Karen – The Pod by MonsterP63

Karen – The Pod by MonsterP63

Archived Version

Part I

She walked out of the lawyer’s office, a weird smile on her face. As she rode down the elevator, she looked at herself in the highly polished stainless steel of the cabin : tall, slim, legs encased in very tight black leather jeans, white blouse and black tight fitting leather jacket. Since she was alone, she smiled at her look, at how those but lifting jeans were enhancing her beautiful butt. She bent a leg at the knee, rising her extremely high heel knee boots.

She was a material girl and she knew it.

She was a hottie, and she knew it.

She liked it that way.

And now, it would become even better.

That’s why she was at the lawyer’s office: she had just inherited a fortune. You see, her uncle and aunt, also her godfather and godmother, were explorers, having travel the earth from every possible direction. If they could have gone through it, they would have, and in some way, they did, since they died a week ago, falling into the mouth of an active volcano.

She didn’t knew more than having seen a ton of pictures of them on their various trips on every social media. But what she had been told by the lawyer, had been a shock: she was named the sole and only beneficiary of their estate, which were estimated at 12 millions, plus that huge property.

Oh, it wasn’t a large mansion with servants or anything, but an old farm they had renovated, and had filled the barn with their treasures.

Once the elevator was down, she sexily walked out of it, twisting her hips in their tight, shiny, creaking leather confinement and called her boss.

“Hi boss, it’s Karen… Yes, I know I’m late, I had an appointm… you fire me? That’s fine, I was calling to quit, but since you said it first, I will have the right to unemployment benefits. Nice working for ya… NOT!” she said laughing. With 12 millions, who needs to work, right? Especially not at 24.

She hailed a cab and had him drive her to the property, an almost two hours drive. She left him a big tip. He gave her a card.

“Call me if you want to go back downtown.” he said, his eyes shining on the tip as big as the fare.

Karen walked into the house, her heels clicking on the old wood floor covering. The house was richly furnished, but, evidently, not used very much. She had been there a few times, when she was a lot younger. She remembered everything, as if nothing had moved for the last 15 years. Even the smell was the same.

She walked to the back door, opening it on the large property, its endless fields, it’s forest and even a small mountain, she knew hid a lake on top of it. All this was now hers.

There was an external entrance to the basement, or rather “the cave” as she remembers calling it. She had to explore it. It was not even 2m high, and even without her heels, she would have to walk with her head bent down. The ground was rough concrete mixed with large stones. There were a lot of boxes of stuff they gathered on their trips, mostly memorabilia they probably forgot with time. She couldn’t see much as she hadn’t found any light switch and the only light coming was from the staircase, as the walls, so were the foundations of the house, were made of thick concrete and large rocks, like the floor. That space wasn’t very large and wasn’t covering more than half the entire house.

“The rest is probably just a crawl space.” she said to herself, which wasn’t uncommon on houses that old: the basement would be there for the furnace heater, the rest, just dirt.

Then she heard a sound, of something moving. She turned around and startled as something moved quickly past her. Something furry. She let out a scream of surprise as her heel caught an uneven rock and she fell backward on a rack, making more stuff fall, clearing half a shelf. She had time to see the animal jump up through a small hole behind the shelves.

“Shit!” she said, laughing as she recognized the culprit. “A raccoon. Well, if he went that way, it means that he can come back that way. I will have to block that.” she said as she walked over the fallen boxes to the back wall, and looked at where the raccoon went.

It was a small hole. Judging by the pile of wood chips at the foot of the wall, the raccoon must have eaten its way through it. But what caught her attention even more, was the strange green glow coming from the other end of that… door?

As she moved the shelves out of the way she discovered that a large section of that wall was made out of wood… in the shape of a door. A very heavy, thick oak door, which had, for most of its surface, been coated with a layer of concrete and false stones to conceal it with the rest of the stone wall.

She found a steel ring that could be used as a handle and pulled on it, her heels sliding then taking a hold between two uneven stones making the floor. Finally, it opened. She was able to pull it enough for her thin body to have a peek inside.

“I think even my uncle didn’t knew about this secret room.” she said, as it was obvious this door hasn’t been opened in decades.

Looking through the opening of a one meter thick concrete wall, it seemed to be an all steel room, 4 by 5 meters with an almost 3m high ceiling. To get to the room was a few stairs down. There was something the size of a large phone booth in the far wall. A medium sized window was making the upper third of the front of the booth, from which the green eerie glow was coming. Her back against the corner wall, she pushed the wooden door open with her hands and heeled feet, then slowly walked in.

