BUN IN OVEN-OVEN IN CAGE

Feature Writer: S.Moulder

Feature Title: Bun In Oven-Oven In Cage

Published: 15.07.2007

Story Codes: Pregnant, BDSM.

Synopsis: Dianne wants some help with her pregnancy

Bun In Oven-Oven In Cage

Dianne was my third preg. Like the other women, she had responded to my ad in the Boston adult personals. She stood in my doorway and I gave her a very calm smile, not greeting her verbally. I wanted her decision to enter my home to be hers alone. She smiled and walked forward.

I violently grabbed her by the hair, bending her body forward, kicked the door shut and walked her to the six-foot-by-four-foot dog cage I had ready for her. She was reflexively reaching up, in a very feminine way, in a vain effort to remove my hands, so I zapped them with a contact wand and pushed her face solidly against the outside of the cage.

“Okay,” I said to her, “This is your decision. Last chance. Either get inside the cage, or walk out the door.”

I let go of her, took the padlock off the cage and swung the door open. She leaned against the front of the steel cage, gasping, reeling from the pain in her scalp and trying to keep her baby calm by sending it a burst of extra energy.

I watched her open her eyes and stare through the cage at the BDSM equipment section of my basement with all it’s bells and whistles; and then over at the gyno-section. When she saw the three-thousand dollar gyno-chair, though, she composed herself, looked over at me with a “I hope you know what you’re doing” look … stooped and entered the four-foot-high cage.

I put the padlock on behind her.

“Take your clothes off, now and hand them to me,” I said, calmly.

I always try to relax a bit once my pregs are in their cage. It’s a tactical thing, really. You have to use a lot of psychology on a pregnant woman, whether she is a slave, sub, or just an overnight paid session like mine usually are. The confinement of the cage can make them go into contractions or just,”False alarms,” nervous jolts from their solar plexus to cervix that can cause unnecessary concern for both me and her, ending the session prematurely with a call to 911.

The twenty-three-year-old, 5’6″, 143 pound pregnant redhead kicked off her shoes, dropped her faded, denim cut offs with no panties underneath and removed her t-shirt.

“Give them to me,” I told her.

She did so, trying to establish some eye contact with me.

“Put this on,” I told her, and handed her a black, nylon blindfold.

I don’t like them looking back at me while I am surveying them, sizing them up.

“Sit on the floor,” I commanded her, once she put it on.

Her pretty, prominent five-month bump rested comfortably behind her crossed legs as I considered what to do to her. I became attracted to the freckles across her chest and then looked down at her b-cup pointed breasts. I decided to bind them extremely tightly with my handmade, adjustable breast collars to force milk from them. I opened up the cage and crawled inside.

The first thing I did was duct tape a Doppler fetal heat-rate monitor to her glorious, available bulge. In a pregnant BDSM session, everything depends on the physical and emotional health of the unborn child. If the baby is all right then so is mommy, so we both would monitor the child’s activity (distress) level and I would monitor it’s heart rate, too, so that it went no higher that seventy-five percent of maximum.

It would be up to the mommy to let me know if she was feeling any pain from her fetus or nausea, cramping, dizziness, etc. I had discussed this all with Dianne at our initial meeting, and she was well-aware of the signs and indications…the responsibilities and dangers.

“Slide forward and lay on your back,” I said.

Once she did, lumbering like all pregnant women do, I put the breast collars on her as tightly as my strength permitted. She began screaming and almost tried to hit me. She was lucky she didn’t, and lay there in agony as I put the first one on her and then the other, transforming her breasts into purplish globes and reducing the base of them to the size of about a quarter.

I told her calmly, “I want to make something clear, Dianne. If you hit me, I will hit you. All I can promise is that I will not punch you in the stomach, but I hit much harder than you do. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, struggling to determine just how far I would go with all of this.

I had to slap her tits a little to get milk to appear. Wiping some milk on her lips, I checked the heart-rate monitor. One-hundred-and-thirty BPM. No response from the sprog, yet. Perfect. She heard the metal clicking of the handcuffs and then felt them as they were attached to her pregnant ankles. I knelt on her cunt a little bit hard and explained to her in a soft voice what I was going to do.

