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The Story of Harvey - part 6
The sun shone down relentlessly upon the shimmering sands of the desert. The
sparse vegetation wilted in the scorching temperature and the ancient rocks
scattered across the undulating landscape were like fire to the touch. A few
nomads and travellers braving the barren wilderness trudged wearily on their
way, heads bowed in the oppressive heat. It would seem that few would choose to
live in this inhospitable corner of the world.
There was one however for whom this was an ideal place to call home. The
undisputed and, some would say despotic ruler of the tiny, little-known but
oil-rich kingdom that went quietly about it's business and kept out of the
headlines often created by bigger Arab countries.
The Sheikh was rich. Very, very rich. Rich enough to live however he chose.
Rich enough to live in supreme comfort in a desert palace boasting every luxury,
but at the same time rejecting a "normal" lifestyle in keeping with his
position.
For the Sheikh had an obsession. This obsession involved attractive ladies, and
it involved extreme cruelty. And the combination of wealth, absolute power and
isolation gave the Sheikh the freedom to indulge his strange fantasies to the
full.
Desert heat was not a problem within the Sheikh's luxurious palace. The whole
complex was air-conditioned throughout and built to be totally self-sustainable
throughout the seasons. Some way from the main buildings was the generator room,
constantly producing the electricity needed to keep the palace functioning.
Harvey and his companions had been invited to inspect the premises, having been
assured by their guide Khaled that they would find it interesting as the Sheikh
used a very unusual power source for the generators. He used women.
They made their way to a long, white-painted single story building with no
windows. A steel door slid open at the touch of a button. The first of Harvey's
senses to react was that of sound; there was the loud hum of cooling equipment,
the whirring of electrical switchgear, and the moans of females in distress.
Lighting levels were relatively low but sufficient. What was most noticeable
though was the heat inside the building. Even though air-conditioning was
operating, the temperature and humidity were uncomfortably high.
A walkway ran the length of the building adjacent to each wall, along one of
which Khaled now led his guests. The walkway was sunk about half a metre below
ground level. Alongside on the main floor area a number of lightweight aluminium
pillories about a metre long were set on steel posts, through each of which
protruded a woman's head. The two halves locked together preventing the head
from being retracted. Unlike a normal pillory arrangement the wrists were not
imprisoned in the same way, but merely tethered by short chains which ran
between the crossbeam and a pair of wrist cuffs.
A well padded narrow platform bolted just below the neck hole ran the length of
the pillory and afforded a degree of comfort, as both head and arms could rest
on this support.
The lowered walkway meant that the heads were at eye-level with the onlookers;
Harvey counted six in all. Each head was fully enclosed within a tight black
rubber hood, cut away only at the nostrils and around the mouth. Small radio
receivers in each ear doubled as earplugs, thus depriving the wearers of sound
as well as sight. Immediately in front of the mouth was the end of a length of
small plastic tubing running from a container of drinking water mounted on a
nearby stand.
From their position the guests could see that the women's bodies, which were
held in a bent-over position, appeared to be encased in the same suffocating
black rubber - but not quite. Their breasts were pushed through twin holes in
the front of the suits, each tightly bound at the base with a strong rubber
strap to which a cord was attached. This cord ran from one strap, down through a
small ring set somewhere below and back up to the other strap. The breasts were
thus held in tight restraint, rendering any movement of the upper body area
painful in the extreme. Harvey was quite astonished that the women were made to
wear the stifling rubber suits in such an environment; he realised that the loss
of body fluid through perspiration meant that the constant water supply was
vital.
All the women appeared to be gasping or panting with exhaustion, and Harvey
guessed that they had recently completed some arduous task. The heads shook and
quivered with fatigue and an undulating chorus of groans and whimpering,
interspersed with bouts of sobbing greeted them as they filed along the line.
Khaled told the guests that these women formed part of a newish batch, a mix of
Europeans and Americans freshly lured to the palace with bogus adverts promising
rich rewards for work in modelling and fashion or other business opportunities.
