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[3:128] Hope's Peak Academy 12
1 Name: Anonymous 8/12/2004 (Sun) 00:10:23 ID:bQgbzo3
    So what's the deal with that Ultimate Rapper chick?
2 Name: Anonymous 8/12/2004 (Sun) 00:10:29 ID:5TyeBXq
    Honestly it's not usually my thing but she's honestly pretty good
3 Name: Anonymous 8/12/2004 (Sun) 00:10:34 ID:aj9KGhQ
    Also have you seen her arms? Girl hits the gym on top of everyhing else. Is there anything that these ultimates can't do?
4 Name: Anonymous 8/12/2004 (Sun) 00:11:24 ID:8qykqbA
    Be nice. Seriously, have you seen how she acts on forums and stuff? These Ultimates are super cool and all, but do they have to lord it over the rest of us?
5 Name: Anonymous 8/12/2004 (Sun) 00:11:45 ID:3DdXp5M
    For real. Someone of them need to be taken down a peg or two.
6 Name: Anonymous 8/12/2004 (Sun) 00:11:52 ID:JhxBx7k
    Like you can do anything about it. Seriously, why be jealous. It's not a good look.

 


 

The woman reclined in an elegant chair, an expensive model designed for people who were far too rich to work at a desk, but deigned to do so from time to time. The same could be said for the computer setup in front of her, which boasted a superb flat-panel monitor and a powerful desktop tower.

She stroked her chin, her head tilted slightly as she considered the latest message thread. Every year, the same online rituals took place like clockwork; swarms of hopeful students and hangers-on spent hours gathering information about the latest class of Ultimates.

It all saved her so much time and effort. Along with information about their talents and appearances, the collective power of the internet also dug up details about the Ultimates' personalities and backgrounds. From these threads, the woman could browse for targets at her leisure.

For all its glamor and shine, there was plenty of rot running through the school from top to bottom. With the right connections and the deep pockets, it was almost hilariously easy for a few students to go missing from one term to the next.

And given Hope’s Peak’s sterling reputation and well-placed alumni, any stories about the disappearances were buried instantly. It was an arrangement that had worked out for all parties involved for a number of years already, and the woman had no intention of letting such a good thing slip out of her grasp.

She tapped her finger absently against the desk surface, considering the forum posts in front of her. A grainy, low-resolution image of her quarry hung next to the web browser, a shot pulled from a surveillance camera located somewhere in the city.

Ichiko Katsuda, the Ultimate Rapper.

The girl was slim, but hardly delicate. From the way she carried herself and her brash choice of clothing, it would have been easy enough to guess at her personality even without the message boards. Some of the recorded remarks the girl had made to her peers were just icing on the cake.

The woman tapped a few buttons on her cell phone, and punched in a number from memory. After a few rings, the call connected for a few seconds.

Just long enough for her to say a name.


The first day of school was largely dominated by an orientation ceremony. Despite Hope’s Peak’s lofty status, the event played out the same way that it did almost anywhere. A circle of students gathered in the large gymnasium, and listened to the headmaster deliver an inspiring speech full of platitudes and pomp.

It was the kind of thing that Ichiko hated, and the instant she had a chance, she bolted for the door. The schedule they’d been given for the school day allotted much of the afternoon for independent exploration and inquiry around campus. The only other entry had been a mandatory homeroom session to touch base with a teacher; besides that, it appeared that Hope’s Peak was content to leave students to their own devices.

That part, at least, suited Ichiko just fine. She poked her head into the A/V room listed on the map, one of the only two facilities that had piqued her interest. The equipment and setup inside did not disappoint; as expected for an elite school, the amps, microphones, mixers, and turntables that filled the space were top-of-the-line. She suspected that no expense had been spared on equipment anywhere– the amount of money involved was staggering.

Not that she needed any of it to drop her bars. She wandered out onto the grounds, deciding to leave the music room on the upper floor for later. At the moment, she just wanted to be somewhere that let her stretch her legs after the long and dull affair from the morning.

The relative lack of other students was somewhat striking. While the school was filled with top-tier talent, the enormous size of the campus meant that she did not have to go far to be alone. Eschewing the verdant grounds, the girl settled for an isolated alleyway between two brick buildings. With a sigh, she leaned back against one wall and shut her eyes. Minute by minute, she felt her irritation slowly fading away.

A soft sound off to her right pulled Ichiko back to the present. It was ordinary enough– the sound of a shoe on concrete. But a second set of footsteps to her left sent a pang of alarm through her, and she leapt into a fighting stance while scanning her surroundings.

