Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories

At the Lake

by Yoni Steele

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© Copyright 2005 - Yoni Steele - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; F/f; D/s; bond; crate; shipped; oral; cons; X

Packaged Story Contest 2005 Entrant

When I opened the front door of my house after another long day at work, I was greeted by my best friend Joyce, dressed in a rather stimulating, delightfully translucent negligee.  I set my laptop down by the door, gave her a big hug, and cemented my lips to hers for a luscious, deep kiss.  The kiss lasted for a full minute, but I was delirious with lust for my gorgeous roommate after about half a second as she plunged her hot tongue into my open mouth.  Her power to make me horny with a kiss or even just a whisper never ceased to amaze me. 

Just as I was slipping my hand into the back of her panties, she shoved me back.  “Happy birthday, Mel,” Joyce said with a coy smile.  She handed me a giant card, about three feet tall.  I had seen those silly things in stores, and wondered what cute piece of humor was going to be revealed inside this one.

I pulled the big card out of its giant red envelope, and was a bit stunned by the excessively endowed and nearly naked brunette on the front of the card.  Her only garments – if you could call them that -- were some discretely placed wide ribbons wound around her waist and hips and a few other places.  A large crimson bow covered her pussy, but it was possible to see the traces of dark pubic hair around the edges of the wide satin strips.  Narrower white ribbons were tied around the base of her luscious boobs, and two very thin pink ribbons were tied around her nipples, making them stick out hard.  In fact, the boobs and nipples were raised slightly with respect to the rest of the flat card to give it a more realistic, 3-D appearance.  In fact, the artwork, in general, was so realistic that I wondered if it was actually a photograph, but I couldn’t imagine anyone posing for such a provocative birthday card.  Of course, that doesn’t mean that someone wouldn’t pose for a photo like that; after all, porno magazines and movies were much more revealing and overtly sexual.  But a birthday card?

At the bottom of the front of the card was the question, “What is brown and pink and comes packaged with a lovely cherry box?”  I smiled up at my lover. 

“This is cute, Joy,” I told her.  “I don’t know where you bought this, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the local drugstore!”

“Well, open it up, silly.  The best part is inside.”

I was expecting some cute joke or lewd rhyme.  It was definitely a rhyme, but not exactly what I anticipated.  In fact, I wasn’t at all sure what the message inside really meant. 

“Just open the box for a warm, cuddly treasure.
slave Marie is yours for a weekend of  pleasure,”

was written in large, elaborate script on the inside of the card.  In somewhat smaller handwriting, that was clearly from my sweet friend, was the additional message, 

“Name the date, Darling, and she will be delivered to my family chalet at Lake Pussywillow for your enjoyment and delight.  Feel free to indulge in those wicked sexual fantasies that you told me about several months ago, when you finally opened up to me after that wonderful week of sex we shared to celebrate our anniversary as lovers.  slave Marie is bought and paid for.  You can use her however you want.  The nastier you are, the more she’ll love it.  What you want is what she lives for.”

I looked up at Joyce, somewhat confused.  Before I could ask her what the text meant, she tossed her head to one side, causing her cascades of red hair to move like flames, and then explained, “slave Marie is an old friend of mine.  Her greatest joy in life is to be bound and packaged.”

“I hope that you’ll forgive me, Mel, but I told her about your fantasies.  After all, I thought about her immediately when you told me how you have always wondered what it would be like to have a slave girl to play with.  You’ve been the submissive in most of your relationships, including with me (and I have to admit that I love tying you up, sweetie), but I could tell that you were very serious when you told me that you wanted a chance to take the other role. 

“Well, I thought about letting you tie me up, but I know that I would make a terrible slave girl for you.  The idea of submitting to you, frankly, strikes me as totally wrong.  I could no more submit to you than I could to a pro wrestler.  It just isn’t me; and I’m pretty sure that I would turn the tables on you before you ever got me to stick out my wrists to you for a pair of handcuffs.”

“But it’s just a fantasy, Joy.  This isn’t something that I ever expected to actually experience!” I interrupted.

“Why the hell not, sugar?” she asked, sounding more like a psychologist than my best friend.  “You already know that you love being topped.  But how do you know that you won’t enjoy this, too?  If you don’t, you can always wrap her back up and send her back to her Mistress.  Someone else will tie her up, if you don’t.  Hell, I’ll probably spend some time wrapping up the contortionist bitch myself.”

I grinned at her side comment, and was about to say something, but she didn’t give me the chance.  I had barely opened my mouth when she continued, “I know that not all fantasies are meant to be fulfilled, but sometimes we just have to take a chance.  It’s how we learn more about ourselves and grow.  We are adults, but that doesn’t mean that we stop learning and expanding our horizons.”  I smiled because I knew that she was right, so I listened patiently as she explained her gift.

“Most people have dual natures, and there is only one way to truly find out if that other half that we usually suppress is meant to be suppressed all the time.  And that is to allow ourselves to experience the other side at least once.”

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close to her.  “Once upon a time, I wondered what it would be like to be the bottom in a relationship.  It wasn’t an overwhelming desire, but it was something that I was curious about.  Fortunately, I had a dominatrix friend who was totally into the lifestyle, so she and I talked about it.  She suggested that I give myself over to her for an entire week.  At first I was reluctant to try; I was also concerned that she might think less of me for submitting to her.  In the end, I realized that she was the perfect Mistress for me, if I was going to submit to anyone, so I accepted her terms and became her slave for an entire week.  Not only was I totally hers in the bedroom and dungeon, but I also served her in the kitchen and dining room and everywhere else she needed my services.  Completing that week was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I am glad that I made the effort.  At the time, I both hated and loved submitting to her, so I’m glad that I did it, and have no regrets about it.   I learned that it can be an exciting change of pace, but it just isn’t for me for anything other than a lark, and I’ll never do it again.  The fact that I even considered offering myself to you just emphasizes the fact that I think that this is really important for you.”