Well-educated ladies carefully selected for their sophistication, good looks and
superb figures, they were now having to come to terms with the unpalatable fact
that they would have to endure their present predicament for the remainder of
their lives. Harvey could only speculate on how long this would be.
The group learnt that the women were made to work for two hours at a time, with
thirty minutes rest between sessions (they were in fact in the middle of one of
these rest periods). This was judged to be the most efficient work/rest ratio;
anything more arduous and they would be unable to continue through sheer
exhaustion. Unfortunately, many were unable to maintain this punishing schedule
in the stifling heat of the rubber suits, and encouragement was frequently
needed. The listening men wondered what exactly the task was, but guessed that
"encouragement" in this context meant the inflicting of considerable pain on the
luckless females.
Each day at sunset, or if incapacitated the women were taken to the "recovery
room", a separate dormitory where uninterrupted sleep was allowed during the
night. One hour first thing each morning was set aside for feeding and washing
by staff specially assigned to these duties. However, the person now introduced
to the group by Khaled was in overall charge of the women and described as their
personal attendant. Her name was Helga; a tall, thin middle-aged white woman
with cruel hawk-like features. She smiled at the guests and gave a polite
greeting in a pronounced German accent, but her eyes remained cold. More than
one guest concluded from her looks that she must be both a lesbian and a sadist.
Helga wore a white cotton blouse with black trousers and black knee-length boots
- hardly suitable for this heat, thought Harvey. A belt at her waist held a
two-way radio linked to each of the captives' earpieces; through this she could
instruct the women either individually or all together. There was also a small
black box connected to a metal probe on a length of curled flex. Harvey realised
that Helga must be responsible for providing any necessary "encouragement" and
knew that such a probe was designed to give electric shocks from very mild to
near-fatal. It was all a matter of preference.
There was a second person sitting nearby, an elderly male. "A lecherous old
bastard by the look of it" thought Harvey to himself as he glanced at the Arab's
dark-skinned, wrinkled face and the grinning mouth which lacked more than a few
teeth.
Further details were forthcoming from the guide. Moving next to the nearest
woman, he pointed out that her hand was sufficiently free to reach a small
button fixed on the beam. This alerted the attendant to the fact that a woman
needed to relieve herself, be it liquid or solid waste. This is where Abdul, the
gapped-tooth one came in; he found pleasure in carrying out such chores. He
would bring appropriate vessels to catch the waste and ensure the women were
fastidiously cleaned, washed and powdered afterwards. Harvey reflected that this
process must be especially degrading for them to endure. It was essential though
that they did not leave it late to consider their bodily needs, as they were
allowed to go only during rest periods. Woe betide any who had an accident
whilst working.
While Khaled was speaking, the woman concerned suddenly sensed the presence of
the men. Although weak with exhaustion, she desperately attempted to make
contact.
"W-Who is it? P-please help me-I can't take any m-more! W-Who's there? Will
somebody help me? Whoever you are-please let me go-get me away from here-I'll do
anything-please-PLEEEEASE!" Her voice rose to a hysterical wail and she broke
off, unable to continue, and began weeping uncontrollably. Tears rolled down the
inside of the rubber hood, adding to the sheen of perspiration already there.
"Please forgive this ridiculous outburst!" said Helga to Khaled and his guests.
"I will make sure she learns to hold her tongue!" She patted the rubber-clad
head with mock affection but otherwise took no action for now. Khaled suggested
they move to the rear of the women. "My friends" he said with a smile, "I have
no doubt you are most curious to learn how our ladies perform their task!"
Harvey, like all the others was indeed intrigued to know exactly what was
required of the six captive females. The group reached the end of the building
where the walkway crossed to the other side, allowing them to retrace their
steps behind the women. Each was bent over an adjustable, padded saddle-like
device, it's sides curving upwards to ensure the occupant was securely held. The
height-adjustable pad beneath each woman's stomach forced each shapely back into
a concave curve with hindquarters elevated high in the air. Harvey now saw that
the restraining devices were actually a single unit. The pillory stand curved to
a horizontal plane at just above floor level, and up again to form the holding
saddle. The breast ring was mounted on this tubular frame and the whole thing
had additional steel outriggers on which were small tyred wheels, enabling the
unit and it's restrained occupant to be conveniently wheeled in and out of the
building.
