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Holiday in Florida
- Thread starter TheLimey
- Start date
TheLimey
Magistrate
KurvyKate
Paying for it.
It’s important to carry out my instructions in precisely the correct order. If I make a mistake and disable myself at the wrong time I’ll fuck up the whole event and then what? Someone might have to rescue me. Who? It won’t be anyone I’m for, anyone who’s watched me. I’ve no idea who or where they’ll be because this event, me, will be on line.
I’ve built a fantasy relationship with someone who’s opened me, he’s stripped me psychologically bare and found his way deep into my most profound wickedness. He’s used me emotionally, tested and probed me while I was helplessly intoxicated by my own lust and I was easy and willing, even though I knew he sought to own me. That thought thrilled me and I’ve let it happen. My submission means my obedience is assured until one day, maybe, he lets me go. Having offered myself I’m now his to offer to others. That’s what this event is.
It’s a webcam show and I’ll sit in front of mine in the way thousands of other girls do but where they perform their punters’ instructions, my people will control my discomfort directly. I’m going to be tortured electrically, electronically and at the discretion of my master, he’ll let them be as cruel as he thinks I deserve, or as merciless as they convince him is necessary.
How well does he understand my fantasy, how intimately do we understand each other? I’m going to depend on him like never before. I’m more than scared, I’m terrified, I’m so excited I’m struggling to breathe. I need to concentrate hard to set myself up and get it right because I’m on my own. He owns me but he’s half a world away!
First I have to switch everything on and open Team Viewer on my computer. This means I give my Master control of it from his. I’m up in the middle of the night by the way, to make me available to those he wants to share me with, in some other time zone.
We’ll be using two, dual channel shock generators, each with a range of modes and power levels controlled by software downloaded from the manufacturers onto our computers and those of the people who’ll enjoy playing with me. USB leads run from my computer to bluetooth relays which operate the shock units fixed to the front of my chair. I’ve been instructed to glue the plugs into the boxes to make my torment secure.
To get technical for a moment, two dual channel boxes means attaching eight terminals to my body. The first two are screw on metal (of course) nipple clamps. Although I don’t know this, I’m sure my Master is watching me, I assume he is and I nip my nipples in the clamps on camera to satisfy him I’ve done it properly. The wires to these plug into one channel port on one box.
Next, also on camera, I put on what looks like a leather chastity belt but it’s function is to carry what the shock box people call “insertables”. I’m so turned on by the thought of my adventure that the terminals I’m sure most of my tormentors will go for insert easily, the lower one resting between my labia where I know I’ll feel it most. This takes up another channel port.
Two small studs attached to the crotch strap of my belt nestle in my rose above and below Her, her who’ll give them the means to destroy me. They’ll pass current through her and they’ll be the most severe test I’ll face. My master knows I can be forced to orgasm by selecting the killer mode for this and I’m praying he’ll keep that knowledge to himself. I don’t want to be tortured after I’ve come, I need denial to make me want to suffer. This uses the third port.
The forth and final port supplies current to my butt plug. All this hardware is held in place by the crotch strap of my belt which I buckle and then lock with a small padlock. Obviously there has to be another terminal for my anal contact to pair with and that’s held in place by a panel gag which I buckle round my head. This contact is a thick oval steel disc which rests on my tongue. Apparently I look beautiful gagged like this with the wire and its promise of pain feeding through the gag and into my mouth! Trepidation and panic shine in my dark eyes, especially if they make me cry. I know they will.
Once I’ve wired myself up I attach my ankles to my spreader bar. This forces my legs so far apart I have to sit on the edge of my chair, which is intended of course, to show me off to the camera. I have to remember to place the cutters somewhere I can reach them. These will snip through the cable ties fixing my ankles, to release me from the spreader bar. If I forget this I’ll either die of shame when my loved ones find me or die alone if they don’t!
Finally I lock my wrists behind my back in handcuffs and drop the key into a little safe having set the timer on the safe for 24 hours. My belt padlock key also goes in here. A whole day? The cuffs are not held together with a metal link, they’re joined by a wire with a plug and like everything else in this event, they’re electronic. I’ve been told the software is monitoring it and that once I’ve plugged it in, unplugging it will set off an instant and automatic electronic punishment I really don’t want to suffer! I’ll try desperately hard to make sure I stay plugged in. I’ll be allowed comfort breaks where I’ll take the shock control boxes with me but this devious device will make sure I’m back in front of the camera when I’m needed again. Someone somewhere will punish me if I’m not.
I know that there’s enough capacity in this system to cripple me in unimaginable agony. There has to be, because I want to rely on my Master’s discretion to allow his friends their fun with me, I want him to use me for that, to offer me to them, share me sexually and allow me no opportunity for dissent.
It’s not simply trusting him, it’s having to trust him. It’s a commitment to my faith in him as my Master, to show him I accept his control over me unreservedly. I’ve rendered myself helpless, only he can take care of me now, now that I’m vulnerable to what could be the worst of the internet’s monsters! I feel precarious and alive with fear, living at an intensity I’d never experience otherwise.
My whole body tingles as I wait. My pulse thunders through me, I’m tense, scared beyond anticipation when the two shock box on line control panels pop up side by side on my computer screen. Someone’s opened the programme, I’m live and about to suffer the first of hours of electric shocks to the most sensitive parts of my body.
I’ve felt my erotic thrill, the sweet dread and the gravity of the threat I crave, my submission.
Now I pay for it…………
Paying for it.
It’s important to carry out my instructions in precisely the correct order. If I make a mistake and disable myself at the wrong time I’ll fuck up the whole event and then what? Someone might have to rescue me. Who? It won’t be anyone I’m for, anyone who’s watched me. I’ve no idea who or where they’ll be because this event, me, will be on line.
I’ve built a fantasy relationship with someone who’s opened me, he’s stripped me psychologically bare and found his way deep into my most profound wickedness. He’s used me emotionally, tested and probed me while I was helplessly intoxicated by my own lust and I was easy and willing, even though I knew he sought to own me. That thought thrilled me and I’ve let it happen. My submission means my obedience is assured until one day, maybe, he lets me go. Having offered myself I’m now his to offer to others. That’s what this event is.
It’s a webcam show and I’ll sit in front of mine in the way thousands of other girls do but where they perform their punters’ instructions, my people will control my discomfort directly. I’m going to be tortured electrically, electronically and at the discretion of my master, he’ll let them be as cruel as he thinks I deserve, or as merciless as they convince him is necessary.
How well does he understand my fantasy, how intimately do we understand each other? I’m going to depend on him like never before. I’m more than scared, I’m terrified, I’m so excited I’m struggling to breathe. I need to concentrate hard to set myself up and get it right because I’m on my own. He owns me but he’s half a world away!
First I have to switch everything on and open Team Viewer on my computer. This means I give my Master control of it from his. I’m up in the middle of the night by the way, to make me available to those he wants to share me with, in some other time zone.
We’ll be using two, dual channel shock generators, each with a range of modes and power levels controlled by software downloaded from the manufacturers onto our computers and those of the people who’ll enjoy playing with me. USB leads run from my computer to bluetooth relays which operate the shock units fixed to the front of my chair. I’ve been instructed to glue the plugs into the boxes to make my torment secure.
To get technical for a moment, two dual channel boxes means attaching eight terminals to my body. The first two are screw on metal (of course) nipple clamps. Although I don’t know this, I’m sure my Master is watching me, I assume he is and I nip my nipples in the clamps on camera to satisfy him I’ve done it properly. The wires to these plug into one channel port on one box.
Next, also on camera, I put on what looks like a leather chastity belt but it’s function is to carry what the shock box people call “insertables”. I’m so turned on by the thought of my adventure that the terminals I’m sure most of my tormentors will go for insert easily, the lower one resting between my labia where I know I’ll feel it most. This takes up another channel port.
Two small studs attached to the crotch strap of my belt nestle in my rose above and below Her, her who’ll give them the means to destroy me. They’ll pass current through her and they’ll be the most severe test I’ll face. My master knows I can be forced to orgasm by selecting the killer mode for this and I’m praying he’ll keep that knowledge to himself. I don’t want to be tortured after I’ve come, I need denial to make me want to suffer. This uses the third port.