“That, in a nutshell, is why you have to try this.  You harbor more than just a curiosity about being dominant in a sexual relationship.  From what you told me, Sugar, you really want to explore that part of yourself.  After all, you are the director of a major pharmaceutical lab during the day, in charge of a dozen teams of twenty or more researchers and technicians each, so you understand what it means to be in control.  And you reached this point in your career by being a team leader many times over.  Yes, of course, it is different in an intimate, sexual encounter, but you can draw upon those experiences to dominate someone who truly wants to be used and abused.  And I am giving you that chance.  No strings attached.  For one entire weekend.  If you want to explore it further, slave Marie told me when she plans to take her vacation this year.  If not…  well, you can pass judgment after you have given this a try with someone who is even more passionate about being in bondage than you are.

“So please, lover, try this for me.  I promise that I will be there to help you through the weekend.”  She stopped talking, grabbed my head gently in her hands and pulled me towards her.  Then she gave me one of those mind-bending kisses that simply make me melt right out of my clothes.

A few minutes later, I was quite literally out of my clothes, lying on the floor on my back.  My wrists were adorned with metal bracelets: handcuffs that were looped around the center leg of the couch.  My hands were not only cuffed together, but they were out of the way beneath the couch where I could grab nothing more substantial than the sofa frame.  Joyce, on the other hand, was using her fingers to tweak my swollen nipples as she straddled my face, her sweet pussy grinding down hard on my lips, with my nose nestled in her intensely aromatic, curly pussy hair.  My tongue was burrowed into her wet channel, waggling back and forth over her tender clit.  It is amazing how quickly she comes when she has me incapacitated.  It makes her hotter than the glowing caldera of Mauna Loa. It is also amazing how many times she will come when she has me in bondage, even when it is as simple as the position in which she had confined me.  (But then I would like to think that it is at least partially because I am so good with my tongue and lips.)


That was six weeks ago.  I eventually found myself looking out the curved glass-paneled wall of Joyce’s chalet at the spectacular view of Lake Pussywillow.  The water shimmered with the broken fires of the sunset over the distant western edge of the large lake.  I glanced down at the dock and smiled.  A few hours ago I had been bound naked and spread-eagled on the rough planks, my limbs were tied off to the metal rings on the tops of four posts near the end of the pier.  Joyce had sprinkled corn kernels on my body and all around it on the wharf.  Then she had returned to this window in the house to watch the birds feed off of my body.  I had been instructed to remain still to allow them to eat, and I shivered involuntarily as I remembered how hard it had been to remain motionless when the birds were plucking the kernels off of my tortured body, jabbing me with their sharp beaks!  The seagulls were especially insistent, probably due to years of scavenging for food on the small beaches of the lake.  I closed my eyes and tried to block out the memory of the birds removing the seeds from my crotch, but I knew that that was one memory that I was not going to escape for a long time!  (My loving Mistress insists that I keep that part of my body shaved all the time, and I had taken a razor to the area only a few hours earlier.  In addition, she had further sensitized the area prior to my outdoor torment by administering a very prolonged genital whipping.  When my limbs were stretched out and tied off to the pylons of the pier, my crotch already looked like it had been sunburned for a few hours!) 

I worked extremely hard to remain still because the sun was hot on my naked flesh, and the longer that I stayed out on the pier, the longer I was exposed to burning ultra-violet rays from the sun.  At least she had protected my face from their insistent pecking by covering my head with a solid plastic helmet.  (It had been made from an exact mold of my face, so it fit particularly well, which meant that it did a perfect job of holding the rubber ball in my mouth, with only a soft rubber breathing tube sticking out between my real, spread open lips, as well as between the plastic lips of the helmet!)  Unfortunately, the translucent, brown plastic allowed me to watch every nasty bird approach.  I suspect that it might have been easier if I couldn’t see them fly down and land on the dock, several meters away, and then slowly walk or hop over to the waiting buffet that was spread out on my sensitive skin.

The worst part of the torment were the weights that were attached to my nipples, hanging off the sides of the dock.  The weights were rather devious devices.  Each one was a large wooden bucket that was connected to a nipple ring by a cord, that was just long enough to allow the bucket to float on the surface.  The problem was that each bucket had a tiny hole in the bottom to allow water to VERY slowly leak into the bucket, thereby decreasing its buoyancy and increasing its weight, stretching my poor nips to either side.  That part was hell from the start, and it only got so much worse with time.  The motion of the buckets with the waves multiplied the pain many times over, especially as they sank.  (Joyce told me afterwards that occasionally a bird would alight on the lip of one of the sinking buckets.  I doubt that I could tell her when a seagull was sitting on the bucket, as they are small and light; but I am quite certain that I could enumerate every time that a large pelican sat down on the edge, forcing the bucket to sink an inch or two extra for half a minute or so, until the bird departed for a better perch, such as my ankle or wrist.)  eventually, as the buckets became slightly submerged, I actually welcomed the pecking on my body as a distraction from the growing pain in my chest.  There were times when I was positive that my rings were going to be torn right out of my nipples, but fortunately, my buds have been toughened up through years of torment.  Hmm, now that I think about it, is that really such a good thing? 

The silvery shine of the rings also attracted the attention of a few birds who attempted to yank them out of my chest.  My muffled shrieks did nothing to distract them from their efforts, but fortunately, they gave up.  One large bird actually sat down on my stomach and worked for a couple of minutes on both rings, alternating from one to the other when he met with failure.  Of course, birds don’t have particularly good memories, so each ring was attacked several times by the persistent beast!  Unfortunately, he also got a good peck at my right nipple, too.  He must have thought that it was some kind of berry or seed, but the rouge that Joyce had used to keep them from getting sunburned must have had a bad taste because he didn’t make a concerted effort on either one.