She startled when the raccoon, seeing the intruder, fled, passing between her high heel boots. As she looked down, she saw that the layer of dirt now covering her once shiny tight leather jeans, were making an interesting pattern with the green glow.

She approached the booth slowly, looking around at the same time, her heel making eerie sounds reverberating on the steel walls. The inside of that room was all lined with steel except for the concrete floor. Immediately to her left were shelves with a few canned food items. In the opposite corner, was what one would consider a bathroom, with what was left of a curtain for privacy. To the side of that, two bunk beds. Slightly to her right, in the middle of the room, a desk. She turned to see some of the items on it. She read the titles out loud, the sound of her voice echoing back from the steel wall.

“Radioactive Fallouts… Nuclear Winter Survival Guide… Is this what I think it is?… a nuclear fallout shelter?”

She had the answer when she turned around to see the entrance she got through and saw the large steel door, two 1.5m thick, completely opened, confirming her suspicions.

She headed back to the strange green light emitting booth. Each click of her heels reverberated in the steel room, making it sound way louder than it was, but she liked it, as well as the amplified sound of her creaking leather.

She was approaching the booth slightly from the side, then she had a look inside.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeek” she yelled, stopping dead, her heels slipping on the steel floor, falling on her butt, an expression of horror in her eyes. “What the hell…” she said, trying to recompose herself.

Carefully, she got back up, approaching slowly, carefully, trying to have a peak, yet at the same time, not wanting to. Again. Yes she saw something, and the more she got closer to the window, the more it took shape, the more it revealed itself, the more the scare went away.

What at first she thought was some skeleton, was in fact a gasmask. An empty gasmask, suspended from the top of that booth. She got closer and looked inside. It looked as if some kind of costume was suspended in the booth, with hoses going to… very interesting places.

The eerie green glow was coming from the ceiling inside that booth.

Just below the window, was a dirt covered console, with apparently turned off displays with rows of buttons, but everything appeared turned off.

“Wow… this thing dates back to what… the dark ages?” she said.

She wiped and blew away the dirt off, revealing about half a dozen grouped read-outs, all dark.

To the right was a rotary switch, which was written “open” toward the left and “close” toward the right. With some anxiety, she turned the knob to the left.

There was a series of mechanical sounds, accompanied with screeching rusty steel parts moving, from the right side of the door.

It slowly opened, with an eerie sound, like she was inside a submarine.

A strong rubber smell filled her nose. In the middle of the booth, was hanging a complete suit, with attached gasmask, gloves and strange wedge pointed toe boots. It even seemed to have a corset! It had built-in cuffs about everywhere, linked to chains fixed to the ceiling, walls and floor of the booth. Hoses were connected at the gasmask, boobs and crotch, and what looked like an electrical connector in the center of her belly. Everything was as shiny as new, reflecting the eerie green glow like a mirror. Even the interior of the booth was sparkling clean. Its interior surface, all smooth except for the holes where the chains were disappearing, was steel polished to a satin finish.

But the chains were thought. Although it was simple safety hooks that were holding the suit to the chains, they were too tight to undo. There must be a release mechanism somewhere.

She partly closed the door to have a look at the console. She blew on it to remove more of the dust and examined it carefully. There were dials for time, stimulation, intensity, but no power switch, unless… She looked under the console, and there it was, hidden, or protected. She pushed it.

There was a strange humming sound coming from the machine, which calmed down after a few minutes to a nice purring.

Some kind of old fashion display lit up made out from red LED segmented displays that looked dating from the seventies. There was a series of bargraphs: water, nutrient and power.

The water was down at the red mark. The nutrient was at 80%, while the power was at… 95%. What the hell was powering that thing? And… how long was 95%?

A yellow button was lit. It was identified as “release”. She pressed it.

There was some winding noise and all the chains loosened down. The whole suit almost collapsed under her weight.

She got one leg inside the booth and touched the suit.

“Rubber!” she said as she worked the suit between her fingers. She removed it from the numerous chains: there was one on each shoulder. There was a steel cable running through the elbow and wrists cuffs before being linked to a chain going to the floor. More chains were fixed to rings at chest height. Those at the waist were weird, as they were attached to a web going through the suit. Then there were more rings at the hips, knees and ankles, plus a weird one embedded into the wedge sole of the already weird boots. Pretty much all those chains were a web in themselves, going in all directions. She unlinked them all and disconnected the hoses. She unhooked the hoses at the crotch and breasts, but couldn’t take those from the gasmask. They seemed to be permanently attached. The gasmask was, however, removable from the totally enclosing suit.

She put the suit on a nearby shelf and, just for the sake of it, put on the gasmask. As soon as she pressed it on her face, there were some beeping sounds coming from the console, and she felt something being pushed up her nose and down her throat.

