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ASYLUM TALES
Part Three… The asylum’s wooden pony, the asylum’s next fresh victim, the staff continues with their ongoing treatments of the unfortunate patients under the directions of the doctor.
Chapter One
Another fresh arrival, this one’s young and exotic with a mixture of French, Irish and Portuguese in her heritage, and could easily pass as a kid sister of the front girl from ‘Wild On.’ Just admitted, of course against her will, her stay will be of the indefinite period like most of the rest of the young, selected unfortunates. Her file reveals she’d been initially adjudicated for possession of hallucinates in her luggage while checking past an airport security when returning from spring break. Now she’s been handed over to the institution on a warrant signed by the court for violating her stringent probation by failing an unscheduled random drug test. Her stay will also be in suit with the rest of the institution’s patients similar to her, rather painful. And, with that being said it’s about time for her treatment to commence down in the bowels of the basement, deep down.
In the subterranean level below the asylum’s pre civil war era basement sits what’s commonly referred to as the ‘recreation’ room, at least amongst the staff. Various devices are laid out accordingly, implements for inflicting pain on the selected patients, to be administered to the more attractive patients that is. Near a corner and mounted on a slightly raised platform there’s an aged apparatus that’s tested the passage of time. Rather simple in its design, it’s served the purpose of causing discomfort short term, of having inflicted pain with extended contact, and of course of having caused agonizing ordeals with protracted usage. With the proper victim it can supply the observers with immense erotic pleasure. It’s known by the staff simply as the ‘wooden pony.’
Designs that can vary from a crude wooden plank hanging from ropes, to everyday saw-horses made of two by fours, to extravagant designs of carved wood forming a kind of ‘pony’ image, this particular one’s of the latter mold, with its design even more intriguing. True mahogany, earlier years of varnishing and polishing, it’s majestic in the abstract form of the animal it’s named after. The artistic design intricately carved to include strategic eyelets, hooks and accessories by old world crafters, the ‘business’ part of it’s rather simple. A six inch wide flat rectangular rail of wood laid on edge, just a couple inches or so thick and a yard or so in length, it’s the epicenter of the simple design, the center portion of the apparatus used for the mount, and is vertically adjustable. The apparatus has provided for the discomfort of uncountable victims and for the entertainment of the viewers since the asylum’s inception.
Just the start of her second day institutionalized, not yet realizing the severity of her situation, like so many of the others anger and humiliation overrides her fear at the moment. Her probation being violated, she hadn’t yet grasped what violated even means in this atmosphere. By this time tomorrow, that won’t be the case any longer, for that matter, by this evening. Again like so many of the others, clothing not an option, she’s already been stripped naked and is being prepared for her initial ordeal by a trio of male attendants. An oversized black chocker collar fitted snuggly around her throat; a leather strap’s been affixed to its metal ring to lead her by. Another shorter strap’s affixed to her ankles, allowing just a few inches between her feet. Both arms forced straight up behind her neck, her elbows, wrists are also snuggly strapped behind her tilted head forcing her shoulders back. A red ball gag forced between her lips as her heavy breasts thrust outward and she’s prepared to be led to her ‘treatment’ by the attendants.
Surrounded by the trio, her thick dark nipples highly mounted on her bronze toned globular mounds stand out, separating, jiggling as she’s led naked and barefoot from her room out into the stereotypical hospital hallway. Shuffled past several rooms, some with doors propped open, some shut, on past occasional staff members’ glancing leeringly toward her while stepping aside as she’s led along, the leash stretches from the collar jerking at her neck as she struggles on the balls of her feet while forced to take short erratic strides. An occasional grunt, a glare at an ogling attendant as her body’s humiliatingly exposed to everyone they pass by and her anger and humiliation is more then obvious.
The long walk to enter an elevator, the halting stop as it reaches the bottom; the hallway’s ominously different as the stainless metal doors slide apart. Cruder ceiling lamps, the stone walls whitewashed but unkempt as she’s forced barefoot across the uneven inlaid stone floor, the coolness of the damp air raises goose bumps across her bare flesh. Led toward a darkened wooden door toward the end of the hallway, occasional drips of water cause an echoing splashing sound from the rows of black metal pipes running along the walls up near the ceiling.