There were two hooded figures approaching from either side of her, their faces lost in shadow and wearing black, tactical-style garb. It would have been almost comically over-the-top if it weren’t real, and Ichiko could feel her pulse beginning to skyrocket.

“What the fuck d’you want?” She poured as much animosity and intensity into her words as she could, raising her fists in preparation for a scrap. The leather jacket tightened around her well-built arms, and she did her best to harden her face into an intimidating sneer. “C’mon, out with it you losers. What’s with the action-movie shit?”

She got no answer from either person– not so much as a word. While she could only glance at one of them at a time, Ichiko had just enough time to register both raising what looked like compact dart guns with unmistakable intent.

“Fuck y–!” Ichiko’s defiant curse was cut short by two muted pops, and the syringe darts that punched through her jacket on both sides. Instantly, her legs turned to jelly beneath her, and her vision disintegrated into a blurry mess. Even trying to speak was soon beyond her, and she was unable to resist as she felt herself being hauled somewhere by both arms– then stuffed into some kind of fabric enclosure.


Although she never truly lost consciousness, she was still thoroughly disoriented by the time that she managed to clear her head. As feeling crept back into her limbs and the world sharpened about her, she could see that she’d been pulled into a deep stand of trees some distance away from the school. She could still see the main building’s distinctive tower through the leaves, and it didn’t appear that more than a few minutes had passed.

There was no sign of the two goons who had jumped her earlier. As she scanned her surroundings, her eyes narrowed and her face contorted in range when she saw a single person watching her. Ichiko forced her way to her feet, feeling the rough bark of a tree scraping against her back.

“Who the hell are you, bitch?”

The woman standing a few paces away did not seem surprised this– in fact, she gave a knowing smirk as she produced a set of handcuffs from the pocket of a fine jacket. And then she was flying towards Ichiko with astonishing speed, pinning the girl back against the tree trunk with surprising force.

Ichiko struggled as best she could, but her recent drugging meant she was hardly in peak form. On top of that, her assailant’s wiry frame belied the woman’s strength, which would have been a match for the girl at the best of times. Within a few seconds, Ichiko felt her wrists being wrenched behind her and cuffed tightly.

“Damn you, you freak!”

The next moment, she was thrown to the ground. A second set of cuffs bit down about her ankles, making their grip felt even through her heavy boots.

“Get off of mpppghhh!” After the short scuffle, Ichiko’s breathing was heavy enough to force her to breath through her mouth. Her ill-timed attempt to yell at her captor simply afforded an opportunity for something to be rammed into her mouth with ruthless efficiency. Heavy straps cinched about her head before she even had time to react, driving the obstruction even deeper into her mouth and reducing her scream to a spluttering, incomprehensible mess.

“Such a vile thing, aren’t you?” Ichiko looked up, her eyes filled with defiant fury. The woman’s refined voice seemed entirely at odds with her brutally effective takedown, though the more she had a chance to take in the woman’s high-class outfit and facial features, the less surprising it seemed. “Well, I’ll do something about that soon enough. You’ll be learning plenty during this coming semester...and during the rest of your education.”

Spittle and dust flew into the air as Ichiko continued to thrash and roll about, her garbled expletives filling the small clearing. It was all for naught; the restraints around her wrists and ankles robbed her powerful muscles of the leverage she needed to effectively resist. And while the intent of her muffled shouts was abundantly clear, there was no chance of her being able to call for help– or effectively insult her tormentor.

“Fggh...hghhh…” She tried anyway, but between the gag and her exhaustion, she may as well not have bothered.

There was nothing she could do as the woman made her way back to a black SUV nearby, and retrieved a large suitcase from the trunk. Deliberately staying in Ichiko’s line of sight, she wheeled the case over to the helpless girl and dropped it to the ground alongside. While its contents were just outside the range of Ichiko’s vision, they became clear enough when the first coils of rope began to wrap about her elbows.

“You’re strong enough, but you should have tried to train that brain of yours while you were at it. A few little ties, and you’re just as easy to deal with as the last few empty-headed ditzes.”

Her protests were completely ignored as her arms were pinned behind her, wrenching her shoulders back painfully and leaving her unable to do anything but wiggle her fingers. By the time her handcuffs were removed, it scarcely mattered anyway– firm knots about her wrists replaced them with equal effectiveness. The entire process was repeated with her legs, though it was far more painful without the protection afforded by her jacket.

“Ggghkkk!” The involuntary grunt tore free of her throat as a rope was threaded the web of ropes at the nape of her neck, then looped through the tie at her ankles. The woman pulled it taut with a sharp tug, then continued to cinch Ichiko’s hogtie even tighter by a few inches at a time. The girl’s fitness was betraying her; the flexibility of her back allowed the woman to pull Ichiko into an intense arch, lifting the girl’s breasts high off the ground. Drool flowed around the ballgag and began to puddle on the ground in thick, bubbly strands.

