The Tribunal - Part 2

Under normal circumstances, his patronizing words would have set my teeth on edge, but in combination with the sedative, his steadying touch and soothing tone had an incongruously comforting effect and my latest spate of rebellion subsided quickly. He held my head between his hands a moment longer, then donned a stethoscope and started a thorough auscultation of my chest. He listened intently to my breathing for a few moments before sharing his findings with his expectant audience and pronouncing me ready for the next step.
“Clear and equal bilateral breath sounds indicate her respiration is unobstructed and direct visual observation confirms that the tube has passed through the vocal cords without a problem. To sum it up, her intubation is a success. Let’s proceed with her nose next, shall we?”

On cue, George picked up a pair of pincers sporting oversized handles. I dubiously watched him approach, instinctively trying to shrink back from the shining instrument when it drew near my face. With thumb and forefinger of his left hand he pressed my nose closed, causing the central rod transfixing it to stand out to one side and this yielded just enough space between the eyeleted nose wing and the conical cap at the rod’s end for him to bring the tool’s jaws to bear on the exposed part of the shaft. He grunted with strain while his knuckles whitened around the hand grips. Finally, the shaft gave way with a snapping sound, immediately followed by a sharp report when its severed end hit the far wall. George traded places with my Master, who slowly extracted the remainder of the cross bar and eased the liberated U-shackle out of my nostrils. For the first time in years I was free of its humiliating presence. Cross-eyed I peered down my nose, strangely unadorned except for the silvery grommets irrevocably embedded in my flesh.

“Son of a bitch! Look at this!” George exclaimed and offered the newly-jagged cutting edge of his pincers up for my husband’s inspection.

“That tool is been brand new. Now it’s ruined.”

“What are you complaining about? After all, you’re the one who choose the alloy for her restraints. I have to say, I’m kind of pleased with the result.” My husband pointed out.

Meanwhile, Maren had retrieved the missing end cone and amused herself by making the inlaid diamond twinkle in the bright ceiling lights. She gripped it between her fingers, making it look like the stone of a diamond ring. “Pretty!” she mused, glancing speculatively at my husband. He simply shook his head at her and stretched out his hand, pocketing her treasure along with its counterpart when she reluctantly handed it over with a melodramatic sigh. Even in my befuddled state, I noted her rebuff with satisfaction.

After this short byplay, my preparation continued ... with the insertion of the nasal tubes. One after the other was pushed up my dilated nostrils, sliding past the dividing cartilage and deeply into the sinus cavities, until only the threaded flange at the end of each tube projected out of my nose. The arrangement was an unpleasant one, but also one I had considerable experience with. Compared to the endo-tracheal tube I was still trying to accustom myself to, the nasal tubes only accounted for a marginal increase in my level of discomfort.

The same would probably not hold true for the giant gastric insert which constituted the next course on today’s menu of horrors. Given the option, I would have abstained, however, no matter how stuffed I already felt, this was yet another bitter pill I nolens volens had to swallow.

Prevented by the oral spreader from closing my aching jaws, I was helpless to deny the slick tube entry into my mouth. Due to the anaesthetic, the rubber folds’ smooth and slippery texture barely registered when the stomach balloon slid over my tongue.

“You know the drill. Start to swallow when it reaches the back of your throat.”

The faintly chemical taste from the surgical lubricant was a familiar one; reminding me that I had become an old hand at this whole tube-swallowing business and I knew I had no alternative but to comply with my Master’s command. I felt the insert’s rounded tip glide into the narrow part of my throat and began to swallow furiously. As it was going down, I was too busy to even think about gagging.

“Just keep swallowing. Yes, that’s my girl!”

