Turmoil 13: Bundle of Joy

Chapter 13: Bundle of Joy

Heavy raindrops played an autumn concerto on the barn roof. An unremittingly drumming background noise rolled through the loft where Niamh was watching Alex prepare the next number. She had helped her roll out the large, heavy rubber sack on the floor while Alex took care of the wires attached to overhead pulleys mounted on a beam.

She shook her head in disbelief. The sack was a blood-curling body bag-like deflated cocoon with broad belts, buckles and whatnot, and they wanted to string her up in it. No one could blame her for not seeing the point in being the banger in that bun, she thought. Surely, Alex must have had something more in mind than just suspending her like a sausage when she thought this out.

It was a lot more pleasing to watch Alex dancing about like a nymphet. On the other side of the looking glass, she could perhaps have been busying herself with her precious plants in her indoor winter garden. On this side, though...

“Ma’am wouldn’t consider it an insult if I mentioned that I very much would like to grasp the opportunity to worship ma’am’s backside?”

“Manners!” Alex laughed. “You don’t have to go overboard on that, you poor thing. It’s just the two of us now.” She smoothed out a few creases on her hips, apparently not at all put off by the proposition. “Weigh your words and wait for the audience. Spare your tongue till then.”

She had chosen to wear something a bit more casual since she ‘couldn’t be bothered getting sweaty until later on’, and that meant a simple ensemble consisting of a couple of Niamh’s old favourites; the incredibly smooth ink blue buttoned shirt, and a pair of glistening black jeans with sewn blue trim Niamh hadn’t seen her wear until now. Although Alex preferred her street garb to be made out of slightly more durable rubber, the jeans followed her curves in a stunningly flattering way. Her eyes kept drifting to Alex’ hind parts, and her tongue seemed eager to follow suit. They were tight in the right places, to say the least. Niamh pictured herself working her way up from the riding boots, over the back of her knees towards that perfectly shaped bum, and then...

“Come on now. Wake up!” Alex flipped the bag open with her foot. “We have actually got all night, but there’ll be no late supper for you if you don’t behave.”

“Sorry. Do you want me in there now? Like this?”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me.”

Niamh watched Alex rummage around among the props still not displayed, behind the heap of ropes no one had bothered to roll up in tidy coils again. A pair of curious-looking black shorts came flapping against Niamh, and she caught them right before they hit her in the face.

“Piss pants.” she added unenthusiastically, sticking a finger into the tube in the baggy, transparent crotchpiece. “Exactly how long were you planning to keep me in that sack?”

“Don’t start. It’s just for the visuals, dear. Terry likes it very much.” said Alex, turning around. “Oh, here are the bits that go on the outside.”

“At least they’re not pink. So I just squeeze out a few drops and get a fish like a good sea lion, then? Excellent. Are you sure she isn’t into nappies and stuff? I’d make an adorable adult baby, and I’d keep myself dry down there for once.”

“Well, you are acting childish. You’d better keep in mind that it’s better than relieving yourself inside the bag. I’m certain André won’t stand for that. Put them on.”

“I’ll just unzip myself first, won’t I? Me not like yeast infections.”

“This is supposed to fit in there as well.”

Alex held up a blue jelly-like shape, toying with it. It reminded Niamh of the Portuguese man-of-war jellyfish she had read about in school, but this only had a single thin wire attached to it.

“Don’t tell me; she’s into aspic. Jellied fanny and beef tea, anyone?”

“One more word and the harness goes on your head again. This is one of their wonderful little special stimulators. Look!”

The toy seemed to be meant to mould to the genitals. Inside it, Niamh could discern what looked like an open oyster with a quite big oval pearl in it. Tiny beads glistened around it. There’s a frutti di mare fiesta in my pants, and you’re invited. It surely didn’t appear very erotic at first sight.

“Have you tried that... whatever it’s called? Clam-a-tron?”

“I will if you go first. You can watch me, if you like.” Alex grinned with intent. “Get cracking now, or I’ll have your head shaven.”

***

It didn’t take long to get the pants on, even if a few buckles on the suit were of the irksome kind when they tried to take care not to split the pants. What caused a bit of a problem, and quite some amusement, was how to get the jellyfish to stay where it was supposed to be once the wiring was taken care of.

“Bad design job, this.” Niamh grumbled, hobbling around with her legs wide apart. “Now it looks like I’ve got prolapse. The sodding thing won’t keep still.”

“You’re not supposed to use it standing up, let alone walking.” Alex chuckled. “Now, how does it feel?”

“Like pudding in the wrong department. It’s warm, but it sort of sticks to me.”

“You like it messy, sweetie. It gets better when it gets a chance to form itself after your peachy bits. Get your bum over here now, and step into the bag. Stop flipping about.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now we’re learning about timing! Well done. A bit more sincere, without the trace of improper irony, and we’re more or less there.”

