Gone for Six

In fact, neither Jen nor Ariel could move very much - they were both completely under the control of Liz, who played them almost as if they were in the punishment chamber, gradually amplifying their arousal using the anal plugs and electrodes. They gazed passionately into each other's eyes as they experienced each other's mounting pleasure. Liz gradually slackened Jen's triple-chains, allowing her to bend forward toward Ariel, and eventually released Ariel's wrists, allowing them to fondle each other and kiss, while she continued to stimulate them herself. Ariel was being fucked by two tormentors at once, helplessly in love with Jen, deeply grateful to Liz, who shoved a mound of pillows under his back, raising him up to Jen, whose breasts and nipples he sucked and nibbled with lustful abandon.

Finally, just as they thought they would die in erotic desperation, Liz pushed them over the edge in perfect synchronizm. Ariel thrust and pumped, Liz forcing him to ejaculate his last drop, while Jen thrashed in pleasure above him. As their paroxysms subsided, Liz removed the pillows and rebound Ariel's wrists above his head, binding Jen's to them, then released Jen's ankles and bound those also to Ariel's. She spread and tightened them a bit, eliciting more moans of pleasure. Since Ariel's ring kept him hard, they would continue to enjoy one another while bound together wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle, further cementing their emotional bond. Liz set up gentle stimulation to keep them aroused, then left them alone with each other. Though neither of them came a second time, now and again they brought their lips together in a deep, passionate kiss, taking pleasure in their union above and below. But mostly they talked quietly about their lives, hopes, disappointments and accomplishments, the events they had shared, and those yet to come.

Liz left them that way for nearly an hour, about the most Ariel's ringed penis could safely stand, then came back in to release them. Ariel's and Jen's penultimate climax bound them forever in love; ineffable, invisible steel bands encircling them, tightened securely by Liz's affection and skill. Michael required no such ceremony - he and Jen had long known and loved each other intimately.

The remaining two days would be private ones for them at HOB - even Sara and Liz stayed out of their way. There was much embracing, deeply erotic at times, but little sex. I believe there may have been occasional tender couplings, exploring each other's sensitivities, but Jen was adamant; there were to be no more orgasms until Friday night. Ariel and Michael wore their suppressors to ensure compliance. They spent much of the time together in the living room, in quiet conversation, or Ariel playing the piano. His improvisations were ethereally beautiful, sometimes bringing tears to Sara listening from afar, but she did not pick up her viola to join him, even if he was alone - she was afraid she would fall too deeply in love with him. Once was enough.

For Jen, Michael and Ariel really were to be sacrificed, but to science, not to the sun. On Friday night they were bound and oiled much as Jen's story prescribed, and they did come simultaneously, submitting gratefully to Liz's skill. At the moment of orgasm their brain functions were arrested, allowing them to spend eternity together in mutual bliss. But there was no fire -- quite the opposite. Their bodies were quickly chilled and taken to the Neuroscience Institute, where they proved invaluable for further research.

Perhaps it would have been determined eventually, but the triple sacrifice gave a substantial boost to the work which allowed the scientific and medical world a collective sigh of relief. All are saved, it appears. While Hell is a theoretical possibility, the evolving memes that gave rise to the glories of human culture, the sordid realities of war, the lurid excesses of religion, the delights of human sexual experience, have, amazingly, also converged to ensure that we exit this world into pleasure, not pain. It should have been obvious -- how many people who return from a near-death experience report staring into the gaping jaws of eternal punishment, however durable those ideas are among the living? Perhaps those few returning souls gave the memes the probabilistic tilt they needed. Nevertheless, not all receive the same reward. Examination of their brains confirmed that Jen, Ariel and Michael ascended to the seventh heaven, to which we should all aspire. To die in the company of those you love, especially in sexual climax, is the best bet. If you want seventy virgins, you can have them, but you have to arrange for them beforehand, and be fucking all seventy when you go. Less greedy tastes are easier; it's up to you to make it happen. A good life, well lived, and the love of good friends go a long way. Everyone gets eternal peace, not such a bad deal. The three we loved got an excellent deal - would that we might all do as well, when our time comes.

