The Kuebler Ross Model (+ chapter 3)

Pouty lips the color of blood wrapping around a bright pink ball of concentrated sugar (and allusions) is the first thing I notice when I wake up – it is only a moment before the pain starts screaming in my head.

The remains of the artificially sweet smell in my nose make my stomach turn, and the only thing that keeps me from throwing up right here and now is the weak memory in the back of my head that I still have that rubber ball thrust deep between my teeth.

Choking on half-digested remnants of my breakfast isn't exactly on my list of preferred ways to die.

I have no idea what time it is. In this over-warm and half-dark room aren't any windows. Only the stiffness in my jaws and the fact that I can't feel my arms from the shoulders downwards are hints that maybe too much time passed since the above-mentioned breakfast.

My butt has gone dead and is stuck to the metal chair I am tied to. Sweat is trickling down my naked body. I am hot, wet and sticky – but not in a good way.

The last thing I can remember is her face with the gentle look in her big eyes, as she advanced toward me with a pink checkered cloth.

Chloroform.

A frighteningly simple, yet very dangerous idea . Too much of it and I would have been dead by now.

She went over the top with the game this time, but it's not as if I can voice any protests, bound and shut up with that darn rubber gag in my mouth.

My jaw joints are starting to hurt. Actually, I think my jaw joints hurt the whole time, only the pain was probably suppressed by the side effects of the breathed-in chemicals. It makes me realize approximately how long I have been sitting here already.

At the same moment, that the word "hours" flash through my mind, the pain literally explodes through my whole body. My brain seemingly waiting for this one realization, like in one of those old cartoons, when the coyote runs over the edge of an incredibly high cliff somewhere in the middle of the north-american desert. Gravitation would always wait for him to become aware how many thousands of feet there were between him and the ground all of a sudden - revealing a very special sense of humor.

The world is the agonizing combination of a stiff neck, twisted back shoulders, a painfully semi-crouched back and rough ropes cutting into my flesh.

Ropes. Only now I am starting to notice the pulsating pain coming from my chest. One quick look is enough to tell me why: my breasts are an angry red, intersected by white lines of nylon string. A distressed breath escapes through my nose, as my eyes roll back.

Yes, this time she had definitely went over the top. In my head I'm already starting to put a profound lecture together I'm going to give give her as soon as she ungags me - which should be any minute now. This time she had shown how young and inexperienced she still is with these kind of things. The little wanna-be Mistress should've consulted me - the older and more experienced one - how to do something like this the best way, so it would make it the most pleasurable experience for both of us.

In between all these thoughts, I somehow manage to neglect to ask myself how she, tiny and fragile as she is, managed to drag me here and put me on this chair. Somehow I neglect to ask myself where here exactly is.

Somehow I fail to notice that she is still sitting unfazed in front of me (still sucking on that darn pink lollipop with those darn pouty lips, which manage even now to make me wet), obviously not giving a shit about my tortured state.

Somehow I also fail to notice the cold handiness of the room I am captured in: the grey industrial-insulation plates (a very cheap way to make a room soundproof) covered with half-sheer plastic sheets, the clinical-white tiles and the big drain in the floor a few feet in front of me. If I could turn around, I would notice (maybe) the cold water faucet coming out of the wall with a hose attached to it and one of those high pressure nozzles they use at carwashes. If I could turn around, I would notice (for sure) the massive metal security-door, which blocks the only exit out of this room the size of a prison cell.

But since I can't turn around, the biggest obvious thing I fail to notice is the bare, cold graveness of the situation I found myself in.

I will notice though.

Eventually.

That little brat is starting to piss me off.

The fact that she showered me with a jet of ice-cold water just a few minutes ago didn't help brighten my mood, though I do have to admit that it help cool down my inflamed muscles a tiny bit. Also she was at least considerate enough to adjust the ties to take some of the pressure off my sore joints. Now I'm placed more or less comfortably on the warm floor tiles, while she sits on the chair which I was tied to before.

