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Wip - Women In Peril

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This inspires a couple of stories.

I'll call the first one "The Sanctimonious Sanctioned."

The Company was a specialist BDSM website. It was perhaps the most successful BDSM website, so much so that it hard started to sell hard copies of its shoots to compete with vanilla porn from the valey.

The Company was located on the California Coast, in a big castle, complete with dungeons, that had belonged to a now long-dead silent era/Golden Age of Hollywood Mogul.

The Company had several subsites for several permutations and combinations of almost every fetish imaginable. On any day of the week, there were several shoots going on simultaneously in the Castle.

But, this morning was different. All the cast and crew were gathered round the wide-screen TV in the break room, listening attentively to a live news broadcast. Listening most attentively were Brittany, a hot red-headed ace camerawoman in her early thirties and Zoe, a cute blonde administrative aide par excellence in her late twenties.

The news story concerned a mega church pastor who had been an avowed enemy of the Company, maintaining his career and his following with his vows and various legal schemes to destroy it. The story was that the pastor was just arrested by the IRS on several charges of fraud.

"The pastor has followers all over the world." the newsreader declared. "He also has untold millions secreted away which the IRS has been thus far unable to find."

"Well, well, well!" began Mary, a cute, short-haired blonde in her late thirties who was the Company's principal Director and a domme. "The pastor fell in the well!"

"Yep!" replied Alison, a Senior Director and a domme in her mid-thirties with long, curly black hair. "I'm wondering about his followers and those untold millions..."

"Indeed!" commented Mary, "I mean, with all his eternal wailing against us, you would figure the pastor would have tried to infiltrate us..."

"You mean..." asked Alison, with just a tad of sarcasm in her voice, "that some of our performers could be his spies, gathering info on us secretly?"

"No...not at all...his followers are too much into the pastor's Kool Aid to be performers...but they would have come to us highly recommended as support staff..."

"Oh, I get it!" declared Allison, "You mean like someone who would have almost complete access to our server...or someone who would have a lot of access to our shoots?"

"Yeaaah....exactly!" confirmed Mary as she swivelled her seat around, away from the flat screen TV and towards the Company's cast and crew."

At this point, Brittany and Zoe were extremely uncomfortable. It was the more fragile Zoe who cracked first.

"Okay! We did it! Brittany and me!"

"Zoe, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" yelped Brittany.

"He....he made us do it!" pleaded Zoe, seemingly not having heard Brittany.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" responded Mary contemptuously, "My dear, don't you think we had you figured before you walked into your first interview?"

At this point, the news channel disappeared from the flat screen tv, replaced by a still photograph showing a younger, bespectacled, different-hairstyled Brittany and Zoe standing right next to the pastor."

This time, even Brittany did not protest her innocence. She and Zoe slowly backed away and turned towards the door...only to find them blocked by two burly lezdoms.

"Actually..." began Mary, "You two are free to go. But we want to make you an offer first.

"You see, we could let you go...and report you to the IRS, showing them all the video surveillance and server access logs we have on you in the process of committing industrial espionage, accompanied, of course, by that nice photo of you two and the pastor."

Brittany and Zoe both got goosebumps at this suggestion. They knew that juries did not take kindly to people accused of fraud and industrial espionage in the post-2007-2008 era.

"Or, you can let us have our retribution in-house, and then be on your merry way."

"No!" shouted out Brittany. "You'll probably strip us both naked and then make us the stars of snuff films!"

Mary rolled her eyes and sighed. Then she began to patiently explain things.

"Snuff films only exist in writers' imagination, dear Brittany. You have shot how many scenes for us? You know often we stop a scene when a model expresses the slightest hint of discomfort. And, if we were going to make you star in a snuff film, don't you think we would have done it by now to send the pastor a message?"

There was something in Mary, perhaps in the calm and mature wisdom of her voice, that had an effect on both Brittany and Zoe, stopping them in their tracks.

"So..." began Zoe, breaking the long silence, "What do you propose?"