The forth and final port supplies current to my butt plug. All this hardware is held in place by the crotch strap of my belt which I buckle and then lock with a small padlock. Obviously there has to be another terminal for my anal contact to pair with and that’s held in place by a panel gag which I buckle round my head. This contact is a thick oval steel disc which rests on my tongue. Apparently I look beautiful gagged like this with the wire and its promise of pain feeding through the gag and into my mouth! Trepidation and panic shine in my dark eyes, especially if they make me cry. I know they will.
Once I’ve wired myself up I attach my ankles to my spreader bar. This forces my legs so far apart I have to sit on the edge of my chair, which is intended of course, to show me off to the camera. I have to remember to place the cutters somewhere I can reach them. These will snip through the cable ties fixing my ankles, to release me from the spreader bar. If I forget this I’ll either die of shame when my loved ones find me or die alone if they don’t!
Finally I lock my wrists behind my back in handcuffs and drop the key into a little safe having set the timer on the safe for 24 hours. My belt padlock key also goes in here. A whole day? The cuffs are not held together with a metal link, they’re joined by a wire with a plug and like everything else in this event, they’re electronic. I’ve been told the software is monitoring it and that once I’ve plugged it in, unplugging it will set off an instant and automatic electronic punishment I really don’t want to suffer! I’ll try desperately hard to make sure I stay plugged in. I’ll be allowed comfort breaks where I’ll take the shock control boxes with me but this devious device will make sure I’m back in front of the camera when I’m needed again. Someone somewhere will punish me if I’m not.
I know that there’s enough capacity in this system to cripple me in unimaginable agony. There has to be, because I want to rely on my Master’s discretion to allow his friends their fun with me, I want him to use me for that, to offer me to them, share me sexually and allow me no opportunity for dissent.
It’s not simply trusting him, it’s having to trust him. It’s a commitment to my faith in him as my Master, to show him I accept his control over me unreservedly. I’ve rendered myself helpless, only he can take care of me now, now that I’m vulnerable to what could be the worst of the internet’s monsters! I feel precarious and alive with fear, living at an intensity I’d never experience otherwise.
My whole body tingles as I wait. My pulse thunders through me, I’m tense, scared beyond anticipation when the two shock box on line control panels pop up side by side on my computer screen. Someone’s opened the programme, I’m live and about to suffer the first of hours of electric shocks to the most sensitive parts of my body.
I’ve felt my erotic thrill, the sweet dread and the gravity of the threat I crave, my submission.
Now I pay for it…………
TheLimey
Magistrate
TheLimey
In my mind's eye, the room you are in is totally bare of anything, except the chair and the necessary devices to run your ordeal. Nothing to distract the viewer from you.
You are harshly lit, and very soon after the start the heat from the lights and the pain makes you start to perspire.
By the end of the 24 hours, you are soaked in sweat, your skin shining in the lights, your hair drenched and hanging down around your exhausted face. You've been taken to the edge of what you can endure over and over during the last 24 hours, but you've survived it all.
How do you feel?
In my mind's eye, the room you are in is totally bare of anything, except the chair and the necessary devices to run your ordeal. Nothing to distract the viewer from you.
You are harshly lit, and very soon after the start the heat from the lights and the pain makes you start to perspire.
By the end of the 24 hours, you are soaked in sweat, your skin shining in the lights, your hair drenched and hanging down around your exhausted face. You've been taken to the edge of what you can endure over and over during the last 24 hours, but you've survived it all.
How do you feel?
TheLimey
Magistrate
KurvyKate
I've been exhausted many times throughout these 24 hours. Would you believe I could tell from the pattern and severity of the shocks I suffered that I also suffered different tormentors, at different times? My Master was faithful to his promise that he'd keep me safe. He watched, unseen by me of course, for signs of my distress over and beyond the agonies he knew I was prepared to endure. Of course he let those he shared me with test me. I knew he would.
He allowed each of my temporary persecutors defined periods in which to torture me, starting slowly and building the power levels of the current they would pass through my body until, I'm sure, I took more than I ever have before. During their time with me they played with the range of modes available, trying them in my mouth, up my arse, tearing through my rose and burning into my nipples to see how effective each was and where I would writhe and squirm, desperate to somehow find relief which never came, not until all too briefly at the end of that session. Did they pay for me? Maybe they did and I tried to be worth it for my Master's sake, the faithful whore he's made of me.
I think I might have drifted into semiconsciousness between some sessions, not sleep exactly but I was aware that I'd been brought back into the game by the next punter and the first of the next, yet to escalate tingles. I remember waking up and thinking "Another one? Oh fuck how bad this time!"
At their worst the shocks to my mouth affected my brain, causing me to see lights I knew weren't there. I found I could suck the electrode, maximising its contact and therefore my electrical resistance. It hurt less like that. The gag stopped me screaming. The other end, my other end, often felt like it had been penetrated with a red hot poker but then, sometimes my tormentors let me enjoy the sweet sensations of how beautiful electrical stimulation can feel, somewhere so sensitive and burned more sensitive still!
Of course I knew someone would try to fry my rose. I suffered so much. I'm numb. The current passing through my sex organs has overwhelmed my nerves and left me with a cold, wet sensation. The next tormentor would need more power still to inflict the discomfort he'd feel cheated if I didn't suffer. Will there be another? He? Maybe there were women, I don't know.
Yes, they made me come, a brutal wrench of an orgasm torn out of me more than once by control I could not resist, then ruined by the pain it took to force it from me. My genitals are not mine, they are for others, the mechanism through which control is inflicted upon me. Never do I feel more completely subjugated than when I think of my body like that. To be trapped spread wide, unable to prevent whoever cares from taking me, makes me feel like the worthless whore my darkest fantasies turn me into. That's how I feel.
I've been exhausted many times throughout these 24 hours. Would you believe I could tell from the pattern and severity of the shocks I suffered that I also suffered different tormentors, at different times? My Master was faithful to his promise that he'd keep me safe. He watched, unseen by me of course, for signs of my distress over and beyond the agonies he knew I was prepared to endure. Of course he let those he shared me with test me. I knew he would.
He allowed each of my temporary persecutors defined periods in which to torture me, starting slowly and building the power levels of the current they would pass through my body until, I'm sure, I took more than I ever have before. During their time with me they played with the range of modes available, trying them in my mouth, up my arse, tearing through my rose and burning into my nipples to see how effective each was and where I would writhe and squirm, desperate to somehow find relief which never came, not until all too briefly at the end of that session. Did they pay for me? Maybe they did and I tried to be worth it for my Master's sake, the faithful whore he's made of me.
I think I might have drifted into semiconsciousness between some sessions, not sleep exactly but I was aware that I'd been brought back into the game by the next punter and the first of the next, yet to escalate tingles. I remember waking up and thinking "Another one? Oh fuck how bad this time!"
At their worst the shocks to my mouth affected my brain, causing me to see lights I knew weren't there. I found I could suck the electrode, maximising its contact and therefore my electrical resistance. It hurt less like that. The gag stopped me screaming. The other end, my other end, often felt like it had been penetrated with a red hot poker but then, sometimes my tormentors let me enjoy the sweet sensations of how beautiful electrical stimulation can feel, somewhere so sensitive and burned more sensitive still!
Of course I knew someone would try to fry my rose. I suffered so much. I'm numb. The current passing through my sex organs has overwhelmed my nerves and left me with a cold, wet sensation. The next tormentor would need more power still to inflict the discomfort he'd feel cheated if I didn't suffer. Will there be another? He? Maybe there were women, I don't know.
Yes, they made me come, a brutal wrench of an orgasm torn out of me more than once by control I could not resist, then ruined by the pain it took to force it from me. My genitals are not mine, they are for others, the mechanism through which control is inflicted upon me. Never do I feel more completely subjugated than when I think of my body like that. To be trapped spread wide, unable to prevent whoever cares from taking me, makes me feel like the worthless whore my darkest fantasies turn me into. That's how I feel.