When the birds had finally finished their odious task of pecking me nearly to death, my wonderful lover came back out to rescue me from my torment.  If I could have smiled, I would have.  Joyce was wearing only a skimpy, sapphire satin bikini bottom and navy blue, high heeled sandals.  The bikini was adorned with a solitary pink heart, right over her sex lips which bulged out noticeably against the thin material.  The pink heart was outlined with crimson gemstones that I knew were not cheap imitations or even man-made jewels, but were, in fact, genuine, natural rubies.  It made me laugh to myself; her bikini cost more than I earned in a year as a lab director!  As always, she was a stunning, statuesque goddess, and the mere sight of her sent my erotic fever rising. 

She straddled my chest, pressing her satin-clad bottom against my tender flesh.  Then she reached down and undid the latches that held the front of the helmet to the back.  She flipped up the front, which is hinged at the crown, lifting it slowly so it didn’t pinch the breathing tube as it slid out of the hole in the mask.  Then she leaned forward, her warm soft breasts falling onto my face.  Mmm, she smelled wonderful.  I love it when she sprays Obsession on her breasts.  I was very glad that she’d left the bikini top in the house!  Then she lifted my head up gently, lifting it out of the bottom part of the helmet, and coincidentally forcing my face more deeply between the cleft of her boobs, holding it there with one hand.  Finally, using her free hand, she slipped the plastic helmet out from beneath my head and pushed it aside, but she kept my head nuzzled in her cleavage, holding it there even more tightly with both hands buried in my hair.  The breathing tube kinked so I was forced to breath only through my nose, which gave me a full dose of the intoxicating scent of her perfume.  I was already wickedly horny from the assault on my body – especially on my painfully exposed genitals -- by the hordes of birds, but the smell of my lover and the warmth and softness of her breasts almost made me cum.   Fortunately, I didn’t erupt because that would have made her angry, and that would have been especially painful for me.

 “I hope that you enjoyed that little game, darling,” she purred as she pushed my head back from its place between her fleshy pillows and settled it back down on the hardwood dock.  I tried to spit out the awful ball that had kept my mouth jacked open, but my muscles were too stiff.  “It was so much fun watching you squirm, or rather, attempt to not squirm, as they removed their free lunch from your body.  I could see the sweat on your body all the way back in the house.  It was lovely; your body literally sparkled in the sunlight.”  She put her left hand on my forehead and yanked on the breathing tube with her right; with some effort, she pulled the large orb from my mouth; it made a loud, amusing plop as the air was sucked into my open mouth to replace the big ball.  My relief was instantaneous even though my mouth was frozen open.  She massaged my cheeks with her soft fingers for a full minute before I was able to move my mouth and finally, painfully close it.  “You are such a wonderful, delightful slave, darling.  It is going to be agony for me to give you up for even a weekend; but a promise is a promise.”

I smiled up at her.  It’s nice to be appreciated.  I was still flexing my jaw, or rather, trying to, because it was still painfully stiff from being stretched for several hours.  Consequently, I couldn’t beg her yet, to undo the ropes that still held me extended in a rigid X.  My limbs were incredibly sore, and I really wanted her to untie me.  But I expected her to release me from my bonds even without hearing me plead; instead, she had another task for me first.  While still holding my face in her hands, she leaned down and planted her lips full on mine.  Her tongue probed deeply into my mouth.  I closed my eyes and enjoyed her sensual attack, using my own tongue.  “Mmm, that was nice,” she cooed softly.  “And now that I know that your tongue is as flexible and lively as ever, I think that I should put it to good use, don’t you?”  The question, of course, was rhetorical, which was fortunate for me as I couldn’t possibly have answered her!

“Your out-stretched arms will make this a bit awkward, I suppose, but I can’t think of any reason to release them until you’ve satisfied me.  And I mean truly satisfied me.  As horny as I got watching you, that will probably mean six or seven climaxes, maybe even more.”  She sighed, “I played with myself using a vibrator while I watched you struggle, but I realized how much you were suffering and made myself suffer a little bit, too; I denied myself as much as even one orgasm, so I suspect that the first one will come hard and fast and wet.  After that?  Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

In silence, I watched her rise to a squatting position.  She removed her single garment: the bottom of her bikini.  A tug on both waist strings caused the garment to come apart in an instant.  She hung it momentarily over my face, allowing the soaked crotch to flop around my nose.  I resisted the temptation to grab it with my mouth because I knew that she might stuff it in to gag me.  That would have prolonged my awful spread-eagle torment because she would have made me suffer with my mouth stuffed for a while.  And during that time she would have added to my torture in devious ways, until I cried.  After all that, I would still have to bring her off.  I already hurt in too many ways to count, so I saw no value in increasing my own pain, even if it meant more pleasure for her.  A bit selfish perhaps, but I had just endured a couple of hours of scorching sun and incredibly wicked punishment administered by birds!

She tossed the piece of cloth aside and moved slightly forward.  Then she leaned forward, placing her hands on my arms and her knees on either side of my head.  She inched a little bit forward until her insteps were resting on my shoulders.  Then she finally leaned back, settling her vulva down smoothly on my nose and mouth.

She was right.  It was an awkward position …for me.  It was perfect for her.  She rested her full weight on my face, but my hungry tongue and lips went into overdrive.  I kissed her swollen clit, sucked on it, nibbled it, massaged it with my tongue.  There was no cycle; I just did what ever popped into my mind at the moment.  My tongue also reamed her pussy, probing and fucking her orally, as best as humanly possible.  I was glad that I had been blessed with a very flexible, pointy tongue rather than one of those flat-ended ones that are so useless for a task like this one.