Mary nodded to the lezdoms blocking the door. The lezdoms seized Brittany and Zoe and manhandled them to another room, where two more lezdoms helped them strip Brittany and Zoe despite the latter two's struggles.

The four lezdoms then took the two, now-thoroughly naked, spies to a third room. Before Brittany and Zoe could realize it, they were bound, each other's ankles to each other's wrists. The bindings were tight but not uncomfortably so. Brittany and Zoe initially felt chills at their sudden nakedness, but now the room temperature was not a major bother.

No, what made Brittany and Zoe so extremely uncomfortable was the fact that their being binded each other's ankles to each other's wrists had forced their labiae and clitorises in proximate contact with each other in the tribade position. So uncomfortable was this for them that they did not realize that they were on a glass trapdoor.

"Are we comfy?" Mary's voice interrupted Brittany and Zoe's impotent struggles to avoid the lesbian contact that they had been taught was the sin of all sins.

"Good!" continued Mary on the microphone behind the looking glass wall.

A whirring sound suddenly started below the human pretzel that was that bound, naked Brittany and Zoe. Both of them twisted their necks around for a look, but could not quite see what was below them.

"You see..." continued Mary on the microphone, "We here, believe in science. That is how we learn. That is how we learned, for example, that the explosive orgasm that comes from two lesbians tribbing creates a powerful form of electromagnetic energy, an energy so powerful that it can hold the trapdoor underneath you shut.

"But, energy is finite and there needs to be a renewal source. The energy that is keeping the trapdoor shut will run out shortly."

A robotic woman's voice began counting down minutes and seconds.

"Lucky for you, " continued Mary, "the room you are in is wired to harness the explosive energy of a tribade-derived orgasm, and it will keep the trapdoor shut.

"The only thing is, you both have to trib and orgasm, or the energy will run out, the trapdoor will open, and you both shall fall into a four-feet deep tank of nerf balls that are bouncing around, thanks to a sufficiently strong current of air being passed through them..."

"You BITCH!" snarled Brittany.

"I can understand Brittany's response, Zoe." declared Mary, "She has filmed a lot for us on our tickle torture website. And she knows that tickling is an infinitely worse torture than even electricity. Imagine being tickled all over you body by scores of nerf balls....well, ladies, the clock is ticking..."

Zoe pulled her crotch down on Brittany's.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING????" screamed Brittany.

"Not getting tickled." replied Zoe as her labiae and clitoris began to frot Brittany's.

After several high-volume curses and threats of eternal damnation, Zoe's continual frottage had involuntarily aroused Brittany...and she began to frot Zoe.

Both women had simultaneous supernova orgasms. The robotic woman's voice counting down the remaining seconds stopped...then started again.

"What THE FUCK????????????" exclaimed Brittany.

"No, no, no! You don't get off that easy!" responded a smiling Mary. "You don't want to get thoroughly tickled, you know what you have to do..."

Brittany and Zoe frotted to another powerful orgasm. They did this two more times. Then, on their fifth try, they just could not orgasm in time.

The trapdoor open and the bound Brittany and Zoe fell. The nerf balls cushioned their fall, preventing energy. Then the powerful air current moved other nerf balls to the top. Soon, the naked pretzel that was the bound Brittany and Zoe were submerged screaming in a turbulent ocean of nerf balls propelled by the air current. Mary watched and smiled and did nothing to stop the process, despite both women's screams for mercy.

Eventually, both women passed out from sensory overstimulation. When they came to, they were still bound each other's wrists to each other's ankles. But they were in a different room, and they could see the lower ends of Mary's thigh-high black, shiny vinyl boots.

"Have we learned our lesson?"

"Fuck NO!" shouted out Zoe, "That was too much fun! Let's do it again!"

"ZOE YOU FUCKING BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCCCCHHH!!!!!" screamed Brittany.

The naked pretzel that was Zoe and Brittany bound, each other's wrists to each other's ankles, went through the process several more times that day. And they day after. And the day after that. And they day after that...

