The Reluctant Master – ebook
The Reluctant Master by DX with JG Leathers
A SciFi BDSM Fantasy. A woman, hired as a farm hand, discovers a secret chamber hiding a bondage pod. Locked and shackled within the pod is the farmer’s wife. Her every sense is utterly controlled by an inescapable computer whose sole function is to tease and torment its prisoner. Looking for answers to this shocking situation, the woman explores Barbra’s video diary. In so doing, she falls down the rabbit hole of extreme bondage and sexual perversion, slowly unlocking her own lust for kink!
From Barbra’s Video Diary…
“There she was, a smile like a lighthouse beacon in the fog, her hair moving as if there was always a breeze, primeval forest green eyes looking right into the camera and right at me. ‘Hi, my name is Barbra Wyer.’ She laughed breathlessly. ‘That’s right, Barb Wire, and I’m about to embark on an amazing sexual experiment … I am a heavy bondage enthusiast,’ She spoke matter of factly… conversationally, as if it were a normal thing. ‘I’m a HEAVY bondage enthusiast. Not light, not medium, heavy, and after numerous sessions of deeper and deeper forays into bondage and S&M,’ she went on, ‘I’m putting myself into a long-term session that will be something for the medical books. For the record, I do not wish to harm myself or others and I am not being forced in any way. In fact,’ Barbra went on, ‘using long term methods of influence and manipulation I have forced my husband to be my accomplice. He is innocent in this scheme …’”
This is not your average BDSM tale. It’s hot, sexy, orgasmic, perverted in all manner of ways, with extreme bondage, slavery, rubber, latex, electronic devices, cruel machinery, pain, pleasure – and so much more, but far too much to list here. You’ll just have to read this remarkable story and judge for yourself.
Cover Art © Shutterstock.com
The Reluctant Master
“What in hell am I looking at?” Is what blurted out of me.
What I was looking at was a cylinder, six, maybe seven feet long and about three feet in diameter. The cylinder was painted white. There where large, double pained glass portholes, and the holes where someone could put their hand into fixed, goofy rubber gloves to interact with the cylinder’s contents. The cylinder was hooked up to banks of quietly purring and softly beeping machines. One machine had a bladder that expanded and contracted, pumping air.
It was all something from a cheesy, Sci-Fi movie; an escape pod, or an alien incubator. At that moment I couldn’t imagine how close my guess was.
It was the occupant of the cylinder that freaked me out.
Her skin, glistening like wet tar, was sealed completely in thick, shiny rubber. Her head, save the plume of wiry red hair spewing from a hole in her crown, was a featureless ovoid. A steel breathing-mask covered her lower face and jaw with flexible metal hoses running in and out of it. Shining stainless steel bands held her down to the bed. Her neck, upper arms, wrists, waist, knees, and ankles were all securely fastened this way. Her hands were embedded in bulbous rubber mittens that blended seamlessly into the sleeves of the suit, but even if they had not been so immobilized, there was no possible way she could reach any of her restraints, let alone manage a way to unlock them.
Shining metal cups trapped her copious breasts. Wire leads spiraled out from the nipples for reasons I could only guess. Her sex was locked in massive steel underwear. Hoses and wires like charmed snakes made their way into fittings and couplings in the cylinder’s hull.
She wreathed like a belly dancer, then grew ridged, then twitched, and then relaxed, only to repeat the cycle again.
I looked up at George for an answer, but his face was only forlorn, his eyes helpless.
“What am I looking at?” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.
He looked up, almost surprised I was still standing there, that I hadn’t run from the madness before us.
“My wife.” He said, his voice as dry as a grave.
I moved over to where George stood, almost hiding behind him as I peered into the ports of the cylinder. The woman confined inside was now bucking violently against her bonds, at all of the machinery, at everything, and I could only mouth the words, ‘What the fuck’ over and over again.
His face, resigning to have to explain the unexplainable, only looked dubious. He turned to a bookshelf filled with tiny, micro cassettes and pulled out the top one. He then dropped it into a VCR, glancing over his shoulder. “One of your jobs,” He said, nonchalantly. “will be to update these to a new media. Digital or something.”
As the machine rewound the tape, he turned on the monitor. It was like everything about George, technology that had ended decades ago.
He hit ‘play’, and shuffled away.
There she was, a smile like a lighthouse beacon in the fog, her hair moving as if there was always a breeze, primeval forest green eyes looking right into the camera. “Hi, my name is Barbra Wyer.” She laughed breathlessly. “That’s right, Barb Wire, and I’m about to embark on an amazing sexual experiment.”
She was so pretty! So vibrant! You hardly noticed she was completely naked. She had the classic body of a Greek statue, and breasts… well, as a woman, I could only envy. Her hips and curves and lips and eyes and smile and wow and wow and wow.
“I am a heavy bondage enthusiast,” She spoke matter of factly, as if she was saying I’m a Gemini, or, I like ice cream, but she in fact said, as if it were a normal thing, “I’m a HEAVY bondage enthusiast”. Not light, not medium, heavy.
“This is the last of my video diary, and the beginning of my embark of this amazing, and possibly permanent, adventure!” Barbra announced.
I looked at the screen. Barbra’s cheeks were a blazing red. “Because of the advanced locking mechanism I designed, I may spend the rest of my life in this bondage device.” She shuddered and her eyes thinned to slits. “The thought of permanent bondage is thrilling! The rest of my life in total restraint! My sex, my body functions, every aspect of my life controlled completely by the set orders of an unmerciful computer!” Her smile was orgasmic. “I know that I’ll be doing solitary confinement; that I’ll always be constantly and strongly stimulated and tortured, with no means of escape or avoidance and no possible way to tell anyone that I want to be released. The computer will apply whatever stimuli that is programmed to occur, and needless to say, it has no feelings, sympathy, mercy, or concern about the torment, or joy, it is inflicting.”
I turned off the video, leaving the hum of the machines as the only sound in the room. I looked at the pod and watched her wriggling around inside. “How long…” I murmured, disbelieving everything I saw. “has she been in there?”
George pointed to one of the clipboards on the wall. “Six years, eight months, eleven days, thirteen hours and,” he checked his watch, “seventeen minutes.” His voice was like sand.