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I tug until I almost feel the plug coming out. In my throes of orgasm,
as I hang impaled by pleasure, the clamp still tweezers on the very
tip, the most sensitive point. The flash-flood of pleasure receedes,
and as I come down from heaven, the clip slides until its rubber-coated
jaws cling to one single hair. This sends me almost up again.
Instead, I bow outwards, waiting. The sudden motion dislodges the
clip. I do not hear anything, except the booming rush of my blood as I
come again.

I awake looking into my owner’s rich, loving eyes. I passed out mere
seconds after my explosion, spent and hanging lax. I was gently laid
down, all the ropes and restraints removed, the mask, the gag and the
tape lying in a ball by my bed, and my partner, no longer my owner,
gingerly massaging color and warmth into my arms.

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And I feel the left clamp start to slip. I tug harder, knowing the
cutting sensation as the clamp slowly slides off the nipple, the island
of flesh in its grasp shrinking, the screams of pain as it does so. I
tug faster, knowing the weight’s crash on the floor will alert my
owner, who will see me cheating and punish me. I tug frenzied, as the
nipple singes, then smokes and finally is lit afire by the little, evil
clamp rubbing and squeezing the life out of the tiny patch of skin it
clings to.

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After two eternities of this, stewing in my juices, clenching and
straining, I resolve to come, if nothing else, by pulling on the cord
and rubbing the vibrator within me. I pull in a steady concerted
rythmn, ignoring the bump-bump of the weights hanging off the clamps.
My legs fight the restraints fight the unyielding iron bar inbetween
them. I feel the urges start, I see the spark that lights the
bonfire.

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As it passes, the end of the whine escapes through my nose, and my
owner whispers yet again sweetness and smiles in my ear, “The motor
will turn on when you tug on the string, but only for one second.
Then,” I hear the grin widening, “it will shut off for four. Have
fun. Oh, and don’t move around so much.” The cover scrunches in my
ear again, also cutting off a sliver of light I was able to pry from
the tape.

I feel a gentle pressure and a soft snap as a switch is thrown. I give
a cautionary tug. I tingle. Not just my ass, but I tingle, as if
shocked. The lurch rocks the weights, and my chest is blazing with
erotic fire. The buzzing stops. Tug. Pull. Yank! Nothing. Buzz.

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The first nipple, well into its recovery, is beset by the jaws again.
This causes me to spasm, jarring the other weight into a rocking
motion. My right nip is going to be pulled off! I curse the foam
between my jaws and clamp down. The pain is still there. The pain is
still there.

My owner jingles the left clamp, igniting yet another wave of
pain/pleasure. I feel it move slightly, pointedly. Not for my
sensation, my owner is doing something to it. The hand against my
chest falls away gradually, and the pull of gravity on metal I have
come to know so well cresendos on my left. Beyond senses, I whine…

The pain does pass in time. I care not for time, just for the pain to
pass.

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A tearing sound at my right ear.

“I’ll be hanging a little weight on that,” a cold voice emphasized by a
cold, dispassionate tweak on the clamp. I gasp, sharply. “I wouldn’t
jump around so much if I were you.”

A shock ran, electrifying my spine, as a *heavy* pull followed. I felt
a cold piece of metal swing against my breast, above (no, that’s below,
I’m upside- down) my nub, sparking and spitting with every heartbeat.
I moan, a wail sailing in my ear. The tears flow freely, and the tape
starts to give again. And it holds fast after giving precious ground.

The hell throbs down to a bearable onrush. My mind swims. Febblely, I
reach with my hands, knowing that they will never relieve the pain.
Bound as they are at elbow and wrist, I surprise myself by swinging the
coarsely past my buttocks. Firm hands, cool with sweat, grab the
flailing limbs. By my uncovered ear, I hear, “That is a no-no.”

Gasp. I clench in response, but too late. The head of the phallus is
already past the spinchter. The lubricant steal away what little grip
I had, and whatever it is is now inside my ass. It is cunningly
designed, with a groove near the base (pressing against my previously
warmed cheeks) preventing my natural reflex from expelling it. I bear
down, to no avail.

There is the faint tickle of rope brushing the cheeks, then my hands
are hauled back and down, tied to the attaching rope. I tug and feel a
push within myself, pivoting at the hole. I experiment, forgetting
completely the deep pulses from the front.