I have no sense of how much time passed or is passing whatsoever.

Anyway, I've been sitting now for some time in front of her. Hugging myself with my arms, mostly because of the way she has re-tied me. It reminds me unavoidably of one of those straitjackets they use in nut houses. Even with my legs and feet free from any rope, I wouldn't be able to move away or stand up that easily without help from someone else.

I'm not even trying.

And I am not even kneeling (out of spite) as a good slavegirl should do—but she didn't ask me to anyway. Actually, she hasn't asked me anything since she removed the damn gag from my mouth. Now that I'm thinking about it, she hasn't said a single damn word since I woke up on the same damn chair she is leaning back on so comfortably.

The little brat is still sucking on that damn lollipop. How long could it possibly take for someone to finish a single fucking lolly?

I haven’t stopped talking. The tongue-lashing (no pun intended, but to be honest, I am wet and throbbing) I prepared for her while wearing the ball gag has reached the fourth chapter. At the moment I am pontificating about the risks of this whole operation: the negative side effects of chloroform, the dangers of keeping someone in over-tight ropes for too long, and even the possible violations of law. I then go on about how this could have been done better and more efficiently (although I must admit I have no clue what this actually is). All in all, the whole lecture could be condensed into a single sentence: †žBetter let me go, and then I'll show you how this really works.“

But she is just sitting there, unimpressed, rolling that pink sugary gruesomeness in that little mouth of hers. And the tiny grin spreading on her lips only adds to the impression that this little ... bitch ... doesn't give a shit about what I am trying to tell her.

She's seriously starting to piss me off.

†žAre you listening to me at all?“

Only the irritating sound of lips smacking. I feel like my eye will start twitching.

I let out a growl. I have had enough of this child's play. I can see neither a purpose nor a point to this. My head's still hurting. I'm hungry and drained. I want to take a nap (how late is it actually?) and I want to go home.

Instead of giving me an answer, she simply stands up. Simply, because she isn't the one tied in feet and feet of fucking nylon rope. It's everywhere: compressing my chest, squeezing my boobs, and pinching my nipples in a very unfortunate way. I glare at her as she moves with obvious theatrical laziness, emphasizing how easy it is for her to walk around compared to me. The black rubber soles of her †žChuck's“ squeak with every step, making me cringe and shudder.

She stops behind me and puts one of her slender hands on my shoulder. To steady herself, as it turns out. I can feel how she's stretching out on tiptoes, like she's trying to reach something on a high shelf. Then I hear the sound of an engine and the rattle of chains. I lift my head reflexively.

And curse.

This tiny movement earned me a wave of sharp pain in the neck, reminding me that I'm still sore from the previous restrictions. But the growing anger is quickly pushed aside when I realize what I just saw above my head: a chain with an attached clip (like mountain climbers use).

I feel her grabbing several rows of rope at my back and hear the unmistakable click of the hook snapping into place just a moment later. Again she leans on my shoulder, trying to reach out for something. The faint sound of a button being pushed, and again the rattle of an engine, and then thanks to some clever mechanism installed in the ceiling I'm being lifted upwards (where the fuck am I?). I'm pulled up onto my feet until I am standing on tiptoes, the weight of my body suspended on the ropes around my chest. The pressure on my breasts and nipples becomes, well, more pressing.

I moan while trying to shift some of the weight off the ropes by holding myself up on my toes. I know that I'm fighting a losing battle.

And then she pokes a finger into my side.

It sents a reaction through me like a jolt of electricity. I choke. My muscles tense. My legs give way almost instantly. The coils cut sharply into my flesh, making me breathe out in a hiss.

When my vision clears, she's standing in front of me with a wide grin on her lips and that oh-so-familiar look in her eyes. The look of a serial killer who's pushing a long shiny blade slowly into the guts of a helpless victim.

Cold-blooded insanity.

I can already taste the flavor of begging on the tip of my tongue, when she suddenly turns around and goes for a traveling bag that lies on the floor beside the massive door. I feel relieved, although not quite sure if it's justified.