Her exposed neck was soon covered by a heavy, stiff posture collar that forced Ichiko’s head painfully upwards. She could feel her throat vibrating against the tight band as she tried to yell, pain erupting in her scalp when the woman grabbed a fistful of her short, pink hair. Another coil of rope was snaked about the forced ponytail, pulling it back towards the girl’s ankles to add another source of pain and humiliation.

“That’s a much better look for you.” While her face was out of Ichiko’s line of sight, the smirk was obvious from the tone of her voice. “But don’t worry, we’ve got plenty more for you back home. You’d best get used to being nothing more than my personal luggage, dear. And we’ll get started by checking you for a little trip.”

The woman stood, and made a gesture towards the two lackeys who had been standing by in the shadows. A minute later, the Ultimate Wrapper found herself stuffed into the same suitcase that had held her new restraints, then tossed unceremoniously into what had to be a car trunk. She could hear the sound of an engine coming to life, and the crunch of tire against gravel and dirt.

And for the next few hours, that became her entire world. For a time, she slammed her body about in a fruitless effort to loosen the vicious hogtie, or to perhaps try and burst the suitcase open. But in her current state, even a single zipper was more than enough to keep her in the hot, humid space. The ropes creaked, and her teeth bit into what she now knew was a rubber ballgag with as much force as she could muster– but as time and miles continued to pass, Ichiko stayed just as helpless as she’d been at the start.

While she’d filled the darkness with angry grunts and sprayed drool, her protests slowly began to fade to heavy panting. Then, there was nothing more than the sounds of the road. Her thoughts grew darker and darker, shifting from fantasies of escape and revenge to the faintest twinges of fear.

Fear for how she’d been snatched in broad daylight from one of the most famous places in the country– then stuffed into a suitcase and spirited away. Bit by bit, her initial rage was forced out by a growing sense of dread. Her body ached, her clothes became soaked with sweat and drool, and as the hours passed, Ichiko could do nothing at all but stew in her own head.


She nearly missed the moment that the car slowed to a stop. A few moments later, she felt her suitcase being lifted and then dropped to the ground. The world then lurched and tilted, then began to bounce up and down as the suitcase was wheeled over what had to be cobblestones. Then came a large bump, and the sound of wheels on some kind of smooth stone.

There were various twists and turns, but Ichiko had no conception of where she was going, or where she’d been taken. She resumed her futile attempts at shouting, but it seemed that she was still far from help. When her prison finally righted itself, the sudden appearance of light blinded her just as much as the darkness of her confinement.

Something stabbed into her neck once again, and this time Ichiko could feel herself slipping away as something cold began to course through her veins. The room around her never had a chance to come into focus before her mind faded into unconsciousness.

When she came to, the first thing that Ichiko saw was herself. The sight was enough to instantly blast away the last traces of drug-induced haze that lingered in her mind. The girl on the screen in front of her was unmistakably her– but not only was she tied up, but she had been dressed in something horrific.

She was no stranger to crop tops, of course. She had even worn a few that rose as high as what she’d been stuffed into while unconscious. But she would never, ever have willingly donned the cheerleader top that hugged her body like a second skin. The fabric was so thin and tight that her nipples stuck out like sore thumbs; the underside of her small breasts peeked out from beneath the garment in twin slivers of white. “Hope’s Peak” was emblazoned in gaudy golden letters, standing out against the black material around it. Her body strained against the too-small outfit, her chest forced outwards by the cuffs that held her hands chained to the ceiling.

The costume only got worse as her aghast gaze continued downwards. The pathetic excuse for a miniskirt had the same color and style as the top, and covered little more than her crotch. Ichiko flushed angrily, seeing that even this was only true if she kept completely still. Even the slightest movement caused the skirt to ride upwards, flashing the her slit for all to see– including the camera that blinked mockingly at her from the other side of the stark, white room.

Her legs were bare from thigh to just beneath her knees. From there, they were in encased in tightly laced black boots, both of which ended in impossibly high heels. If she had been standing normally, she would have struggled to so much as take a step. As she was, her legs were being held spread by a heavy bar cuffed about her ankles, and in turn chained to the ground. Between her wrist cuffs and the bar, Ichiko was being held stably enough– but she was utterly immobilized by just a few scraps of metal.