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Suddenly, the ear is covered again. My head twists, jerks in vain to
find its lifeline again. I long for even the single touch, for
someone. My desires are answered, in a searing flash on my left
nipple. It throbs in quiet agony as I relish each beat of pleasure,
each pulse of fire. My breathing slows, rythmnic, deep. My nipple is
lightly tugged, slowly twisted, bent double. A squeal, soft and
breathy, follows each of these movements, all the while the chest
a-heaving.

Suddenly, the pressure is snapped away. In response, a loud cry and a
sharp convulsion. That nipple is still tingling when the clamp is
applied to its twin. Slowly, like an evil vise. Knowing better than
to let it rest on only the nub, I try to force it into me. My owner
knows these tricks. The other one received mercy; a generous pinch of
flesh laid within its jaws. This one burned white hot as the jaws came
to rest on the erect, throbbing brown nipple.

Tears welled within my eyes, denied by the tape. I felt the tape start
to lose its hold, the tearing sensation as it parted ways with my
eyelids. Then it stopped. I stil could not open my eyes, and the hood
would admit no light even if I could. In agony, in frustration, in
pain, I thrashed as far as the bonds would let me.

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I try to nudge my head and feel the gentle but firm tug on my scalp.
My hair, my long lucious pride has betrayed me and has joined forces
with what wraps me, holds me, displays me. I hear the blood’s rush in
my ear and this keeps me company. I vow not to count heartbeats, not
to guess or anticipate the time. The temptation is strong. How long
has it been? How much longer until dawn? One… two… three..

Sixt–sensation! The lightest of touches, but something touched me. I
arch my back in a vain attempt to reach someone, something. I feel
nothing nothing more. A sigh escapes my nostril, audible in my inner
ear. That’s it! I can still hear myself, even if I can’t speak. I
wait for another eternity, then count twenty heartbeats, and hum a
moan.

My left ear buzzes with the sound of a thousand scratches. A jet of
cool air rushes to cool my sweat-coated skin. Then a warm, moist
feeling traces some shape. Wet sounds, followed by a sugar-sweet,
playful-cat-sneer voice, “Our little pet is not quiet, is umm? Our
little pet wanna moan, is um?” The tongue flicks in to touch the hairs,
not even the skin. It flicks again, this time at the lobe. Wet,
moist, lovely lips caress the node, tugging gently. The tongue flicks
again. I moan, arch my back and curse my hair.

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I twist, and feel the rope bite into my elbows. I count the heartbeats
throbbing away, fading slowly, softly. If it weren’t for the sound of
blood’s rush in my ears, I would not know if it existed.

My eyes are taped shut, but so long ago that I have come to accept that
my eyes no longer open. I faintly remember my discomfort, my mouth
straining at an object that filled my mouth from within yet still
touched my lips. Once this caused me to salivate uncontrollably, much
to my owner’s dismay. Hanging me by the spreader bar caused the
spittle to back into my mucous membranes, stinging, burning. But my
mouth is now dry, and I have no sensation of fighting an object that
gave yet does not tear.

Occasionally, I would feel the slightest of breezes on my skin, the
most sensitive part, the ones constricted by clothing by day. I know
not what is their cause, nor do I feel them on my face. I hear
nothing, and have heard nothing for an eternity and then some. What
once was warmth, and the soft tendrils of lambswool that encased my
head have become soaked with my sweat, the salty juices of excitment
and anticipation. After time, a concept that now exists only in my
mind, the water and the wool have warmed and now are my skin.

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Dodds connected the respirator hose to the fitting at Mandy’s mouth,
and the stomach tube to another enema bag on a stand. At last, with a
flick of the switch, the little unit started with a hum, pumping with
an alternating hiss.

Dodds walked back to her supine form and experimentally wiggled each of
the plugs where they were attached to those outlandish looking
breasts. The anonymous but shapely figure within moaned with delight (
or frustration ), but did not move visibly. He looked over the
connections at her mouth, the air hose, the seal of the stomach tube,
the tubing from her rear. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he
began to spread old newspapers around her rigid form and the panel.