TheLimey
Magistrate
TheLimey
You certainly realise that he has charged for access to your cam feed, and for access to the buttons that tortured you when you receive a small package a few weeks later.
Inside is a postcard of South Beach, and a series of photos. A single tailed whip, a solidly built metal cage, that looks like you'll fit in, but only just, and an ornate wooden horse, with a sharp prow running the entire length.
The final enclosure is a pair of flights to Florida,both open tickets for use anytime in the next 6 months.
On the back of the postcard is a single line of writing. 'Your 'holiday' is waiting for you'
You certainly realise that he has charged for access to your cam feed, and for access to the buttons that tortured you when you receive a small package a few weeks later.
Inside is a postcard of South Beach, and a series of photos. A single tailed whip, a solidly built metal cage, that looks like you'll fit in, but only just, and an ornate wooden horse, with a sharp prow running the entire length.
The final enclosure is a pair of flights to Florida,both open tickets for use anytime in the next 6 months.
On the back of the postcard is a single line of writing. 'Your 'holiday' is waiting for you'
TheLimey
Magistrate
KurvyKate
Oh the wickedness of temptation! Would you meet me at the airport? I mean the fact that I'd accepted your offer would commit me to submission wouldn't it? Would the flight have been seven hours of heart pounding trepidation? I can see you as I leave baggage handling, in the crowd of anxious business associates who don't know who their foreign colleague is, those with hand written signs with names on them. Oh god, are those handcuffs swinging from your finger tip?
Oh the wickedness of temptation! Would you meet me at the airport? I mean the fact that I'd accepted your offer would commit me to submission wouldn't it? Would the flight have been seven hours of heart pounding trepidation? I can see you as I leave baggage handling, in the crowd of anxious business associates who don't know who their foreign colleague is, those with hand written signs with names on them. Oh god, are those handcuffs swinging from your finger tip?
TheLimey
Magistrate
TheLimey
You've been given instructions during the flight. You've removed your knickers as soon as the seatbelt light turned off. You've brought yourself to the edge of orgasm in the plane bathroom every two hours during the flight.
Once you land, you've gone to the bathroom, pulled off your blouse, and put a business jacket back on top, the top button undone so the Immigration agent knows you're just wearing a bra underneath.
The handcuffs go on outside the terminal, encircling your wrists which are behind your back, and you and I walk to the parking like that, as I carry your bags and I tell you of the plans for the next fortnight (or is it longer?)
Days sightseeing or on the beach, evenings in good restaurants, and nights in the room that I've prepared for you. I also hint of longer sessions that will happen in that room, sessions of over 24 hours duration.
You see what I have prepared when you reach the house.
That room is in a smaller bungalow, off the main house, and has been prepared with care. An iron framed bed, with a thin mattress in one corner, the cage in another, and the wooden horse pushed to one side, underneath the display of ropes, chains and other devices. Chains hang from the ceiling, menacingly.
The room is hot, sweatingly so, and I explain that the room has no A/C, deliberately. I also explain that it is soundproofed.
I order you to strip, then drop to your knees. Once you have obeyed, I fit a steel collar around your neck, almost like a torc in style, closing and fastening it in place with an Allen key.
'Welcome to Miami, Kate'
You've been given instructions during the flight. You've removed your knickers as soon as the seatbelt light turned off. You've brought yourself to the edge of orgasm in the plane bathroom every two hours during the flight.
Once you land, you've gone to the bathroom, pulled off your blouse, and put a business jacket back on top, the top button undone so the Immigration agent knows you're just wearing a bra underneath.
The handcuffs go on outside the terminal, encircling your wrists which are behind your back, and you and I walk to the parking like that, as I carry your bags and I tell you of the plans for the next fortnight (or is it longer?)
Days sightseeing or on the beach, evenings in good restaurants, and nights in the room that I've prepared for you. I also hint of longer sessions that will happen in that room, sessions of over 24 hours duration.
You see what I have prepared when you reach the house.
That room is in a smaller bungalow, off the main house, and has been prepared with care. An iron framed bed, with a thin mattress in one corner, the cage in another, and the wooden horse pushed to one side, underneath the display of ropes, chains and other devices. Chains hang from the ceiling, menacingly.
The room is hot, sweatingly so, and I explain that the room has no A/C, deliberately. I also explain that it is soundproofed.
I order you to strip, then drop to your knees. Once you have obeyed, I fit a steel collar around your neck, almost like a torc in style, closing and fastening it in place with an Allen key.
'Welcome to Miami, Kate'
TheLimey
Magistrate
KurvyKate
As soon as the seat belt sign goes off means we can get up and go to the bathroom so I've slipped my knickers off in there. I have a special relationship with my knickers. I like to think of them as all I have left, that is they're available to be taken to ultimately expose me. I feel more precarious in my knickers than I do naked because I've yet to suffer the final degradation of losing them. I hope I might be able to negotiate underwear even if that's all I get to wear, but for now I'm willing to be obedient how ever much it costs me.
"The edge of orgasm"? You mean don't come? Am I eternally denied orgasm or is that something you want control of? Do I come only when you make me? OK, I deserve my sex life controlled like this. Nothing makes me want to come faster than "Don't you fuckin' dare!" I think of that every two hours. As we approach Miami and I find out what I'm in for calming down to walk back to my seat becomes harder. Do I look flushed? "Breathe Kate, steady, think of something else!"
How likely is it immigration might regard me with suspicion if I appear to be improperly dressed? If I'm searched how am I going to explain I have a perfectly good pair of knickers in my bag but none on, and a blouse I've chosen to ignore as well? Fortunately I get away with just the standard questions. Do you have a hotel booked? "No, a private address." How long are you staying for? I want to say "A fortnight maybe, if I make it that far!" but don't. I could be longer, if I'm locked in that cage!. "Shut it Kate, these people are serious!" I think to myself, smiling.
I see your handcuffs before I see you and my heart misses a beat. My instructions for the flight meant I'm controlled already but I'm still shocked to discover I'll be restrained at the first opportunity. Airports are heavy places when it comes to security, there are cameras everywhere and of course I can't be cuffed in the terminal building. Once outside however, I realise that we'll start as you mean to go on and my liberty is a necessary sacrifice. I'm sorry I couldn't answer "Was your flight OK, could you tell what the meal was? Ha, ha!" If I seem distracted by terror it's because I am.
Outside there are people wherever I look, all busy, all going somewhere and none of them likely to be bothered with me. Even so it's very public but without being asked to I put my bags down, cross my wrists behind my back and wait. I mean "Please cuff me?" So you do. I feel the shackle lock shut and I'm trapped, 6,000 miles from home and dependent on you. Fuck that feels wild!
As we walk to your car you tell me we'll go sightseeing, Miami has gorgeous food and I'll have my own room attached to your house, a special room you're sure I'll feel uncomfortable in. "It's soundproof." you announce and joke "No one will hear you scream!"
You ask me if I removed my knickers on the flight as instructed as we drive out of the carpark. When I'm sure we're clear of security I lean back in the passenger seat, against my cuffed hands, and spread my legs to let my skirt ride up my thighs. Yes, my genitals are bare. They're yours now, like the rest of me.
The heat in my room is intense. It's Miami of course but I have no windows and no air con and this dark little corner of it is intended to test me. Will I be so desperate to get out I'll be willing to obey instantly and without question any order I'm given? You know I am.
I strip when you ask me to and fall to my knees to enable you to bolt my collar round my neck. More than anything else this defines my submission. I'll live collared, comforted by it, knowing that while I wear it I'm owned by you. The chains, the ropes, the shackles and everything else in here are yours to make me feel it.
I fear the horse like nothing else!
As soon as the seat belt sign goes off means we can get up and go to the bathroom so I've slipped my knickers off in there. I have a special relationship with my knickers. I like to think of them as all I have left, that is they're available to be taken to ultimately expose me. I feel more precarious in my knickers than I do naked because I've yet to suffer the final degradation of losing them. I hope I might be able to negotiate underwear even if that's all I get to wear, but for now I'm willing to be obedient how ever much it costs me.