That thick oaken door swung open, her exotic body freshly shaven, oiled from neck to toe, her naked flesh glistens under the brighter lamps swaying from the arched ceiling above the stone floor. The outline of her ribcage protruding as her washboard stomach ripples, hollows with each angry breath beneath her jaunted out breasts, she’s forced to follow along toward the apparatus while tiptoeing on the balls of her feet. Grunting through the bright red ball gag, its black straps hidden behind her thick single braid of dark brown hair as her flexing fingers clench into fists high above her head, she’s jerked along, her defiance still noticeable as her white robed attendants allow her just a bit of leeway, but only temporarily.
Her dark eyes glaring as she’s being gruffly manipulated, positioned next to the apparatus, its design becomes apparent, even to her. Her initial reaction to its benevolent appearance one of contempt while glancing between her quivering breasts down toward the antique torture device, she can’t help noticing the vertical wooden board, its’ top edge visibly worn and dull as it’s obviously been used more then a few times. And, oiled down, prepared to be used again soon. The attendants surrounding her, she feels one’s hands gripping the strap around her elbows behind her neck, another untying her ankles, grabbing a knee as she’s forced against the apparatus. Leg hoisted up across the bar, she’s twisted forward as her chest arches, her breasts freely swaying, a nipple scrapping the angular, sculptured neck of the ‘pony.’
Both her ankles gripped, leather cuffs secured around each, she feels her feet being spread a foot or so apart and fastened to the apparatuses’ rear contoured legs. Twisting, tilting, her heaving breasts swaying, she senses the narrow top surface of the rail spreading her butt cheeks apart, slipping up between her thighs, firmly pressing against her vulva. Elbows released, her bound arms clumsily swaying in the air above her head as she reflexively maintains her equilibrium, she angrily stares toward the attendants obviously ogling her nakedness and the obscene pose she’s being forced to submit too. Still angrier then frightened, disgusted with her treatment, her defiant look just adds to the erotic moment for the trio.
One attendant still kneeling beside the apparatus begins adjusting a knob as she feels the pressure between her thighs begin to mount along with what sounds like a series of squeaks coinciding with the vertical board slowly rising. The top edge of its rounded surface pressuring up into her spreading slit, sliding, slipping into the crack of her buttocks, another attendant’s fingers grip, tug, center the folds of her labium across the narrow width of the board. Grunting, twisting her torso to reflexively straddle the wooden slat, she realizes the apparatus isn’t so benign after all as she’s being first handedly introduced to the harsh pressure of the rail.
Without having to be told, apprehensively following the lead of the rising slat, she lifts upwards onto the balls of her feet, continues precariously higher onto her toes, painfully tiptoeing, her glistening thighs flexing as the squeaking slowly continues. Feeling the warn edge of the harsh wood pressuring her from across her puckering rectum out to the firmness of the pubic bone beneath her curved mound, the folds of her labium stretching across the rail. Her clitoris flattening, compacted between the rising wood and the weight of her straining thighs, the initial physical feeling’s more of just discomfort, while mentally she’s humiliated, seethes with anger.
Feeling the warmth from the obvious flushness of her face as the squeaking sounds finally cease from beneath the apparatus, her toes barely scrapping the floor, she jerks her torso from side to side, twists back and forth as she repeatedly grunts, saliva drooling from the ballgag, dripping in a strand across her heaving chest as the pain escalates while she vainly tries to find an acceptable position. Her fingernails clenching into the palms of her fists as her arms sway upwards behind her while forcing her head to tilt forward, she’s barely able to maintain her balance as her ‘ride’ has begun in earnest.
All but one of the attendants stepping back, he remains, sliding a matching, long rounded shaft into a vertical slot mounted in the ‘pony’s’ sculptured neck in front of her, a second shaft’s likewise mounted in the carved rump behind her. An eyelet on top of both shafts, he grips her hands, loops a strap around her wrists and tugs her arms, arching them back to affix the strap to the top of the rear shaft.
