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[This fantasy is intended for the enjoyment of adults only.]
High above the roof of Ben's remote ranch house, pelted by wind-driven rain, the luxurious 5'3", 38EE-26-40 body of olive-skinned Jasmine tests the seams of her drum-tight neoprene catsuit. The black garment is sufficiently thick to ensure her survival, if not her comfort. Thick rubbery straps at neck, shoulders, and tummy; hips, thighs, and calf bind her tightly to a swivelling post in the shape of an inverted L. More straps bind her arms tightly behind her back. Bent 90 degrees at the waist with spine parallel to the ground, a posture collar rises high under her chin and forces her neck back and face forward. A thick, snug hood envelops her rich auburn hair, keeping it from being ripped out at the roots by the force of the gale. Goggles protect her eyes, which peer out through spattered round lenses into the teeth of the storm while stinging droplets blast her exposed cheeks and water streams from her chin.
Her thick, curvy, neoprene-encased legs are stretched down along the vertical post with ankles and big toes clamped tightly to it, enforcing a streamlined en-pointe position. A large tail made of sturdy plastic stretched between vanes of flexible steel, and shaped like the tail of an arrow, springs from a dildo that penetrates her bottom. Jasmine's tail keeps her facing always into the buffeting wind. Foot-long streamers are tied to the rings through her dark nipples, which poke through holes in the suit and are rock-hard from exposure to the chill. The streamers are intended to indicate wind direction when the breeze is too light to pivot the heavy, curvaceous vane, but right now they trail horizontally in the gale, flicking against her rubberized thighs.
From her mouth-filling gag of hard, black rubber a kind of pinwheel springs. Spinning in the breeze it measures wind speed and transmits data along a wire that has been run down the poor girl's throat and out her bottom, down the pole and into a wall-mounted panel. In the comfort of his den Ben watches needles jump and spin on the panel as the tempest rages, while sipping a warm cup of coffee.
Below in the garden, partially sheltered by the wings of the house, lithe Holly gathers data on precipitation. Her 5'9" frame, shaped by her heavily strapped rubber corset to 36D-18-36, is planted in the rich soil up to mid-thigh between the spiny winter-dormant roses. Her mittened hands are crossed high up between her shoulder blades; a thin strap extends from her wrists over the top of her blonde head and down between her eyes, where it tensions a large, blunt, double hook of stainless steel that penetrates her nostrils and pulls her head back so that she faces the weeping heavens. Rain spatters her forehead and cheeks, and drips from the tips of her long, lank tresses; she squeezes her blue eyes tightly shut against the pounding drops. Her jaws are spread wide by a clear, hollow cylinder that penetrates her mouth, pressing down on her tongue and just touching the back of her throat where it almost - but not quite - triggers her sensitive gag reflex. The tube is a rain gauge, its open top collecting sky-water and sensors inside transmitting data on rainfall. As the rate and quantity of precipitation is measured the rainwater trickles from the outlet at the bottom of the device, and Holly's throat pulses repeatedly as she swallows her share of the downpour.
Holly has been planted facing a window that looks out on the garden, so that with his binoculars her master can look out and read the dial thermometers clipped to her pink nipples, which like Jasmine's poke through holes in the neoprene suit. The stiffening in her nipples that accompanies a drop in temperature is transmitted by a simple spring mechanism to the thermometer dials. The readings are not very accurate, but the needles will swing reliably from blue to red, and back, as the long days warm and cool again. It does help accuracy to have a matched pair, so the readings may be averaged. Right now the needles point deep into the blue, and shimmy just perceptibly as Holly shivers in the cold...
Ben looks out on the scene and smiles, sipping his warm coffee as he stands next to the fire. Among the data the instruments feed to his indoor panel are his trusting slaves' vital signs, including body temperature. He won't let them freeze, just get cold enough to be grateful when he thaws them out....however he might choose to do it. The gauges also measure humidity - in the girls' vibrator-plugged pussies. Right now that reading is right between Mississippi Moist and Amazonian Swampy.