As the guests had rightly concluded, the womens' bodies were almost totally
encased in skin-tight, shiny black rubber that clung to them like a second skin.
However, not only the breasts were left unconstrained by the rubber. Once the
men reached the rear walkway, it was seen that all the suits had a cut-out oval
between the base of the spine and the top of the thighs, ensuring the womens'
intimate areas were totally exposed. A light-hearted addition of a delicate
white lace frill around the edge of the cut-out contrasted with the harsh black
rubber, and accentuated the femininity of the jutting posteriors framed in the
oval. Naturally, the feet were locked into black patent court shoes with
skyscraper high spiked heels which were compulsory attire for all captive
females inside the palace. Again, the depression in the walkway afforded a
convenient eye-level view of the line of helpless, upthrust hemispheres which
quivered enticingly inches from the faces of the fascinated onlookers.
The guests looked along the line taking in the scene before them and, with
Khaled providing the commentary, now understood what was required of the
captives. Their spike-heeled feet had to push down on a pair of iron treadles,
one treadle lifting as it's partner was depressed. These were attached to rods
running down beneath the floor which, by a system of belts and gearing, rotated
a steel shaft running the length of the building. This in turn produced via a
generator enough electrical power to run the facilities within the Sheikh's
palace (a petrol-driven generator was available as a back-up if the need arose).
Although the system was somewhat antiquated in design and construction, it
worked perfectly satisfactorily especially with the abundance of "pedal power"
to drive it. However, the position the women were held in, with their raised
hindquarters limiting the amount of leverage their legs could exert, made it
extremely difficult for them to operate the treadles for any length of time
before aching calf and thigh muscles became a severe problem.
Suddenly, a buzzer sounded. It was time to continue! The attendant rose from her
seat, flicked a switch on her radio and gave a curt command. Almost in unison,
the six women pushed a shapely leg wearily down onto it's treadle. The other
treadle moved upwards as the first was depressed, and the slow but relentless
rhythm began. Up....down....up....down....up.... down....up....down went the
treadles accompanied by the muffled creaks and clanks of hidden machinery, as
six pairs of already aching legs resumed their endless marching on the spot in
the production of electrical power for the palace.
The group strolled along the rear walkway. Shapely upthrust buttocks jiggled
helplessly before their eyes as the women forced the treadles up and down. The
minutes passed. From the front came the occasional sound of sobbing or groaning
as the stringent effort once more took it's toll. Now and then a woman would beg
tearfully for release from her predicament, which of course was a futile
gesture. No amount of crying and pleading would make the slightest difference to
their plight.
Harvey moved closer to the rear of the nearest woman, the one who had pleaded
with them some time earlier. A laminated information card proclaimed her to be a
Miss Valerie Carter-Finch, a successful 24 year old London fashion designer. A
small photograph of her face affixed to the card showed a smiling, confident and
very attractive young lady with long blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders.
Now she wanted to die. She had lost all hope, shoulders heaving as she sobbed
silently into her hood, rubber-clad legs in stiletto heels trembling with
fatigue as they worked the iron treadles. The quivering moons framed in their
circle of delicate lace were inches from Harvey's face, each shiny with
perspiration and exuding the scent of expensive perfume mixed with natural
odours. As had happened so often over the last few hours, he felt his erection
hardening with the pleasures on show before him. Deep between the wobbling
posteriors the tight puckered ring of Ms Carter-Finch's anus could just be seen,
and below it the crinkled lips of the smooth-shaven vagina performed their own
little dance as the long legs rose and fell.
Harvey was by now feeling clammy with the heat inside the building, and could
only guess how unbearably hot the women must be inside the suits as they wearily
pushed their aching, perspiring limbs against the treadles.