Alex helped Niamh to sit down and fit her legs into the bag. The rubber felt a bit clammy to her legs, and she was glad she didn’t wear stockings or anything else covering her from her feet up. It was much easier without getting glued to the inside of the damn thing right away, and she wasn’t sure about how it would be like to slide into a bag full of that glide gel Theresa liked to use. An hour or two marinating in that slime would probably turn her into a raisin, but the major risk was that she would actually like it too much.

The two broad zips, one on each side, made Niamh think of herself as the bacon in a pretty hefty sandwich rather than a comfy sausage in a bun. She could help pulling them up until it was time to get the arms inside, and when Alex continued closing them, she began feeling even more hesitant. There was still plenty of room in the sack for her to move about, but as the collar tightened around her neck as Alex buckled the first of the eight belts, the feeling of constriction caused her to draw heavily for breath.

“Take your time.” Alex said, soothingly. “I won’t push you.”

“’S okay. I’m fine.”

“Listen, dear. I’m not going to tighten the rest so hard...” she bent down further, grasping for another belt. “Can you please feed the plumbing into that little hole on your right, that’s...yes, there we go...”

The wire and the tube connected to the pants, already causing Niamh a bit of trouble, peeped out of the opening with a little help from inside. It helped to feel that she was still able to work her hands and fingers freely, and when Alex secured the second and third belt, she could feel the initial tension let go of her. It wasn’t too tight by far.

“Papa Bear sized,” Alex explained, smiling a little to herself. “Meant to withstand and restrain more than twenty stone of muscle. If I pulled you up feet first and released the collar, you would probably slip out like a foal.” She patted Niamh on the cheek. “Though I must say you look rather fetching in it.”

A loud gurgling, almost mechanical noise arose from somewhere in the mid-section. Becoming relaxed and all the imagined references to food had suddenly made Niamh hungry. Alex heard the rumbling, gave her a knowing look but said nothing. She finished the preparations by connecting the overhead wiring to a set of rings, much heavier than the ones on Niamh’s special suit, fastened to a horizontal seam on the sack.

Niamh forgot about food for a moment, when she suddenly levitated off the floor.

“And for our next trick, ladies and... those who can’t keep from looking...” Alex intoned, winching the large, black bundle up to a few feet above the canvas in a matter of seconds. It spun slowly, back and forth, before settling to a gentle rocking motion.

“This isn’t what you get if you combine a parachute and a sleeping bag,” she went on, “but I’m quite certain the fun lasts a while longer. Guaranteed.”

Niamh looked at her and tried to keep from asking when the long-lasting fun was really supposed to begin, and if someone could find her a banana or something. At least she wasn’t uncomfortable, which was a good thing. It was a nice feeling to be cradled in the bag instead of lying in it on the floor, she thought. It made the whole thing a bit easier, as the bag became less restrictive when it was carrying her like a big pod with strings. She could learn to like this as well, as long as no one tried to use her as a hammock.

She had met a couple who were interested in suspension once, but Niamh had never liked the idea of threading hooks through her skin to play aeroplane. This was a better idea; what could go wrong with a flying sleeping bag? Even so, she still wondered if it was worth trying to see if the rush really was that massive. A possible problem was that she eventually would be in it over her head, because it really wasn’t much different in nature to what she had plunged into now. Naturally, the catalyst was left out of that equation: Alex. There was a perfectly logical reason behind her singular addiction.

The thoughts about getting a piercing or two returned when she remembered their faces, which would have brought tears of joy to Jim Rose’s eyes if they ever had applied to join his circus. How the hell did they kiss without getting stuck to each other?

“Welcome back.”

Niamh half-turned her head when she heard Alex speak, and saw Theresa coming from the stairs, nearly prancing towards them minus her Harajuku outfit. Now, she was sporting a comparatively modest halterneck dress in black. She had kept the make-up, and Niamh thought that she resembled a cut-out paper doll against the murky background, with arms, legs and head, but no torso. It looked like she was the one with strings attached to her.

Oh, she’s not competing, is she now? Niamh didn’t like the idea of Theresa taking on a more bossy attitude. She rather faced the grovelling, messy-haired foot eater again. Maybe it was just a food chain-thing, but Niamh was relieved when she saw her tone down her attitude quite considerably as she came closer to them.

“Do you like what you see?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

Oh, yeth, mithtreth. Attach me to the lightning conductor and snigger, please. With a limp. Not lithp.

“Let’s see if you get the chance to enjoy yourself in a minute.”

Alex disappeared for a short while, and returned with something in a neatly folded napkin. She circled Niamh, humming approvingly, and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“A bit peckish, are we?”

The plosive p blew a gust of minty air right into her brain, and Niamh felt pearly beads of ice rattling down her spine. The jelly between her legs suddenly felt slippery and hot.