Within a minute, she was bouncing on my face to add to the stimulation.  Although my view was limited to her posterior, I could still picture her playing with her own breasts while I ate her out.  (I would have preferred it if I could have been the one fondling her big boobs and hot, stiff nipples, but my bondage prevented that form of participation.)  And she was right in another way: her first climax came quickly and was incredibly intense.  She screamed and sprayed my face with her delicious cum.  Her pussy lips clenched  and spasmed on my face   And her entire body rocked with ecstasy.

In response, I redoubled my efforts, biting her labia and clit, sucking even harder and swirling my tongue even faster on the swollen organs.  The beauty and misery of Joy is that the harder she cums, the higher she has to go to get to her next orgasm.  Her sex is a voracious beast that can only be satiated with many climaxes.  I stopped counting when she reached ten; it probably took more than an hour to reach that point.  But inexplicably, she needed more.  She was moaning continuously, and the fever between her legs was a roaring fire that I just couldn’t quench.  So, even though my tongue was incredibly sore, I kept eating her pussy.  In fact, I wanted to eat her pussy forever.

Ironically, the more that I tasted her, the higher my own tension climbed.  I suppose that I was overdosed on her pheromones.  Even though I wasn’t receiving any real physical stimulation, the mental high was driving me upwards along with her.  The result was that my limbs ached incredibly because I was anything but motionless in my bondage!  My muscles tightened and flexed.  I twisted, and I pulled.  I was about as horny and as sexually charged as I ever get when she actually does torment my body with clamps and harnesses and everything else that she can think of.  At some point, with nothing more than the scent and taste of her for stimulation, I erupted – violently!  My entire body convulsed, and I thought that my arms and legs were being ripped from their sockets, but Joy didn’t notice because she came one last time, too.  I suspect that my fierce shaking beneath her finally pushed her over the precipice and ignited the spark that caused her to have the explosion that finally took her off to nirvana.  It had never taken me so long to bring her to that point before, but I didn’t really appreciate that until somewhat later, after she finally untied the ropes that held me down on that hard platform.  She didn’t have to remove the buckets that had been fastened to my breasts because my intense struggles snapped the cords at some point.  (In retrospect, I was lucky that my nipple rings weren’t torn out of my over-stretched buds!  As it was, both nipples were doubled in length by the devilish torture and were unbearable even to touch for a couple of days afterwards.) 

In fact, it took me much longer to come back to reality than it did Joyce.  That’s probably because her orgasm was triggered primarily by a real physical stimulation, while mine was created by internally generated hormones that climbed to some super-high level.  Once she reached her eruption she fell off of my face, which totally eliminated the physical source of fire for her while mine still burned internally.  In her case, when Joy hits her heavenly climax, her body quakes deeply with tidal waves of erotic pleasure for several minutes.  (It was probably quite a bit longer this time as she spiraled quite a bit higher than normal.)  And then she slowly drifts back down with gentler, but still fairly strong waves still crashing through her body.  That takes another ten to fifteen minutes; her body continues to spasm during that time, but the strength of the quakes decreases slowly.  Finally, when the waves have subsided to gentle, rolling ripples that she claims are the best part because she is fully aware of them and thus can truly, totally appreciate the soft waves of rapture as they continue to course through her with all of her nerves tingling and vibrating; she shivers in pleasure and finally opens her eyes. .She told me later that she was quite shocked and scared to see me at that point because I was still shaking and convulsing in my bondage.  She had no idea that it was because I was still quivering and vibrating like a snapped bowstring from my own endless climax.  There were – and are – no words to describe the level of fulfillment that I reached.  It’s a pity, actually, that she will never really be able to fully appreciate what I experienced while bringing her to the throes of ecstasy.

I shook with thrilling waves of pleasure as I remembered how wonderful and astonishing it was for me.  And Joy didn’t even get mad at me for climaxing without permission.  After I had explained what had happened to me, failing miserably to truly explain what I had experienced, she couldn’t think of anything to say other than, “Mmm, I am sooo jealous, lover.  It sounds positively exquisite!”  And it was.  But I also understood that I was going to have to deal with the memory of that impossible situation; would I ever reach that same plateau again?  Or would it haunt me and tease me with every lesser climax that would ensue?  My immediate solution was to think about something – or someone – else.  And that someone was slave Marie.

Slave Marie was scheduled for delivery by seaplane.  The lake was more than adequately large for a landing and subsequent take-off of a small pontoon-borne aircraft.  It just seemed ironic to me that the first place that I would see her was on the last place where I had been bound and where I had endured the most stunning orgasm of my life.

A few minutes later I finally heard the increasing drone of the small airplane as it descended over the surrounding forest.  The volume decreased again as the pilot looped out over the lake to make his landing.  (“landing” just seems to be the wrong term for a plane coming down onto a vast expanse of water.  With only pontoons mounted on the wings, I suspect that a pilot would actually prefer it if he didn’t hit any land at all!)

Within five minutes, I was on the dock with Joyce.  She was dressed in an exquisite crimson latex catsuit that covered her from neck to foot, hiding everything while delightfully emphasizing all of her luscious curves.  The waist section was slightly darker than the rest of the outfit; the colors from above and below her midsection faded to a deeper, blood-red shade, like a shadow.  It contained a built-in corset, and the boning was visible in the sleek, tightly stretched outfit.  She already had a great figure, but this sheath managed to improve upon it by squeezing her waist a dozen of so centimeters while pushing up her firm bust delineating every flowing arc of her hips and buttocks.   The crack of her squeezable buns, the puffy bulge of her pussy lips, and the protruding twin bullets of her large nipples were all temptingly underscored by the catsuit.  My beautiful lover was a flame of gorgeous sensuality, and I was most appreciative of the view that she afforded me as she stood slightly ahead of me on the dock.  It made me tingle inside again, and I shivered involuntarily.  Even her long hair, which was captured by a red elastic band to create a 75 centimeter long ponytail, oscillated erotically behind her head like a rapidly moving snake as it was blown backwards by the strong winds that were continuing to increase in intensity. 