“I’m going to hook electricity up to some very sensitive and special parts of your body. I’m going to need you to tell me when you are suffering distress, just like we discussed. Do you understand?”

She took a little too much time to answer, so I leaned really hard into her pregnant, purple cunt with my knee, putting all my weight on it for a about five seconds. Already crying over her extreme breast bondage, Dianne screamed and shook and drooled, rocking her head side to side as I knelt on her pussy. When I relieved the pressure, she looked like she’d had the wind knocked out of her, her face beet red, her hands clinging to the back wall of the cage. When she could breathe again, she resumed her crying.

“Do you understand?” I repeated.

“Yes,” came the instant reply.

I kissed her pregnant tummy and grabbed the chain between the handcuffs on her ankle.

“Let go of the cage,” I warned her.

She didn’t know what to do. She hung on to the cage.

“Let go of the cage,” I repeated.

I attached heavy duty electrical clamps near where her sexy fingers were curled around the thin bars. They would heat the metal to cherry red in about ten minutes. She’d be fine until then, so I decided to eat her shaved cunt.

“Open your legs,” I ordered.

She pulled her ankles open as much as she could with the handcuffs on, so I pushed her knees apart and set about kissing and licking her baby-opening. As I did so, I squeezed her tennis-ball shaped tits hard and kept her screaming as the milk shot out onto my hands and her pregnant tummy. Her hips bucked and slammed down hard and repeatedly onto the cage floor from the pain but I could see that her hands were beginning to release from the hot cage bars.

“Good girl,” I said, and grabbed her ankle chain to drag her the thirty feet of tile to the gyno-chair where she would be bound and electrocuted.

“You bastard!” she cried, as I hauled her off and she removed her blindfold, tossing it away.

I dropped her legs and kneeling to grab her by the hair, almost punched her in the face.

“Close your eyes,” I said.

“I’d kick you in the balls if I could!” she spouted.

“Close your eyes … ” I calmly repeated, “Or I’ll put salt in them.”

She closed them and I replaced the blindfold.

“If you remove the blindfold, I will hold your eyes open and pour salt into them. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Sit up,” I commanded, once I had her positioned on the floor beside the gyno-chair.

I placed my hands under her armpits to help her stand up. After removing the cuffs from her ankles, I swung the chair around and got her into it.

“Okay, I’m going to get you strapped up and we are going to start off slow. The intensity, pulse and rate will not be that much to start off with. Is that okay with you, Dianne?”

She didn’t answer, but I did her a favor and took her breast collars off.

“Does that feel better?”

“Yes,” she replied.

I could have gotten her screaming again by playing with her breasts at that moment, but we had better things to do. I got her legs secured in the stirrups and ran leather medical restraints over her tummy and chest.

“I’ll have to secure your hands too, Dianne, cause you might hurt yourself when it gets intense, later on. okay?”

“Yes. I understand,” she replied.

“Okay. I’m going to give you a choice. Hands and arms against body or arms spread wide, over your head.”

Dianne thought and decided to do it tonight with her arms secured tightly against her body.

“Against my body,” she said.

I adjusted the chair so that her torso would be straight, though pointed diagonally downward. I quickly ran two bands of latex bondage tape around her body, attaching her arms and forearms to her body with it. She was ready. I got her legs spread nice and wide and attached four electro-stim pads to her pregnant tummy, an electro-stim glass dildoe in her purplish vagina and an electro-stim stainless steel buttplug in her dark brown ass.

This is what she had come for.

This is what she had paid me eighty dollars for. Dianne had told me that at home, whatever bondage or sex she performed while pregnant made her feel closer to her unborn child, somehow. She told me it made her feel much more aware and a part of her coming child, her pregnancy, her body and even more aware of her partner and her relationship with him.

My role was to help her feel this bond more intensely, and in the three hours we had arranged for tonight, I was going to do everything I could to bring her to unknown heights of sensation.