He tells himself he must remember to thank Chenichi-san for inspiring this installation, the next time he sees him. His eyes defocus on the sight of the half-interred Holly as his mind flies back to the memory....
It was a warm Summer evening at Chen's villa outside Kyoto, interrupted suddenly by a heavy cloudburst.
"Ah!" the old man had smiled suddenly as the sound of raindrops first pattered, then quickly rose to pounding on his tile roof while the smell of summer rain filled their nostrils. "Water for my flowers. When I saw how the clouds danced this morning, I expected such a gift, and made preparations. We must see how great is the sky-god's gift today."
Rising from the tatami mat where they had sat, sharing sake and stories across a dark wooden table, Chen slid open a wood-framed panel in the wall and led Ben out onto the covered walkway along the back of his home. There in the walled garden, on the broad, smooth, dark stones next to the rain-dimpled koi pond, was Chen's rain gauge and scarecrow.
True to Chen's traditional tastes, she was a beauty of classical Japanese form: soft, feminine, and white, her skin crossed here and there with fine hempen cord. She was still wearing her richly embroidered kimono, somewhat....the valuable silk garment had been pulled open and back, its flaps tucked under the ropes so that her white legs and flawless figure were fully exposed. The pink tips of her rope-pinched breasts jutted upwards, tender offerings to the sky-god.
She stood at tip toe on bare feet. Between her feet a length of bamboo rose from the sand between the slates on which she stood, straight and thick and right up between the lips of her black-fringed pussy. Her ankles were bound about eighteen inches apart to a segment of thinner bamboo that passed behind the upright, so that her toes were behind her center of gravity and her back arched slightly for balance. Her roped ankles quivered, her slim white legs shook just a little as she strained to hold the tiptoe position after an afternoon in bondage, and not allow the thick, upright stake any deeper into her already stretched pussy. The beauty's head was pulled back by thin cords woven into her black hair and stretched down behind her back, where her arms were crossed forearm-to-forearm. Her red-rimmed mouth was ungagged, and grimaced silently upwards into the gray clouds while her dark eyes blinked against the warm rain.
Near the top of the vertical post, just below the fine black fuzz that partially cloaked her mound, another crosspiece jutted forward and upward, like a bamboo phallus springing from her groin. It protruded perhaps a foot in front of her, and was cut off at an angle with the open end facing upwards. As Ben watched, he saw the rain that spattered the girl's shoulders and chest trail down into her cleavage, then fall into the tip of the jutting bamboo tube. Her simple but artful breast-bondage formed her white bosom into a broad spout that directed the rain that fell on her upper body into the open-ended cylinder below.
For a moment, nothing happened, while Ben stood in silent admiration of the girl's classical beauty, and of Chenichi-san's visual poetry.
Then, as rainwater filled the open-ended bamboo phallus, its balance shifted forward....slowly at first, then gaining speed it tipped downwards, until it spilled its collected rain into the pond below. As it reached the downward limit of its travel, there was a sharp knock as its weighted back-end rapped against the carved hardwood plug that filled the girl's rectum.
"One!" the girl squeaked softly in Japanese, even before the drained knocker swung upwards again. When it slapped up against her tender pink clitoris, exposed by the dilation of her sex, she gave a little grunt as the stream of rainwater trailing from between her breasts began to refill the tube.
The rain thickened to a downpour while Ben and Chenichi watched in silence.
"Two!".............."Three!"......"Four!..." The girl's breaths came short and quick as the bright colors of the kimono darkened with its soaking, and her raven hair began to droop behind her in threads as her neat coiffure dissolved. "......Five!"
The old master tipped his head to look out under the tiled eaves. "Getting darker. I think good rain today. Please stay tonight, tomorrow we have many fresh blooms! I think you would be happy to see."
"It would be my pleasure, Chenichi-san. The reputation of your garden is well known, and you honor me with your invitation."
A slight tip of the head passed for a bow in this friendly company. Chen led his guest back inside to warm sake, and other entertainments. Through the papery walls they could hear the pattering of the rain on the stones and in the pond, and the slow, regular knock of bamboo on oak.
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BF
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