"The edge of orgasm"? You mean don't come? Am I eternally denied orgasm or is that something you want control of? Do I come only when you make me? OK, I deserve my sex life controlled like this. Nothing makes me want to come faster than "Don't you fuckin' dare!" I think of that every two hours. As we approach Miami and I find out what I'm in for calming down to walk back to my seat becomes harder. Do I look flushed? "Breathe Kate, steady, think of something else!"
How likely is it immigration might regard me with suspicion if I appear to be improperly dressed? If I'm searched how am I going to explain I have a perfectly good pair of knickers in my bag but none on, and a blouse I've chosen to ignore as well? Fortunately I get away with just the standard questions. Do you have a hotel booked? "No, a private address." How long are you staying for? I want to say "A fortnight maybe, if I make it that far!" but don't. I could be longer, if I'm locked in that cage!. "Shut it Kate, these people are serious!" I think to myself, smiling.
I see your handcuffs before I see you and my heart misses a beat. My instructions for the flight meant I'm controlled already but I'm still shocked to discover I'll be restrained at the first opportunity. Airports are heavy places when it comes to security, there are cameras everywhere and of course I can't be cuffed in the terminal building. Once outside however, I realise that we'll start as you mean to go on and my liberty is a necessary sacrifice. I'm sorry I couldn't answer "Was your flight OK, could you tell what the meal was? Ha, ha!" If I seem distracted by terror it's because I am.
Outside there are people wherever I look, all busy, all going somewhere and none of them likely to be bothered with me. Even so it's very public but without being asked to I put my bags down, cross my wrists behind my back and wait. I mean "Please cuff me?" So you do. I feel the shackle lock shut and I'm trapped, 6,000 miles from home and dependent on you. Fuck that feels wild!
As we walk to your car you tell me we'll go sightseeing, Miami has gorgeous food and I'll have my own room attached to your house, a special room you're sure I'll feel uncomfortable in. "It's soundproof." you announce and joke "No one will hear you scream!"
You ask me if I removed my knickers on the flight as instructed as we drive out of the carpark. When I'm sure we're clear of security I lean back in the passenger seat, against my cuffed hands, and spread my legs to let my skirt ride up my thighs. Yes, my genitals are bare. They're yours now, like the rest of me.
The heat in my room is intense. It's Miami of course but I have no windows and no air con and this dark little corner of it is intended to test me. Will I be so desperate to get out I'll be willing to obey instantly and without question any order I'm given? You know I am.
I strip when you ask me to and fall to my knees to enable you to bolt my collar round my neck. More than anything else this defines my submission. I'll live collared, comforted by it, knowing that while I wear it I'm owned by you. The chains, the ropes, the shackles and everything else in here are yours to make me feel it.
I fear the horse like nothing else!
TheLimey
Magistrate
TheLimey
We've spent a few days playing tourist. You've seen the beach and got some colour on your skin. We've toured the hot spot that is Wynwood, looking at the art. We look like an ordinary couple sightseeing.
On a night though, you have been mine. I've used the whip sparingly, so you could tan without the marks showing. I've hung you from the chains, your toes scraping the floor, legs held open with a spreader bar, then filled your holes, vibrating you to the edge of orgasm, your desperate voice pleading with me, until I've let you come. I've chained you to the bed, doing what I want to you until you're exhausted.
Today though, is a change. I've come to you earlier than normal. When you see me move the horse to the center of the room, you know that you will end up riding it today.
Your sense of dread rises as I place two small stools, one either side of the horse, so you can get on to it. I affix leather cuffs to your wrists and ankles, and check the carribiners that I've attached to the rings you now see on the frame of the horse.
I make a minor adjustment or two, checking that the ceiling chains are placed exactly right, and that I have the room to swing the whip.
I motion you to the horse....
We've spent a few days playing tourist. You've seen the beach and got some colour on your skin. We've toured the hot spot that is Wynwood, looking at the art. We look like an ordinary couple sightseeing.
On a night though, you have been mine. I've used the whip sparingly, so you could tan without the marks showing. I've hung you from the chains, your toes scraping the floor, legs held open with a spreader bar, then filled your holes, vibrating you to the edge of orgasm, your desperate voice pleading with me, until I've let you come. I've chained you to the bed, doing what I want to you until you're exhausted.
Today though, is a change. I've come to you earlier than normal. When you see me move the horse to the center of the room, you know that you will end up riding it today.
Your sense of dread rises as I place two small stools, one either side of the horse, so you can get on to it. I affix leather cuffs to your wrists and ankles, and check the carribiners that I've attached to the rings you now see on the frame of the horse.
I make a minor adjustment or two, checking that the ceiling chains are placed exactly right, and that I have the room to swing the whip.
I motion you to the horse....
TheLimey
Magistrate
KurvyKate
I’ve been clinging to the forlorn hope that I’m just the latest in a line of others who’ve self condemned themselves to this holiday in Miami. I’ve been praying that the horse standing against the wall of our room might be a part of some other girl’s idea of fun. Did she write a story, was her reward for that flight tickets and an invitation too? Did she want her genitals tortured on a horse instead of feeling the threat of electric shocks like I did? It would mean the horse was for her, simply in here, kept along with all the other instruments of debauchery I live with, like she had. As you pull it out, placing it under the the rails in the ceiling for the now familiar chains I know this is it, her agony will be mine too, fuck!
My mind set will be critical. I've thought about it for ages. I've resolved to concentrate on my submission, how I felt when you told me owning me would be total and my release would depend only on your willingness to let me go. I remember the rush and how intoxicated I was by it. How worthless am I that you would hurt me so badly? I told myself I'd think that, that allowing you to crush my sex organs with my own weight would be a faithful demonstration of my obedience to you, however bad it was.
Those two little stools, my steps up onto the horse are some indication of how far from the floor my feet will be, not that it matters of course, a yard or an inch makes no difference. Sick with the flood of adrenaline surging into my blood, I'm slippery with sweat and shaking as I step onto one stool then swing my leg over the horse to reach the other one. I have to support myself with my hands on the edge which will split my rose in half. My thighs are forced wide by the smooth, polish wood, I should be grateful for that. Once I'm standing, straddling the horse, you fold my arms into the small of my back. These are attached to one of the chains hanging from the roof. I can feel the horse's edge brush my crotch as you adjust both me and the chain to disable my ability to use my hands again. The other chain attaches to the back of my collar. This will keep me upright, my posture exerting maximum pressure where I'll feel it most.
Two rings, low on the sides of the horse hold my ankles down, so I cannot lift my legs. They will remain straight, nothing under my feet when the stools are gone, fixing me in one agonising, inescapable position. "Comfortable?" you ask. I know you mean I soon won't be. "Please don't." I plead.
Can't you see how scared I am? I can't help crying. "Please I'll do anything!" I sob. I mean anything but this, I mean isn't there something else you want instead and I try to think of a tempting offer I can make, some other torture I'll willingly accept if you save me from suffering the one? You put me in my place with "This anything isn't it?" "Please, for fuck's sake! I don't think I can cope!" I wail but you're right, how do I know, I haven't tried it yet.
You reach down to grab my ankle, lifting it so you can pull the stool out from under my foot, then you lower me. My thigh slides down the slope of the horse and I feel the edge begin to force my cunt open. That's what it is now, not the soft, feminine rose I think of as my womanhood, "cunt"objectifies me. Now it's the means through which you inflict your control over me.
With the second stool removed the chains take up their correct tension, my wrists are pulled up to stress my arms just enough to secure them still and my collar presses against my throat. I cannot move. For a while I try to squeeze my thighs together in the belief that doing so might lift me or at least resist the edge of the horse as it slowly levers me apart but the effort is to much, I can't keep it up and it's pointless to try. Sweat is dripping off me. I'll be here far longer than my strength will last.