“I brought a little something for you. How about some pear to begin with?”

The first bite of the large, succulent pear tasted surprisingly sweet, but it was hard to focus on the flavour when Alex’ eyes were fixed to hers. She almost forgot to open her mouth when the fruit met her lips again. Sticky droplets of juice dribbled down her chin, and she watched Alex catch them with a gloved finger and lick them off. Her heart began working faster.

“Good, isn’t it? Well, have you tried the nectarines?” Alex said, wrapping the little that was left of the pear in the napkin after conjuring a delicious-looking nectarine out of it. “Feel the skin. Almost like yours.”

Niamh gratefully tried to make the fruit justice by savouring every little juicy bit, but since her head was horizontal, much of it ended up on her face. Alex didn’t waste the opportunity to dive in and have a taste of both her and the fruit simultaneously, and all Niamh could do was to close her eyes and hope that she didn’t bite anything fleshy. Alex’ tongue and mouth was virtually all over the remaining uncovered skin, lapping and kissing with great enthusiasm. A furtive glance towards Theresa revealed that there were more than just the two of them getting seriously aroused. She didn’t seem to know where to put her hands, while her eyes were fixed on them; and she had that feral look creeping back upon her again.

Better not wind her up too far, ma’am. Niamh gave a little twittering laugh, which made Alex look rather amused. This was fun, and a great turn-on, but Niamh doubted that she would try the same with spaghetti Marinara or custard. Chocolate, perhaps, even though Alex would have to fight her good to get some. Whipped cream would simply be too rich. No, fruit was all right. It made things taste differently. She was already looking forward to the next meal.

***

Smugly smiling and smelling of fresh peach, Niamh slowly rocked to and fro, listening to the creaks of the strings holding her up. Theresa was hovering around her, but she was only allowed to look, which was fine by Niamh. A moment of peace was just what she needed to slow down a bit, since her pulse had gone through the roof only minutes before. It was a peculiar feeling to be able to move just enough to get enormously frustrated when you couldn’t reach what you wanted.

That couple André had told her about had worked out the whole frustration bit in a quite inventive way, she thought. He couldn’t get it up without the restrictive feeling of total encasement, and she could pretty much have it her own way with the only- probably- remaining attractive thing on his body, with the rest hidden safely under layers of rubber. That was a win-win situation, and perhaps a good sign of a working marriage.

The thought of that old woman still working her skills to make her hubby spurt like a little geyser made her giggle. Perhaps it was sort of interesting to watch, after all. Wait a tick. Oh, yeah... Now she thought that she could remember why she ended up in that back alley with that Monaghan boy. It was only a rumour.

There lived a widow not far from the canal, in a pretty house quite unlike the grey stone and brick buildings down that road, with a huge and beautiful garden. She always hired boys to help her look after it in the summer, and it was widely rumoured that she took care of the poor, innocent good Catholic boys in her own special way if she found them attractive enough. According to those who knew someone, who knew someone who had heard about it, her handjobs were so memorable that a few years later the city had at least twelve young wives who didn’t know what to do with their husbands’ bedside requests.

Oh, yes. There was this talk about how she house-trained them first, and then rewarded them. Weren’t there words about her using those old-fashioned red household rubber gloves and aprons too? That’s maybe why she could recall it now. It was all a question about context. Pete, that poor, skinny bugger, had no clue what a ‘wank’ meant when the girls talked about that widow, and they were all laughing at him. Niamh had felt so sorry for him, and had decided right away to take matters into her own hands, as it were. I was fuckin’ thirteen then.

A toot-achingly squeaking noise announced that Theresa was about to change her position by pulling one of the cables leading to the block overhead, and Niamh felt her feet lower towards the floor until she was in a slight recumbent position. Another noisy operation caused her upper body to rise, but only a little. To successfully hang her in a fully vertical position would probably require belts with a few more holes in them, and a smaller sack.

Niamh wondered what they were up to now, when Alex connected the wire belonging to the squidgy thing between her legs to a blue box. It looked big enough to fit at least two 9 volt batteries, which could mean that the buzzer packed some serious punch. She hoped it would do something interesting, at least. The tube from the pants went down to a transparent rubber bladder dangling freely under her, and she felt its movements through the crotchpiece that was now literally filled with jelly which would only come loose if it got really wet. Even so, there was no way she was going to make Terry happy by widdling in that balloon unless they forced her to drink lots of water, she thought.

Oh, please. Niamh caught sight of Theresa from behind when she fiddled with something in a little bag. The dress she was wearing was very revealing, with nothing more than laces in the back, and she wore nothing underneath. She had an interesting little tattoo only inches above the deep cleft in the middle, but Niamh couldn’t see what it was until she bent forward and presented her hind regions with all its interesting features instead. I bet she’s doing that on purpose.