The ballgag in her mouth was the only thing that seemed familiar, but having to look at herself wearing it was beyond mortifying. Someone had applied a deep red lipstick to her lips, which now framed a black sphere that had replaced her mouth. Her chin shimmered as light reflected off of a sheen of drool, which had clearly been growing for quite some time. Even as she watched, a large droplet beaded beneath her jaw, then fell with a faint splash onto the little vest. A growing, dark patch soon meant that her breasts were covered in her own spit, and it was with absolute horror that she watched the accumulating fluid beginning to make its way down towards her waist.

She was left to twist and turn for what felt like hours. Eventually, Ichiko began to simply focus on staying still in the hopes that the plentiful drool continuing to font from behind the ballgag would stay in one place. By that time, though, much of her body was already coated in her drool, allowing the relatively chill air of the room to nip at every inch of her skin. Both the flimsy cheerleading vest and skirt boasted huge, sopping stains on the fronts that caused the cloth to cling to every curve of her body.

And the entire time, the screen in front of her captured and displayed every facet of her torment. It was only reasonable to expect that this was not a simple camera feed– it was certainly being recorded somewhere for someone’s sick amusement. Perhaps it was just the woman she’d seen before– or maybe it was a much larger group of people she didn’t even know about. It was impossible to tell for sure, or to learn anything at all about her situation.

“How are you doing, little miss?” The voice seemed to come from all around her– Ichiko recognized the barely-noticeable, metallic notes of a hi-fi speaker set. “Not that I am really concerned, but it’s only polite to ask. After all, this estate will be your new workplace from now on.”

“Fgggh hyuuu!” While she had previously been slumping in her bonds, Ichiko managed to stand a bit straighter and put some fire into her words. All she got for her trouble was a low chuckle, and a humiliating zoom of the camera in front of her on her newly-exposed crotch.

“That kind of language will not be permitted in this household.” It was unmistakably the same woman from before, taking the same tone a teacher might to discipline an unruly student. “You need to learn your place, slave. This isn’t your school or stage. This is now your life, and you’ll live by my rules.”

“Lhhhk hghhhll Hhhh whhhl!” Ichiko continued to splutter and curse, but it was plain that her protests fell on deaf ears. The woman simply continued on, completely unfazed by the furious, helpless outburst.

“Carmen, Yuki, change the girl’s restraints.” From somewhere behind her, Ichiko could hear the sound of a door opening and closing. Then came the echoing, distinct taps of heels against the hard floor. Two girls finally appeared on the screen flanking Ichiko, standing some distance behind her with trays balanced in both hands. One had brought another set of cuffs and chains; the other’s load was covered by a metal cloche.

Both girls were moderately restrained, wearing strict heels that would make it impossible to run and hobbling chains about their ankles. Decorative metal collars were locked about their necks, and they were gagged in much the same way as Ichiko herself– although their ballgags were ominously larger, and seemed to be forcing even more drool from their mouths.

One was dressed in a maid costume that would not have looked altogether out of place at a party. Although the fabric and decorative accents were unquestionably expensive, the girl’s body was covered by little more than practically-transparent laces and frills. The most substantial part of the outfit was a tight corset that forced large, ample breasts front and center, both of which were crowned by heavy nipple clamps.

The other girl had the same clamps, but her uniform was far more conservative, looking for all the world like something out of an old, Victorian-era painting. A few liberties had obviously been taken; a tight bustier and sheer panels of fabric ensured that this girl’s breasts were also fully on display. Strategic cuts in the skirt and top suggestively flashed darker skin underneath, and hints of some kind of lingerie.

For all their stylistic differences, though, both maids shared the same, glassy look in their eyes. It was enough to strike a deep terror into Ichiko’s heart that paused her ongoing struggling. Neither had tried to make a single sound since entering the room, or moved more than absolutely necessary.

Even as she watched them through the camera feed, the monitor switched to a split-screen view of two recorded videos. Ichiko could only watch in silent horror as the two girls behind her were abducted and subdued in the same way she had been– both shouting defiantly, kicking and screaming as they fought against faceless attackers.

As if to drive the point home, a recording of Ichiko’s own kidnapping then began to play– recorded from who-knew-where, but telling the exact same story. When the screen finally switched back to the live feed, she could see that neither of the girls behind her had moved an inch– or seemed to react in any way at all. Their eyes remained as vacant and broken as they had when she’d first seen them, their bodies perfectly poised and still.

The maids began to advance, the one with the chains bending down to set her tray on the ground. The heavy spreader bar made it impossible for Ichiko to avoid the girl’s grasping hands, or the heavy cuffs that she latched about one ankle, then the other. Both chains were fastened to heavy rings bolted into the floor, keeping Ichiko’s legs spread wide even once the bar was detached and pulled away. The metal links rattled loudly as she struggled, but there was no question about whether or not they would hold.