On the night of their sacrifice Sara drove Michael and Ariel to the correctional facility, parking and entering as they had earlier in the week. A curtain was set up between the first row, which was reserved for JenLiz, and the rows beyond. The curtain was closed, ready to be opened when the show began, and an audience was gathering behind. Even normal punishments fetched a hefty price for a live seat; a JenLiz production off-hours was extremely rare, and very expensive, netting more than enough to cover the substantial price of the facility. This one was sold out. There were a number of JenLiz staff present, busy with preparations for what was to be an elaborate production. Sara hurried Michael and Ariel through the viewing theater - they had no desire to be seen ahead of time - into the corridor where they had previously been led by their wrists to punishment. She took each of them to a separate disrobing chamber. At Ariel's request, I edited the account he had written earlier that week of what he expected would happen, correcting only minor differences between what he imagined and what actually transpired. He did not anticipate his final private encounter with Jen; I pieced that together by examining the security feeds, which had been diverted to JenLiz servers, replaced by bland vacancy for the regular security guards. Here is Ariel's accounting.

Two takes me to one of the entry chambers where I first experienced my mounting excitement, facing the open collar, years before. At the door she helps me undress, except for my orgasm suppressor. Taking my clothes, she hands me a set of shackles and chains. With a little kiss, she opens the door I'm used to exiting towed by my wrists. I enter; she closes the door behind me. The scene before me is a little different from my previous experiences. The carriage with its pole is there, but it is at the other end of the small room, ready to push rather than pull me back through the door I just entered. There is no collar; the pole carries a horizontal bar about the height of my chest, with an open arm-shackle at each end. No instructions issue from a loudspeaker -- I already know what to do.

Unlike for a normal punishment session, preparation for this event requires real effort. This is my physical "assent form". I must place the shackles on my ankles, an awkward maneuver as there is no seat. The ankle shackles are joined together by a three foot long chain, but two other chains join it about a foot from the ends. These lead to wrist shackles, which each have two chains attached, one just a couple of inches long, the other a little longer. When joined together they will form a belt chain around my waist. I place the shackles on my wrists, then reach behind and join the two longer chains together behind my back. At this point I can slide my wrists through the shackles enough to join the shorter chains together in front -- the chain belt is rather tight, squeezing me in a little. The chain between my ankles is now lifted off the floor.

My wrists are bound at my sides, but I'm not yet in inescapable bondage -- I could, if I wished, simply slide my hands forward and unlatch the chain in front, undo everything and exit by the same door I went in. It would be acutely embarrassing, and a serious betrayal of my friends, but it's been emphasized that this must be my choice alone. A voice asks if I am really willing to go on. If I answer yes, I will still have to wait an entire minute before the next step. Of course I answer yes.

What an eternity a minute can be. Do I really want to do this? My life, including my possible future, scrolls before my eyes. I could live a few months longer, enduring further operations and experiencing my brain disintegrate. A few more months of life is tempting, but the loneliness and isolation of a vegetable existence looms large, and Jen's fantasy is intensely alluring, I made the decision weeks ago, I realize.

The minute finally ends, and I can complete my self-bondage. This is the moment of commitment, but it too requires some effort. I back up to the bar with the arm shackles, and try to get my arms in, but I can't move them together enough. I have to put one arm in, get its shackle to close, then squirm sideways to pull the other in, finally getting that shackle to close also. My wrists are now pulled tightly to my sides -- I cannot reach the front chain latch any more. All this is recorded; there's no mistaking my intent.

What a moment this is. As many times as I've fantasized about being bound for sacrifice, nothing can compare with the reality. Fear wells up, but I remind myself again why I chose to be here, that I could face the fear now, in the company of friends, or later, in demented loneliness. I struggle a little, testing the bondage -- my excitement intensifies. The door opens, and the carriage begins to move. A glorious helpless feeling comes over me as I'm forced forward by my tightly secured arms. As the carriage rounds the turn to the entrance to the punishment chamber, Six is waiting.