When she turned around, she held up another floppy, transparent rubber thing fairly similar to the bladder. Niamh blinked twice until she could make out what it was.

“You ever tried one of these before?” Theresa chirped. “Not that bad, actually. Helps you stay sharp.”

It was a large vacuum mask, but without the tight hood piece with a zip of the type Niamh had seen before. This looked more baggy, and a little dodgy. She noticed, a bit relieved, that it had five rather large breathing slits up front.

“This goes over your head, and then it’s meditation time.” Theresa continued, sounding unhealthily jolly, before pulling it over Niamh’s face without being that careful. “Don’t breathe too fast. You won’t last for long if you do.” She patted her head with two fingers. “Think happy thoughts now, yeah?”

Niamh managed surprisingly many muttered f-words before she had to breathe in. Fresh air flowed through the slits as the mask collapsed. Not much, but enough for her. No problem. This is nothing. As her exhale inflated the mask, she felt something beginning to stir in her groin. It was like an itch at first, but within seconds it tickled quite nicely. Cheers, Alex dear. Ma’am.

She didn’t like the smell of the cleaner that had been used on the mask, but otherwise it wasn’t that bad. Her mind started to wander again as she closed her eyes, and she wondered how those boys felt, standing there- which she supposed they all did at first- with their trousers around their feet and a firm, rubber gloved hand clasping their family fortune. ‘Oh, you’ll give the girls a nice surprise with this, I can tell.’ Talk about surprise for a boy scout, then. ‘Surely this feels much, much better than playing with it yourself, wouldn’t you say?’

The toy purred like a cat sated with double cream and tons of loving attention, and Niamh felt the vibrations spread through her. It was getting a bit warm inside the sack, and the mask grew more humid for each breath. It had a tendency to stick to her forehead and eyelids in a way she didn’t really like, but the sensation of it still didn’t put her off.

Imagining how hard it must have been for those poor bastards to hold back, Niamh grinned under the mask. ‘Does it feel like it’s coming now, dear? Let go of it. Right here, on my pinny.’ What if she used cold cream or something as well? Jesus. She must have made them keel over.

Niamh shook her head to get the mask off her skin. The air in it was gradually turning stale, and it was practically impossible to see anything through it. It annoyed her that she was unable to see what the other two were up to while she was just hanging there. She tried to move a little to loosen up, but someone with a sense of humour immediately turned the power on the toy way up, making her squirm. If it had more to give, she thought, they should have a caution label on the box. A peculiar sensation of being fondled by something slowly pushing itself into every little crevice, like a big, soft tongue, made her lose control over her pulse and breathing. Instantly, Niamh noticed why Theresa had warned her about the mask when it let her exhale, but not inhale too quickly. Twice, she drew heavily for breath, but the slits in the mask closed up, forcing her to rebreathe the little air that was left in it.

She managed to cool down long enough to succeed with two or three deep breaths, but as soon as she lost her rhythm, the slits were sealed shut again. Still, being fairly used to this routine by now, Niamh was very far away from panicking even if it felt very annoying to have to focus on something else than the pleasant humming between her legs. She missed the intensity of a real rebreathing mask, a gas mask or just a simple old plastic bag pulled over her head. Then, she could at least let herself be hypnotised by Alex, drowning her in her gaze before things got so heated that her eyes no longer worked the way they should. Oh, yes. This was more like inflating a leaky balloon from the inside, even if it had its charm.

Getting fed up by waiting for more interesting things to happen, she decided make another unexpected move. Deliberately, she began sucking hard for air. The thin rubber clung to her head as she filled her lungs, and only a tantalising whiff of fresh air leaked into the mask with a slightly humorous noise, before it sealed itself shut.

Concentrating on the delightful sensations radiating from her most sensitive spots, Niamh relaxed, awaiting the inevitable adrenaline surge. In.Out. There was much less air left to inflate the mask with now, and soon it would feel like glued to her face. She had a lot more practising to do before she would learn to enjoy this to the full, she thought. It was a pity Alex had become so careful with her after her little sojourn in the hospital.

A little pleased with herself, she noticed that there was more activity around her as she started bucking and heaving, and her breathing became more and more laboured. What disappointed her was that no one cared to turn the power up a bit more. At this pace, she would pass out before something sparkling started to happen.

All of a sudden, the mask was pulled off rather forcibly. Niamh was immediately distracted and lost the buzz as her head cleared to make way for irritation.

“Shit!” she spat. “I was okay! Don’t turn it off!”

She watched Alex turn the dial on the control box, intentionally slow and precise in her movements.

“Do you know what a Sybarite is, dear?”

“No! No...ma’am.” So now it’s time for Who wants to be a Zillionaire? O, Mother of Christ.