More time passed. Up...down...up...down...up...down......the shuddering globes
wobbled and bounced erotically in their rubber and lace frames, the guests
wandering up and down the walkway to closely inspect each pair in turn. Some
moved to the other side to watch the womens' suffering, preferring to experience
their moans and tears at close quarters. Meanwhile Helga kept a watchful eye on
things, ready to make use of the dreaded probe should it be necessary.
Alison Hoffman had been up to recent weeks a dynamic junior executive in an
up-and-coming I.T. company based in Los Angeles. Promoted rapidly, admired for
her drive and ability to open up new markets, she had at the age of 27 a bright
future in her field of expertise - especially with the additional assets of
striking looks and a body to die for. That was before the opportunity arose to
visit the small, middle-eastern state that little was known about. Alison was
slightly puzzled over the telephone call from the civil servant calling on
behalf of the ministry, requesting face to face discussions with a view to his
country using the expertise of her organisation. However, sensing a potentially
lucrative deal, she had immediately arranged to fly out. The rest was a blur. A
drugged coffee, then waking up to find herself in hell - or something akin to
it.
Alison Hoffman, successful businesswoman, now wept uncontrollably as she felt
the remaining strength in her legs evaporating fast. How long had she been in
this nightmarish situation? Two weeks? Three? It was hard to think straight; she
knew only pain and suffering now. Her strength was failing...she had to stop
soon......oh God, not the probe again, she couldn't stand that level of pain one
more time. The shapely brunette tried to keep up the punishing pace demanded of
her - tried her utmost. Up-down-up-down went her rubber-clad legs. Nearly
fainting within the confines of the rubber suit, her body wet with perspiration.
Up-down-up-down-up-down. She briefly thought of her naked rear framed in that
stupid frilly cut-out, bouncing around as she marched on the treadles.
Everything on show for that evil bitch of a dyke to play with. The
humiliation....Oh God....she sobbed beneath the hood, tears streaming from her
unseeing eyes. In despair, she knew her legs were giving up on her.....she must
have rest...must....."HOFFMAN!!" came a sharp voice in her earpiece. "You are
not trying hard enough! You need a sharp lesson!" It was the voice of Helga.
Harvey and the other men gathered round the businesswoman to watch her
punishment as the attendant undid the probe from her belt. The middle-aged woman
placed a finger and thumb either side of the plump buttocks and, with a smile of
cruel anticipation to the watching men, spread them wide. Alison Hoffman was by
now beyond despair. "NO-OOOOOOOOOOO-PLEEEEEASE!!" she shrieked hysterically,
thrashing in her bonds. "I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE PAIN!! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!! OH
GOD-NO MORE-PLEEEEEEASE!!" The merciless woman behind her was not at all
concerned at her outburst. She swiftly pushed the probe against the brutally
exposed anus and with a smile of anticipation, pressed a button on the handle.
"AAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" The businesswoman screamed in agony as a powerful
shock pulsed through the sensitive membrane. The posteriors bounced and shook
frantically with a life all of their own. Her breasts felt as though they would
be ripped off by the restraining straps as she thrashed about in pain. After a
few seconds, Helga turned off the current and after replacing the probe on her
belt, picked up the radio to address the other, who was almost on the verge of
blacking out. "You will continue within thirty seconds!" came the voice of the
lesbian through the earpiece. "There will be no further slacking, Hoffman!"
Sobbing her heart out, her body shaking with the trauma of the electric shock,
Alison Hoffman, succesful business executive, desperately tried to ignore her
aching leg muscles and, slowly but surely, resumed her rhythmic march of pain
and suffering. She must carry on...she must...anything to avoid the probe!
Up...down...up...down...She also tried to ignore the probing fingers of the
lesbian sadist as her private areas were casually explored. Hatred mingled with
the pain as she strove to put her aching limbs out of her mind. It was the
hatred that kept her going...one day she might get her revenge...one day...but
in the meantime she was nothing but this woman's toy. She shed further tears of
anguish and frustration as her spiked heels pushed at the treadles. As they
would continue to do for as long as she remained alive.
The next chapter will describe further time spent in the generator room.
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