By then, the huge tube was well inside me, and contrary to my earlier reservations I had no trouble tolerating the slight dilation of my oesophagus that it caused. Its descent continued until I felt a remote bump deep within my stomach. Next, I saw my Master connect a bulb with an attached pressure gauge to the pilot branch of the tube, then he opened its valve and gave it a few squeezes. Once the gauge’s needle had gone past the halfway mark, I began to experience a bloating sensation and at first, it was nothing more than a pleasant satiation, as if I had overindulged at some nouvelle cuisine temple (assuming such a feat was even possible). Gradually, the sensation became worse and soon, I felt like I had stuffed myself at the buffet of a mediocre hotel, then the feeling rapidly degraded, into something akin to the aftermath of an “All You Can Eat” dinner at some greasy, fast food joint. However, the bladder within my stomach continued to expand until it seemed to stretch my belly to the point of bursting! I was forcefully reminded of the infamous restaurant scene in Monty Python’s “Meaning of Life” and the fear of a real life re-enactment, with me as the unwilling protagonist, penetrated my drug-induced complacency. I started to struggle anew, batting my eyes at my Master to alert him to my mounting distress and mercifully, he stopped the inflation then allowed some air to escape so the induced gastric distension was reduced from near-bursting point to merely uncomfortable. I closed my eyes in grateful relief, allowing the sedative to drain the tension out of my body. The valve was closed and the bulb detached, leaving me with multiple tubes projecting from my wide-stretched lips and distended nostrils, all geared-up for the next act of my trials waiting in the wings. Meanwhile, he busied himself with dabbing away my tears.

“There, there. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now, we merely have to get the mouth filler in and the rest of your mask attached.”

Jacked wide open for the last half an hour, my jaws had begun to hurt in earnest and all I wanted was to get the whole horrid process over with, even if that meant allowing some kind of gag to occupy my mouth. After all, I was pretty used to that, and since I’d already lost my voice, what difference did it make? Consequently, I almost welcomed the oddly-shaped, rubbery mass that was brought to my lips next. Apparently constructed from a basic matrix of hard plastic generously dressed in resilient rubber, it was carefully-moulded to conform exactly to my oral cavity, providing deep grooves for my upper and lower teeth, a slot for my tongue, and a transverse hole going through its centre, ready to accommodate the twin tubes that emerged from my throat. Its surface was studded with shimmering, golden spots; these presumably being electrodes whose exact purpose I could only guess, but without doubt, would not care about too much.

Maren assisted my Master with the contraption’s insertion, alternately operating a syringe with some oily lubricant and a pair of needle nosed pliers to coax my breathing and feeding tubes through their narrow conduit, while he pushed its bulk deeper and deeper into my mouth. It took judicious manoeuvring on their part and some tongue wriggling on mine, but before long everything slipped into its preordained place. The spreader was disengaged at last and with profound relief I closed my jaws around the intruder now amply filling my oral cavity. It extended a little past my lips, forming them into a perpetually astonished ‘O’ around the protruding end fittings of the supply tubes that incongruously echoed my spacy mental state.

“Bite down hard! Harder!”

Gingerly, I did what my Master asked of me, my teeth sliding marginally deeper into their groves until they clamped down solidly on the gag’s unyielding core. At the same time, its compressed rubber sheath spread out and was sucked into even closer contact with my gums, expanding into their every nook and cranny.

“OK. Continue to bite down while I tighten your braces.”

The long end of an Allen wrench was slid into the pocket formed by my rubber covered teeth and my left cheek, where, after some probing, it found its matching socket. He twirled the tool until I felt internal jaws grip my upper and lower molars on that side. With each further revolution, my Master had to exert greater force while the hidden clamps tightened their grip on my teeth, until finally, with an audible click reverberating through my jaws, something snapped and the wrench spun freely again. He quickly changed sides and repeated the procedure. Experimentally, I tried to open my mouth, but nothing at all happened! I instinctively knew that even if I strained to spread my jaws all day long, my efforts would meet with exactly the same lack of success. Short of pulling my own teeth in the process, opening my mouth had been rendered utterly impossible! Some subdued part of me wailed in terror, slowly, but surely wearing down my shroud of imperturbability, then, with strangely disjointed pangs of apprehension, I watched the Allen wrench approach my lips for the third time.

‘What more can he possibly do to me?’ I wondered, more mystified than alarmed.