“Ancient history, and we don’t have enough time for whole lessons. The gist is; if you’re a sybaritic person, you might be described as a relentless, perhaps egoistic pleasure-seeker.” Alex said. “Pleasure at all costs, at all times; in short the principal part of your reason to live.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Niamh breathed. Even if she felt like being airlifted into a philosophy zone, right in the line of fire, she had to listen. There were times when she wondered why Alex didn’t make better use of her speaking skills and knowledge.

“My point being: don’t ever question me in any way if I want to break off something, even if you feel like exploding all over the place because you’re having a wonderful moment.” Alex continued in a measured tone. “There’s no real excuse for that behaviour, being sybaritic or not. Of course, I’ll allow you what you seem to want so bad, but I decide when and how. I thought we had a little mutual understanding there already.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“You just can’t control yourself, and that’s not your fault. You’ll learn.” Alex purred, swinging the control box like a defunct yo-yo. “You should be ashamed of yourself for frightening poor Terry, though. She was quite upset when she couldn’t help you.”

Niamh looked in the direction Alex was pointing and caught sight of Theresa, sitting a few feet away staring at them, with her hands and feet neatly tied to the chair with her own rope, and a thick, juicy pear stuffed top first into her mouth.

She was close to breaking her own promise to keep from filling the bladder when she tried in vain to hold back the laughter. Things were improving. Indeed they were.

***

Like an old sailing ship, the barn creaked and seemed to sway along with the gale blowing outside. The rain earlier in the evening was merely a prelude to the storm that was now sweeping over the village, with gusts of wind promising thunder and lightning.

Niamh was still feeling very much at home inside the bondage bag, suspended from the ceiling. It was warm and quite cosy, and wrapped her up in such a way that she almost felt like taking a little nap before Alex decided to play with her again. The storm outside didn’t bother her much. It was a bit exciting to be up here listening to the weather, safe and dry, relatively speaking.

Theresa was still in a pretty pickle, what with having an eager and curious ma’am trying a number of variations of how to make the best use of a length or two of silky rope. Alex didn’t seem to care much if it cut into her skin, and half of her face was riddled with pear. When she had dropped the second one into her lap after biting through it, Alex had strapped the muzzle harness, still unpleasantly sticky-looking too, over her head. It was always hard to tell if she worked up or off some steam when she began acting like that, Niamh thought.

Alex swaggered off leisurely and left them to their own devices for a while. Niamh watched the shimmering black contours of her behind disappear in the shadows, and turned her attention to Theresa, looking surprisingly attractive tied up like that. She seemed to be in her own little world, but her eyes followed Niamh closely.

“All right?” Niamh said, only a smidgen derisively. “And now you’re supposed to say ‘bit tied up, can’t talk right now,’ or summat like that.”

“Ffh vwf.”

“That didn’t sound much like it. Can you say ‘how’s it hanging?’ then?”

“Gk stfht.”

“Snug as a thug in a mug, thank you very much. Didn’t really expect this to happen, did you?”

Theresa shook her head. Was there a smile playing under that gag? Niamh tried to look around to see if there was anything she had missed. Having Terry temporarily put out of action in this particular way could just as well be a sly decoy. She was maybe meant to make fun of her like this, relax, and then end up taken by surprise again. Oh, she knows something I don’t, that’s for sure. Alex probably didn’t go to fix herself a drink, first of all.

Niamh tried to remember what she had seen back there when she was talking to André the other day, as she heard clattering, metal noises coming from behind her. She was secretly hoping for the rattling noise of the cabinet rolling across the floor, although she knew it wasn’t fully equipped at the moment and probably not even operational. It would have been really wicked to try it again, she thought, especially safely tucked into the sack. Warmer than the straitjacket, and no unauthorised access to private areas. Wonderful.

Since the bondage bag acted like an impermeable armour around her, she doubted that Alex would go for any kind of advanced corporal punishment- not that she deserved any of that; it just had to make some sense after all- in terms of canes, whips, prods or even those home improvement tools from hell. No, she hadn’t even seen them lying anywhere near the set. Actually, the whole room had seemed rather empty, except for the things they had already used. Alex would probably like to try a little water torture on her, but the loft wouldn’t be the right place for that, Niamh reckoned. Then what? There were a number of possible personal hells awaiting her round the corner, but she simply couldn’t figure out anything definite yet. On top of that, she had Theresa eyeing her like a...yeah, what?

“Yearning for some action, are you?” Niamh continued, unintentionally beginning to spin a little as she shifted inside the bag. “Though it looks like DIY night for you, don’t it?”

“Aw sht ph.”

“I have a feeling I will in a minute. Doesn’t change the fact that neither of us can do much about anything now, right? A tenner says she’ll let you loose and give you order to dig in.”