The other maid was picking at the strap of the ballgag, undoing the buckles and beginning to pull the device free. As soon as she felt the ball beginning to move, Ichiko spat the thing out of her mouth, releasing a spray of drool and a loud, inarticulate yell.

"Pffgh! Ugh, you goddamn fuckin' bitch!" She was determined to release as much of her pent-up rage as possible, spitting out a string of swears with the rapid-fire precision born of her talent. The room echoed with the sound of fury, but neither the disembodied voice or the maids paid her any mind.

“You act the brash tomboy, but you need to be reminded that you are still a girl. A girl who is now my slave. Every inch of your body is mine, and it’s time that you know it too. Girls, please remind the slave of the holes she has.”

It was a crude remark, sounding all the stranger in the woman’s refined, delicate voice. But it prompted an immediate reaction from both maids, one of whom went to a control panel behind the monitor and began to manipulate several buttons. The other slipped back out of sight, and grabbed an object from beneath her cloche.

At the peak of Ichiko’s next shout, the second maid moved with shocking speed. She whipped out a ballgag– but one that looked altogether more menacing than the one that Ichiko had just been freed from. The red rubber sphere itself was enormous, but it was attached to a long phallus that dwarfed the capping ball in size. Before Ichiko could clamp her mouth shut, the dildo gag was rammed home between her lips.

“Gggghhhhhhhhhk–!” The girl choked, able to do nothing more than produce a wet, strangling noise as the intruder sank deeper and deeper into her protesting mouth. Before she knew it, her entire mouth was stuffed completely full– and then the gag was crushing against the back of her throat. Her vision dimmed, and her chest burned for want of air as she struggled for breath. It took every ounce of her strength to manage to suck the tiniest scraps of oxygen around the enormous dildo; she had nothing left at all to resist as the gag was cinched tight.

“Uuuurk–!” The maid was yanking against the leather strap, forcing the buckle tighter one notch at a time. Every movement made the dildo twist maddeningly inside her throat, in spite of her best efforts to eject the unwanted member. Her vision was going hazy again– it wasn’t until she felt something cold brushing against one of her thighs that Ichiko was able to force herself back into the moment.

“Wghghhhk…?!” Her tiny, stifled cry of shock was almost lost in the sound of mechanical whirring beneath her. On the screen, she could see something on a pole rising out of the floor– something that was tipped in an enormous set of dildos that were now pressing right up against her body. The maid by the controls watched her with the same vacant stare as before, occasionally moving a lever out of sight in response to Ichiko’s attempts to squirm away.

“FFFFFFHHHK!” Tied down as she was, Ichiko could do nothing as the two dildos sank into her, vanishing out of the camera’s view as they burrowed into her. The motorized contraption continued to rise without mercy; even when her ankles were released from their cuffs, there was no way for Ichiko to get away. Her only option was to bring her legs together and rise onto the tips of her toes, anything to get away from the enormous things filling her to bursting.

“I figured this was one of the best ways to remind you of what you are, slave.” The woman sounded amused, watching her prey twisting fruitlessly in an effort to free herself from her new prison. “I have had ample time to perfect that device. In fact, the girls in there with you were my first test subjects. In those heels, even with your hands free, you don’t have a chance to escape– so save me the trouble, and give up.”

“...hhk…!” The pain in her throat and crotch was impossible to manage. She didn’t know how long she’d been impaled, but tears were already leaking from her eyes in spite of her best efforts. Her legs had begun to shake and tremble, and her powerful arms were of no help to her in her present predicament. They became even less-so when the two maids tag-teamed her, wrenching her wrists behind her and pulling her arms into a harsh strappado position.

“Girls, make sure she can see herself.” One of the maids wrested Ichiko’s head upwards, forcing her to look straight at the screen ahead. The other bent down to fish out a new, stricter posture collar, and fixed it tightly around the girl’s neck. The new restraint clamped down hard on her bulging throat, restricting her breathing even further. Both maids stepped away, their intervention no longer required. Ichiko was little more than a doll on a display stand; the combination of metal, rubber and leather had stripped away her almost every shred of agency she had.

“Carmen, go fetch the special armbinder. Yuki, prepare the device for transport.” There was an audible click over the speakers, leaving the room silent except for the sound of tapping heels and Ichiko’s muffled, pained crying. The fight was still guttering inside of her, a low flame of anger– but the torture she was being subjected had thrown her completely off balance.

“It’s about time I had a chance to inspect my newest toy in the flesh.” The woman stepped through the door, striding over to Ichiko’s helpless form in a few decisive steps. She came to a stop just behind her prisoner, affording Ichiko a chance to look at her captor in slightly more detail.