When Mary called a halt, both Zoe and Brittany were crying and apologizing and begging profusely for forgiveness for their transgressions against the "fine people of the Company."

Mary smiled.

Both Zoe and Brittany were then introduced to the Company's subscribers as "Support staff who wanted to perform." Both went on to do several spectacularly well-received scenes for the Company, becoming among the Company's most-requested models.

No one ever found the pastor's untold secreted millions. No one in the Company cared because they were all just too happy with the outcome of this situation.
 
Second story inspired by this thread. I'll call this one "Adapted Navy SEAL BUD/S Training."

The Secretary of Defense had just ordered all the services to fully integrate women into combat MOS's. The Admiral commanding the SEALs and his Command Master Chief did not know what to do. They knew that there were just some things a woman cannot do like a man. They reached out to a senior Naval Intelligence officer and a Senior Master-At-Arms, both women for their input as to how to integrate women into BUD/S training.

"It is true that most women cannot match men in upper body strength," said the Naval Intelligence Officer, " but, as Iraq and Afghanistan showed us, women can shoot well enough under stress to get a Bronze Star with V Device. There may be other, unique ways of testing female candidates' mental toughness..."

"Such as?" asked the Admiral.

"I have a few ideas..." responded the Master-At-Arms, a burly female resembling the central casting warden of a women's prison.


The first female SEAL candidates started BUD/S training. When it came time for Hell Week, they were separated from the male candidates and handed over to female Masters-At-Arms and Marine DI's.

These first female candidates, a group of thirty in their early twenties that contained a normal distribution of blondes, brunettes and redheads, all cute in the face, were then screamed at to strip. They complied. They were then marched into a room and ordered to sit in wooden chairs which had straps attached to their arms and legs, straps the MAA's and DI's then securely fastened, holding each female candidate tightly in place.

The MAA's and DI's then shoved specialized dildoes into each candidate's pussy.

"The dildo you have in you," began the head MAA "is special. On first contact with your vaginal fluid, it becomes active. When your vaginal fluid reaches sufficient concentration, it releases red hot chili powder."

With that, a wide-screen TV came on in front of the strapped and dildoed candidates. Footage of hot firemen models washing their trucks bare-chested alternated with footage of Chippendales dancers doing their things and, for safe measure, footage of cute lesbians lovingly caressing, kissing and licking each other's naked body.

The thirty female candidates struggled on two fronts, one against their massive arousal, one against the MAA's and DI's screaming at them to "RING THAT BELL! TELL ME YOU WANT TO RING THAT BELL!" at them continuosly.

Several of the thirty female candidates could not master their arousal. An explosion of chili powder seemingly burned at ate away at them from the inside. These candidates screamed at this unspeakable agony. The MAA's and DI's screamed at them to "TELL ME YOU WANT TO RING THE BELL!"

But not one candidate screamed she wanted to ring the bell and thus quit the program.

Eventually, the head MAA decided that this had gone on long enough. The flat screen tv went blank. The candidates were unbound. Then the MAA's and DI's screamed at them to hustle to the exit at the left of the room.

The thirty female candidates entered another room, this one filled with thirty doctor's examination tables.

"MOUNT THOSE TABLES, BITCHES!" screamed the head MAA. The thirty candidates complied.

"NOW, ON YOUR KNEES AND BEND OVER!" The thirty candidates complied.

The thirty candidates gasped in shock as they felt enema nozzles suddenly and rudely thrust into their anuses and inflated. They groaned as they felt their innards fill up, after which the nozzles left their anuses.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THIS IS? A SICK CALL? GET ON YOUR FUCKING FEET!"

Slowly, the thirty candidates complied.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE! MOVE TO THE NEXT ROOM! DOUBLE TIME!"

The thirty candidates did as instructed. The cold of the shiny metallic floor of this next room sent chills up from their bare feet through their naked flesh to their spines, aggravating the discomfort they felt holding in their enemas.