Silence ensued. Niamh sighed a little to herself, thinking about what André really meant by describing poor Terry as someone in the process of deconstructing herself each time she did something like this, only to be able to feel whole again. Thank God she wasn’t a psychiatrist. If they only got a chance to talk properly she just might be able to understand a bit more. Perhaps she worked the same way as well, without knowing it. At least in some weird sense.

“But that’s just what you want her to do, innit?”

Theresa giggled and made a farting noise by blowing into the gag. Niamh rolled her eyes in silence and decided to leave things be for the moment. This little chamber orchestra was taking on its own full-blown rendition of the Nutcracker Suite, and she’d just dropped her reed.

***

Another five minutes passed before they heard Alex return. When she entered into the light, she was pushing a yellow sack truck with a purposeful-looking extension frame, two long rods and crossbars equipped with different sets of belts and other useful things to make the load stay in place. It wasn’t too difficult to guess who was going to end up in its metal embrace.

What looked like a large, stylish shoulder bag swung under her right arm. It seemed a bit heavy, and four eyes followed her moves very closely when she put it down on the floor beside her. She flashed a brief, rather nice smile at both of them that nevertheless thrust tiny spikes in the back of Niamh’s head. Any animal wary of predators would have reacted to the look in those eyes.

“Now, let’s see if we can do this without bruising you. I’m not really sure about how to do this, but...” Alex hummed, placing the truck behind Niamh. “Hah, this is just too droll, isn’t it?”

“Ma’am?”

“Well, now I’m actually doing it. Pulling the strings, that is. Hold on tight to something, sweetie.”

The unspeakable noise chilled the roots of Niamh’s teeth again, but to her relief, it appeared as if she was going to stay the right way up. Slowly, she was hoisted onto the truck in an upright position. When her feet touched the fork plate through the sack, and her back docked with the padded supports on the extension frame, her body felt unbearable heavy and clumsy. It was like being lifted out of a swimming pool very quickly.

Alex secured her into the truck and stowed away the tubing, letting the bladder flap freely, hanging from a belt. Now, Niamh really felt like a parcel. She wondered if there were any inflatable versions of the bondage bag. The idea of pool and rubber merged in her mind, and she would certainly not mind playing dinghy for a while. The only problem was that Alex was a bit on the heavy side if she’d want to paddle her around.

“There we go. The set of wheels in the back are down, and I trust you have no longer any feeling of falling over, dear. This contraption can handle a couple of tons, I believe.”

Anchors aweigh, captain. No, it would be much more fun to have her pushing her around in the water. In a ridiculous bathing cap and flippers. Oh, yes. She wouldn’t actually have to wear anything else.

“We had a few problems with the choice of hood, though.”

Hood? Niamh snapped out of her aquatic phase and stared at Alex, rummaging around in the shoulder bag. She wasn’t really prepared to wear something as thick as the sack on her head as well.

“It seems you have rather a small head, and all André’s little artworks were too big for you, but we found something else for you that I think will work just fine.”

Alex swirled around and revealed two items that made Niamh’s heart dance a little faster. An ordinary open-faced black hood that didn’t seem frightening at all, and a gas mask. Alex put her hand in the hood and played with it like a glove puppet before she nimbly eased it over Niamh’s head. It slid on like nothing and felt soft and very smooth, but perhaps a bit constricting. The opening for the face was rather small.

“There.” Alex tucked the neck of the mask under the collar. “Not at all bad, don’t you think?”

“No, ma’am.” Niamh whispered, trying not to think of how bunny-snouted she must look like in the mask. She crossed her toes hoping that the next step would be something special, and that she was able to cope with whatever it would turn out to be. Alex patted her on the cheek and held up the gas mask.

“Luckily, Her Majesty has employed people with cute little faces in the services, as it seems.” she said. “Standard issue S10 size...three, was it. Used, but maintained properly. André had to clean up some camouflage paint, but there you go. Ve-ry comfy.” She fingered the little tube coiled up in the front. “If you should feel a little thirsty, just scream. I think we have a little canteen somewhere around here. There are no guarantees for what’s actually in that bottle, though.”

“Ma’am...”

“No more wee-wee jokes, I promise. Bow your head, dear.”

As Alex strapped the mask tightly to her face, Niamh had a distinct feeling she would scream regardless of thirst. Provided, of course, that there was enough air for her to do that. She exhaled, hearing the brief flap from the inlet valve, and took a deep breath. The mask was at least feeling better than the Russian ones that made her ears feel mushy, and always caused hairdo havoc if she didn’t wear a hood underneath. It was softer than she’d expected, and was easy to breathe through. It also had a funny little smell, which she couldn’t really pinpoint.

