Welcome to Trapped

The place is a club of sorts.  Underground, quiet.  There are no markings on the unremarkable mill building.  As one looks closer they see a heavier door with a reinforced lock on it.  It is meant to keep people out…..but those that enter wonder if it is also meant to keep people in.  It is named Trapped after all.

A person coming here knows they are in for a night of…..well they aren’t sure.  They have just been told it is intense experience that one will either run from or run to.  With this club there were only those two types.  No one stood on the fence, unsure.  No one.

Getting through the large, steel reinforced door the clients walk in and are provided paperwork at a main desk.  Releases so the club could not be sued, releases on what would and would not happen, what the clients were signing on for, what could possibly happen, and how long of a session they were signing up for.

The first client was a young woman, early 30s, bound to a chair in the middle of a dark room.  The chair was wooden, the female’s arms pulled back behind it in a strict tie, her elbows together, rope around her wrists, above and below her elbows, and then rope around her biceps.  It was painful but it was meant to be.  Her arms were bound to the back of the wooden chair, keeping her firmly in place.  But that wasn’t all.

Her legs were pulled apart, spread to either side of the chair, the cuffs around her ankles hooked down to eye hooks on the floor.  This kept her legs immovable and her hips tilted forward onto the vibrator that was secured to the seat of the chair, pressing against her exposed clit.  A hole had been cut in the center of the chair and through that hole was a dildo, a bit bigger than an average size one, that was attached to a machine underneathe that would pump up into her spread pussy, pounding her as ordered.

Over her head was a hood, a hood that concealed the large ball gag pushed deeply in her mouth, muffling her cries, her sobs, her moans, her begging.  Before her chair was another machine that pulled back every 20 minutes of her 60 minute session.  As it pulled, it pulled on the chain that was attached to clamps on her nipples, pulling her chest out further and further, rocking her hips forward more onto the vibrator.

The vibrator was set on a timer of sorts, coming on various levels of high or low, for various amounts of time.  The dildo was on a separate timer, pumping in and out of her at various intensities.

For now she sat in the chair, crying out behind the gag.  The temperature in the room had been turned up until she had beads of sweat rolling down her body, between her tormented breasts the down over her slick, stimulated clit.  Tear coursed down her face behind the hood.  Her body trembled, her nipples screamed in pain, the cock pounded her pussy until she came and came and then came again.

Then when the cock stopped the vibrator would begin, pushing her levels of lust and need to another higher level.  She screamed, begged, fought to close her legs, but she was trapped.  Her mind screamed at her own stupidity thinking she could do this.  She came again, her eyes rolling back in her head, her body jerking as she squirted again onto the cock machine.

There was no pleading, there was no mercy.  There was only pain.  There was only pleasure beyond what one could control.  There was only overload.

As the machine began pulling at her clamp chains, arching her back more, causing her to tilt her hips forward, crushing her clit harder onto the vibrator.  The dildo was now pounding her pussy and she sobbed, trying to beg but no one was listening.  No one was there.  Here there was no time.  Here there was no safeword.

Here…..she was Trapped.

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