To my chagrin, I found out right away. This time, my master’s actions were aimed at immobilising my tongue. When he twirled the tool, it apparently caused bolts to descend through the grommets in the muscle into notches beyond, denying my tongue its last vestiges of movement and making it an integral part of my gag! Hence, I would be unable to expel the gagging device, even if by some miracle its iron hold on my molars was broken. He kept turning the wrench until the by-now-familiar snapping sound indicated that some internal mechanism essential to reverse the process, had been irrevocably broken. I flinched from the jolt of terror that pulsed through me, yet part of it got strangely redirected towards my loins!

My Master extracted the tool and straightened with a weary sigh.

“Maren, would you pass me her feeding mask and the adhesive, please? It’s time to wrap this up, preferably before the sedative wears off.”

George smirked.

“I second the motion. She’s been exceptionally compliant. I guess it’s just too good to last.”

Maren simply nodded in agreement and handed over the horrid, insectile mask and a large plastic tube. Before he fitted it to my face, my Master liberally coated its inner surface with some clear gel squeezed through the tube’s long nozzle. While he endeavoured to distribute the stuff evenly, he expounded.

“This mixture is quite talented for it combines a mild antiseptic with an adhesive, allowing the mask to bond securely to your flesh, while at the same time dramatically reducing the chance for skin irritation. It also softens the rubber so that it adheres to your face seamlessly, preventing chafing, even long after the original bonding will have broken down. Of course, by that time, the USD will have taken up the adhesive’s role, so it won’t matter anyhow.”

He brought the mask up to my face, taking care to accurately align the metal fittings on its inside with their counterparts terminating the tubes that projected from my nose and mouth. With some effort, he bent its rim back as far as the rigid inner core permitted while Maren busied herself making the required connections. After she’d completed her task, he pressed the mask firmly against my face and released the rim so that it latched onto my cheeks. They then jointly massaged it into a firm contact with my skin, until every last pocket of air had been painstakingly smoothed away. Its gel-coated surface felt cool on my skin at first, but warmed rapidly: probably a side effect of the bonding process, I thought with a slowly increasing clarity of mind. When I squinted down my nose, I could just see the ends of the numerous fittings that sprouted from its curved front, quivering at the edge of my vision.

It was horrible, I suppose, for now, the complete lower half of my face had vanished beneath a bizarre rubber snout, its drop shaped outline extending from the bridge of my nose to below my chin, which in turn was enclosed in a tight-fitting cup. Yet, weirdly, all I cared about was the spark of arousal that my inexorably increasing helplessness kindled and with desperate abandon, I focussed on the only palatable part of my current circumstances. Since I was powerless to change my plight, I might as well go ahead and make the best of it: savour it unashamedly, consequences be dammed, as only a thoroughly-depraved masochist like me could hope to manage. Or maybe that was just the drug coursing through my veins talking? My Master’s voice intruded into my thoughts.

“It’s your turn now, George. She’s all yours.”

“Thank you. I’ll start with her ears.” George replied.

He opened a small plastic bag and took out the corrugated, bar-shaped ear plugs, each with a pair of delicate golden pins sticking out from its outer end. These plugs were immediately dipped into an antiseptic solution before he inserted them one after the other into my ear canals. Despite their small size, they were surprisingly heavy, but facilitated by their flexibility and softness, the plugs slid in easily and he kept pushing gently until they came to rest against my eardrums. Both times, the sudden pain made me wince, which he thankfully interpreted as a signal to withdraw them fractionally. Their immediate vicinity to my tympanic membrane apparently constituted the plugs’ final location; because once having properly positioned them, he did something to their exposed ends which caused three ‘O’ ring segments along the length of each plug to expand dramatically, so that they became firmly and irremovably fastened into my ears. Concomitantly, all exterior sounds immediately became severely-muffled, although not to the point of absolute stillness as I had feared beforehand.