Theresa watched Alex more careful than a dog on an operation table keeps an eye on the vet, as the remaining contents of the shoulder bag ended up before her. There was really nothing strange or dangerous-looking in it, Niamh noticed, save a couple of corrugated rubber tubes she guessed would be part of her problem very shortly, and what looked like a oval ball-shaped thing with a strange plastic valve on it. She recognised it as one of the bags medical personnel sometimes used in emergency wards, but couldn’t really see what they were going to use it for. Alex quickly connected one of the tubes, with an adjustable T-valve in the end, to the gas mask. Niamh didn’t really like the look of the valve, since dear ma’am obviously had a tendency to try all possible settings if there was anything for her to turn or push.

Alex screwed the other, much longer, tube onto one of the couplings and turned the valve to let the air flow through it. Niamh grunted a little as her nose started to tingle again. The smell wasn’t exactly fresh, and she wondered if the kit had been kept somewhere in a stable. It was hard not to think of a flatulent horse. My God! If I sneeze in this, I’ll need wipers for the lenses.

A slow, careful push forward brought the whole truck closer to Theresa’s chair.

“That should do it.” Alex stated as she untied a few of the knots keeping Theresa tied down, freeing her hands. “Now, Terry is going to assist me for a little while here. Keep your fingers on your armrests, please.”

Niamh wagged her head at Theresa, who frowned. You can’t even sneak your pinkie down there. Har Har. She tried to come up with a quick solution to how to make a face when wearing protective gear, but only managed to perform a cross-eyed version of herself in a gas mask. It did the trick anyhow.

Much less amusing was the fact that Alex now told Theresa to hold on to the BVM bag while she screwed it onto the T-valve. It didn’t take too much deduction to guess where this was leading, and now there definitely was a grin hidden beneath that muzzle.

A glistening smile, tastefully ornamented with the pink tip of a tongue, appeared in front of her eyes. Warm hands caressed her head through the hood.

“I think you’ll enjoy this.” Alex mouthed to her, adjusting the mask and the hose to ensure that every seal was airtight. Another motherly pat landed on her cheek, and then she turned around.

“Terry, dear?”

Theresa looked up, seemingly bursting with expectation.

“Make perfectly sure that you keep her breathing comfortably. One good squeeze every five or six seconds, understood?”

There was a whistling noise from the bag when Theresa buried her fingers in the dark grey rubber. She nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off Niamh. Oh, she’s going to fuck with me and you bloody well know that, don’t you?

“Should there be any difficulties;” Alex briefly winked at Niamh over her shoulder, “if you drop the bag or your fingers for some magical reason stop working, you give me the alert.”

Running her fingers over Theresa’s head, she slowly rounded the chair, pausing to let the sudden howl of the wind pass as a little dramatic effect.

“If you have other ideas,” she said evenly, “you’ll be the centre of my attention. You have absolutely no idea how frightening that can be.”

Niamh watched with growing concern how Theresa made the mistake of showing lack of respect and attention by giving a sniffling giggle. Not good timing, Teabag. There’s that smile. Here it comes. Alex slowly bent down beside the chair, only a little, but enough to let the toxic sweetness of her low voice seep right into Theresa’s ear.

“You probably won’t vomit before you pass out, but there will perhaps be a little blood if a few capillaries burst. It will feel like dying, and you know what? That’s only where I begin, and there’ll be no one around to stop me. Would you like that? Fat lot you care, right?” Alex pushed her face away, sneering at her. “I should have the skin on your back peeled off inch by inch if I could bother to make the effort.”

The dark shade suddenly disappeared from her when she picked up the vibrator remote, and thumbed the dial a few times. The thing between Niamh’s legs came to life again.

“Back in a minute, sweetie.”

Niamh watched Theresa’s reaction intently when Alex reached for the T-valve. She shirked a little, trying to make herself very small. There was a look of disbelief and quite a bit of fear in her eyes. You know it’s just a game, but your brain just got the information that you’re on the razor’s edge here. Can’t really believe what you heard her say, can you? Well, be advised.

A tiny flop sound announced that Alex had closed the valve. Theresa immediately began squeezing the bag, forcing air into the gas mask. At first, she seemed to have little grasp of the concept, kneading away like a baker. Niamh was glad that the bag-thingy only managed to put just about enough extra air pressure into the mask to make her breathe more easily. It wasn’t like having a giant pump inflating her.

Eventually, as Alex disappeared out of sight again, Theresa found a reasonable pace. Working the bag with both hands, she stared almost inadvertently at Niamh, but even the slightest noise from behind them made her cast a nervous glance.

Niamh was, despite poor Terry’s squirrel-like nervous tension, feeling fairly relaxed. A pleasant, droning buzz tingling all over her lower belly almost made her feel drowsy. The puffing noise from the air being fed to her also had a lulling effect. She would never have guessed that the scary-looking rubber sack with all the menacing bondage attires would feel so good. It even came equipped with facilities, even if she had preferred to have some privacy if she would feel the need to go. She closed her eyes and tried to ease the soft, buzzing being further in between her labia, thinking of nothing in particular. Sybaritic, eh?