Her body bowing, arching back as her breasts freely sway apart, her slit painfully grinds across the vertical rail as she tiptoes from one foot to the other, struggles to balance herself while her torso twists back and forth. Continuing to grunt, her eyes again hatefully glaring down toward the attendant, she not only watches in anger but in trepidation as he grips her right breast, stretches a length of twine around its base and begins wrapping, twisting, looping four, five turns around the globe as it darkens and swells. Arms jerking, swaying above her head, her body twisting on the rail as the new pain begins burning into her chest, her defiant grunts are ignored as her engorging breast darkens, the areola, nipple flattening and spreading, exposing a couple dark veins crisscrossing beneath the taut skin.
Her left breast likewise gripped, treated similarly; soon both take on the appearance of purplish balloons, the twine burrowed deeply into the swelling flesh. The overall pain rapidly mounting, her tender flesh surrounding her slit already in the initial stages of chaffing from jerking back and forth across the shellacked rail as her naked body’s manipulated, the initial tears well up in her eyes, still more of anger but some of pain, her preparation not yet finished.
Another attendant stepping up to help, sliding a couple of short bamboo shunts across her chest above and below her separating globes, the first attendant tightly ties off each end as the pair of shunts practically press together, partially disappearing behind the darkening mounds. Her naked body jerking with each tugging tie, the grunts louder, obviously becoming more of pain as she twists her neck, stares glassy eyed toward the wall.
Twisting the ends of the twine together, stretching them outward to the eyelet on the top of the shaft mounted in front of their patient, listening to her grunts the attendant secures the twine, slowly draws her bound breasts upward and forward. Forcing her torso to bow forward as her arms bow further backwards above her head, adjusting the pair of ropes both front and back until taut, she’s forced to contort in a somewhat serpentine position straddling the ‘wooden pony’ to continue her initial ride as they step back, satisfied with her bindings.
Arching, bowing into various positions as she agonizingly tiptoes, tautly stretching between the matching mounted shafts by her aching arms and breasts, tears trace down mixing with the saliva from the drenched ball gag while her glistening body twitches. Reflexively contorting while her quivering thighs flex, she feels the burning of their inner sides chaffing while painfully grinding across the rail. Grunting, trying to grasp the unimaginable treatment she’s being subjected to, the pain quickly spreads throughout her stretched body, her muscles aching, knotting as they ripple beneath her glistening flesh. Hearing the door opening across the room, the doctor entering, her eyes lock with his as she has the tinge of hope that he’s there to help her.
Ignoring her stare, stepping toward the apparatus with clipboard in his left hand, he scans the bindings, her mounting across the wooden rail. Tweaking the ropes stretching from her breasts, forcing her to tilt forward as her arms arch back, he’s satisfied with her position as he enjoys her whining, whimpering from the drooling mouth gag.
Glancing toward the attendants, an appreciative nod, handing his clipboard to one, he slips a couple fingertips across her right breast, the stretched, flattened areola and nipple. His fingernails curling, slowly digs inward, forcefully pressing into her tit flesh. Again glancing toward the attendants, back toward her quivering breasts, he silently slips his other hand down across the shellacked rail between her thighs as he harshly pinches the nub of her clit, feels her body jerk. Slightly bending while releasing her bulging breast, using both hands he slips his fingers between her thighs, pinches, stretches the folds of her labia further out across the edge of the beam. Spreading her butt cheeks across the slickened wood, slipping his left hand across the small of her back, his right hand across her pubic mound, he firmly presses against her glistening flesh as she grunts, slides her firmly back and forth a couple inches across the mount, centering her stretched body as her bound breasts, arms sway in the taut ropes above her.