The pain settles into a deep ache. After a few minutes the crushed nerves in my bruised flesh become numb and my pain is far deeper. Forced to relax by my physical exhaustion I try to think my relief, I try to feel how dependent I am on you to end my suffering and concentrate on acceptance but the agony is building. "Please don't leave me here long, please, it hurts so much!" I gasp through the pain. Yes, I'm begging for mercy already.
My beautiful rose, my pleasure, feels broken. My cunt, no, your cunt, all I am to you now, puts me in hell. After something like ten minutes, although it feels like ten hours, I'm in desperate trouble. "Please, please, please!" I plead, "I'll never fuck again you don't let me go!" I cry but apparently they all say that, us poor, crippled horse girls.
When you step away for some reason I thought my pleading had touched you, I thought you might relent and help me but it's not those stools you pick up, it's a whip! Oh god no! You want to whip me too, now, when my ruined cunt is already killing me!
As the first lash stings my thigh I force myself to think of our last meal out together. I try to remember how I felt being led into the restaurant in my pretty dress with my collar still locked round my neck. Why did the staff seem relaxed about that? Other girls have been there too haven't they. "The usual table Sir?"
After three or four stripes across my thigh I feel the whip rip into my defenceless breasts and I need to recall how you ordered me to remove my knickers once we were seated and place them on the table where anyone passing would see them. I knew you would make me put them back on in the restaurant before we left. I remembered doing that to distract me as the second crack of your whip tore into my right breast, right across my nipple! You made me yelp with that one. I can't believe this is happening.
I work my way through our dinner, how you told that waiter, the one you knew, that he could touch me inside my dress if he liked, and how he did. He caught me outside the washroom like you said he would. I think about how you said "Whatever happens, let him, OK?" as I left the table feeling as filthy as hell. You whip my arse as I remember the taxi ride home, wearing my knickers but with no dress, handcuffed to render me helpless. Where did that fucking dog lead come from?
It gets harder to think through the pain as each lash of your whip stings me harder. Are you trying to break me? I twist, flinch and squirm as I try to brace myself against the next blow and my thighs, my arse and my breasts are thrashed raw by the time my concentration fails and I'm overwhelmed by the intensity of my suffering. My anguish is plain now, I'm wailing, I'm in floods of tears and screaming for mercy like it's my only care.
I’ve been clinging to the forlorn hope that I’m just the latest in a line of others who’ve self condemned themselves to this holiday in Miami. I’ve been praying that the horse standing against the wall of our room might be a part of some other girl’s idea of fun. Did she write a story, was her reward for that flight tickets and an invitation too? Did she want her genitals tortured on a horse instead of feeling the threat of electric shocks like I did? It would mean the horse was for her, simply in here, kept along with all the other instruments of debauchery I live with, like she had. As you pull it out, placing it under the the rails in the ceiling for the now familiar chains I know this is it, her agony will be mine too, fuck!
My mind set will be critical. I've thought about it for ages. I've resolved to concentrate on my submission, how I felt when you told me owning me would be total and my release would depend only on your willingness to let me go. I remember the rush and how intoxicated I was by it. How worthless am I that you would hurt me so badly? I told myself I'd think that, that allowing you to crush my sex organs with my own weight would be a faithful demonstration of my obedience to you, however bad it was.
Those two little stools, my steps up onto the horse are some indication of how far from the floor my feet will be, not that it matters of course, a yard or an inch makes no difference. Sick with the flood of adrenaline surging into my blood, I'm slippery with sweat and shaking as I step onto one stool then swing my leg over the horse to reach the other one. I have to support myself with my hands on the edge which will split my rose in half. My thighs are forced wide by the smooth, polish wood, I should be grateful for that. Once I'm standing, straddling the horse, you fold my arms into the small of my back. These are attached to one of the chains hanging from the roof. I can feel the horse's edge brush my crotch as you adjust both me and the chain to disable my ability to use my hands again. The other chain attaches to the back of my collar. This will keep me upright, my posture exerting maximum pressure where I'll feel it most.
Two rings, low on the sides of the horse hold my ankles down, so I cannot lift my legs. They will remain straight, nothing under my feet when the stools are gone, fixing me in one agonising, inescapable position. "Comfortable?" you ask. I know you mean I soon won't be. "Please don't." I plead.
Can't you see how scared I am? I can't help crying. "Please I'll do anything!" I sob. I mean anything but this, I mean isn't there something else you want instead and I try to think of a tempting offer I can make, some other torture I'll willingly accept if you save me from suffering the one? You put me in my place with "This anything isn't it?" "Please, for fuck's sake! I don't think I can cope!" I wail but you're right, how do I know, I haven't tried it yet.
You reach down to grab my ankle, lifting it so you can pull the stool out from under my foot, then you lower me. My thigh slides down the slope of the horse and I feel the edge begin to force my cunt open. That's what it is now, not the soft, feminine rose I think of as my womanhood, "cunt"objectifies me. Now it's the means through which you inflict your control over me.
With the second stool removed the chains take up their correct tension, my wrists are pulled up to stress my arms just enough to secure them still and my collar presses against my throat. I cannot move. For a while I try to squeeze my thighs together in the belief that doing so might lift me or at least resist the edge of the horse as it slowly levers me apart but the effort is to much, I can't keep it up and it's pointless to try. Sweat is dripping off me. I'll be here far longer than my strength will last.
The pain settles into a deep ache. After a few minutes the crushed nerves in my bruised flesh become numb and my pain is far deeper. Forced to relax by my physical exhaustion I try to think my relief, I try to feel how dependent I am on you to end my suffering and concentrate on acceptance but the agony is building. "Please don't leave me here long, please, it hurts so much!" I gasp through the pain. Yes, I'm begging for mercy already.
My beautiful rose, my pleasure, feels broken. My cunt, no, your cunt, all I am to you now, puts me in hell. After something like ten minutes, although it feels like ten hours, I'm in desperate trouble. "Please, please, please!" I plead, "I'll never fuck again you don't let me go!" I cry but apparently they all say that, us poor, crippled horse girls.
When you step away for some reason I thought my pleading had touched you, I thought you might relent and help me but it's not those stools you pick up, it's a whip! Oh god no! You want to whip me too, now, when my ruined cunt is already killing me!
As the first lash stings my thigh I force myself to think of our last meal out together. I try to remember how I felt being led into the restaurant in my pretty dress with my collar still locked round my neck. Why did the staff seem relaxed about that? Other girls have been there too haven't they. "The usual table Sir?"
After three or four stripes across my thigh I feel the whip rip into my defenceless breasts and I need to recall how you ordered me to remove my knickers once we were seated and place them on the table where anyone passing would see them. I knew you would make me put them back on in the restaurant before we left. I remembered doing that to distract me as the second crack of your whip tore into my right breast, right across my nipple! You made me yelp with that one. I can't believe this is happening.
I work my way through our dinner, how you told that waiter, the one you knew, that he could touch me inside my dress if he liked, and how he did. He caught me outside the washroom like you said he would. I think about how you said "Whatever happens, let him, OK?" as I left the table feeling as filthy as hell. You whip my arse as I remember the taxi ride home, wearing my knickers but with no dress, handcuffed to render me helpless. Where did that fucking dog lead come from?
It gets harder to think through the pain as each lash of your whip stings me harder. Are you trying to break me? I twist, flinch and squirm as I try to brace myself against the next blow and my thighs, my arse and my breasts are thrashed raw by the time my concentration fails and I'm overwhelmed by the intensity of my suffering. My anguish is plain now, I'm wailing, I'm in floods of tears and screaming for mercy like it's my only care.
TheLimey
Magistrate
TheLimey
I put the whip down and look at your tortured form in front of me. You are drenched with sweat, looking like you've been coated with a film of oil, accentuating the play of your straining muscles, and highlighting the weals rising on your skin from the whip. Your chest rises and falls as you sob, tears running down your face.
How many other women have been here, in this room? Five? Six? It doesn't matter. None of them have ever reached this point in the past, and so I sold them on, earning top dollar from the sort of customer who have a taste for submissive women.