In panic, she pulled it off, pulling long tubes from the nose and mouth, triggering her gag reflex, making her almost puke, especially as she saw dangling tubes, whipping in the air like tentacles searching for its prey, before retracting in the mask.

Carefully, she looked closer at the mask. There was something very small inscribed in it, molded into the hard rubber: automatic inserting breathing and feeding tubes.

Things were getting weirder.

She took the suit back in her hands, feeling her weight, and looking at it, she couldn’t find any kind of opening but the neck. She would have to try that, but not here, back in the house.

Carrying the suit, she turned the button to “close”, which operated the door with the same eerie sound. That’s when a symbol, besides the power indicator, still partially covered with dirt, attracted her attention. She wiped it cleaned and startled when she saw it: radioactive. She backed off a few feet, suddenly afraid, when she saw a sign even bigger by the bottom back of the booth. Carefully, in a concerto of leather creaking, she crouched down to read the inscription by it.

“Danger. RTG*. Do not open. Lifespan: 115 years”

“Well, that explains.” she said to herself, not too sure anymore. But she had the suit. She had to try it on.

Author’s note:

• RTG: Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator: To put it simply, it’s a device that uses the heat generated by the normal radioactive decay of an isotope and converts it into electricity. (if you saw the movie The Martian, he digs one up to use it as a “heater ” in his rover.)

It is widely used in deep space probes. It is relatively safe and long lasting, although their realistic useful lifetime varies between 10 to 25 years depending on the isotope. I stretched it a little (okay, a lot) for the sake of the story, specifically, the planned sequel. (as if anything in Karen’s adventures is realistic…)

To Be continued

(c) Pete, January 1, 2017

Part II

She entered the house and walked to the bedroom. She threw the suit on the bed. Should she try it now or once she would be settled in? She figured she better have a tour of the house first, there might be more surprises.

But there were none. Everything was as she remembered. In short, the house was rarely used. She would have to update the furniture. Her tour done, she was back to the bedroom, staring at the rubber suit.

“Oh, what the heck.” she said, getting undressed.

She sat on the bed and began to feed her feet in the collar. Although small, it seemed to stretch quite a lot, and the inside was very slippery. She had thought that it would have stuck to her skin or something, but it glided easily.

She fed the collar up to her knees before pulling the rest of the suit in. Then where she couldn’t anymore, fed the collar to her waist before pulling the rest up her legs. Since the boots were somewhat fused to the suit, they became the hard part. She managed to put her feet in them, but with all the suit cramped up between her knees and her waist, it was not practical to lace them up at that moment, but she had to get up, to put on the rest.

She was wobbly. She was used to high heels, but she had never put on ballet boots before. Those turned out to be quite comfortable, and stable, although not fastened, helped by the wedge sole.

Once up, she struggled, figuring out that she would have to cramp her arms inside the collar, which proved harder than thought. At the same time, the crotch of the suit, falling in place, revealed something she overlooked: those hoses ought to be connected to something, and that something was poking at her crotch, searching for a hole, or rather holes. Wit h her arms inside the suit, she managed to easily insert the vaginal one, but for the rectum, it was all new to her. The feeling was… disturbing.

After that, she managed to put her hands in the sleeves and the suit popped up in place as the neck reached over the shoulders, pulling the suit fully in place, and pushing the dildos fully in.

She let out a small yelp as they fully inserted, and stumbled a few steps forward. She sad on the bed with a devilish smile: those dildos were awesome. And she had to bend in half to fasten the boots. Once it was done, she was already hot. She got back up and walked around the room, feeling the tight embrace of the rubber suit. Only the rubber hood was dangling in front of her. She pulled it over her head and worked the large collar inside the catsuit. A look in the mirror and she was stunned at the sight.

She took the D rings hanging on each side of her waist and pulled on it. Her suspicions revealed to be right: there was some kind of web inside the suit, and by pulling on those rings, it tightened the waist section, like a corset. She pulled on them as much as she could then managed to put one D ring inside the other one, locking them together. The “corset” wasn’t that tight, but it was nice enough to enjoy.

Walking in the strange wedge ballet toe boots proved very interesting and surprisingly easy. She would have to find out if she can have them without the suit. They would make an interesting fashion statement!

She walked around the house again, planning what furniture she would put where, enjoying the suit. She loved the sound it made when she moved. She loved how she felt tightly hugged from everywhere. The only drawback was the corset rings not holding very much, and unhooking at any moment, and those metal fittings over the breasts that weren’t doing anything special. She would have to buy herself a rubber catsuit and a corset. She was beginning to like that.