The woman had sharp, angular facial features reminiscent of the old portraits of nobility. She appeared to have a few traces of makeup, but at a guess she needed very little of it to accent flawlessly smooth skin. A set of wire-rim glasses perched perfectly straight atop her nose, and she was dressed in an elegant, slim-fit black minidress and stockings.

There was no sign that this was the same woman who had taken her on in the forest, and personally tied her up like nothing more than a misbehaving animal. No sign that she was any different from the socialites constantly on television and in the newspapers, no sign that she secretly abducted and broke innocent girls into complete servitude.

Ichiko winced, one of the few movements left to her, as her cheeks were crushed together by powerful fingers.

“Hrrgluuughh…” She let out a wet, pathetic whimper. A fresh stream of drool spurted out from around the enormous ballgag, and she could feel a mirrored flow of drool being forced down her throat. Her facial expression, such as it was, barely changed– her jaw was already stretched to the breaking point, and her lips had nowhere to go. “Gluuugh...urk…!”

Her low, exhausted mewls changed to a series of short, choked grunts as the woman pulled her head slightly from side to side. Between the forced deepthroat and restrictive collar, even these little movements were pure torment. Through her watering eyes, she could make out her tormentor performing an analytical, unforgiving appraisal of her body. As if she were a piece of art...or livestock.

“Vile girls like yourself never give up during the first few days. You’re just stunned right now, but given the chance I know you’d try to escape or resist in a heartbeat. I have seen it before, and I know full well how to deal with your kind.”

There was no room for doubt, or so much as a moment of hesitation in her voice. It was not a command, an order, a taunt– the words were delivered as nothing more than a statement of fact. Ichiko could eke out nothing in response, other than to shiver and spasm while the woman began to run her hands up and down the girl’s transfixed body. She squeezed and pinched at her firm muscles and small, toned curves– she prodded at the restraints and the enormous, merciless rods that held Ichiko in place.

The invasive touch only paused when the dark-skinned maid returned, showing up on-screen for just long enough to hand the woman what looked like a heavy leather bundle, and two reflective tubes of latex. This complete, the girl obediently stepped back out of view– and from the sound of it, came to a complete stop. Once again, there was not a trace of independent thought or resistance in the maid’s actions– a chilling preview of what might be in Ichiko’s future.

“Yuki, if the new slave so much as twitches, raise her prison bar.” The woman did not even bother to speak to Ichiko herself, instead beginning to remove the wrist cuffs that had pinned the girl into a painful strappado.

Just as predicted, the moment the second cuff came free, Ichiko did her best to take a swing at the woman. It was hopeless from the very beginning– her starting position gave her little leverage for a real punch, and her target was in the worst blind spot possible.

Worse still, the instant she began to twist her waist, her crotch seemed to explode with an overwhelming sensation that left her weak at the knees. Ichiko faltered mid-blow, the strength draining out of her muscles and causing her to drop lower still on her humiliating prison.

The woman stepped out of range without missing a beat. At the same time, the pole that impaled Ichiko began to vibrate and ratchet upwards without remorse. It felt as though she were being split wide open; if she thought she had been stuck before, the new adjustment made her earlier predicament look like a set of training wheels.

Without paying attention to the girl’s renewed cries of shock and distress, the woman began to roughly force Ichiko’s arms into the latex tubes one at a time, revealing them to be a pair of bondage gloves. Her hands were forced into tight fists, paralyzing even her fingers. Before she could even catch her breath, her arms were wrenched and twisted into a severe reverse prayer, her forearms crushed together behind her shoulder blades by a powerful grip. What felt like a thick belt secured her arms in place, allowing her captor to complete her bondage with a heavy armbinder.

There was no way for her to stem her tears now. Her shoulders burned ferociously, her lungs struggled to draw enough breath to keep her conscious, and every hole in her body was filled to bursting. A deep shudder pulsed into her core, wracking her helpless body with another wave of sensation and shock.

She blinked, barely able to resolve the monitor in front of her. The rod she was transfixed upon had come free from the ground, apparently attached to a small pedestal of some kind. The two maids took Ichiko by her elbows, and began to pull her towards the door. The pedestal rolled almost silently on hidden casters, swiveling to allow Ichiko to look around for the first time.

Through the doorway, she could see a lavish, wood-paneled hallway that suggested an enormous mansion. The woman walked into view, staying several paces ahead without paying her captive any mind. The maids at her side followed without a word, though Ichiko’s ears were filled with the wet sounds of bubbling, dripping drool and constricted breathing. If she had to guess, both girls were being forced to take the same enormous dildo gag that robbed Ichiko of air and voice.