I can see her opening the bag and starting to dig through the stuff in there. I try to make out what it is by the sound of it, but aside from some rattling chains I don’t recognize any of it.

It doesn't take her long to find what she's looking for: two pieces of shorter rope and two big handles equipped with suction cups. She scoops them up and comes back to kneel on the floor in front of my hanging body. I know exactly what she's up to, even before she starts doing it. The handles are snapped into place on the floor at the exact same distance, left and right, from my feet. Then she wraps the ropes around my ankles and ties them carefully to the handles, forcing my legs apart, making it impossible for me to stand on my toes (or to kick her, for that matter). In short: I'm left high and dry. Spread wide open and helpless.

After double-checking the ropes, she stands up and takes few steps back to admire her handiwork. A shiver runs down my spine in spite of the heat in the room. Compared to the coldness in her eyes, an ice floe seems cozy warm. The picture of a half-pig hung in a butcher shop runs through my mind. A piece of meat ready to be used.

With a smile on her face she starts the symphony of pleasure and pain.

She knows exactly where and how to poke, touch, or caress me to provoke the desired reaction. The muscles in my body tense and cramp. In between inarticulate and unintelligible attempts to beg for mercy, hysterical laughter is tearing my jaws and throat apart. My lungs are on fire.

By the time I feel like I'm going to choke to death or that my heart will simply explode, she stops for a few moments. She probes my soaking-wet pussy, pushing her fingers inside me. Rubbing all the sweet spots, while pinching and squeezing my swollen clit. But she won't let me come. Oh, no. She's keeping me right on the edge. The heat and pressure rising in my lower belly is almost unbearable. She pleasures me long enough to let me calm down a bit, but not recover. The moment my orgasm starts to seem inevitable, she stops. She resumes the previous course of action. I cry out and scream in frustration.

She ignores me, working me with her long and slender fingers, until my juices are dripping down my inner thighs and my manic cackle turns into squeals and grunts. Now I even sound like a pig.

I hate it. I hate myself for being ticklish. I hate being turned on by it. I hate being so helpless. I hate her for doing this to me. I fucking hate her because she still fucking sucks on that fucking lollipop!

The sudden burst of anger takes me by surprise.

I spit words into her face like a chain smoker a load of gunk full of black ugly tar. A volley of armed obscenities, bursting like a flechette grenade in a school bus.

†žYou are threatening Me?“

The tone of her voice makes me go numb. Controlled and calm. Lacking any emotion. Cold as a steel blade. I can feel the capital †žM“ stabbing like a knife into my stomach.

If I could, I would run now.

The punishment comes instantly, without any announcement or preparation. She grabs my aching sore breasts roughly with both hands, digging her sharp fingernails into my skin, and wrenches hard, crushing them.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I notice the sound of the lollipop shattering between her teeth.

The pain cuts through my chest, my guts, up my spine – right into my brain. The world turns bloody red and explodes into a million angry stars in front of my eyes. My windpipe clenches shut, cutting off the air supply, and my jaws gape in a silent scream. Eyes wide open.

I'm trapped in a coffin of stone, burning in the flames of neverending anguish. The 6th ring of hell.

And then I simply throw up.

...
...
...

She leaves the room without a word.

...
...
...

Somewhere behind massive metal doors and soundproof walls I scream a scream full of despair and anger.

In the beginning there was darkness.

The space around me is endless and empty. I am drifting in perfect inner peace. Here I am safe.

In the beginning there was silence.

And then there was a whisper.

My own tiny universe is forming around the barely audible words. They seem so far, far away. But somehow I know they are dangerously close.

My miniature cosmos starts pulsing, expanding, reaching out. Now I can make out some of the words.

"... not ... nice ... away ..."

It's as if the words are forming inside my own skull. They seem like some sort of inner voice – an inner voice I had better listen to, because it’s telling me something important. Something urgent. I try to focus.

"It's really not nice to get away like that, darling."

I shiver.