However, the ear plugs were only the first element of the ensemble destined to control my hearing. Complementing them were the domed cups for my auricles. On their insides, each dome featured a recess that closely followed the contour of the respective ear and together with a soft rubber flange around the rim, guaranteed an airtight seal. These outer cups were designed to slip behind the outer cartilage, which was accordingly tucked in tight from both sides and under the approving glance of my Master, George religiously applied the talented adhesive gel to all of the surfaces that were to come into direct contact with my skin before finally slipping the cups over and around my ears. It was a tricky manoeuvre, since he had to guide the ear plugs’ pins into their respective receptacles within the domes simultaneously, and it was a frightening testament to the meticulous planning and painstaking precision that had gone into the construction of the USD, that everything fitted in place without a single hitch.

The now-applied domes proved to be highly efficient in shutting out all ambient, external noise, for when I saw George make a remark to Maren that made her look at me and laugh, all I could hear was the panicky susurration of my own blood. I had taken another major step away from being the independent young woman I had once been, towards becoming a totally-controlled slave, now totally dependent on others for every last aspect of my existence. Perversely, that thought only served to stoke the fire that smouldered in my sex. However, I was not at the end of this road yet! Having my sight removed turned out to be the next stop on this terrible journey.

George picked up the bulbous goggles and coated their rubber gaskets with the adhesive gel in the by now familiar ritual, then bent down and brought them towards my face. The approaching goggles blotted out an ever-increasing arc of my field of vision and I was overwhelmed by the impression of falling into a bottomless black pit from which I would never rise again to see the light of day. At the last possible moment, I jerked my head violently forward and to the side, and although my movements were severely hampered by my collar’s fixation, my unexpected manoeuvre caught George by surprise. I felt my forehead brush against his fingers while he snatched them back with lightning speed reactions. Damn! I’d almost succeeded in knocking the goggles from his hands. If I’d been successful, it would probably have spelled the end of their sophisticated optics and put a serious kink in my tormentors’ plans. Looking up, I saw a red-faced and visibly-shaken George clutching his high-tech toys protectively to his chest. Despite my dire straits, his pose struck me as unbelievably droll. He noted the telltale twinkle in my eyes and started to rain a torrent of what I assumed were invectives down on me, but in his exasperation, it took him quite a while to realize that due to his own preceding actions, I could not hear a single word of his verbal abuse. He abruptly shut his mouth and turned to confer with Maren and my Master instead. Of course I could not listen in on their deliberations, but their gist nevertheless soon became clear.

My Master stepped behind and cradled my chin in the crook of his right arm, clasping my head between his upper arm and forearm while simultaneously pressing it hard against his muscular chest. He nodded to George who promptly began his second attempt to bestow his unwelcome and terrifying gift. I half-heartedly strained to break free of the iron grip that immobilised my head, but as expected, could not budge it an inch. With sick fascination I watched the goggles draw near again, then their soft gaskets were pressed with great firmness into the skin around my eyes ... and my world turned black. When that happened, something inside me gave way and I felt the tension drain out of my unconsciously straining muscles. In an all-too-short time, I had been rendered blind, deaf and mute! I’d made every effort and used every trick I could think of, but in the end I had not been able to change that outcome. Now, I paid the price for succumbing to my insatiable cravings for submission and slavery.

‘I guess it’s finally time to accept that my fate no longer lays in my own hands.’

Instantly, the heat in my loins was turned up another notch so that it was no longer a subdued simmering, but now matched the temperature of a very hot furnace rather. Clearly, I was onto something.

By now, I had become so lost in my own shrunken world that the next steps of my enclosure in the USD went by in a blur. I remember more of the cool gel being splashed onto my bald skull, and then carefully rubbed into the still exposed parts. The rear half of the USD was pushed against the back of my head, its rubber-cushioned interior sliding effortlessly over my smooth, gelled skin, then pressed firmly against it and held. The narrow, bottom edge collar of the USD slipped over my regular steel one, holding the half ovoid and thus my head, quite rigid.

Moments later, the front part followed suit.

To arrange for an exact fit, while at the same time establishing all the required connections, apparently proved a tricky business. My head was prodded, jerked around and yanked every which way for what felt like hours, before my tormentors were satisfied at last. Then suddenly, everything became a lot tighter when they squeezed hard to bring the two halves of the USD together. The dense rubber padding began to exert a firm, but not too strong pressure on every inch of my face and head and I had a vivid mental image of the stark metal orb enclosing it: the edges of its front and back part drawing inexorably closer. The gap between them steadily disappeared and my last bond to the outer world was slowly but surely, severed. My head became completely, rigidly held.