You though, are special, I can feel it. I need to treat you like an uncut diamond, study you, shape you, carefully cutting away until your form is revealed in all it's beauty.
I position the stools by the horse again, and release your legs, helping you get off the edge that you've been riding for forty five minutes. You're still sobbing, but your gratitude is clear as you murmur 'Thank you.....thank you.' No need to tell you yet that you'll ride it again tomorrow, for longer. No need to tell you that you aren't leaving this torture chamber within the next three days.
I lead you to the bed, where I lay you down on your back, before quickly fastening the cuffs to the top and bottom. You start to look uneasy about that, so I stroke your face. 'Shhh.... It's all ok...'
I hold a Gatorade to your lips and you drink it down, then I blindfold you, and push headphones into your ears, playing white noise. No need for you to hear what I'm preparing.
When I remove the blindfold and head phones, you turn your head to see a metal framework in place of the horse. A pillory, with holes for your head and arms. You are already shaking as I unfasten you from the bed, and lead you over, bending you at the waist so your head and wrists can be fitted into the frame, spreading your legs a good four feet apart with a spreader bar.
It's then you see the arrangement of items by the pillory. The clamps and probes, the belts to hold things in place, the TENS pads and wires, the head harness and the penis shaped electrode that will go into your mouth. The very devices that brought you to this place, with one horrifying addition on the floor, a cattle prod.
You plead with me as I put everything in place, begging me not to, but your body is betraying you, as the probe slips easily into your soaking wet cunt. You try to stop me from forcing the penis electrode into your mouth, so I slap your face, and you open up.
I check all the wires are in place, sequenced just as they were before, then give the chastity belt and head harness straps a good tug, forcing everything deeper.
Your eyes are wide with fear as I turn on the switches on the boxes, and pick up a multi-button remote.
'Don't worry, this won't be 24 hours this time... It'll just feel like it...'
I put the whip down and look at your tortured form in front of me. You are drenched with sweat, looking like you've been coated with a film of oil, accentuating the play of your straining muscles, and highlighting the weals rising on your skin from the whip. Your chest rises and falls as you sob, tears running down your face.
How many other women have been here, in this room? Five? Six? It doesn't matter. None of them have ever reached this point in the past, and so I sold them on, earning top dollar from the sort of customer who have a taste for submissive women.
You though, are special, I can feel it. I need to treat you like an uncut diamond, study you, shape you, carefully cutting away until your form is revealed in all it's beauty.
I position the stools by the horse again, and release your legs, helping you get off the edge that you've been riding for forty five minutes. You're still sobbing, but your gratitude is clear as you murmur 'Thank you.....thank you.' No need to tell you yet that you'll ride it again tomorrow, for longer. No need to tell you that you aren't leaving this torture chamber within the next three days.
I lead you to the bed, where I lay you down on your back, before quickly fastening the cuffs to the top and bottom. You start to look uneasy about that, so I stroke your face. 'Shhh.... It's all ok...'
I hold a Gatorade to your lips and you drink it down, then I blindfold you, and push headphones into your ears, playing white noise. No need for you to hear what I'm preparing.
When I remove the blindfold and head phones, you turn your head to see a metal framework in place of the horse. A pillory, with holes for your head and arms. You are already shaking as I unfasten you from the bed, and lead you over, bending you at the waist so your head and wrists can be fitted into the frame, spreading your legs a good four feet apart with a spreader bar.
It's then you see the arrangement of items by the pillory. The clamps and probes, the belts to hold things in place, the TENS pads and wires, the head harness and the penis shaped electrode that will go into your mouth. The very devices that brought you to this place, with one horrifying addition on the floor, a cattle prod.
You plead with me as I put everything in place, begging me not to, but your body is betraying you, as the probe slips easily into your soaking wet cunt. You try to stop me from forcing the penis electrode into your mouth, so I slap your face, and you open up.
I check all the wires are in place, sequenced just as they were before, then give the chastity belt and head harness straps a good tug, forcing everything deeper.
Your eyes are wide with fear as I turn on the switches on the boxes, and pick up a multi-button remote.
'Don't worry, this won't be 24 hours this time... It'll just feel like it...'
TheLimey
Magistrate
KurvyKate
I can’t afford negativity. My only hope of surviving this is to remember why I’m here, to recall the euphoric thrill of that moment I submitted and the rush of not knowing how bad it would be. I gambled, I know I did, there’s a thrill in that and this is my debt.
Pain is too small a word for how this feels, ache falls short too. I feel crippled as if my hips will never move again, as if the muscles and tendons which used to work my legs have been crushed useless. “Wait,” I told myself, “that’s all you have to do. It will end!” My genitals are simply just one agonising bruise. My sweat stings the wounds from the whip, all I am is pain.
It seems like hours since I gave up trying to think, since I last pleaded with you to help me and you stood watching me with a smile on your face, loving it. “I’m not fuckin’ beautiful, I’m dying!” I screamed at you , but it didn’t do me any good. I tried to find some thought process or self hypnosis technique I might somehow use to lift me above my distress. I don’t think that’s possible anymore. I’m being tortured because I offered myself, I’m being treated like this because I wanted to be threatened by it, this is my fault. I’ve been driven here because I wanted to be obedient so much I accepted the consequences. That’s the key, acceptance. I’m not sorry, I’m available, I want to be. “I submit, do anything you want to me.” How erotically powerful was that? I’m clinging on to the idea it still is!
Eventually I get the stools back but you have to place my feet on them because I can’t, I can’t lift my legs. As you help me stand up I feel the blood flow back and look down to see if I’ve been deformed as the chain holding my collar loosens but I can’t focus through my tears. I’m so happy to be off the bastard thing I thank you for my relief and tell you can’t do it again but I notice a smirk and a sort of “Well………” look on your face, before you’re immediately too busy unlocking my chains to give me a clue. I daren’t even think that I might be back on here at some point!
Once my arms are free you lift my right leg over the horse and let me hold the top so I can step down. I can’t believe you expect me to walk to my bed. “C’mon”? Impatience is that? After what you just put me through! How does “Owwww, fuck!” sound when I try?
You lay me down on my back having helped (carried) me and for some reason my ankles need to be chained to bottom of the bed and my wrists have to be secured above my head to the top. You’re going to let me rest aren’t you? “Shhh, it’s all OK”? Is it? Oh god I hope so!
I get some sort of energy drink squirted down my throat from a garish plastic bottle and struggle to swallow it, gulping it to keep up. It makes me feel sick but I know I need it and don’t complain. Then I’m blindfolded. I get headphones too and a loud hiss to listen to. Why, now what’s going on? At least it isn’t Justin Bieber.
This isn’t rest, I prayed it was but some time later I’m disturbed and after my strange interlude is taken away my senses are allowed to be filled with my next ordeal. Can I believe I’m going to be pilloried? This is so full on relentless I’m not surprised my further suffering is going to be that bad.
You’re obviously proud of your metal girl holder. It has welded loops for my wrists, a shackle for my collar and a built in spreader bar for my feet, all adjustable because her who last endured it wasn’t the same shape as me. I realise why it has to be metal when I see the nearby table with a comprehensive torture Kate electrically kit laid out on it. I have to be earthed right, so I can be electrofucked! I stare in horror at the cattle prod on the table too and you have to grab a handful of my hair to push my head towards its place on the pillory, to encourage me to want to be in it. A padlock fixes my neck and two more lock my arms up and useless, bending me forward.
After the horse spreading my feet wide apart to reach their positions on the spreader bar is agony and I have to cry out as you make me do it. Once my ankles are locked too I feel wide open and exposed. My tits are hanging free, my arse is in the air and my poor tortured cunt must be gaping. How powerful are those shock boxes? I expect the worst. I’m shaking so hard my padlocks rattle!
I hope another flood of tears will convince you I’m serious when I plead that I don’t want to be tortured anymore. I need to rest, I want to recover, I hurt like you won’t believe! Do you and you want me in this much pain? How can you joke “This’ll shut you up.” when I’m this desperate? I get slapped for not holding my mouth open, as if I want to be gagged with a conducting cock. That happens anyway, its straps buckled round my head to keep it forced in.