Countless little imperfections in the floor ensured that there was no chance that Ichiko could settle. Small, painful jolts crashed into her at seemingly random intervals, preventing her from focusing on their route. After what felt like a hazy eternity, they finally came to a stop inside what looked like a home office of some kind. The woman finally turned around, and pointed at a tall glass display case set against one wall.

A second later, the small pedestal had been deposited inside the case, and a glass door was swung into place. A loud click echoed inside the tiny chamber as the door locked, cutting off most background noise and distorting what little sound made it to her ears.

“After you have weakened and suffered for a bit, you will be ready to proceed to the next phase. Eventually, you will be ready to serve me as a maid, and perhaps even be called by a real name. For now, you will be nothing more than an office decoration. As a consequence for your earlier disobedience, you will remain there for another twelve hours.”

The woman stepped to one side, allowing Ichiko to see a digital clock on one wall. It looked as though barely an hour or two had passed since her abduction. It hardly seemed possible, but there was nothing else for her to go by. The afternoon sun looked as bright as it had by the school as it streamed in through large, ornate windows. And all her belongings had long since been stripped away from her.

“You will learn your place. You are a girl, and my plaything. Your restraints should do an excellent job reminding you of your body and position here until you accept your new reality.” The voice sounded oddly muffled through the glass, but it lost none of its confidence and intimidation for it.

The woman chuckled as she walked away, her mind flicking to other errands she had to attend to for the next few hours. The clock on the wall was anything but accurate, of course– it was programmed to speed up, slow down, and skip about at random intervals. The display case was too narrow to allow Ichiko to move up, down, left, or right– all she would be able to do was to marinate in her own doubts and fluids.

And so it was that Ichiko found herself left completely alone. Her head was swimming, and sweat soaked every inch of the meager clothes on her body as the air inside the display case began to become hot and humid. She could see the humiliating rivers of drool flowing out of her mouth, the degrading way the cheerleading costume hugged her curves, the flashes of the intruders that filled her most sensitive spots.

The clock on the wall tormented her. She knew that she would stay this way for at least twelve hours– but the total time of her current ordeal had been left unspecified. Her memory was becoming hazy, and every blink did nothing more than confuse her further. First an hour had passed, then a minute. Then she realized she had been hallucinating, that only a few minutes had passed at all since she had been installed in the case. Soon, Ichiko had as little idea of the time as she did of her place.

Occasionally, she could see maids walking by her– some familiar, others new to her. All had the same, blank, subservient look in their eyes. Each wore variations of a maid uniform, and were bound in the same restrictive bondage equipment. Some seemed to be busy with cleaning the floor, while others dusted the desks and artwork around the house with dusters attached to their gags. As one cleaned the front of Ichiko’s case, the girl tried to blink, to grunt, to attract the maid’s attention.

She got no reaction. She may as well have been nothing more than a piece of art; the maid did not so much as change her expression, leaving as soon as her cleaning was complete.

Eventually, it all melted away into an endless blur of nothingness.


It was unclear if she had fallen unconscious, asleep, or been drugged again. All that Ichiko knew was that the next time she awoke, she found herself in an entirely different predicament, room, and outfit.

Her arms and legs had been folded in on themselves, and encased in strict heels and bondage gloves to prevent her from even wiggling her fingers and toes. If she had been on the ground, the bondage would have prevented her from doing anything more than crawling on all floors like some kind of pet. As it was, her limbs were being held spread by leather cuffs and chains at knees and elbows.

An intricate harness of belts and metal rings wrapped about her torso, digging into the front of her body and serving as the anchor for some kind of suspension rig. As she swung from side to side, Ichiko could see herself from all angles in the large, decorative mirrors that lined the walls of what was clearly a dining room of some kind.

Whenever she moved, flashes of light caught her eye from all directions. Her gag was as secure as ever, and she could see ropes of her drool falling into a strategically-placed bowl on the elegant dining table beneath her. But on its end was a shaded lightbulb of some kind, held relatively still by a posture collar– and by a sharp, painful pressure that pulled at her hair– and her ass. A few seconds later, she saw the humiliating, enormous metal hook that had been threaded between her head and her rear, forcing her back to arch even further than the strains of her suspension. Another glow came from between her legs, completing her apparent new role as a chandelier.

Instead of a second lampshade, the light coming from her crotch filtered through the bell of a pleated schoolgirl skirt. Her midriff was bared up to the bottom of her breasts once again, which was covered this time by a heavily modified sailor uniform top. For all the world, it looked like little more than a racy bikini– only some of the trappings and shapes suggested what it was supposed to be behind the lewd, suggestive accents. The boots were gone, tall heeled shoes now in their place.