But, what about that booth, or the Pod as she called it? What would it do to the suit? What would it do WITH the suit?

She walked outside to the basement entrance, surprised at how those wedge boots were a blast, and went to the Pod. She studied the console. It was pretty much straight forward.

There was a start and an abort button. Under and over each digit, was a button with an up arrow and a down arrow. From left to right, it was labeled:

minutes, hours, days, months, years.

The next row featured “stimulation” and “conditioning” with 2 digits each and a % sign.

“But…” she said, looking everywhere. “How do you start this thing from the inside?” she said, looking inside the pod, then finding a large mushroom at the back of it. She took place on the platform and realized that she could press that button with her arms in her back.

Heart pounding, she set it up for 15 minutes, double, triple checking the time entered and set the power and stimulation at 25%.

She got into the booth. Linking the sole of the boots proved to be the hardest part. The rest, linking the chains to the rings, the hoses to her crotch and breasts, were relatively easy.

Her arms had the steel wire running through the rings, making it very difficult to reach the door and close it. She would have to think of that the next time.

What was left was the gasmask, but having briefly experienced the tube’s things, she decided to let it hang. She took a deep breath, her heart ready to jump out of her chest, and pushed the big button behind her.

A display, inside the door, lit up, with a countdown at 30. She settled herself comfortable, awaiting the pull of the chains. Damn, this was long. She tried not to look at the countdown, to be surprised by the devices, but, counting mentally, something was wrong. She had a quick look: 30. A flashing 30.

Under it was a small light lit. She looked closer: gasmask not found.

Shit. She had no choice. She unhook her arms from the ring and pulled the gasmask in place. She took a deep breath before pulling it over her head. She choked at the entering hose and made grunting noises as the tubes were going up her nose. Not the best of sensations. After a few seconds, everything was done. It was disturbing. All she wanted to do was swallow the lump in her throat.

Annoyed, almost pissed off at the discomfort, she fastened her arms back and pushed the button, looking at the countdown starting, 29, 28, 27… 15, 14, 13, 12… in a panic, she thought: what if there’s something wrong, what if… and she pressed the button again. The countdown reverted to a flashing 30. So, she had a way out.

She pressed it again… 29, 28, 27… 3…2..1..0.

She heard mechanical noises and felt herself raised off the floor until the 10cm of chains under her boots were taught. The other chains tightened, pulling on her legs, on her hips in all the directions. The chain pulling on her arm steel wire draws them together, elbow touching. And finally, the waist chains tightened… and tightened… and tightened. At some point she began to panic. She was being crushed to death. Frantically, she tried to push the button, but now, with her arms fully bonded, she couldn’t reach it. She was stuck.

Then, all at the same time, the tightening stopped, the lenses of her gasmask turned black and all hell broke loose.

The dildos began to vibrate, but at the same time, they began to pulsate, getting inflated and deflated. She felt vibrations and alternating sucking on her breasts. All this was gentle, but they were overwhelming at the same time.

She felt tingling on her buns and breasts, as if small electrical jolts were going through. She felt her muscled contract, but at the same time, they were synchronized with the rest of the devices.

She was quickly panting, then her air was cut off, making her jolt against her bonds, sending a signal to fire the vibration of the dildos.

Oh, darn! She never felt anything like that. The fear and apprehension made way to anticipation and expectations. She was getting higher and higher. She was ready to explode. She never felt anything like that before.

As if the suit sensed her state of mind, everything would go up into a crescendo, going higher and higher, yes, one more step, one more jump. She could feel her body struggling, held immobile by the multitude of chains and straps, her chest struggling to get some more air, and then… everything stopped. Everything became silent. Her lenses cleared to reveal that it was now all fogged up.

Panting, frustrated, she looked at the display: session complete…. SHIT!

She pushed the button behind her, but since the timer was at zero, it did nothing. She tried to jump in place, trying to make the devices come alive, but no. She was left there, on the edge of heaven, unable to jump. The tubes retracted inside the gasmask, making her almost puke, but at the same time, making her realize that she didn’t mind having those tubes in anymore.

She took the mask off and, reluctantly, unlinked the numerous chains and hoses, all this making the dildos move enough to be very disturbing, but not enough to send her anywhere. She opened the door and turned around for the console. She would set it up for longer and go back in, now, but the keys were somehow locked.

Again, a small indicator was flashing. She looked closer, removing the remaining dirt.

“24 hours safety pause? What the fuck is that? A pleasure machine of a torture machine?… well, it’s good at both apparently.”

She walked back to the bedroom. Taking the suit off was a struggle, especially frustrated as she was. And the worst part was that she didn’t have any of her toys to finish the job.