My outfit, by contrast, was quite simple.  I was covered from head to toe in black.  A simple black satin shirt covered the numerous tiny welts that adorned my skin like a bad case of the measles.  The soft material massaged my skin while exerting no pressure on the overly sensitively and bruised epidermis.  Tight leather pants and flat-heeled boots completed my outfit.  As I said, nothing fancy.

I expected the plane to motor up to the wharf to deliver slave Marie, but apparently that wasn’t the plan.  I guessed that they didn’t want to get too close to the dock because the water was a bit choppy due to a storm that was moving in.  Instead, Joyce turned around to face me and gave me a quick kiss with her hot, scarlet lips and then back and jumped down into our small motor boat and shouted up at me, “Wait here.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.  I’ll need your help when I get back to the beach.” 

As she pushed off, I heard the roar of the engines as the plane made a pass about fifty meters off shore.  I expected it to make its skipping touch-down, but that didn’t happen either.  I noticed that the side hatch was open, and as it flew by, roughly 3 meters above the surface of the lake, someone pushed a pair of large, cylindrical containers out of the plane; they each made a loud splash when they hit the water.  They must have been pretty heavy as they created quite a fountain of flying, sparkling yellow, orange and red gemstones when they impacted the surface.  After briefly disappearing beneath the surface, they popped back up, bobbing in their own waves.  As I glanced back at the plane, someone pulled the hatch shut, and the plane began to ascend again.  I was rather puzzled as the motors of the twin engine craft powered back up to full speed, and the plane angled upwards and quickly disappeared over the tree tops.

The cargo, whatever it was, that they had left behind in the water, continued to bob up and down in the choppy waves of the wind-swept lake.  There was no sight of a person in the water anywhere!  Apparently someone had changed her mind at the last minute.  Damn!  I was disappointed that I was not going to get to dominate slave Marie, but part of me was also relieved.  I wasn’t sure that I had enough confidence in myself to do a good job at binding and disciplining a lovely female slave even though I had been mentally preparing myself – with Joyce’s kind, considerate assistance – for this opportunity for more than a month.

I sat down on one of the large, massive wooden posts to which I had been secured only a few hours earlier and waited for Joyce’s return with the odd, floating cylinders.  Her skill with the launch always impressed me.  But then she had been coming to the lake since she was a young child, and often her family brought me along as I was her closest friend even back then.  She had learned how to handle all sorts of boats on this lovely reservoir, first simple canoes and rowboats, then small motor boats, followed by bigger ones, and even twin engine pontoon boats.  And when she wasn’t motoring over the surface, she was swimming beneath it, either snorkeling or scuba diving.  The lake was connected by a relatively short estuary directly to the calm waters of the gulf coast, so it was often visited by fish that one would normally expect to find in the open ocean, rather than inland, in a lake.

Lake Pussywillow was more than a water wonderland for us.  She had learned the skills in this lake that made her into a first rate diver, enabling her to make a quick fortune exploring underwater sites for off-shore oil drilling.  I, on the other hand, preferred the forest around the lake, and developed a love of animals that resulted in my career choice, too, as a zoologist.  A family reunion here at the lake brought us back together again after years apart while I went to college in the northwest and she went out into the deep waters of the ocean and the gulf to make money.  I hadn’t even dreamt of spending my life with her when we were kids, but somehow it just seemed so perfectly natural when we were reunited here ten years ago.  Well, I might not have thought about that possibility, but Joyce had apparently spent lots of time thinking about it!  I laughed to myself as I recalled how she tricked me into taking a trip out onto the lake late at night.  She had it all planned: we motored out to the heart of the lake where she quickly stripped off all of her clothes and dove into the dark water.  She teased and taunted me until I finally joined her.  I only agreed because she promised not to dunk me, but I was incredibly naïve.  She dunked me, and when I came up sputtering for air and cursing a blue streak, she shut me up by planting her soft lips on mine for the first time ever, and I just went limp, submitting to her completely.  Minutes later we were out of the water, and we made love in the swaying, rocking boat, hundreds of meters from land. 

And now the lake was going to affect my life again, but in a way that I never conceived of all those years ago.  Well, it was supposed to impact my life again, but that obviously was not going to happen this time around.  Apparently dear sweet Joy can’t make everything happen just the way that she wants it to, as lovely slave Marie failed to make her appearance as expected.  However, the house is extraordinary, and the locale is filled with priceless memories.  I knew that we would have fun making a few more memories, even if they weren’t the kind that Joy had planned on.

I sighed in acceptance of the unexpected, and brushed my hair back from my face.  The wind was really picking up, but it didn’t seem to be making that much difference to Joyce who had skillfully tethered the barrels to the rear of the boat, and was on her way back.  She had said that she was going to bring them back to the shore, so I stood up off my wooden perch and walked back down the wharf so I could meet her with her cargo.

By the time that I arrived at the landing ramp, Joyce was almost to the shore.  The drops of water that had sprayed up onto her crimson outfit sparkled in the light.  I enjoyed the sight she presented, always so perfectly sexy!  She steered to the side of the concrete pad and motored at high speed right up onto the sand, beaching the small craft.  I ran over to meet her and helped her pull the boat completely out of the water.  The two barrels that were tethered to the tie-down points on either side of the engine were still bobbing gently in the water, about five meters out from the sandy beach.

