest intensity, 10%, barely there, a whisper against her skin. She took a final, deep breath, letting herself sink fully into the experience. Bound, blindfolded, and gagged. Feeling the thrill of surrender as the devices awakened.
To be continued.