“Well, Karen,” she said to herself once she was back into her tight leather jeans and high heel boots. “Time to move your stuff in.”

To Be continued

(c) Pete, January 1, 2017

Part III

She left the house frustrated, swearing that this would never happen again. Five days later, she was back with her stuff, along with her clothes. She had left all her furniture and appliances to the next occupant of her apartment gave all the old furniture and appliances of the house to charity and bought everything new.

She was eagerly awaiting the departure of all the deliverymen. She wanted to finish her business with that pod, and the sooner the better.

She squirmed herself out of her tight Freddy Jeans, and retrieved the latex catsuit, hidden inside the walk-in closed of the main bedroom.

She put it on with anticipation, shaking, already imagining the session, what she had planned. Fifteen minutes proved too short. Now that she knew what she was in for, she would go for a longer time.

Even on that second attempt, she struggled to put the tight latex catsuit on, but she was quickly developing tricks and shortcuts.

She welcomed the tight smooth embrace of the latex, how it covered every part of her body, how the hood squished her head. The boots, she found weird at first, were not aiming toward being her preferred ones. She even looked on-line to find them.

She walked outside. It was slightly windy, and she found it interesting that the rubber suit was blocking everything. She could feel the heat of the sun, she could feel the force of the wind, but not exactly feel the wind at the same time.

She opened the old wooden door and as she stepped inside the bomb shelter, a furry creature ran between her feet. She startled.

“Damn! I have to find a way to keep those critters out of here! There must be a way to close that door.” she said, looking around. There was a large switch, like an electrical box level. It was in the upright position, which was labeled “open”. The bottom position was labeled “close”. Without thinking twice, she pulled it down.

In a concerto of creaking, almost screeching sounds, the two feet thick door slowly closed, then with loud clanks, the locking mechanisms activated, effectively locking her inside. She then got scared: what if this thing doesn’t open anymore?

Under the switch, were two lights: one labeled Safe, green, the other Unsafe, red, with a radiation sign. Since there was no radiation to be measured, the green one was lit. She threw the level back up, and with a little less noise, the door opened. She pulled the level down again to make sure the raccoon would not come in, and headed for the booth.

She set up the parameters.

“25% had been good, so why not, 30%? Yes, 30%” she said to herself, before setting the time at one hour.

She took place inside, heart pounding, anticipating. The tube insertion was no more pleasurable than the first time. She pushed the button and waited for the countdown to reach zero.

The lenses of the gasmask turned black, but she couldn’t care less: she had already closed her eyes. She was waiting for the machine to kick into action. She felt being raised, her legs being stretched at the same time as her waist was getting squished more and more. The whole ordeal seemed to take a little longer than the last time and seemed also a little tighter. The result was the same: She couldn’t move.

The stretching and tightening stopped. There was silence. Nothing. Then she felt suction on her left breast, then released. Then suction on her right breast, then release. Then one dildo vibrated then stopped. The same for the other. Then suction on the left breast. Inflation of the front dildo. Suction of the right breast. Inflation of the rear dildo. Vibrations.

Karen was already into another world. She was getting massaged, squished, squeezed, vibrated. Even the tightening of the different chains were playing, losing somewhat, then tightening back, but the more she squirmed, the tighter they became, as to keep her still while the devilish devices did their work.

She felt it building. She felt it coming. Yes. The anticipation was there. Yes… There it is… Yes… She threw herself backward against her bounds then her air supply was cut-off. That added surprise made her open her eyes to see nothing but darkness, but her brain was seeing fire as it engulfed her like she never felt before. In her mind, she was rocking hard on her bonds, almost imagining the whole pod banging from side to side, but to an external watcher, only the straining of the muscles could be observed, as nothing else moved, firmly held in her bonds.

Taken by convulsions, the orgasm slowly subsided, leading to the void. Nothing. Silence. Darkness. She could only feel her heart pounding hard. Yes, she was still alive. But how long has it been? She had satisfaction. She could get out now. Would she be kept like that, in total sensory deprivation, until her time limit was reached.

It was boring. She was simply stuck with nothing to do. As she was about to doze off, it started again. But with a different pattern. Vibrations first, then suction, and pumping.

However, she was in no mood. She had her orgasm, and a very powerful one. The stimulation grew in intensity, in speed, and quite soon, she was unable to repress the building orgasm. One more time she exploded. One more time she went to the moon and back. Once again, everything felt silent.

She was on the verge of passing out when she felt the weight on her legs again. She let herself hang by the chains, even sleeping it off for almost half an hour.