The first one was instantly followed by a staccato of others that I more felt than heard when they repeated from all around my head when the interior latches locked into their keepers and each vibration sent fiery offshoots to my loins, building up an enormous tidal wave of arousal! It continued growing until I felt my whole being swept up by it and tossed around in its wake. I strained against my restraints with a wildness I had not been able to muster before and any outside observer would surely have imagined me to be in the throes of desperation, while in reality, I writhed in the throes of unbridled passion. A stillborn scream attempted to tear itself from my throat, but still the wave would not break and my arousal climbed to unprecedented heights. I would gladly have given anything at all for the missing shove that would push me over the edge and grant me release from the unbearable tension, and even tried to buckle my hips within the chair’s close confines, in a desperate attempt to generate some friction. I’d forgotten the fact that my chastity belt alone was a reliable guardian against that kind of ploy.

’If only I had a way to reach, to touch my smouldering sex!’

Alas, I most certainly had none and so wept with frustration while my arousal gradually ebbed away, leaving me behind and now desperately fearful within the void of my new world.

I do not know for how long I was held back on this side, i.e. the wrong side of a monumental climax, but as the tension eased, I became marginally aware of my surroundings again. Nothing had changed. I had been left alone in the dark to ponder my plight for an indeterminate amount of time, but then, the up-to-now featureless blackness was suddenly broken by a string of symbols, floating eerily in front of my eyes. The circumstances might have been auspicious for some portentous words of heavenly origin, along the lines of: “Told you so, sinner!”, yet the goggles’ vendor logo and serial number struck even secular me as incongruously mundane. Anyway, they were quickly replaced by an avalanche of messages rushing past, culminating at long last in the plain, final line “System Ready.” These words remained for a few more seconds, before the image changed again: now I was looking down on my naked body, fastened to the bondage chair, my head enclosed within the USD’s almost featureless, gleaming shell. I was surrounded by my Master, Maren and George, the latter busy typing away on his handheld control unit. A moment later, a barely noticeable click indicated that my earphones had been activated as well; a fact promptly confirmed by George’s announcement.

“Telemetry link established. All systems nominal. Everything is going extremely well.”

“Excellent! She can see and hear us now, can’t she?” Maren inquired.

“Yes, I’ve routed the output from the camera over there to her screens.” He waved at me with an inane grin, or rather at the camera whose feed I watched.

Looking up at the indicated camera, my Master addressed me directly.

“Contrary to what you may believe, the USD hasn’t been locked for good ... yet. We need to conduct some further tests first and I want you to cooperate fully. Otherwise, it’s you who’ll have to live with the consequences. For the rest of your life, I might add, so make no mistakes!”

A surge of hope shot through me. Maybe there would still be a chance to avoid lifelong imprisonment in this infernal steel bucket, if only I convinced them something was seriously broken?

However, as it turned out, my chances of influencing the outcome of their trials were next to nonexistent. They made sure of the essentials first, thoroughly convincing themselves that they could ventilate me, feed me, rinse and drain bodily fluids from me to their hearts’ content. The second item on their agenda was to verify that the USD’s extensive sensor network was transmitting reliable vitals signs of its occupant. Unfortunately, they were none to particular regarding the methods they employed to produce the necessary physiological reactions and so I was heartily glad when that part was finally over.

Only then did they proceed to the USD’s secondary functions.

The next hour or so was spent going through its full range of options, and there were many. Its capabilities to deliver electric shocks of varying strength and duration to selective parts of my mouth or face alone were legion and I suffered through the small Hell of them all, knowing with terror that the awful sensations I was made to experience were just the smallest, beginning tastes of what could be done to me ... and would. The performance of the audio-visual equipment lived up to George’s boastful promises and more, but he insisted on an additional, inordinate amount of time dedicated to calibrating each and every aspect of their operation. I had to indicate acceptable settings by distinct eye movements, the goggles built-in eye-tracking capabilities providing a convenient and silent means of communication. Occasionally they hit a glitch, but nothing serious, and easily remedied by a minor firmware update, or so George maintained. When he finally declared that they’d finished the last point on his checklist, all of us were tired and worse for wear, especially me.