This done, he wheeled over the other equipment dolly that had stood
waiting in the corner for this very moment…

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About 3 months ago, a Japanese company called Baby Entertainment contacted Kink.com with an interest in purchasing some Fucking Machines. What started off as a chance encounter developed into Kink.com’s first ever DVD distribution deal. After spending a week in San Francisco, Baby Entertainment invited Fuckingmachines.com to Tokyo to shoot content for 4 DVDs to be released in Japan. Tomcat and his crew headed East for one of the most fascinating and challenging adventures in FM history. After a week of countless miscommunications, cultural differences and heightened perspectives, the crew returned home with a new appreciation for Japanese kinkiness. The DVDs, two of which were released this week, not only represent a successful collaboration with Baby Entertainment but also the first of many projects that will increase the accessibility of Kink.com’s material by putting it into the hands and DVD players of the global public.

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“Ever since I watched your slave Flora suffer this at your hands, I’ve
longed to try it out on you,” Dodds announced softly.

Apparently the ear plugs, covered by the helmet’s thick pads, prevented
her from hearing, for she gave no sign.

When the glue had dried, Dodds guided her backward to the edge of the
slab, positioning her feet with care. He opened his glue can again,
and coated the entire back of her suit with the latex cement. When he
was satisfied with the job, he stood astride her body, and after
threading her enema tube through a small hole, slowly leaned her back
onto the slab.

Moving with care, he firmly pressed each portion of her body against
the layer of glue, permanently bonding her suit to the slab. A few
more touches of glue cemented her arms, hands, even each finger down to
the rigid platform.

For a few moments, he left the room. The distant sound of a car door
slamming was heard… …but within her rubber prison, Mandy heard
nothing. She squirmed a bit, marvelling at the wholly pleasant
sensation of being enveloped in a warm and slippery womb. The dildo
pushed in a bit as she moved, and she tried to encourage it. She found
that she could shift a few inches within the thick rubber suit. This
also had the pleasant effect of massaging her breasts within their
cups. It felt delicious, but it wasn’t quite enough.

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He manhandled her over to her standing bondage rack and
strapped her up to it. For a moment, he admired her exquisite shape.
Although she certainly didn’t have the body of a Cosmo cover girl, the
shiny black latex covering her body made her, in Mr. Dodds eyes, the
ideal woman. Each curve of her body, the long, muscular legs, her
ample hips, was made silky-smooth by the wonderful material. If she
didn’t have the more classic beach beauty figure that Flora sported, it
was of no matter, he preferred his women to look like WOMEN, not
girls.

The additions to the suit gave her a sexier, postmodern look. The
huge, rounded cones of her breasts jutting straight out, and the
mounded cleft between her legs, emphasized her female shape to the
point of caricature. She might be a modern store-window mannequin,
Dodds thought, but one that few window dressers would dare display.

With a sigh, he returned to his work. He got out a large tin of latex
glue and carefully painted-in Mandy’s outline upon the slab. While it
dried, he examined a set of hoses and fittings attached to the
equipment in the corner, handling them lovingly.

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Shortly she was forcibly lowered to the floor, and she felt Dodds’
hands brush her side as he did something around her body. She
shivered, her sense of touch overly sensitive due to her isolated
state. Before long though, she was standing again, only to find
herself being walked over to, and strapped into, the upright rack she
had built herself.

Dodds smiled grimly as he switched on the light. He paused inside the
door, gazing around the room in anticipation. The spraying equipment
stood ready in one corner of the room, the respirator in another. To
one side stood Mandy’s circular bondage board, a motorized, padded
wooden slab to which a slave could be fastened and rotated. He had
already prepared the table on which he would mount his specimen: in the
middle of the floor sat a large platform, tilted on bearings, like a
giant see-saw. A shaft connected under one side disappeared into a
large machine on the floor. The panel was nothing more than a full
sheet of 1″ plywood, over which he had laminated a thick black rubber
sheet with latex cement. He lay Mandy back upon the table, then
carefully chalked her outline on it.

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As she moved, she delighted to feel her suit sliding around her. The
excess oil was too thick and light weight to slosh, but the suit was
somewhat loose on her body, sliding over her skin very sensually as she
walked toward the elevator. She revelled in her aroused state,
deliberately swaying her hips and lengthening her stride. She was
rewarded with many little caresses within her suit. She felt the big
rod macking in the grease, and the little bumps rubbing across her
nipples, grabbing at her labia and searching for her clitoris.

Her heart thumped excitedly as they entered the elevator cage and she
wondered what further devious ideas Dodds had in store. The sexual
feelings she had just experienced were so strong, she knew it would not
take much more before she got off. They dropped like a stone to the
ground floor, then took the stairs to the basement.