How many orgasms has it been? She couldn’t tell. Was it 3 or 30? Her brain was a mess. She didn’t care when the hoses retracted from her throat and nose. She opened the door and stumbled out, collapsing on the floor.

When she awakened, three hours later, she was still very sensible to the touch, and her legs were shaky. Yet, she had to walk out, all the way to the house to take the suit off.

She stumbled to the door and pulled up the lever. With the same rusty grinding noise, the door opened. She saw the raccoon flee.

“I really have to take care of him.” she said, walking out, like she was drunk, smiling at the rubbing in her crotch, with every wobbly step she made.

And a lot of orders from the internet were popping to mind.

To Be continued

(c) Pete, January 1, 2017

Part IV

The journey back to the house proved hellish if not painful. If someone had seen her, they would have called an ambulance, sure she was ready to collapse, but dressed as she was, they probably had sent her into one of those padded rooms with a straightjacket. Come to think of it….

She barely reached the bed, the last few feet, crawling on all four. She literally climbed on the bed and fell asleep. She awakened four hours later, still smiling, daydreaming.

She rolled out of bed trying to get up, but when she hit the floor, it made a strange sound. Still half dreaming, she began to pound on the floor, hitting it with her latex covered hand, and trying to listen through her latex covered ears. Yes. The sound was definitely different over a spot.

She flipped over the rug. She had seen the floor before as she had cleared the room for her own furniture, including some new rugs. She crawled on all four, and she hound it, really well hidden, carved within the hardwood flooring: a lever.

She had to use one finger to press on it. It sank almost the full length of her finger before she heard some mechanism release. At the same time, a portion of the floor, about 60cm by 60cm feet snapped and sprung open of about 5cm inches. She grabbed the opening and swung the trap door open on it’s hidden hinge.

“Sweet fucking shit!” she exclaimed, seeing what was inside.

She laid on her stomach, digging in with her arms: medical leather cuffs, straps, harnesses, bondage mittens, there was a whole assortment of bondage gear, evidently dating back to the 60’s or even 50’s judging by the style. There was a book. A thin but old book depicting… the pod. It was the size of a postcard and had only 5 or 6 pages, but it contained important information about the pod, and its operation.

She quickly browsed it, getting interested at the part about water supply: an “air water extractor” was providing the water. It was suggested she filled the reservoir first for a head start, then let the collector do its work. Basically, it was a dehumidifier, extracting the water from the air and putting it in the reservoir, making it totally independent of any outside help for quite a long time.

Over the next few days, she was back almost daily to the bunker, but not to ride the pod. She was there to clean up the bunker, to throw away the old food, to lubricate the hinges of the door of the bunker as well as the pod’s. At the same time, she tried to read the little labels that were applied at a few places on the pod confirming the information from the booklet.

The pod was conceived to be used for very long periods.

She was aiming for that, but not near the vicinity of 115 years.

She had made up the bunk beds with clean sheets. From now on, she would put on the latex catsuit inside the bunker, and after a session, would rest some time in the bunker before going out.

She had found a way by moving some shelves closer to the door, to block the entrance to the raccoon as the door could only be operated from the inside.

She was ready for another trial run. It was very early in the morning. The sun was barely up and the ground was covered with dense fog. In the silence of the morning, she walked from the house to the exterior entrance of the basement in street clothes and high heel platform shoes, entered the bunker and closed the door. Once closed, she took off her shoes, tight Levis jeans, and her cotton T-Shirt and proceeded with putting the latex catsuit on.

She was anticipating the insertion of the dildos. She came to like them. She had actually ordered and received some latex panties with latex sheaths so she could wear something similar on her nights out, and no one would notice, as all her “juice” would stay in. She was starting to get the hang of it.

She shivered at the sensation of cold when the rubber first touched her skin, then at the heat it seemed to generate as it sealed her. When the suit slid in place, pushing deeply the dildos, she let out a barely muffled yelp, just a little jolt of what was to come. She was smiling.

She laced the boots tightly over her rubber covered legs and finally, pulled the latex hood over her head, now with short hairs. Yes, she had figured out that shorter hairs would bake a better feel for the hood, and she was right: There wasn’t any lump anymore. She was not up to shaving her head, but short as they were, it was almost as if.

She commanded the opening of the pod’s door, then punched the duration and setup of the stay: Conditioning: 50. Stimulation: 55. Session Time: 12 hours. She had a last look at the current time: 07:12. She would be out in 12 hours, would have the whole night go get back to reality. She had some shopping to do the next day followed by a night out with friends. She could do it.

She took place in the pod, commanded the door closed, took a deep breath as she put the gasmask on, fastened the chains and the hoses, closed her eyes and pushed the button, anticipating.

