Nusquam

For Kelly Devers it was a high paying job, offering her expertise and many years of medical experience to ensure the health and relative well being of the many masochists. Those who make the one time irreversible and irrevocable decision to offer themselves for the joy and pleasure of the sadist members of the secretive... highly secretive... organization.

Yes, it was just a job, Kelly Devers constantly convinces herself whenever reminiscing, recalling the many shackled, branded, pierced and chronically excoriated and whipped naked forms. Yet, deep within, beneath her facade of professional caregiver, she enjoyed as well. Within months of departing, Kelly found herself deviating from her intension of establishing a vanilla visiting nurse service, instead once again tending to the many Patty LaManges... those wounded by their own demented psyches.

Well, as the Director urged, Kelly will be very forthright in describing servitude at Nusquam. That there is no turning back, no changing of the minds for those selected to serve. She envisions Douglas, apparently anointed as the Administrator’s personal servant, and smiles in once again hearing the metallic pings as left gonad then right plunked into the waiting surgical basin.

‘All gone’, Kelly pleasantly sang, mother to helpless toddler, as she sutured closed his plundered scrotal sac. Curious how respectful he has always been to her... considering. And he truly has missed her... both her and his testicles.

Yes, there is no going back in becoming a Nusquam plaything.

Chapter Five

Kelly parks in the expensive Upper Eastside garage, checks her medical bag to ensure there is a measuring tape then grasps her digital camera. The swanky apartment of Patricia LaMange is across the street and she scurries, always finding herself a little behind schedule, the demands for her care and service endless.

The doorman wordlessly offers entry with a nod. He no longer inquires about Miss LaMange’s health. Still he is perplexed, his wealthy tenant receiving a variety of visitors daily and is herself rarely seen. But a monthly envelope stuffed with cash has ameliorated his curiosity. Kelly knows, she has twice delivered such at the behest of her well bound client, helplessly staring at her bedroom ceiling, the Segufix head restraint system obviating the slightest motion.

As the elevator whisks to the 30th floor penthouse, Kelly reaches for her key, wondering what she will encounter. Her daily visit... soothing clamped tender flesh, tending to wounds, massaging limbs long held in bondage, bathing as one would an infant... always begins with a surprise. To what torments has Pattie been forced to endure?.. forced by her own sick libido.

Yes the girl orgasms with noted gusto after submitting to the whims of a visiting sadist.

Kelly slips in the key and turns, the door yielding. She is greeted with the sound of a moan, low and long, emanating from the spare bedroom turned dungeon. She smiles, knowing that Pattie has once again indulged, her addiction demanding she regularly capitulate.

To the bedroom door, Kelly twists the doorknob and pushes, the hallway light illuminating the pitch blackness within, the room’s large picture window long ago boarded over.

As Kelly flips the light switch, there come a more earnest moan.

“Oh, Pattie, whatever have you been up to? Self bondage?”

Kelly first smiles with the sight then steps forth with concern. The afternoon visitor of masochist Pattie LaMange left her perched on the wicked horse, the leg muscles... thighs and calves... shaking convulsively, straining to protect the tender pink flesh of her mons from the most scabrous plank she is forced to straddle. A spreader bar, left ankle to right, forces apart her feet, clenched thighs not to offer relief.

Arms pulled behind, her tethered wrists are held high, mandating that the girl bend forward at the waist. She is gagged. Judging from the desperate attempts to swallow, Kelly has no doubt a penis gag is inserted deeply into her throat. And heightening the slow dull agony of exhaustion are teethed alligator nipple clamps with slim chains dangling beneath.

Pattie’s mammary glands, in being of size, always seem to attract attention. And Kelly quickly realizes that to the chains have been added weights... someone entertaining themselves by slowly and methodically adding to the breasts’ burden, no doubt taunting as the tender flesh endured ounce after ounce of added metal.

“Well, well, Pattie. You’ve had a long afternoon,” Kelly first sarcastically teases.

Then, as she puts aside her medical bag, Kelly realizes how dangerous is the game playing out.

What if she had failed to make this appointment? Car trouble... traffic... sudden illness... there are any number of things that could have happened that would leave Pattie in unending pain and potential long term damage to where a girl needs not to be damaged.

“Let’s get you off your toes first.”

Kelly is all too familiar with the mechanics of the horse. The upturned plank is connected to the wall by a hinge, its height easily raised or lowered, and held in place by an adjustable cord. The tending sadist thus selects in what mode and manner a girl will suffer, the higher the board the more the gruff edge abrades the tender cunt flesh and the more a girl must struggle on toes to protect herself from pain and harm.

Thus it is a simply matter to loosen the cord and in turn lower the board, bringing instant relief to muscles too long strained.

Kelly smiles in hearing the sigh as the girl’s bare feet find the floor, relieving legs about to succumb. Then she very carefully, one by one, removes the many metal disks from the dangling chains, each one slight but collectively bringing unbearable suffering.

Burden relieved, Kelly returns to her medical bag, a tube of special cream to extinguish nipples afire. She intentionally leaves in place the stifling penis gag, the expected cry of agony to be suppressed.

“Take a deep breath,” she forewarns, pinching open the left alligator clamp.

There comes a rush of air, followed by an attempt to scream, the gag veiling any vocal clamor which would alert the neighbors.

Though the suffering intense, Kelly knows the girl’s addiction brings the bizarre joy of masochism, for her nose detects the fragrance of a quim sopping with juices of lust. As her fingers apply soothing cream, suffused with lidocaine, she glances down to the lowered edge of the tormenting plank. It is wet, the viscous vaginal fluid evidencing that the girl’s ordeal has not been entirely objectionable.

“My, my Pattie, you have really enjoyed your afternoon. But perhaps it’s been too long an afternoon.”

The right nipple clamp follows, another attempted scream, more lidocaine applied.