“Wait a sec, luv,” she said.  “I’ve got something to help us with the barrels.”  She then ran up the beach, an erotic flame in motion, into the woods which actually encroached rather closely to the beach.  The dense forest swallowed her up almost instantly, so I just continued to look in the direction where she had run.  In less than a minute, I heard the distinctive roar of her small 4-wheeler.  Ten seconds later she was racing down the slope towards me on the sport quadricycle.  When she stopped on the concrete launching pad, she looked back over her shoulder and said, “I think this will make our life a little bit easier.”

Two small carts were daisy-chained behind the cycle.  Clearly they had been designed to carry the casks, one per wagon.  I was impressed and laughed.  Once again my lover proved that she was always prepared.  “Well, Joyce, it looks as though you were planning for a disappointment!  Or is this how you get supplies delivered up here these days?”

My stunning, redheaded lover dismounted off of the cycle seat and ran into the water, grabbed a rope and pulled one of the casks into shore.  “Help me with this, lover, or I’ll make you regret it!”  I didn’t know if she was joking or serious, but I wasn’t in the mood to find out, so I splashed into the water and helped her to roll the barrel up the incline to the side of the wagon. 

“Hold the barrel while I get the wagon and the straps ready,” she ordered. 

As I kept the drum from rolling back into the lake, I inspected it with a little bit of awe.  The barrel was made out of highly polished wood, a beautiful deep red, but not from paint or enamel.  The barrel had been meticulously stained and varnished.  In addition, the surface was carved with several deeply cut flowers.  Elegant craftsmanship, I thought, especially for a barrel!  Several black bands girded the circumference of the drum, probably to keep it closed as it didn’t appear to open at the end.  However, if it opened along the length, the seam was remarkably well hidden as I didn’t see any place where it could be opened.

Joyce handed me a flat belt that reminded me of the sewn, cloth belts that the military uses, except that there was a hook on the end.  She had a second one in her left hand and instructed me to push the drum a little bit closer to the wagon.  When we had done so, she bent down, and I was surprised to see that there was a concealed steel bar inset into the surface on one end of the drum.  She quickly connected the hook to the steel bar.  Joyce pointed out that there was a matching connector on my end of the barrel.  As I fastened the hook onto the bar, I noticed that the bar was actually mounted in the center of a steel ring, and that the bar rotated freely in its mount.  A rather curious feature, and I wondered about it.  When I finished my simple task, Joyce told me, “Now stand back a bit, just in case the straps break.”  I looked at her with trepidation.  “Don’t worry, it hasn’t happened yet, but these drums are a bit heavier than anything I’ve fished out of the water before.”

She walked back to the wagon, and moved a couple of levers, then she pushed a switch on the handlebars of the cycle, engaging a small electric motor.  Then she pushed down on a clutch control and the motor started to coil the straps back up.  As the straps were rewound onto their spool, the barrel rolled up to the ramp like a wheel.  I smiled as I understood why the metal bars at the end of the barrels were free-wheeling; very clever and simple design.  One side of the cart was actually a fold-down gate, and Joyce had opened it when she pulled out the straps a few minutes earlier.  Now the metal gate served a second purpose: the winch system pulled the barrel up a ramp and it clunked down against a pair of rubber bumpers on the opposite side of the wagon.  She lifted the drop-down gate, and turned off the motor of the winch.  Efficient system, I thought, but I hope that there isn’t anything breakable in there.

Five minutes later, the second barrel had been loaded onto the second cart.  Joyce climbed onto the seat of the cycle, and I walked up behind her to hop on the rear.  “Not this time, lover,” she said with a shake of her head.  “This is a lot of weight, and I’m not sure if the cycle is going to manage it.  I am positive that it won’t be able to manage the hill if you are on here with me, so you’ll have to walk back to the house on your own.”  I could tell from her smile that she was simply enjoying her control over me, and that the cycle wouldn’t have had any trouble carrying me at all.  The custom built engine was far more powerful than was necessary for a cycle of that size, and even with a full load attached to the rear, it wouldn’t have had any trouble making it back up the hill to the house.  She then proved my suspicions by gunning the engine and speeding up the hill with no trouble at all.  “Bitch!” I said with a laugh as she disappeared over the crest of the hill, heading towards the patio on the far side of the house.

Well, there is one advantage to being the slave of a very athletic Mistress, and that is that she makes you keep up with her.  So even though I spend my days in a lab while she spends hers almost always outdoors, I get my fair share of exercise.  Consequently, I instinctively dashed up the hill after her.  I had no hope of catching her on her steel and iron steed, of course, but I wasn’t winded either when I finally caught up with her.

I was surprised when I arrived at the patio, that she had already unloaded one of the two drums.  It was sitting inside the family room, about a meter from the wide sliding door.  However, when I saw how easy it was for her to unload one of those carts, I was no longer surprised.  All that was required was the removal of the straps and the flipping of two levers.  It cantilevered one side upwards, and the barrel rolled down the other side, right through the open door into the room where it thudded against the other barrel.

“I had the drums custom designed several years ago,” Joyce said suddenly, without prompting from me as we walked into the large room.  “They are especially useful in bad weather when the planes can’t land on the lake.  I could have had casks made out of some form of polycarbonate, but wood seemed so much classier, so I contacted a cooper that used to make wine casks for my dad.  He doesn’t get much business these days, so he was delighted to make them for me.  I’ve even given a few of them to neighbors as gifts.

“Anyway, whenever I see a possible future need for one or two, I pack them into the back of the Dodge Ram and drop them off.  They are then returned with the things that I need when I send for them.  Very efficient.  And fun, too.  It positively drives the pilot and his copilot crazy because I have never told them anything about the drum contents, and you can be sure that they ALWAYS ask.  The best part is that the locking mechanism makes it impossible for them to open the drums.  But if they did succeed, it actually takes a different, special key to lock them up again.”