Everything tightened then it began, slowly at first, but increasing in intensity. As she slowly squirmed, the chains tightened more, squishing her already thin waist, forcing her to take short breaths. The vibrations, suctions, inflations, deflations, all took place within an obviously well rehearsed pattern, and each more powerful than the next, making her launch again and again until exhaustion won.

She was awaken by strange pulsating jolts in her legs and arms, as if electrical current were working her muscles. Then she remembers reading in the book that the system would stimulate the muscles to keep them “alive” over long sessions to prevent any muscle loss. Since they haven’t fired, or at least, she doesn’t remember they had, in her hour-long session, she figured that it had been over an hour.

She felt something going down the feeding tube to her stomach. At least, the nutrient feeder was working, which looked good for the plan she had in mind.

Now, she was just relaxing, kind of feeling out of her body, floating, apart from the fact that she couldn’t move at all and had a short breath because of the corset.

Then, without warning, as if it should have any, all hell broke loose again. A different pattern again, a different stimulation, that made the whole thing very far from boring. Except this time, it was like the machine could sense her, or it was just one heck of devilish timing, because, the pod didn’t let her lift off. It just kept there, stopping when she was about to jump, letting her come back a little, then raise her again, to stop, leaving her frustrating, yet on the edge.

That was devilish, and she just loved it. That was teasing at the 11th level.

She lost track of time. She lost track of her own body.

Only when she felt the weight back on her feet she realized that 12 hours had passed. Half there, half out-there, she undid the chains and hoses. Just that took her close to half an hour. She then literally crawled to the bed and collapsed.

When she came back to her senses, it was past 22:00.

“Oh shit! Lynda is waiting for me at the club!”.

Still dizzy, she half dressed-up to go back to the house, took a shower, dressed up and called a cab.

The driver was first pissed off to come pick someone so far away, but when he saw the slender woman in tight Freddy Jeans leather pants, high heel booties with a 12cm high heel, tight leather jacket over a hot pink shirt, he smiled. He had absolutely no clue about the two large intruders in her latex panties.

Karen was frantically texting Lynda, being sorry for being late. When she finally got by the club it was almost midnight.

Lynda was waiting for her at a small standing table with two handsome guys. She was in tight faded jeans with over the knee boots with a six inches heel, and a tight stretch denim jacket covered in chromed buckles. She startled and almost didn’t recognize Karen with her short hair.

“What the fuck did you do to your hairs?”

“Just wanted to try something new.” she said with a wink. “And who do we have here?” she asked the guy to her left.

She flirted all night, but sex was not in the agenda. She was currently fully satisfied, and she wasn’t really needing a man right now to fulfill her desires.

They party on until 03:00, when the club closed.

Lynda and Karen went to a nearby restaurant for a light snack

“So tell me now. What’s with the haircut? You had wonderful long hair?”

“Like I said, I wanted to try something new. I’ll tell you all about it another time, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, well… okay. Hey, I have two tickets for the [put your favorite artist here] show next Friday.” she said with sparks in her eyes.

“Oh, wow, great… But… I can’t. I have something else.”

“Really? You don’t work anymore. You have all the time in the world. What is it?” she said, defiantly.

Karen hadn’t prepared any detailed explanation. She had to come up with something quick.

“Well, my aunt and uncles had a lot of items… err… loaned to some museums.”

“Really? Which one?”

“Oh, ” said Karen, caught red handed, knowing nothing about anything that is not fashion. She could name all the haute couture houses and their locations, but museums?. “It’s… err… the Louvres… In London.” she said, all smiling.

“The Louvres in London?” said Lynda, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes. I’m going for a week, maybe longer. Since I’ll be in British I might as well visit the Europe.”

“You’ll be in British?”

“Well, of course. London is in British. Everybody knows that.”

“Yes, of course.” said Lynda, understanding that Karen was making some phony excuse to have some time alone, undisturbed, but was very bad at it. “Well… Better bring a map, or you’ll be in for a few surprises.” she said with a wink.

Karen kept silent. She knew that Lynda didn’t buy her excuses. If only she had come more prepared… or studied geography a little more.

They were parting. The sun was almost raising.

“So?” asked Lynda. “When are you… leaving, and will you be in touch?”

“I leave in a few days. I don’t think I’ll be in touch much. I plan to go for a week, but I may extend it somehow.” she said, leaving the door open. That way, she wouldn’t have to make-up a trip every few days to explain her long silences.

“Okay then. Have a safe trip.” Said Lynda, getting into her cab.

Karen got into hers. Already, she was planning the next few days. A long-term plan was forming.