“You merciless, fuckin’ bastard!” I think, knowing I’m going to get sexually fried. She, her who would betray me as ever, is thrilled to see me treated so badly. This time we’ll play Her favourite game.
I’ve written this. I’m stunned when you show me my belt, with the probes fixed on it just like the one I fictitiously fantasy tortured myself with. I look up at you wide eyed in astonishment. “What do you think of that then?” They slide in slots. You show me how, once they’ve been adjusted, you’ll tighten little nuts to hold them penetrating me perfectly. You’re smug and self satisfied and laugh at “Be careful what you wish for?” I can’t deny setting me up like this is wickedly hot. I’m heaving air through my nose, my lungs working so hard I can feel my ribs pulling on my whip marks. I know how bad I wrote it.
You move behind me to push the probes inside me, one up my arse and one in my cunt and fix the little brass stud where She’ll feel it sting the most. How easy am I? I hope with every nerve in my body you’ll understand how this works, how fine the line is between the sweet threat of more and the murderous agony of too much, but after the horse I know how much you want to hurt me. I think about it while I feel you work between my thighs, adjusting and plugging it all in, and then the straps of my belt tighten to trap me.
“Everything’s controlled from this.” you tell me, holding up a remote transmitter up in front of my face. “Please be sensible, please?” I’d plead if I could. I’m so fuckin’ scared, please see it? I must have sweated the volume of that pink bottle already, it’s dripping off me.
You hold your finger above the first button so I can watch you press it and taunt me for a moment. “Cunt first?” you ask as if anything first would matter. A tingly pulse grips me, making me jump visibly. My bruising makes me too sensitive and I know I’m in for a rough ride. After that first shock I’m fuckin’ scared worse.
I can’t afford negativity. My only hope of surviving this is to remember why I’m here, to recall the euphoric thrill of that moment I submitted and the rush of not knowing how bad it would be. I gambled, I know I did, there’s a thrill in that and this is my debt.
Pain is too small a word for how this feels, ache falls short too. I feel crippled as if my hips will never move again, as if the muscles and tendons which used to work my legs have been crushed useless. “Wait,” I told myself, “that’s all you have to do. It will end!” My genitals are simply just one agonising bruise. My sweat stings the wounds from the whip, all I am is pain.
It seems like hours since I gave up trying to think, since I last pleaded with you to help me and you stood watching me with a smile on your face, loving it. “I’m not fuckin’ beautiful, I’m dying!” I screamed at you , but it didn’t do me any good. I tried to find some thought process or self hypnosis technique I might somehow use to lift me above my distress. I don’t think that’s possible anymore. I’m being tortured because I offered myself, I’m being treated like this because I wanted to be threatened by it, this is my fault. I’ve been driven here because I wanted to be obedient so much I accepted the consequences. That’s the key, acceptance. I’m not sorry, I’m available, I want to be. “I submit, do anything you want to me.” How erotically powerful was that? I’m clinging on to the idea it still is!
Eventually I get the stools back but you have to place my feet on them because I can’t, I can’t lift my legs. As you help me stand up I feel the blood flow back and look down to see if I’ve been deformed as the chain holding my collar loosens but I can’t focus through my tears. I’m so happy to be off the bastard thing I thank you for my relief and tell you can’t do it again but I notice a smirk and a sort of “Well………” look on your face, before you’re immediately too busy unlocking my chains to give me a clue. I daren’t even think that I might be back on here at some point!
Once my arms are free you lift my right leg over the horse and let me hold the top so I can step down. I can’t believe you expect me to walk to my bed. “C’mon”? Impatience is that? After what you just put me through! How does “Owwww, fuck!” sound when I try?
You lay me down on my back having helped (carried) me and for some reason my ankles need to be chained to bottom of the bed and my wrists have to be secured above my head to the top. You’re going to let me rest aren’t you? “Shhh, it’s all OK”? Is it? Oh god I hope so!
I get some sort of energy drink squirted down my throat from a garish plastic bottle and struggle to swallow it, gulping it to keep up. It makes me feel sick but I know I need it and don’t complain. Then I’m blindfolded. I get headphones too and a loud hiss to listen to. Why, now what’s going on? At least it isn’t Justin Bieber.
This isn’t rest, I prayed it was but some time later I’m disturbed and after my strange interlude is taken away my senses are allowed to be filled with my next ordeal. Can I believe I’m going to be pilloried? This is so full on relentless I’m not surprised my further suffering is going to be that bad.
You’re obviously proud of your metal girl holder. It has welded loops for my wrists, a shackle for my collar and a built in spreader bar for my feet, all adjustable because her who last endured it wasn’t the same shape as me. I realise why it has to be metal when I see the nearby table with a comprehensive torture Kate electrically kit laid out on it. I have to be earthed right, so I can be electrofucked! I stare in horror at the cattle prod on the table too and you have to grab a handful of my hair to push my head towards its place on the pillory, to encourage me to want to be in it. A padlock fixes my neck and two more lock my arms up and useless, bending me forward.
After the horse spreading my feet wide apart to reach their positions on the spreader bar is agony and I have to cry out as you make me do it. Once my ankles are locked too I feel wide open and exposed. My tits are hanging free, my arse is in the air and my poor tortured cunt must be gaping. How powerful are those shock boxes? I expect the worst. I’m shaking so hard my padlocks rattle!
I hope another flood of tears will convince you I’m serious when I plead that I don’t want to be tortured anymore. I need to rest, I want to recover, I hurt like you won’t believe! Do you and you want me in this much pain? How can you joke “This’ll shut you up.” when I’m this desperate? I get slapped for not holding my mouth open, as if I want to be gagged with a conducting cock. That happens anyway, its straps buckled round my head to keep it forced in.
“You merciless, fuckin’ bastard!” I think, knowing I’m going to get sexually fried. She, her who would betray me as ever, is thrilled to see me treated so badly. This time we’ll play Her favourite game.
I’ve written this. I’m stunned when you show me my belt, with the probes fixed on it just like the one I fictitiously fantasy tortured myself with. I look up at you wide eyed in astonishment. “What do you think of that then?” They slide in slots. You show me how, once they’ve been adjusted, you’ll tighten little nuts to hold them penetrating me perfectly. You’re smug and self satisfied and laugh at “Be careful what you wish for?” I can’t deny setting me up like this is wickedly hot. I’m heaving air through my nose, my lungs working so hard I can feel my ribs pulling on my whip marks. I know how bad I wrote it.
You move behind me to push the probes inside me, one up my arse and one in my cunt and fix the little brass stud where She’ll feel it sting the most. How easy am I? I hope with every nerve in my body you’ll understand how this works, how fine the line is between the sweet threat of more and the murderous agony of too much, but after the horse I know how much you want to hurt me. I think about it while I feel you work between my thighs, adjusting and plugging it all in, and then the straps of my belt tighten to trap me.
“Everything’s controlled from this.” you tell me, holding up a remote transmitter up in front of my face. “Please be sensible, please?” I’d plead if I could. I’m so fuckin’ scared, please see it? I must have sweated the volume of that pink bottle already, it’s dripping off me.
You hold your finger above the first button so I can watch you press it and taunt me for a moment. “Cunt first?” you ask as if anything first would matter. A tingly pulse grips me, making me jump visibly. My bruising makes me too sensitive and I know I’m in for a rough ride. After that first shock I’m fuckin’ scared worse.
TheLimey
Magistrate
TheLimey
You had screamed at me whilst on the horse, that you weren't beautiful, that you were dying.
How wrong you were. I can see your fear, but I can also see your defiance, your determination. When I hit the button to test the system, you yelp and shake at the shock that runs through your tortured cunt. I circle you, seeing the clamps on your breasts shake as you do, the wires swinging that lead to the control boxes. I see the sweat that runs over your sides, to trickle over your stomach and drop to the floor.
I trigger the shocks to your nipples, pre-programmed to start with a regular pulse at low setting, then ramp up in power over time, before cycling back to the beginning again. I can see you feel it, like a gentle tap on each nipple, though soon it'll feel more like a swat from a riding crop.