And then the moment I had dreaded since my Master’s earlier announcement arrived. They were going to irrevocably seal me in the USD! Out of nowhere, my arousal returned full gale and again, I was but a tumbling leaf before its terrible power, unable to heed any voice other than the howling of my own frantic lust.

The actual locking procedure had not deviated noticeably from George’s original design. He laid his hands around my throat and turned the USD’s narrow collar portion one way, until its markings aligned with those on the helmet portion and he could remove the long safety pin. Then, he slowly turned it the other way until he stopped when meeting with resistance ... and paused for a moment. With a deliberate twist of his wrists he pushed the locking mechanism over the first stoppage.


This time I heard as well as felt the sound reverberating through my body and soul. On the screen, I saw my naked, metal-encumbered body straining against it’s implacable restraints, my muscles and tendons standing out like taut ropes under my skin. It was a surreal out-of-body experience, aggravated by the noticeable delay between immediate sensation and accompanying image.

Then it was Maren’s turn. She took up George’s position and placed her slender hands on the fateful metal ring that closed off the USD at its bottom. I momentarily contemplated jerking my head around to break her grip, but decided against it. If I moved now, there was an excellent chance I would lock the USD onto myself. Maren raised her face to look directly into the camera when she, without showing the least bit of emotion, gave the collar another twist.


To me, the subdued sound thundered like a sonic boom and its shockwaves raced along my nerves, setting up resonances within the super-heated plasma permeating my vagina. I was a too-bright star, poised to go supernova at any time, but still, it had not been enough to set me off.

Naturally, my Master came last, for his would be the decisive act. The expression in his down-turned face was inscrutable when he clamped his strong hands around the locking ring, then stood motionless for a long time, not moving a muscle. What was he waiting for? Was he having second thoughts? Or, was he just giving me an opportunity to repent all the instances I had defied his will ... torturing me with false hope of salvation at the very last minute. As before, I quivered on the brink of a cathartic climax, the culmination of all the teasing, humiliation, degradation and pain and therefore unsatisfied lust and the unfulfilled longing I had been forced to endure during the last, endless weeks. I was a hair’s breadth away from the release I craved with every fibre of my body and it was inconceivable that I would be denied it a second time.

I could bear the dreadful tension no longer! With an almost involuntary twitch I jerked my head sideways.


Instantly, a barrage of further, muted clicks! erupted from all around my head. Their significance was not lost to me, but was entirely eclipsed by the triumphant ‘Yes! YES!!!” with which I greeted the gigantic, orgasmic avalanche crashing down and burying me under its immense weight. Wave after wave of pleasure suffused me in exquisite spasms and I shamelessly cried out my lust in attempted screams of rapture, bizarrely transmuted into soft whistles through my breathing tube. Even as my tongue and throat surged, their awful restraint systems clung to and dragged agonizingly on my captive flesh, adding even more to my endorphin and fear-filled arousal! It was a crescendo of ever-increasing ecstasy, effortlessly breaking down and grinding away all the inner reservations that had held me back from realizing my own true nature: I was a helpless slave to my own lasciviousness.

At last, the flood of pleasure receded and left my spent body behind on the shore of reality. For the longest time, I kept my eyes closed, deliberately shutting out what I did not want to face, continuing to bask in the afterglow of my incredible climax instead. It took endless minutes before the first slivers of rational thought penetrated my awareness. Instantly, the searing memory of my incredible folly dispelled the last traces of post-orgasmic bliss from my mind and I fell down the 10,000 metres deep chasm of the bleakest depression, knowing full well ... now ... that I was inescapably locked into my USD!

CHPTRS: 1 & 2 --- CHPTRS: 3 & 4 --- CHPTRS: 5 & 6 --- CHPTR: 7 --- CHPTR 8: - PT 1