***

It wasn’t very long until something disturbed her little moment of self-indulgence. A sound, almost like a poorly sheep bleating, caught her attention. She also noticed that the air feed had become irritatingly erratic and even more forced, flowing into the mask in quick bursts. Wasn’t there a certain whiff of sweat in it as well?

When she opened her eyes and looked down, she caught sight of Theresa with the BVM bag wedged between her knees, her left hand trying to hold it steady as she slammed her legs together with a fleshy sound, and her right tightly pressed to her sex. The dress was half-heartedly hiked up under her buttocks, and strings of saliva dangled from the muzzle. By the look of it, she was already close to orgasm. Sneaky. And fast.

Niamh wondered why Alex had made such a fuss about the bag. The little she knew about those things told her that it was fully possible to breathe through even if you didn’t have anyone squeezing the damn thing. Otherwise, they wouldn’t use them, would they? No, this was just part of the messing-up-the-girls thing. Surely it was.

She watched, not entirely disinterested, Theresa gradually fingering herself to partial insanity. The noises she made were quite funny, she thought, and the way her eyes rolled would render her a place in the Pink and White Minstrels’ Hall of Fame. The way she started trembling was, however, almost unnerving to watch. Only little at first, then, like someone suffering an epileptic fit, seizing up totally as the orgasm overrode her motor functions. Niamh made an eerie association as she witnessed how one jolt after another shot through Theresa. Jesus, it looks like she’s been poisoned.

After a final, violent throw, Theresa closed her eyes and turned to putty in her chair, only remaining in it because of the ropes still holding her down. Niamh saw the BVM bag slowly reinflate, and then fall down on the floor as Theresa’s legs went limp.

A few seconds passed until Niamh realised that she was mistaken about the function of the bag. Clearly, someone had tampered with it- hence all the harsh words from Alex- and now she felt the air flow waning quickly. There wasn’t enough left in the hose to fill her lungs, and it was no use holding that last breath for long.

Theresa suddenly became aware of her mistake, and she began rocking the chair frantically to get hold of the bag with her feet, yelping madly. There was nothing for Niamh to do but to try to keep her cool until Terry succeeded, or Alex came to her rescue. Twenty, thirty seconds was no problem at all. Perhaps a little blood... She was not going to panic or try to count thirty five...Get on with it! She did as she was used to, keeping some sort of rhythm, and it was surprisingly easy to stay calm despite the unnerving activity in front of her. The lenses were beginning to mist up, and something down below was calling her attention. Then, there was a faint whiff of rubber and soggy canvas, and she drew heavily for the little air coming through the hose.

With only three toes reaching the bag, Theresa had a hard time depressing it properly even if she tried the best she could. It was still quite sufficient for Niamh to stay conscious, although she had to struggle a little. The sound of boots on the floor calmed her down.

“I can’t leave you two alone for a single moment.” Alex grumbled reproachfully as she lifted the bag from under Theresa’s feet and opened the valve. “Always making a fine mess of everything. I really, sincerely hope that was only a mishap.”

Niamh kept her mouth shut and tried to catch her breath. The air from the second tube was now mysteriously devoid of horse, which was a pleasant surprise. Theresa was still trying to land, taking some serious flak from Alex.

“You just couldn’t keep from masturbating, could you? Oh, don’t try that look on me, girl. I ought to leave you outside for a while, to cool off.” she said. “You nearly ruined my little surprise for her acting like that.”

Oh, aren’t I the lucky one. I nearly forgot about that.

“If you want to stay with us and watch- yes, watch- it will be with your hands behind your back. This...” Alex continued, tugging at the muzzle harness, “...will have to come off now, I think. Not that it seems very necessary as such, but I detest the look of dried spit all over you. Disgusting. Instead, I probably should let you wear that cumbersome mask you wanted to put on her face. No? Well; behave, then.”

Feeling a bit left out, Niamh glanced a little surreptitiously at the metal box Alex had brought out from behind the set. She recognised it. It wasn’t the funny electroplay device she had actually wanted to buy after their Friday night rumpus, but it was something taken from the cabinet. She then noticed the embossed letters on its front, and remembered. Now, it wasn’t that hard to make out what would fit into either of the round apertures on the front of it, but she still wasn’t clear about what the box really did. It was plugged in, so it needed electricity to do whatever it was supposed to do, anyway. Didn’t Dräger make diver gear? She was pretty sure about that, at least, but that wasn’t much help. What she knew, was that Alex would definitely not let her off the hook- or sack truck in this case- until she was satisfied. That meant she wasn’t going anywhere particular in a hurry, and there was still not much she could do about it.

With a little luck, this could prove to be a very long night. Perhaps André would be kind enough to bring them something to eat later on, before supper, if there would ever be one. A fruit basket would be nice.

* * *

20.02.11