My cozy microcosm suddenly becomes very cold and uncomfortable.

I shudder and try to concentrate on the gentle voice purring in my head. But no, no, it isn’t in my head. I can feel the words vibrating my eardrum.

I am confounded for a moment. How is it possible for sound to spread in the vacuum of space? For that matter, how am I able to breathe?

I giggle at my own silliness. But an insistent whisper cuts me off.

"One more lead here ... aaand ... here."

The sweet voice spreads in waves through my universe. I can feel it in my body. My body ... hmmm … I get the nagging feeling that I have forgotten something. Maybe locking the door. I giggle again and notice that my jaw feels strange when I do that.

"Here we are. All done. You look like a Christmas tree with all those cables attached to you."

In my micro-cosmos the sirens of Jericho shatter the silence.

"I hope you’ll enjoy this little electro toy as much as I will, darling."

I feel a network of neurons in my skull coming back to life.

"I adjusted the machine and programmed an algorithm that sends electrical impulses of varying intensity to some or all of the leads attached to your body."

In my head fireworks are going off.

Electricity? Leads??? WHAT THE FU…

"It's time to dance, darling."

I open my eyes abruptly.

There’s a wide cold grin on her face. She makes a minimal movement with her hand.

I inhale sharply.

Click.

The shock hits me like a ten-ton truck. It forces my body into one gigantic cramp. My body tries to thrash itself free, to propel itself off the gurney, but thick leather straps hold me firmly in place. I bite down hard on the rubber ball in my mouth. My breath hisses through flared nostrils. My heart feels as if it is going to burst through my chest.

It stops as suddenly as it started, leaving me with a throbbing tingle in my muscles.

"Are you finally awake? Yes, you are. How nice."

A monitor in front of me comes to life.

"Let’s get started, shall we?"

I narrow my eyes as she starts the video. I have the perfect HD view – of myself. Myself a view hours ago. I swallow around my bit gag.

The video starts after she left my cell. I can see myself coughing and crying. The miserable remains of my breakfast trickle down my front. It looks disgusting. I am forcing myself not to gag as I ordinarily do when I hear someone throwing up. It looks awful and I don’t want to see it. So I close my eyes.

My eyes snap back open as she sends a short but powerful electric shock through my system. I begin to suspect what she’s up to.

There’s a cut in the recording and the scene shifts to a later moment. Starring me in the main role, of course. Now I'm kneeling on the floor.

She had come into the cell after a period that seemed like eternity. She was dressed in a white plastic suit with rubber gloves and boots – obviously intended to keep her clean while she’s dealing with me. And I – well, I was still hung from the ceiling, vomit drying on my chest.

She didn’t let me down right away.

First she pulled the metal chair closer, placing a stuffed plastic bag on top. That’s when I noticed that she was wearing a small white nose clamp so she didn’t have to bother with the unpleasant smells that had begun to fill the room. She pulled a black dildo out of the bag. It was enormous. So huge, in fact, that it scared the shit out of me.

She didn’t bother preparing me.

It felt like that damned thing would break me apart. My pussy stretched painfully around it and I could feel the thick tip pressing hard against the entrance of my womb. I was never so thoroughly filled in my entire life. My body quivered. The slightest move made the hard rubber surface grind against my inner walls, setting all the nerve endings on fire. I was moaning like a bitch in heat – and hated every second of it.

When the obscene thing was nested properly inside me she used more of the rope to tie it into place.

She lowered me to the ground, then, and nursed me with orange juice – sweet and refreshing, though I recall a slightly odd aftertaste. I was so glad I almost forgot I was sitting in a puddle of my own … well …

When I had sucked down the last drop, she shifted me into a new position: on my knees, my legs still forced apart. The ropes weren’t wrapped around my ankles, but just beneath my knees. The straitjacket was still in place – as was the big black rubber dick in my dripping cunt.

She packed up quietly and turned only once on the way out, pointing some sort of remote control toward me and pushing a button. Then she was gone, leaving me in the company of the humming monster-cock inside me. I can still remember the intense vibrations spreading through my entire lower belly.