The small amount of exercise thus far had already turned her suit into
a mild sauna, the silicone lubricant warming slowly to her body
temperature. She certainly couldn’t feel the slight chill of the
basement. At the foot of the stairs, they turned right, cueing her
that they had headed into the room she often used for enemas or other
watersports, as it had a sink and a floor drain. She had begun to feel
heavy and fuzzy-headed, and she wondered what drug Dodds had given her
this time.

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Just barely, she could feel it sliding down her throat. It felt
obscene, an intrusion into her body where such things didn’t belong.

Dodds watched the slow progress of the tube as he gently fed it into
her mask. When a taped mark on the tube reached the mask, he slid a
metal coupling along the tube until it seated in the mouth hole,
sealing the junction.

The stomach tube came out a small hole in the side of the fitting. All
that was left was to attach a small puffer bulb to a valve above the
breathing tube, and with a few pumps, the inflatable skirt of the
oxygen mask swelled and sealed against her face.

Dodds must have been finished, at least temporarily, as Mandy felt him
guide her to her feet, lead her by the hand out the door, then down the
hall.

She was surprised he hadn’t put boots or shoes on her, he usually
considered some kind of uncomfortable foot wear de rigueur with his
outfits.

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The face portion, as well, was brought tightly against her lips,
revealing that a good-sized hole had been left at the mouth of the
helmet.

Knowing Mr. Dodds, she was certain it wouldn’t stay unplugged.

“Now comes the difficult part, I’m afraid,” she heard faintly. He must
have been shouting, so that she could hear him through the thick helmet
and ear plugs. She felt something small and soft intruding in her
mouth.

“Swallow this,” she heard.

Oh, no, she thought. God damn it, not this. Please, I’ll throw up!

The soft thing pressed against the back of her throat. Whatever it
was, it wasn’t very big. Shit, she thought, a stomach tube?! She
could only feel it as a faintly detectable pressure, so numb was her
mouth and throat. Okay, remain calm, she told herself. He’s obviously
anesthetized your throat, you should be able to do this. It won’t be
much worse than deep throating George. She chewed on the end of the
soft rubber tube for a second, salivating a little, hoping to fool her
stomach that she was just swallowing food, like a long piece of
spaghetti.

She really had no choice, she realized, since he could force the hose
through her gag until she choked on it if he really wanted to.
Eventually, to her suprise, she managed to swallow the end of the tube
without even retching.

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Mr. Dodds was holding the open hood of the suit in front of her face.

About the time she realized that something was very different about
that hood, he quickly pulled it over her head, and zipped the suit the
rest of the way, up the back of the hood.

He’s changed the hood! she thought. She knew he was perfectly capable
of it, for he was a first-rate rubber craftsman; he had even started
his own company to make rubber goods for other kinky folk.

She realized now that he had removed the suit’s original open-faced
hood, and replaced it with a totally enclosed helmet of the same
thickness. This one had soft pads over the eyes and ears, and what
felt like a surgical- style oxygen mask covering her mouth and nose.
She was certain, though, that any surgeon would have been horified at
the use this one was being put to. The zipper had pulled the hood
tight, pressing the pads into her eyes and ears, and she knew she would
be totally deaf until he removed it.

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With her body so well-greased, it took no time at all before she had
the thick suit pulled up to her neck, then she looked enquiringly at
Mr. Dodds for help. He helped pull the arms and gloves on, then zipped
the back up to her shoulder blades. Apparently unsatisfied with her
lube job, he pulled out the neck, and added the rest of the jug of
greasy fluid, which she thought at first was overkill, until she
realized that Dodds never did anything without a good reason. She
shuddered as she felt it slowly slither down her back, the tight suit
spreading it out across her skin. He dribbled the last bit on her
head, rubbing it into her hair, and over her face and neck.

Finally, he removed the shoe from her mouth.

“Open wide,” he said, holding up an atomizer. She did as she was told,
hoping that whatever he had in mind didn’t taste too bad. The cool
spray was bitter, and made her mouth and tongue numb.

“Now swallow,” he added. She swallowed. He repeated the process twice
more. It didn’t suprise her when he stuffed something else into her
mouth. It was some kind of form-fitting gag made of plastic, that kept
her mouth open slightly, yet her teeth fit into it, and when it was
seated, it was quite comfortable. With her tongue, she could feel a
large hole though it.