How else to express it -- I'm helplessly in love with Six. A delicate sheer sleeveless gown flows over her beautiful body from her neck to her ankles. Her long black hair, now tinged with gray, tumbles down behind. Underneath is nothing but Six herself, exquisitely shadowed, tantalizingly visible. She is not bound, and she stands her ground as the carriage pushes me forward onto her lips, her delightfully sculpted breasts touching, then pressing against me. She has her usual deliciously evil erotic smile, but now there's also tenderness and affection. As I melt into the thrall of her kiss my mounting tumescence presses into the diaphanous folds, seeking anew the delight I experienced just days ago. She squeezes me gently between her legs. The silky smoothness of her gown is excruciatingly arousing -- I feel my orgasm welling up inside as she removes the arresting band, but she skillfully arrests me herself. Brushing her hand over my intense erection she snaps a ring in place at its base - I will stay hard to the end. Gently releasing me from the bonds of her kiss she moves to my side and whispers "not yet. Come with me to paradise." Backing away, she places a mask with a gag over my face, buckling it behind my head, then latches a silver collar around my neck. Bending down she presses her lips to the faint marks of the X she gave me years ago, visible once more on my shaved chest, as they were originally created, as she passes the thin tube from the ring discreetly between my legs and connects it to the suppressor's plug. Once again I am secured erect and climax-proof.

She steps aside and the carriage pushes me through the door to the punishment chamber, stretching the invisible bond which ties me to my lover-queen with fierce erotic energy, like the steel band which punished me years ago. I see three poles set up, but they are just three feet apart -- I will be sacrificed close to my queen. The carriage presses me toward the furthest pole.

Previously the room has been hygienically, almost clinically spare, but not tonight. The set crew from JenLiz Productions has been busy and I could easily believe I was just dragged from the wagon at the top of the hill of sacrifice. It will not be difficult to stay in scene, as if I had a choice. The movable mirrors which will reflect the terrible rays onto my body are there, and in the distance I can see the huge parabolic mirror to focus them to blazing intensity. The real mirror of the front wall reflects an imaginary crowd gathered behind me -- but I know a real crowd is gathering beyond them in front of me. Two is here, dressed to kill, with her whip, prepared to keep the sacrificial victims in line. She is the priestess of the preparation of the sacrifice. Her bustier presses her ample breasts enticingly to the fore, with an Amazon warrior-like theme, continued in her tight, short skirt. A good deal of two is visible through this outfit, but she still exudes invincibility - I will submit to her authority.

I'm now in front of the furthest pole, rotated to face the center pole. Two previously placed a small rug where I'm now standing, and the carriage pole extends downward, forcing me to my knees, as Two pulls my legs out behind me. She latches my leg chains, giving my ankles just one foot of freedom, pulling the chains to my wrists through my crotch to attach them to my arm-binding rod behind. It is impossible for me to stand now. She attaches another chain to my collar, then to the punishment pole to which I will soon be bound. The carriage pole releases from my arm bindings and trundles away, leaving me kneeling to receive my queen.

Seven comes in, cock-ring-bound like me, a slight pre-cum dangling from his erection -- I know that Six greeted him similarly. I've grown to love Seven also in the last days, and feel only a little jealous -- Six has enough love to go around. Seven also is forced to his knees facing the pole Six will occupy, his chain now arcing to the third pole, to which he will be bound. The center pole has some fittings already; a pair of horizontal bars with shackles for ankles and wrists, capable of holding and displaying a victim in a spread-eagle X. Attached to the back of the pole, they angle slightly forward so the occupant will not be pulled back uncomfortably.

Six walks in alone, unbound and unmasked, the slinky translucent gown which just caressed me waving gracefully as she walks. This is the woman I met for the first time entering this very chamber with grace and poise, in bondage. The woman who earlier this week I observed in action from the other side of the glass. The woman whose searing anger I suffered under just days ago from the pole where I'll soon be bound again. The woman I longed for for years, then finally entered and enjoyed lustily. Hard as nails, yet soft as the gown wafting around her legs, her beauty and bearing are achingly erotic, gloriously human, heartbreakingly mortal; she passes Seven, turns gracefully and walks to the center pole, turning to face the front.