“Okay, Dianne, remember: If you get the feeling that your baby is panicking, or in distress, you can use the meditative techniques I taught you to send protective energy to it. Okay?”

“I know,” she said.

“I can help you do that if we run into any difficulties.”

“Thank you,” she told me.

I looked at her and she smiled. I hooked the stomach pads to a P.E.S. box and turned it on slow pulse. I checked the fetal heart-rate monitor and the baby was reacting. It’s heartbeat shot up to one-hundred-and-sixty. I put it on a slower pulse to give the child time to calm down between pulses … and hooked up the dildo to the other box.

“How are you doing?” I asked the bound preg.

I kissed her tummy. I could see she was starting to sweat.

“It’s a little intense!” she said.

I stroked her tummy and turned on the other P.E.S. box. Her tummy and chin lurched straight up and stayed there about every fifteen seconds. I caressed her tummy, gliding my hand next to the pads, hoping to keep the baby as calm as possible. The tiny hairs on her arms and tummy were standing up.

“If you feel any cramping let me know.”

I reminded her and turned up the intensity and rate on the glass dildo inside her soft, pregnant vagina. Dianne was already feeling a little bit of nausea, but wanted to ride this thing out as far as she could. When the pads or dildo pulsed, she tried to connect with her child and whatever it was feeling.

She had the strong feeling that the child was not happy at all, sensing kind of a black energy from it. She tried to send white, healing energy to the baby. It seemed to help. I sent some too, directly though my palm, which was resting on mommy’s tummy.

“I can feel it moving,” she said, and I asked her if she wanted to watch it kick and squirm.

She said yes, so I raised her torso up with the chair and took her blindfold off. She looked down immediately, smiling at me and I hooked up her butt-plug now, too. She started to groan in pain and instinctively gyrate her hips, managing to move them some even under the tight leather restraints. I laid kiss after deep, soft kiss on her bulge as we watched and felt the fetal movements underneath.

Her body began spasming every thirty seconds or so, now, seeming to freeze solid for an instance as her chest raised up and her eyes squinted. The baby’s heart-rate was almost at one-hundred-and-seventy bpm now, and it’s actions were quite violent. I wanted to take Dianne to the top, so I got out a leather paddle and removed the dildo from her cunt.

Three whacks at a time, I struck her vagina, pressing my other hand to her stomach to sense the baby’s reaction. One. Two. Three! (slight pause) One. Two. Three! The child was going nuts, kicking and flailing and twisting inside it’s mother. One. Two. Three!

The vibrations and pain ripped through the amnion and into the baby’s tender body. It was trying to swim somewhere. Anywhere. Diane puked, but that is something I expected. It had happened to the other two pregs I had done as well.

“It’s kicking me too hard,” she gasped, “You have to do something.”

I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this, because I knew the risks.

“There is one thing I can do,” I told her, “I can get you inverted, press down on your tummy over the child’s head, and give him a tap with this.”

I held up a heavier, longer leather paddle.

“It will knock it out.”

“Do it.” she said, without much hesitation.

She was in severe pain, being kicked in her kidneys, bladder and other major organs by her terrified child. I tipped her back, pressed down hard between and just below her tits, and with one good whap, it was all over. The child’s heart-rate returned to normal and, more importantly, Dianne’s pain ceased.

“Would you like some water?” I asked, smiling.

The session was basically over.

“Sure,” she said.

I gave it to her and undid her straps.

“This feels beautiful!” she said, looking down at her tummy as I helped her up. “I’ve never had him unconscious before!”

I un-taped the fetal heart-rate monitor and electro-stim pads from her tummy, gave it a kiss.

“You were both very co-operative!” we both chuckled, “Lean back …” I said, and pulled the butt plug slowly out of her ass.

I cut the bondage tape open with scissors and she was a free woman. A free pregnant woman!

“Can I come back and see you once a month?” she asked.

“Sure, sweetie,” I said.

I gave her cunt a farewell kiss and sent them packing.

THE END