“I find this system is perfect to totally immobilize your captive when you don’t want him squirming around,” said the busty brunette who was nearly bursting out of the top of her tight red latex bodysuit.  

No freaking kidding, I thought, as I hung there in front of her and her companion, stretched out like a deer hide in this high-tech torture chamber. For a subterranean dungeon in a huge old mansion, it was surprisingly warm and well-furnished.  

The brunette and her guest, a stunning redhead clad in black leather and fishnet stockings, were seated in comfortable chairs as they inspected my suspension rigging. Big-screen monitors lined the wall, showing scenes from elsewhere on the estate. I was not the only person in bondage.  

There were some old-fashioned touches in the place; the room was lit by actual torches and a real fireplace. The walls were lined with ropes, shackles, whips, and leather items of all shapes and sizes. Other furnishings included a rack, a St. Andrews cross, a bondage chair with stirrups, and a lot of paraphernalia I could not identify.  

A gorgeous, fair-skinned female dressed only in heels, a collar, and a tiny, extremely sheer slave tunic was serving them cocktails and canapes. Her body was firm but lush, like that of a dancer. Her platinum hair was cut very short, her nipples were pierced with golden rings. I think her labia lips bore metal as well. 

I was bound in a standing, spread-eagle position within a large, firmly anchored, square metal frame.  My wrist cuffs were attached to cables that pulled them out to the upper corners. The cords on my ankle cuffs stretched my legs down and to the sides, so I was balanced on my toes.  

The brunette explained that all the cables were attached to mechanical ratchet pulleys that could be independently loosened or tightened a millimeter at a time, and then locked in place. As my body would adjust to the tension pulling on my limbs, my tormentors could increase the tug and keep me constantly stretched out to my maximum. 

But my captors had gone the extra mile and attached more gadgets and cables to contort my aching body. A corset around my stomach squeezed my waist, with cords to the side that controlled the tension in the laces. A leather harness around my head stretched it up towards the ceiling. Just for fun, an inflatable gag filled my mouth.  

Also, my nipples had been pierced with rings and connected to cables that pulled them up and forward.  An anal hook yanked my pelvis backward and up, and to complete the suspension, a cord attached to a testicle ring dragged my balls straight downward.  I was being pulled in nine different directions and my naked body was already sweating and shaking from the strain. I was a college gymnast, in excellent shape, but this stress on my body was insane.  

 "This is very impressive, Lydia,” said the woman in black, obviously a friend and guest.  “Your engineers have outdone themselves.”  

 “Thank you, Eve,” Lydia replied. “I call it ‘The Spreader’. By remote control on this tablet, we can tighten any of the restraints.” She pressed a button, and I could feel my balls being dragged down a fraction of an inch. Then my legs were spread further apart, raising my toes an inch off the floor.  I was now hanging by my wrists.  

“I can also send electrical pulses of varied power or waveform to any of the restraints.” My ass and balls registered a tingling that I assumed could be ramped up to an excruciating level of pain.   

“The genital components of this device can be adjusted to the female body as well. How about it, Bella?” she asked the slave girl. “Would you like to be up there next?”    

“Oh, no ma’am,” she gasped. Then she caught herself and cast her eyes down. “I mean, if it pleases the Mistress, of course, I would do it, but . . .” 

She shivered in fright as her words trailed off.  

Lydia laughed and resumed her demonstration. “The construction can be lowered into the ground or raised up, so we can easily reach any part of his body without needing to stoop or stand on a stool.” With that, a motor activated, and the frame lifted into the air, bringing my crotch to their face level as they stepped in front of me. 

“Look, Eve,” the Mistress said to her friend as she ran a finger up and down my cock, “He’s very hard. Keep in mind, I gave him a ton of aphrodisiacs, but with all this strain, he should have gone soft. This jock must be a real pain slut.”   

She was right. Even with the suffering, the tip of my penis was oozing semen, which stuck to Lydia’s finger. I never realized it, but maybe I did like torture, at least the type applied by this beautiful sadist.  

Lydia presented the finger that contained my pre-cum to her slave to lick it off. Then she commanded, “Bella, suck his dick.  Lightly, do not let him cum. You know the penalties if you do.”  

Bella’s mouth was warm and soft on my dick, contrasting with the metal piercing in her tongue which was cold and hard. The dominatrix duo returned to their chairs and resumed their cocktails as they watched the ministrations of the young slave. I had figured the girl was a former dancer, but she exhibited the blowjob skills of a seasoned porn star. 

Lydia resumed her story. “I kidnapped this lad and a few of his young gymnastic teammates so I could give this device a good testing. One of his friends is even more well-endowed.” 

She activated a control on her chair and a video feed lit up on the largest screen. It was my teammate, Damian, stretched out in leather cuffs on a large, ornate bed. His hands were shackled together and pulled straight up to the headboard; his legs were similarly bound to the baseboard. A tan Asian beauty knelt beside him, stroking his cock with two oily hands while watching his face for reactions.  

She was dressed only in a set of leather straps that did not hide any of her considerable charms, including a pair of gorgeous, perky breasts. Damian was naked, with a penis gag sticking into and out of his mouth. The rod that stuck out was wet; I had to assume the girl had been mounting it at some point.  

(Damian’s cock was big; bigger than mine. I’d seen it in the shower at the gym, but only in its flaccid state, not this . . . python thing. Yikes!) 

“How is he doing, Yumi?” asked Lydia through a closed-circuit microphone. 

“Very well, Mistress,” she replied, looking up at the camera. “I brought him to a massive orgasm just five minutes ago, and he is already recovered and ready to go again, as you can see. His oral skills leave something to be desired, but his face is fun to ride on. Would you like me to teach him proper cunnilingus techniques?” 

“No, Yumi,” replied the latex-clad Domme with a laugh. “I will instruct him myself. I am a bit more vicious in my negative reinforcement techniques than you. Tease him lightly for another hour, but no more orgasms for the boy. I want him fresh for my pleasure tonight.”  

During this conversation, Lydia had been playing with the remote controls of The Spreader, almost at random: shocks ran through my nipples and balls, my corset was squeezed until I had trouble breathing, and my head was stretched upward. 

I was suffering, badly. But with Bella continuing to suck my cock, I remained aroused, still hard as granite. 

Before she disconnected, Lydia thought of one other question for Yumi. 

“You did feed the lad his own cum, did you not?” 

“Of course, Mistress,” the girl replied. “Along with some of my own juices.”  

“Good,” said Lydia with a wicked smile. “Give him plenty of those juices in the next hour. Get some of the other girls in on it if you need to. I want him well-hydrated for tonight’s fun.” 

Lydia turned to her companion. “Would you like to join me in training that boy Damian this evening? 

“Actually,” Eve replied, “could I have this one here? I love riding men after they’ve been tortured. Makes them so . . .  compliant, so eager to please. Will The Spreader cause him any permanent damage?” 

Lydia scoffed. “Despite the enormous check I gave him, my chief engineer refused to install motors strong enough to pull a man apart, or electrical systems powerful enough to fry him. After this initial test run, I plan to capture Herr Kruger and put him in his own invention to . . . convince him . . . to install the upgrades.” 

While she said this, the Mistress was selecting a pair of evil-looking single-tail whips from a nearby rack for her and her guest.  

“No, Eve,” the Mistress continued, “the main effect of this device, they tell me, is that the victim is an inch or two taller when they leave here.”  The pair shooed away Bella and approached my helpless body, one from the front and one in back. I braced myself for the onslaught. 

“Of course, that’s if they leave here.”