Six reaches behind her neck and unclasps her gown, which drifts down to her feet, exposing her magnificent nakedness. She takes a step backward out of the little pile at her feet as Two gathers it up. Opening her arms, she places her wrists in the shackles, which snap shut. Spreading her legs with a deftly erotic movement, she puts one ankle and then the other in the leg shackles, which bind her, spread and naked, stunningly displayed. Two walks behind and turns a handle on the upper spreader, moving it up the pole a little, stretching Six taut. With perfect choreography and execution, Six has bound herself for the sacrifice.

Two continues with Six's binding, attaching her securely to the pole with two steel bands around her chest. These cross each other between her breasts, while another band loops around her groin, a little above the elegantly trimmed triangle adorning her sex. She accepts the sacrificial mask with its internal gag -- hers is golden, and more elaborately decorated than Seven's and mine. Two attaches the back of the mask-gag to the pole, securing Six's head. There's a small hose which Two discretely connects to a box behind the pole, and I realize that there is a similar hose coiled out of sight behind my mask. The slightly uncomfortable dryness I'm experiencing will end when I'm bound, but with a shiver I remember that the hose has more than one purpose.

We remain in this position for several minutes. I long for Six as I gaze on her body, spread and displayed so lavishly, my ringed erection pointing to the queen I love so much. Seven is helplessly enthralled also, and Six is deep in revery, enjoying our worship, reviewing her life, relishing her erotic exposure, fearing what's about to happen. It's my turn to be bound to the pole.

Two walks over and releases the chains which hold me kneeling, then pulls on my collar chain, forcing me to stand. I'm tugged to the left pole and turned to face the front while my mask-gag is attached to the pole, securing me once and for all. The rod I knew from before descends from the ceiling and my wrist chain is attached. My arm-binding shackles are released and removed, and the rod ascends with my wrists, pulling them above my head. Two takes my right leg and pulls it sideways, attaching my ankle shackle to Six's. She takes a chain attached to the left wall and fastens it to my left ankle shackle, then tightens it pulling my legs tight apart to the full three foot length of the connecting chain. She raises the rod to pull me taut, then binds my chest and groin to the pole in the same manner as Six is bound. Walking over to Seven, she repeats the process, binding him securely to the third pole, his legs spread, his arms pulled up above him. She removes our collars. The viewers of the enhanced fantasy are not to imagine that we might be choked before the final agony.

All the sacrificial victims are now spread and stretched, on display to be examined by all, to confirm that the sacrifice is acceptable. We stand this way for several minutes, while Two goes out, returning with our saddles. Six's foot wiggles over to touch mine -- what a generous gesture! "Not long now," I hear her whisper through her gag.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I love you too," Six whispers back. I overhear a similar exchange with Seven.

The saddles are the principle instruments of our sacrifice, the same device used for my first punishment session. Seven is prepared first. Removing his orgasm arrestor plug, ready to perform that service herself if necessary, Two attaches his saddle to the pole and raises it up, sliding the lubricated penetrator into his anus, pressing the saddle firmly against his crotch. His erect penis stands out in front. She slides the sleeve which will force his orgasm into place and latches it to the saddle, discreetly connecting its tubes and wires to a control box behind him. Seven groans and squirms a little. She attaches an arm-binder to the back of the pole, and the rod brings his wrists down, pushing his elbows behind him, allowing her to secure his upper arms, spread a little away from his body, to the binder. She secures his wrists together below, and to the pole. Seven is now fully bound above, but still spread below. Two unlatches the shackles from his ankles and raises his pole, leaving his legs dangling in the air, but not for long. She fastens a steel band around his ankles, securing them to the pole, then adds similar bindings around his knees and thighs. Seven is now bound erect to the pole in shining steel bands.