“The cabinets all seem to be rather well stocked, Joy, so what’s in these two barrels?” I asked, somewhat confused.

She smiled at me, cocked her head slightly to one side and answered coyly, “Toys.”

She walked to the closest drum and explained, “There are half-a-dozen barrels, and they all work a little bit differently.  They are essentially giant sized Chinese puzzle boxes.”

I stared back at her in shock.  She had given me a Chinese puzzle box when we were kids.  It had taken me more than a month to open the damned thing, and she had told me the first few steps.  She had a matching box, and we used them to store keepsakes that we wanted to share just amongst us.  But those boxes had only measured about 30 centimeters by 20 by 15.  the drums in her family room looked to be more than a meter long by roughly ¾ of a meter in diameter.  They were huge by comparison.  “How many…?” I began.

“How many steps?  These two are the most complex of my collection.  Each requires about thirty moves to open the drums.  In addition, they both need three keys.  And if a key is inserted at the wrong point (there are dummy slots), it gets jammed inside the mechanism, and the box can’t be opened by any means other than a chain saw.”

I stared at her in disbelief and amusement.  Only Joy would go to such lengths to confuse and tease someone!

“Would you like to try?” she asked, holding up a set of keys.  The ring held about a dozen keys; I was quite certain that only a few of them were correct, but I had no way to know which ones that might possibly be.

I smiled back at her, “I think that I’ll pass on this one, lover.  I’d like to see the contents before the year is over.”

“Yes, I am sure you would,” she said with a devious snicker.  She always did that when she was trying to annoy me, and it never failed.

As I watched, she rolled the cask back and forth, sliding hidden slats outward or around the circumference.  She inserted a key, twisted it clockwise and then anticlockwise.  From my position I couldn’t tell if the twists were by the same amount.  I suspected that they weren’t.  deftly, she moved several more thin panels, and then inserted and twisted another key.  I smiled when I saw that this one was turned in only one direction.  Very devious.  Five minutes later, she finally inserted the third key.  And a slat popped out like a handle.  She smiled at me over her shoulder and twisted the slat; there was a soft hiss of moving gas.  I didn’t know whether it was leaking into or out of the container.  Then she turned the key and removed it.  The latch made an audible click that I could hear even though I was several meters away.  She pushed the handle slat back into the surface of the cask, and it popped open, along a lateral seam.  I was amazed.

I rushed over and took a peek inside the open cask.  It was a treasure chest filled with new bondage toys, fitted into slots or strapped into place; and I realized that I could only guess the function of a small fraction of them.  I looked at her in dismay and mouthed the words, “for me?” but nothing came out from my lips.

In typical enigmatic fashion, she replied, “Yes, …and no.”  The pause was both for effect, and to annoy me.  It was a nasty habit of hers.

“What???” I shrieked at her.  “Joy, you are the most exasperating person in history.”  I wagged my finger at her and added, “You get entirely too much perverse pleasure from your mind games, girl!  You are trying to drive me crazy for some reason that I have not yet figured out, but when I do, you will get yours!”

She laughed.  “Don’t worry, Mel.  You are going to experience all of this stuff, one way or another.”

That answer was slightly better, but still annoyingly obtuse.  “So what’s in the other barrel?  Food?  Or even more toys?  Or perhaps some new kinky clothing?”

“Hmm, I don’t recall if any clothing was added to the contents.  If there is, it probably isn’t much.  On the other hand, it is certainly sweet, but it isn’t food.  …Hmm, better be careful, it might be for you.”  I wanted to smack on the side of the head.  “Well, I suppose you could say that it is a combination of furniture, toy, and decoration.  And I am positive that you will love it.”

“Oh, god, Joy.  Just open the damn thing.  I can’t stand it when you get so cryptic!”

“Help me to stand it on end.  This one is a bit heavier than the other one.”  She was right; it took quite a bit of effort for the two of us to tilt it up on end.  I was a bit puzzled how she could tell them apart.  The two barrels looked identical, and yet she had clearly known before opening the other one that it needed to be on the side rather than on end.  But I didn’t bother to ask; I knew that she would give me an answer that was as pointless as the last few that she had provided.

Again I stood back and watched, transfixed, as she expertly manipulated the slats, moving them very precise distances, back and forth and up and down, and inserting the keys in unexpected places.  She ignored several obvious keyholes.  I snickered: the booby-traps.  Suddenly Joyce stopped, turned, folded her arms across her chest, and smiled at me.  “Your turn,” she said simply.  I just stared at her blankly.  This time I couldn’t even think of a dumb response to her absurd statement.  “Well, don’t just stand there.  Do something.”

I shook my head in consternation, and muttered, “I …I” but nothing else came out.  I was so flustered with my lover, I didn’t know what to do with her.

She smiled and asked, “What have you often threatened to do to me, lover?”  I stared at her in total confusion.  Threatened???  I really didn’t know what she meant.  She said, “What did you want to do to me last month when I outfitted you with a bit, bridle, and saddle, and locked you in a horse stall for an entire day?”

I thought for a moment.  Then I remembered: “kick you in the ass!”

“Look at the barrel.  What do you see?”

I laughed.  The rearranged slats looked a bit like an ass, including a small hole in the middle.

“So think of it as me, and give it a good hard kick.  You know, one of those wonderful sideways kicks that you learned years ago when you studied martial arts.  Right on the white circle in the middle.”