It takes me a few seconds to notice the rise of heat and pressure between my thighs. I blink, confused. And then I realize that my pussy and ass are filled with huge plugs. And by the feeling of it, there's a clamp attached to my clitoris. All three toys are emitting a low electrical current. It's not intense enough to cause me pain, but enough to force me into arousal.

My orgasm is building slowly but inevitably as I watch myself squirming and grunting on the monitor. I swallow hard: I know exactly what is going to happen next.

At that point in the video my bladder had been full for hours. There was no way I could hold it much longer. What made it worse was the huge toy pressing and vibrating from the inside. Clenching my muscles wasn’t helping either. It just made me tighten around the toy cock and feel the vibrations even more intensely. It was just a matter of time …

The orgasm hits us simultaneously. The me-now, electrically force-led to it, and the me-then, stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey. I watch myself losing control of my sphincter, piss streaming down my thighs then, while tears stream down my cheeks now.

I’m watching myself getting off, and getting off on it.

I shudder in embarrassment as the camera zooms into the expression of pure bliss on my face. My eyes flutter shut in another attempt to block the images … and scream out in pain as another electrical shock jolts my body.

What follows is a blur of disgusting images, rippling orgasms, and intense pain. I remember that at some point I realized that my guts had started grumbling. By the time my digestive tract started churning seriously, I was 100 percent sure that she had doctored my orange juice with a laxative.

Over and over I try to shut my eyes and forget, but again and again I am forced to witness my transformation into a filthy pig. In full HD and perfect surround sound.

If it walks like a duck, swims like a duck … NO!

Something cracks inside me and suddenly I’m not the victim anymore. I’m a competitor in a battle of willpower. A worthy opponent. And I won’t lose. No, I won’t.

I manage to keep my eyes closed for longer and longer periods, enduring the electrical shocks. My body is twisting and twitching in its epileptic dance of cramping limbs.

And then my eyes stay shut.

The intensity of the current grows, as does the pain, but my eyes stay shut.

The leads start getting hot, burning my skin, but my eyes stay shut.

My lungs contract, my heart skips the beat, but my eyes stay shut.

Any longer and this is either going to damage me seriously or kill me – but my eyes stay shut!

In my head, I can hear the final countdown.

And then she stops.

It takes my brain a few moments to process the information that I can’t hear the recording anymore and that she is taking off the leads one by one. She removes the bit gag. My mood improves with every wire she detaches from my body.

A grin starts spreading on my face. The grin turns into a giggle, the giggle into a wholehearted laugh. Victory never felt so good, ever. It tastes better than the greatest meal, sweeter than the most expensive wine and more satisfying than any sexual encounter I ever had.

She isn’t saying anything. And as I triumphantly open my eyes to savor the look on her face, I realize why.

My laughter turns into hysteria.

"No, no, no, no, no, please don’t. PLEASE, don’t. Please, please, please!!!"

She is standing in front of me, holding up two eyelid spreaders. The ones doctors use in eye surgery to keep one’s eyes open. I can feel my stomach turning and twisting into a knot.

She knows me. She was there when the one scene in A Clockwork Orange sent me running out of the movie theater, screaming in terror. She knows my fears. And this, this is my only full-blown phobia.

My last defense breaks like a dam and panic floods my system.

"Please, Mistress, please don’t, please!!!"

My voice cracks as my vocal cords twist in horror, my plea morphing into miserable whining and back to desperate begging.

"I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be your slave, your pet, your bitch! ANYTHING! PLEASE!!! PLEASE!!!!!"

I try to move my head away as she reaches for me, but the straps hold me mercilessly in place.

I scream incoherently. I scream and scream until my throat is sore. I scream until my voice turns into a croaky whisper.

By the time she’s done, my will is broken and my soul shattered into pieces.

She just trickles eye drops into my wide-open orbs and presses "play."

click on the picture for the full size