Glancing toward an attendant’s hand, reaching out and grasping a couple chrome alligator clamps, squeezing, compressing the serrated teeth open and shut on one, the doctor carefully slips the spread clamp across the flattened areola of her right breast, lets it snap sadistically shut across the nub of the engorged nipple. “Oomph!” Listening to her muffled squeal, reaching across to her other nipple, spreading the second gleaming clamp, letting it’s teeth scrape across her ballooning left breast’s nipple as she fruitlessly tries to twist away, he lets that clamp spring shut. “Aaaggghhh!”
Observing her wide eyes, loud grunts along with more then a few tears, her thighs noticeably trembling as the calves of her legs twitch, the creaking sounds of the taut ropes stretching outward from either side of her as she struggles, the doctor takes it all in, smiles with satisfaction, grips his clipboard. Glancing toward her quivering, bulging breasts, the clamps jiggling, digging into the purplish flesh, he jots down a few observations before he casually turns away. Nodding toward the attendants, they silently follow him from the chamber, shutting the door behind them to make other rounds.
Alone, only a matter of minutes of straddling the rail, her body’s already wracked in pain. Her muscles knot as the unforgiving harshness of the rail borrows between her grinding thighs, her toes even burning as she tiptoes from one foot to the other. She can feel the pulse of her heartbeat in her engorged breasts, the clamped nipples seeming to twitch while stretching out in front of her toward the mounted shaft as her arms are becoming numb from the elbows up. Wheezing for breath, her shoulders searing, burning as she tries to somehow find a manageable position, her naked body occasionally defies her, trembles, jerks sporadically across the harsh wood, bound breasts stretched outward somehow bouncing, causing the pain to escalate, her pressured, tender flesh chaffed raw between her thighs.
As the minutes pass, turn into a half hour, approaches an hour, her anger’s morphed to anguish. Her humiliation forgotten, a thing of the past, all she can think of is somehow relieving the weight of her body pressing down onto the rail, the rawness of her clit grinding back and forth, even just a fraction of an inch feeling like sandpaper scrapping off layers of her most sensitive flesh. On the other hand, the bamboo shunts practically touching between her dark purple globes, almost forming a caricature of her normally firm mounds, she can’t help glaring toward the insidious clamps twitching off from her throbbing nipples being stretched outward just beneath her chin toward the post in front of her. Gasping with each breath, mucus, saliva drooling in constant streams from her flaring nostrils, the chewed ball gag, her thoughts are riveted to the pain, how to relieve it from so many areas of her stressed body.
Yet more time passing, slowly ticking seconds, drawn out minutes, until finally another hour or even more of straddling the apparatus in shear anguish. Pain induced perspiration drips down across her glistening body, streaks across her chilled naked flesh from the damp atmosphere of the ancient sub basement onto the cool, shellacked surfaces of the sculptured ‘wooden pony’. Oh God, she thinks through the unimaginable agony. How much longer, how much more pain from her cramping, pain wracked torment can she handle? Twisting, tiptoeing, sometimes angrily jerking to try to free the ripping clamps from the tips of her tortured nipples, all causes even more agony, inescapable penalties for just brief moments of attempted but unattainable relief.
Another half hour, her sweating body glistens from head to toe under the lighting as she alternates between slumping down across the rail and rising, forcing herself upward on her tiptoes. Her darkly discolored breasts burns, sears from the taut, stretching bindings; her arms continuing to arch painfully back, drawn by the springing ropes. Thighs raw, scraping back and forth, her swollen clit chaffed, practically adhering to the harsh edge of the rail only her grunts, groans echo off the whitewashed walls as she’s barely able to remain conscious, to balance, to straddle the rail.
Yet another half hour or more on the ‘pony’ adds to her unbearable misery. The initial pangs in her stomach, the nauseated feeling of withdrawal of what few drugs she’s recreationally ingested the past couple days and the level of her anguish compounds past comprehensible as she frantically agonizes about just how much longer she can endure the pain being inflicted upon virtually every part of her naked body. The lights on the ceiling dimming, flickering, the room fades to darkness as she’s left screaming from her raw throat through the chewed mouth gag, left alone riding the ‘pony’ in the bowels of the asylum.
End Part three
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