I obliged her.  The heel of my boot smacked the “asshole” with considerable force.  I felt the slightly raised circle pop into the cask.  I felt the click as much as heard it.  Then I watched with surprise as the top ten centimeters of the cask slowly moved up several centimeters from the main body of the barrel.  The central portion of the barrel fractured along an invisible vertical seam, much as the first cask had done.  As two quarter-circle sections slowly swung open like a pair of curved doors, Joyce said with a smile, “It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to the delightfully bendable …slave Marie.” 

There, suspended within an intricate array of metal bars was the beautiful slave Marie, The black cables that kept her motionless in the center of the container were invisible against the black background of the vessel so she seemed to be floating in air between the thin uprights and circumferential rings of metal that formed an inescapable cage around her.  I was at a complete loss for words.  I had long ago accepted that I was not going to meet the famous bondage princess until some later time.  The idea that she might be imprisoned in one of the drums that had been dropped out of a flying plane into the lake was simply something that had never even occurred to me! 

I stared at slave Marie in disbelief.  Joyce pushed a button on the inside wall of the cask and the cage moved out of the shell into the open, pushed by more rods.  I smiled.  Her discomfort must be truly awful, I thought.  Her legs were pulled up and looped behind her neck where they were tied in place, secured to her collar.  Her arms were pulled up behind her back, the wrists yanked upwards to the back of the collar that was hidden by the poor girl’s calves.  Her forearms were held against each other with a sheath of leather that pressed them together so they looked like a single limb.  A thin glove of leather covered both hands.  It was so tight that I could see the outline of her intertwined fingers.  I cringed as I thought about the strictness of that position!  However, the leg bondage was the most painful.  Joyce had bound my legs up that way …once.  I had only been able to endure it for a few minutes, before I begged her for release.  She rewarded me by muzzling me with a large hole gag.  I had, at least, been flat on my back on a soft bed.  Joyce then fucked my mouth with a double-ended dildo until she climaxed, which took about fifteen minutes.  My arms had been bound in comparatively comfortable position, crossed in front of my chest around my legs, so I effectively aided in my own bondage.  It actually helped.  But surviving fifteen minutes in that painfully contorted pose was pure hell; it was a position that I refused to repeat, and I was quite certain that was why Joyce chose to deliver the remarkably supple slave Marie to me in an even more intense variant of that bondage position.

Slave Marie’s tortured position was inconceivable to me.  I saw that a single, narrow post in the center of the cage split into two rods that disappeared into her pussy and asshole, apparently holding her up off the bottom platform.  Her nipple rings as well as nipple clamps were connected by very thin wires to a circumferential ring of the circular cage as well as to the top and to the bottom of the cage.  That meant that any up or down or sideways motion in the cage would yank her nipples painfully the other way.  Black ropes around her waist and chest kept her thoroughly bound, pinioning both her arms and legs in place; in addition, they served as the anchors for more ropes that kept her centered in the cage.  Vertical ropes that disappeared between her love lips on the bottom and over and around her calves on top before plunging down her back to merge into her anal crack also served as connection bindings for the ropes that kept her floating in the middle of the cage.  Even her elbows and knees were used as anchor points.  The ropes on her knees and looped under her armpits were so taut that I suspected that she truly was suspended in the cage, and that the post that split into vaginal and anal plugs only kept her centered, but did not truly support her weight.  I walked around and surveyed the system more carefully.  The gorgeous, naked brunette was pulled in all directions by carefully placed ropes, so she really was suspended within the center of her chamber.  Very wicked!  I involuntarily shivered when I noticed that her pussy lips and clit were also clamped with several very tight clips.  However, they were connected to the outer rings and bars with cords that pulled in different directions.  That meant that her labia would be twisted in different ways depending on how her position changed due to changes in orientation of the cask!  Ouch!!!

She was blindfolded, too, although that didn’t seem to serve any real point as she had been in complete blackness for a very long time.  She was gagged with an unusual apparatus that appeared to be a derivative of a scuba rebreather mouthpiece.  The device completely silenced her, but also served the vital function of providing a hose connection to flat tanks that lined the inside walls of the cask: her source of air.  Very effective. 

I was truly in awe of slave Marie.  I was amazed that she could endure such a stringent position for a time period that was certainly no less than three hours.  (I estimated the total time by adding up the time that it took Joyce to recover the barrels from the lake, the time that it took to open the first cask, the time that it took to open the second cask, and the flight time from the airport to our lake.  Roughly three hours.)

I had no idea how much time was required to tie her up in such a complex, devious manner, but I suspected that it took well over an hour to secure her inside that cage.  And then it also took some time to deliver the cask to the airport and load it onto the airplane.  Another hour, perhaps?  God, that meant that she had been tied up that way for at least five hours!  Probably more.  I knew that there was no way that I could have endured that bondage for that long.  I would have gone crazy from the pain and strictness of the confinement!

I looked over at Joyce with a dumb expression on my face, silently asking her, now what?

She grinned at me and said, “You now have an idea of what slave Marie can endure, lover.  Remarkable, isn’t she?

“And now she is all yours, Melanie, for the next two days and nights.  Have fun with her.”

I looked over at the other container of toys and back and slave Marie. The trip must have been pure agony for her.  Every time the barrel was moved, such as for loading, she must have experienced explosions of pain.  She was even rolled multiple times so the strains on her tits and pussy must have been exquisite.  The bobbing on the water and the trip to the shore …well, I couldn’t imagine what those experiences were like.  But, on the other hand, that might not have been too bad for her.  After all.  She was dropped out of a moving plane!  How could anything possibly compare to that???

The grin exploded on my face.  But that was all in the past for her.  She has endured more on the trip than I ever have, I thought in astonishment and delight.  As a submissive myself, I can appreciate what she has gone through.  I am going to have to experiment and really work to think of ways to top that!  It will take some work, but I am a scientist, after all.  Experimentation is my forte, and I really love to experiment!  And now …It’s play time!!!


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