Henry Morgan - The drivers

Occasionally his hands would run the length of her flanks, or up the inside of her legs. Sometimes he would cup her breasts and every so often she felt the tip of his nose against her mound as he breathed in her musk.

Then he was gone.

Later he was back.

When she despaired of ever seeing the morning light and relinquished all hope of release, she felt his hand take hold of the black satin hood. Slowly he lifted it from her head, revealing to her the same shiny black boots he had worn before. Sharp and gleaming they were, as was the gold metal protector that enclosed the pointed toe.

The hood came off and Susan gasped at the man in front of her.

Apart from the boots he wore only a pair of extremely tight and very heavy rubber shorts. A hole in them exposed his bulging genitalia. His stretched penis was pulled down and strapped to his leg by a criss crossed leather lace drawn so taut his bell-end bulged almost to bursting.

It looked like an over ripe plum.

"Hello Susan," he said, toying with the gold sleepers that pierced his nipples. "Sleep well?"

She lifted her tired head off her chest to see herself dangling in a wood cladded corridor on the ground floor. In front of her were large patio windows the full width of the passageway.

"Quite a drop, wasn't it?" He gave the underneath of each breast a firm tap with his fingers. "But you are strong. I know that. I never drop them unless I'm sure they're strong enough to take it."

As he spoke he began fiddling with the hook in her wrist cuffs. Behind Susan was a rail attached to the ceiling. Connected to that was a pulley and hook whose steel bearings slipped along a groove in the rail. Susan heard a metal click, but she was too weak to turn around. Suddenly she was moving, being pushed further down the corridor suspended on the runners.

With what energy she had left she managed to lift her head and study the large glass covered photographs that dotted the walls every few feet or so. The black and white prints depicted girls in various states of undress. Some naked, some actually taking their clothes off, while others were clad in tight rubber and leather, faces covered with masks, waists pulled tight.

One extra large frame contained a montage of pictures depicting a young pig-tailed girl being stripped by the black man. In the first, she was fully clothed with denim mini skirt and cropped top which Susan recognised as the clothes she had worn in the cab. She also wore long cotton socks and buckled sandals, which were removed in the next frame. The last picture showed the girl on her knees, her lips pursed around the black man's heavy, engorged prick.

Noticing her eyes darting from picture to picture, H flashed his latest capture a wide, now familiar, toothy grin. He winked. "Trophies," he whispered. "All my lovely trophies."

Susan realised that she too would soon be a trophy and mounted, though not necessarily on the wall. When the corridor opened out into a brightly lit room, she considered that time to be quite close.

"Here we are," said H. "My very own beauty parlour. Won't be a minute."

Before he went away he pushed Susan a few more inches until she heard another metallic click, this time quite loud. She tried to twist her body to see behind her and into the room, but it was no good. After so many hours suspended in the cuffs, she was just too weak.

"Curiosity killed the cat," joked H, returning with a plastic box that hung from the ceiling by a thick rubber cable. It was the electronic controller for a hydraulic hoist. "Now… let's get you smooth."

He punched a button on the controller and Susan felt the judder as the hoist began taking her across the room, the black man walking alongside.

"What are you doing?" Susan asked. "There's no need for any pain. I'll do whatever you want. You know that. You know that don't you? I've been with Jack and Lincoln and Bingo. None of them had any complaints. I was a good girl for all of them. You must know, they must have told you."

"A little discomfort," he grinned. "You must expect just a little discomfort. It will improve you, you see."

A loud clank signalled the end of the hoist's journey and Susan found herself suspended above a vat of hot wax.

Oh God, she couldn't stand that!

Not that!

She struggled and pleaded with renewed desperation.

"Whatever you say, I'll do whatever you say, I'll do anything, but don't put me in there!"

He just grinned.

Then he pressed another button and Susan began her descent.

"No!" she screamed again. She could feel the heat rising from the seething liquid. "You'll kill me!"

He stopped the hoist just an inch or two above the deadly brew.

"Fifty four degrees," he said calmly, through his ever present smile. "Hot, but not lethal." The motor started with the crack of an electric arc and Susan was lowered screaming and helpless into the molten wax.

Inch by burning sticky inch she was submerged. Past her toes, her feet, her knees. The wax swirled around her thighs, rushing into her female crevice and up to her navel before her descent was stopped. At the touch of another button, her body was lifted clear of the liquid, her bottom half coated in a rapidly hardening wax.

"Quite the human candle," H teased. "Shall I remove it?"

Susan nodded frantically.

"It might hurt."

She nodded again.

"And you won't have a hair on your body." He pressed another button and took her over to a shelf that held the wax removal strips. "Not one pube."

Susan was incapable of speech.

He pressed one of the small towels against her legs, then tore the strip off her and laughed as she yelled out in agony.

"Just a little discomfort. It's all in a good cause. Only another hundred or so to go!"

His favourite bit was always going to be around Susan's cunt, with her fat, pronounced labia. H paid special attention to her there, ensuring every hair was removed and her denuded cunt was as smooth as a snooker ball.

When he finished removing the wax he finally released her from the hoist. For a moment she was unsteady on her feet and her arms seemed fixed above her head.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much." That was something else she had learned. Always be grateful for the slightest kindness. It was all too easy to find yourself back in the cuffs or over a bench awaiting the strap.

"Into the shower." H led the way. "The hot water will get some life back into those arms."

As she followed him, Susan realised she was in what amounted to an upmarket beauty salon. It was a very bright room, tiled, with leather chairs that faced wash basins and mirrors along the walls. This huge black man with rubber pants and cock strapped to his thigh obviously fancied himself as a hairdresser!

"In you go."

The shower was fixed in the corner of the room and quite open, not that privacy was a consideration any more. As the water streamed down her body, H went to fetch one of the chairs from in front of the mirrors, pulling it across to sit and watch.

"A good soaping all over," he told her. "And I mean all over."

Susan took that as her cue to wash her private parts publicly. Turning to face him she made a big play of lathering her tits and saw the positive delight on his face when her hand dropped down to soap her newly smooth cunt. She could see from his anguished look that his strapped prick was giving him some problems. He had tied it down, while nature decreed it should stand up. It couldn't be a mistake on his part, he must find that the added pressure, the abstaining and the suffering, added to his pleasure.

Susan turned her back towards him and pushed out her bottom. His eyes immediately fell to her rounded cheeks, pounded by the hot water, steam rising from the rosy flesh. Her fingers appeared between her legs, covered in soap, seeking out her rose budded hole to clean away any wax not yet gone. He enjoyed that too, watching her exaggerated movements, the posed body and the willingness to please.