To Be continued

(c) Pete, January 1, 2017

Part V

She leaned back in her chair, her tight red latex catsuit creaking against the leather upholstery. She put her rubber covered hand to her latex coated chin and rubbed it, looking at the spreadsheet of her planned setup, thinking, evaluating.

One of the huge intruders deeply inserted into the sheaths of her neck entry latex catsuit fired, taking her mind out of the planning. She reached her crotch with her hand only to be forbidden any contact by the stainless steel chastity belt locked on. A look at the KitchenSafe indicated that she still had another two hours before being allowed to be released, which would make a total of eight hours for that day.

Yes, she had received a lot of new clothes and devices lately. After all, it’s been three weeks since she last saw Lynda. She only texted her a few times that she was fine, making clear that her text would become less frequent.

She closed her eyes, her chest expanding as much as the tight white leather corset allowed. She knew she wouldn’t explode. She was kind of liking the teasing more than the actual orgasm: it lasted longer.

She tried to concentrate back on her setup. She was going in incremental steps.

Her first test has been 12 hours. She did a 24 hours test, then a 2 days test. The next test was for five days. If five days went well, she would, maybe, jump to 15 then a month. But she was far from there. Five or even 10 days could be easily dealt with as if she was gone for a one week or two weeks trip.

She pushed the chair away from the desk from her red leather ballet boots she had received the day before. They were just perfect.

She got up in a leather/latex creaking concerto and slowly walked, working her hips to be as much disturbed as she could by the dildos, and aimed for the kitchen for a glass of wine.

“Better enjoy it, babe. It’s the last one for some time.” she said to herself, sloshing the red liquid in her mouth before swallowing it. She made herself a diet milkshake, like she had been having for the past few days, just to make sure she would have as little waste as possible. She sat at the table, wiggling her butt on the chair to put the dildos where they were the most interesting and slowly sip the shake, the latex on her covered arms creaking with each move to bring the glass to her lips and back to the table.

The KitchenSafe had released the keys. She used that opportunity to take a leak, before putting the keys back in with an 11 hours time.

She went to bed early, still in her catsuit, corset, chastity belt and boots, tossing her PVC bed sheets away before sliding in. She wondered if she could sleep any other way, now.

By 06:00, the timer had released the keys. She got out of her suit, took a long shower and shaved her head bald before struggling as she put on her beloved Freddy Jeans leather pants and high heel booties, just to go from the house to the basement.

Once in the shelter, she put the pod’s catsuit on, smoothing it, getting shaky with anticipation. She walked to the control panel and setup the controls:

Conditioning: 60. Stimulation: 65. Time 5 days.

She took place in the pod and closed the door. Getting everything fastened was getting faster and faster. Putting on the gasmask with the dreadful tubes was still no pleasure, but was going on much easily.

She pushed the button for the countdown, then, through the window, she saw something move. She immediately pressed the button again and the countdown stopped. She startled when something jumped on the console from the other side of the door.

“The fucking raccoon!” she mouthed in her mind. Then looking at the shelter’s door, she realized that she had forgotten it open.

The critter was standing on the console, stretching his front paws as to find a way to get in.

She made a sharp move as much as the loose chains allowed, toward the window to scare the animal. She would have screamed at the same time, but the pod was soundproof and she had a tube going down her throat.

Nevertheless, that was enough to scare the raccoon away.

Karen relaxed, took back her place in the center of the pod and pushed the countdown button again.

She closed her eyes, anticipating. When she opened them up again, the raccoon was there again. She did the same move. This time, she saw the animal run out of the room, jumping on a shelf unit on its way, making it tip backward. In amazement, she looked at the unit falll backward, hitting the door lever, pulling it down, making the door closes.

“I couldn’t have asked for more.” she laughed, still hanging forward on the chains. She looked down at the countdown, but being that much forward, it also allowed her to see the console.

She made wide eyes, not sure to understand everything as she was seeing the setups from the wrong side. Did the raccoon change the setup? In a panic she tried to pull back to push the button, but the countdown had reached zero. Her lenses turned black and she felt the chains pull on her, dragging her away from the stop button she managed to feel with the tip of her fingers.

Everything tightened, tighter than ever before. She squirmed and tried to get free, but it was too late.

As the first suction began, all she could see was the red numbers imprinted in mind, inverted. She tried to make sense of it, and realized that she would be a lot longer than she had planned.

Closing her eyes, she read the console:

Stimulation: 92

Conditioning: 89

Time: 15 hours, 11 days, 5 months and… 7 years.

As the dildos began to vibrate, she thought that the best thing for her right now, was to enjoy it. She had no other choices anyways…

© Pete / monsterp63, January 1, 2017