The MAAs and DIs had now entered the room.

"EXERCISE TIME!" roared the head MAA "You bitches are going to do jumping jacks if you want to be SEALs. You will notice the shiny metallic surface of the floor beneath you feet. That surface is an electrical conductor. If you spill that fluid you have up your asshole, your little feetsies will get quite a shock when they come down. Any woman who does NOT continue doing jumping jacks gets cut. NOW JUMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


The thirty female candidates began to do half-hearted jumping jacks. The head MAA was not impressed. She threatened to turn the floor's electricity on full blast if she did not see "REAL" jumping jacks. The thirty candidates complied.

But not all of them could hold in the enema solution. Sparks burned and the bare soles of their feet. The well-booted MAAs and DIs screamed at them to "TELL ME YOU WANT TO RING THAT BELL!" But not a one of the thirty candidates gave in.

"STOP!" screamed the head MAA. "OKAY...ALL of you...open your sphincters...NOW!!!!!!!"

The thirty candidates complied. To their great surprise, not a one felt an electrical shock on the soles of her feet. The electricity had been turned off.

"YOU WANT TO BE SEALS AND YOU LEAVE ME A MESS LIKE THIS?" roared the head MAA before the thirty candidates could express their relief. "I WANT THIS FLOOR DRIER THAN A MARTINI...IN TEN MINUTES!!!!"

"But..." started one of the candidates, "how do we..."

"You ADAPT and OVERCOME YOU USE WHAT YOU HAVE!"

The thirty candidates were too overcome with stress and pain to figure it out. The MAA let out a sigh that sounded like a roar.

"YOU WERE ALL ISSUED A MARK ONE SPONGE AT BIRTH!"

This produced no response.

"IT IS LOCATED IN YOUR MOUTH! Now, I am DONE holding your fucking hands! IF THIS FLOOR IS NOT DRY AS A MARTINI in TEN FUCKING MINUTES, you are ALL BOOTED FROM THE PROGRAM!!!!"

Ten minutes later, the floor was, indeed, dry as a Martini. How much longer it would remain so was open to question as all the candidates looked like they wanted to puke.

"Nice! VERY nice, ladies!" commented the head MAA. "I think you have earned yourself a nice cleansing swim. Double-time to the next room!"

The thirty candidates complied. They saw before them an Olympic-sized pool. But it was not filled with water. It was filled with nerf balls, lively and bouncing around thanks to air currents being blown across the breadth and depth of them.

"WHAT? YOU WANT TO BE SEALS BUT YOU CAN'T SWIM?" roared the head MAA. "GET IN THAT FUCKING POOL AND SWIM TO THE OTHER END IF YOU WANT TO BE SEALS!"

The thirty candidates complied. They screamed as the air-propelled nerf balls tickled every inch if their exposed flesh. In turn, the MAA's and DI's screamed at them "PLEASE RING THAT BELL!" Many in the first row of candidates puked, forcing the successive waves of candidates to deal with, not only the horrible tickling blizzard of the air-propelled nerf balls, but the disgusting smell and touch of another woman's puke, which, in turn, caused them to puke, which, in turn, caused the succeeding wave to puke.

But none of the candidates cried out to ring the bell. All made it, many with puke all over their bare flesh, to the other end of the pool.

All thirty female candidates graduated Hell Week and BUD/S. They became the US Navy's most valuable intelligence assets, penetrating the ranks of America's deadliest enemies, stealing their secrets and allowing the rest of the US military to destroy these enemies.
 
I sense peril here!

Captured.jpg
 
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Number 1 has a literal Iron Maiden.

Number 5 has that Sheena Queen of the Jungle and The Further Adventures of Tennessee Buck vibe to it. It also reminds me of Wilbur Smith's novel Cry Wolf wherein a Western reporterette is captured by cannibals. She is bound. Then two cannibal women slice away at her clothes. Eventually, they run out of clothes to slice, but their knives are still thirsty...
 
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