Previous Chapter Back to Content & Review of this story Next Chapter Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home

Review This Story || Author: H. Dean

The O'Connell Chronicles: One Man's Art

Part 4

Untitled Document
Chapter 4


The girl stood atop a wide platform, just inside the large picture frame. After a moment of uncertainty, she noticed that the man had positioned himself on the same platform immediately behind her. Then, reaching up to the top of the box, he freed a long spoke from its secured position above her, letting it hang behind her.

“Hold still”, he told her, placing his arm around her, his hand on her naked belly.

She was shocked by the familiarity at which the man placed his and on her stomach. Then she felt him begin threading the dangling spoke into one of the many implants in her back.

“No!” she cried out, bolting forward.

The man in the jumpsuit grasped her firmly as she began her flight, causing them to tumble to the floor in a heap. She struggled hard to break free from the man. Just then, a terrible pain struck her. She screamed and doubled up into a ball on the cold floor. The pain subsided momentarily and then began again.

“That’s what the collar is for, my dear”, Jerry informed her. “We need your cooperation…well, we don’t need it. But it certainly is easier if we do have it. I would very much appreciate your cooperation.”

“Fuck you!” she screamed.

“I was afraid of this”, Jerry sighed, clicking the collar’s remote. “That was just the low pain setting. I guess it’s time to try a higher one.”

She convulsed, violently, screaming loudly as the collar around her neck sent a powerful electrical current through her. Jerry watched, seemingly disinterested, occasionally glancing at his watch’s second hand. Finally he relented, offering her relief if she would cooperate. Met with a disappointing response, Jerry triggered the collar another time, watching his timepiece as she writhed; screaming, where she lay.

“Is that enough for you, my dear, or shall we try again?” he asked the girl.

“Please…no more”, she whimpered.

“Then I will expect you to cooperate with us. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes…just don’t…please…I just need…” she let out, her voice filled with defeat.

“Very well then”, Jerry said. “You’ve about sixty seconds to recover. After that, I expect full cooperation.”

Her minute passed quickly, after which she was repositioned on top of the platform. Then she felt the familiar warmth of the man’s hand on her belly as he began attaching the dangling spoke to her back. When the man had finished with his initial task, she had eight strands of metal spokes finding purchase in her ribs, just beside her spinal column, and fanning out to attach to the top and sides of the frame.

After repositioning himself to the girl’s right, he reached out to the side of the box and drew out another shorter spoke. “Right arm, out and up”, he said to her.

“Please…” the girl said, only to find a sharp tingle emanating from the collar on her neck.

Prompted by the light reminder, she obeyed the man, reaching out towards him. The man took her index finger in hand, pulling her towards him, somewhat. Then, as she expected, he threaded a spoke into the insert in her fingertip. Horrified, she watched as, finger by finger, she was slowly incorporated into the workings within the picture frame.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried to Jerry, staring at her right hand. “Please stop. Let me go.”

The man in the white jumpsuit repositioned himself, yet again; this time to her left. Again, he ordered she raise her arm towards him. Crying, she obeyed, her despair becoming greater by the moment, aided by her growing humiliation at aiding her captors. One by one, she watched each of her fingers become one with the metal spokes.

Stepping from the platform, the man came to stand in front of the girl, noting to Jerry that she looked like a worshipper awaiting the coming of God.

“How tight is she?” Jerry asked the man.

“Not very”, he blurted. “But the spoke tension can be adjusted. Once we have her completely engaged, we will make adjustments.”

“What about the cross pieces? I want those to look real”, Jerry told the man.

“Don’t worry, the cross pieces are going to look real. Like the spokes, they are made of a titanium alloy that is highly flexible”, he said. “Once we have the measurements completed and the cross pieces attached, we are going to spray it with a polymer to keep it from rattling and to add the proper visual.”

“Excellent”, Jerry was practically beaming. “Well, you might as well finish up. We have a rather anxious client awaiting this piece.”

Some two hours later, the work was complete. The men stepped back to admire their captive, who now hung in the middle of the frame, her entire weight now being supported by the frame’s metal spokes.

“You look lovely, my dear”, Jerry told her. “You were wonderful. I truly appreciate you cooperating so well.”

As miserable as she had been, Jerry’s words cut into her, filling her with shame and humiliation. Though she had fought, she knew she should have fought harder. What was the pain compared to this torture, after all? It was nothing. And yet, she cooperated. She was, she felt, as guilty as anyone.

Her self-loathing was cut short by a loud mechanical noise. Unseen above her, a man had begun ratcheting the spokes. First one and then another was ratcheted. Slowly, she felt herself being pulled taught. Finally, when the tension was deemed proper, she was commanded to move. Obeying, she felt herself shake amidst the strands of metal.

“That’s perfect”, Jerry blurted. “Now, check the placement of the implant in the back of her head to the top center spoke and get it ready. I intend on delivering her next week.”

Entering the frame from its rear, Bill began screwing a swivel into the back of her head. Then, after having her lean her head back, he clipped a small swivel to the strand directly behind the attached swivel and began threading the two together.

“Alright, do you have it all?” Jerry asked the foreman.

“Got it”, he replied.

“Good, let’s get her down so you can get to finishing this little project”, Jerry said.

Back in her room, Lindsey lay on her bed crying. For long and long she pondered her fate, wondering how she could have cooperated as she had. She had held up one hand and then the other. Then, as if that had not been bad enough, she had done the same with each leg, allowing herself to be manipulated as if she were a puppet.

“It won’t happen again” she thought. “I’ll die first!”

Her time to contemplate her recent trauma was short lived. A woman entering her room commanded she get up and follow behind her. Then, turning from the girl, she held up the remote to her collar, requesting she not be forced to use it. Knowing it was futile and purposeless to disobey, she followed the woman.

“This is your last stop”, she told the girl, motioning for her to take to the bed in the room’s middle. Once atop the bed, she was strapped down and anesthetized.


Review This Story || Author: H. Dean
Previous Chapter Back to Content & Review of this story Next Chapter Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home