And something new had been added to her chest– two enormous, heavy brass clamps that bit down on her nipples. As though that were not painful enough, every small motion caused the large crystal pendants attached to the clamps to swing about, tugging viciously against the sensitive nubs.

At one end of the table, she could see the woman enjoying a leisurely, multi-course meal. The moment she finished a plate, or the glass of wine at her side dipped below the halfway mark, another bound maid would appear at her side and take care of it without so much as a word.

The woman looked up at Ichiko, seeing that her light fixture had regained consciousness. She held eye contact for a few seconds, chewing daintily on a cut of meat. The woman took her time, making an enormous show of savoring each moment of her food. When she finally spoke, she only spared Ichiko a handful of words.

“You arrived at an excellent time. Enough of my slaves have become maids that I was lacking for decoration. Regardless of your disposition, you will be whatever furniture or tool that I need you to be for however long I need.”

With that, the woman returned to her meal, and did not give Ichiko so much as another glance for the remainder of the night. Tears soon joined the drool that had never stopped bubbling around the edges of her ballgag, dripping to the large bowl with soft, metallic tinkling sounds. For a few short minutes, Ichiko tried to struggle, to loosen her bonds by even a fraction– but the stringent tie and pain in her crotch and nipples soon put an end to even that feeble resistance.

She had no idea how long she had been forced to serve the woman, whose name she still did not even know. But the little flame of defiance inside of her continued to ebb and dwindle, flickering with every new stab of pain and sensation.

Beneath her, the maids whisked away an array of dessert dishes and began to clear the table. The woman had already left, and the cleaning task took only a few minutes. As the last maid left the room, she flipped a switch with a bound hand. The lightbulbs attached to Ichiko at both ends blinked out, plunging the room into darkness.

And there she was left, hanging in the void and completely forgotten. There was no sound, no light, save for the faint squeaking of latex and occasional rattle of chain.


The straitjacket crushing her torso would have been stiflingly hot on a cool outdoor evening. In the steam-shrouded bathroom, it was practically enough to make her faint. Heavy canvas and leather ensured that while she could wiggle her torso and her arms, her range of motion remained little more than a joke.

Ichiko had given up on even trying to make a sound. Her jaw felt as though it were about to fall clean off, and her throat ached from her prolonged enforced deepthroat. The ballgag in her mouth was no slimmer, and her drooling was no less severe– but it was at least something that she could cling to amidst this nightmare.

Once again, her legs were spread wide open. Constant and humiliating exposure seemed to be an ironclad part of her life as a serving tool. Her crotch was bare, framed by white, frilly lace. The thin, intricate lingerie that had replaced the last outfit was clearly expensive– it almost certainly had come from an upscale women’s boutique. For all the material used, though, it covered practically nothing. While a few fringes of cloth peeked through the window that had been cut into the front of the straitjacket, the bra did no more to cover her small breasts than the crotchless panties shielded her womanhood.

One of her ankles tied to the floor, anchoring her in place. The other had been hauled above her head, splitting her as far as her body would allow. A series of ropes encircled her ankle, above and beneath her knee, and about her thigh. Fastened to each coil was a slim metal hook, from which dangled a number of bathing supplies. Some small towels, brushes, and a number of scrubbing pads dangled from her raised leg as though she were just a shelf.

That was hardly inaccurate. Periodically, her captor reached up from the enormous bathing pool that she had been lounging in for what felt like hours, and took one item or another to tend to her body. For the first time all day, it was only the two of them in the room. But despite that, despite their closeness, Ichiko could no more take on her tormentor than she could fly.

When the woman finally began to towel herself off, she moved to stand directly in front of the helpless girl. Water beaded and dripped off of her full breasts and slim legs, completing the image of perfect, high-class womanhood that she had exuded the entire day. Once she was suitably dry, the woman leaned forwards and inspected Ichiko’s face with a tiny smile.

“Today, you learned that you are a girl, no matter what you thought before. It should be clear that you have no power here, and that you are not the first slave to catch my eye. Process and accept that tonight, and we will pick back up tomorrow morning.”

The faint, glassy sheen that clouded Ichiko’s eyes was the only reply the woman needed. With a casual, sharp slap against the girl’s crotch and breasts, the woman strolled out the bathroom door and switched off the lights.

Once again, Ichiko was left alone in the dark. Steam wetly swirled about her, mingling with her own drool, sweat, and tears. There was no clock, no light, no sound to ground her.

Nothing but the prospect of becoming one of the obedient maids she had been surrounded by all day. And then, she’d become nothing more than another video to show the woman’s next target.

That was all. She had been the Ultimate Rapper for just a handful of days.

Now, she was just a slave.