I cup your chin, lift your head so you are looking at my face. 'I'm going to offer you something. A reward for doing well.'
'I want you to come for me. Each time you do, I'll turn up the power on everything, and wait for you to come again.'
I press a metal bar into your right hand. 'When you drop the bar, I'll release you. If you do that before you come twice, then you go back on the horse. If you come three times, then I'll release you, and we can go back to a day like we've had before.'
'Come four times, and I've got something special for you. I think you'll enjoy it.'
I look at your face, at your eyes. I see the determination again. 'Are you ready?'
You close your hand tight around the metal bar, and nod.
I step back, and trigger the remote....
-*-
I've got you in my arms, carrying you out of the room you've been in and into my actual house. I have no idea how many times you came, except that it is at least four times, thrashing in your bondage, eyes wild, your juices running down your leg.
As I carry you, I wonder at the drive that made you hold onto that bar. Only when I effectively triggered everything at once did it drop from your hand. I'm holding you tightly, telling you how proud I am of you, how pleased I am. And I am proud. I've spent years trying to find a woman who could endure so much, and I think I have found her in you. You truly deserve the surprise I'm going to arrange.
I take you straight to the bathroom, and run a warm bath, which I climb into still clothed, still holding you.
You're exhausted, sobbing into my chest, a little incoherent, switching from 'Fuck you' to 'Thank you' and back again in the matter of minutes. It's only when I start to gently wash you that you relax, seeming to realise that your ordeals are over for now.
I wash you throughly, paying particular attention to your head, which I gently massage as I shampoo it. By the time I'm carefully combing the conditioner through your hair, working out the snarls, you're even smiling at me again, briefly.
I dry you off, wrapping you in a soft white robes, then lead you into the bedroom. There's a moment of fear when I ask you to lie on the bed, legs apart, but I let you know I'm not going to take you. Instead, I gently rub the welts on your stomach and breasts, and your rose, with an oil from a bottle. 'For the pain,' I explain.
Once I've done the same to the weals on your back, and gently massaged your arsehole, I pull back the covers on the bed, and have you lie down. Again, there's a frisson of fear when I run a chain from the headboard to your collar, but then I just lie next to you, and tell you to sleep, that I'm so very pleased with you, with my slave. That tomorrow will be a fun day, and that there's going to be a fun little excursion in the evening.
As a typical Miami thunderstorm rumbles in the distance, you fall asleep
You had screamed at me whilst on the horse, that you weren't beautiful, that you were dying.
How wrong you were. I can see your fear, but I can also see your defiance, your determination. When I hit the button to test the system, you yelp and shake at the shock that runs through your tortured cunt. I circle you, seeing the clamps on your breasts shake as you do, the wires swinging that lead to the control boxes. I see the sweat that runs over your sides, to trickle over your stomach and drop to the floor.
I trigger the shocks to your nipples, pre-programmed to start with a regular pulse at low setting, then ramp up in power over time, before cycling back to the beginning again. I can see you feel it, like a gentle tap on each nipple, though soon it'll feel more like a swat from a riding crop.
I cup your chin, lift your head so you are looking at my face. 'I'm going to offer you something. A reward for doing well.'
'I want you to come for me. Each time you do, I'll turn up the power on everything, and wait for you to come again.'
I press a metal bar into your right hand. 'When you drop the bar, I'll release you. If you do that before you come twice, then you go back on the horse. If you come three times, then I'll release you, and we can go back to a day like we've had before.'
'Come four times, and I've got something special for you. I think you'll enjoy it.'
I look at your face, at your eyes. I see the determination again. 'Are you ready?'
You close your hand tight around the metal bar, and nod.
I step back, and trigger the remote....
-*-
I've got you in my arms, carrying you out of the room you've been in and into my actual house. I have no idea how many times you came, except that it is at least four times, thrashing in your bondage, eyes wild, your juices running down your leg.
As I carry you, I wonder at the drive that made you hold onto that bar. Only when I effectively triggered everything at once did it drop from your hand. I'm holding you tightly, telling you how proud I am of you, how pleased I am. And I am proud. I've spent years trying to find a woman who could endure so much, and I think I have found her in you. You truly deserve the surprise I'm going to arrange.
I take you straight to the bathroom, and run a warm bath, which I climb into still clothed, still holding you.
You're exhausted, sobbing into my chest, a little incoherent, switching from 'Fuck you' to 'Thank you' and back again in the matter of minutes. It's only when I start to gently wash you that you relax, seeming to realise that your ordeals are over for now.
I wash you throughly, paying particular attention to your head, which I gently massage as I shampoo it. By the time I'm carefully combing the conditioner through your hair, working out the snarls, you're even smiling at me again, briefly.
I dry you off, wrapping you in a soft white robes, then lead you into the bedroom. There's a moment of fear when I ask you to lie on the bed, legs apart, but I let you know I'm not going to take you. Instead, I gently rub the welts on your stomach and breasts, and your rose, with an oil from a bottle. 'For the pain,' I explain.
Once I've done the same to the weals on your back, and gently massaged your arsehole, I pull back the covers on the bed, and have you lie down. Again, there's a frisson of fear when I run a chain from the headboard to your collar, but then I just lie next to you, and tell you to sleep, that I'm so very pleased with you, with my slave. That tomorrow will be a fun day, and that there's going to be a fun little excursion in the evening.
As a typical Miami thunderstorm rumbles in the distance, you fall asleep
TheLimey
Magistrate
KurvyKate
Does he know how this works? The first shock’s too harsh and before I can complain his electrodes are stabbing at my nipples, disabling my capacity to think clearly. I can’t complain, god no, I must never do that! Somehow I have to try to advise. I’ve been forthcoming in admitting that electric shocks will make me come but aren’t we going to talk about it first? It’s necessary, I’ll fail if he’s unknowing and mistakenly brutal.
The power increases apparently automatically and before long each pulse tears at my nipples like it’s momentarily ripping them off. I can’t talk, I can only cry out in agony. This is the wrong mode, the wrong setting, if there are anymore. Sweat’s running off me, I’m crying, wailing uncontrollably before the torment stops but I can catch my breath before it starts again. He holds my head up so I can look at him, because he wants to offer me a reward! Yes, he is going to force me to orgasm. “Please, let me tell you how, please?” then I add “Please, before you fucking kill me!”
“Start slow, numb me first, then turn the power up.” Is all I have time to say before my nipple torture escalates to unbearable again. I’m desperate to make him see sense before he expects my genitals to suffer like this too. At least he’s interested and we wait for the current pulsing through my breasts to subside and allow me coherence and the luxury of breathing once more.
Use the shocks to numb me then I can take more I tell him, my voice hoarse from screaming. Quickly while I still can I try to make him understand I’ll never cope with the power necessary to make me come if I’m not prepared carefully first. “Threaten me, scare me with it, don’t just fuckin’ do it!” I growl at him. Intrigued, he switches it off, I didn’t think he would.
He wants the power turned up as high as he thinks I deserve. OK, I know that. I’m locked in his pillory, unable to do anything about it. I can’t stop him, I know that too but he wants to watch me come right? I point out that he’s at liberty to mercilessly torture me for nothing if that’s what he wants but is that really what we’re doing? “Please, help me suffer?” I plead, sobbing and sniffing tears. I’ll come, I’ll have no choice but if he’s going to use my body doesn’t he want to know how to get the best out of it? I tell him he’ll need my head too!
The violent, simple pulses hurt with none of the tingling sensation I need. I tell him I know I’m the sub here and it’s not my place to demand anything, particularly when it comes to the pain inflicted on me, but please, could he try to learn me? I’m genuinely desperate, he sees that. I shake my head, I cry so earnestly he must take pity on me. I’m crushed, I’m humiliated and I’m pleading my heart out. “Please help me?” I sob.
My tearful eyes can’t focus on him as he says “OK, we’ll try another one.” and he presses a button. Is he smiling at me? I gasp “Oh fuck!” as this new agony grips my tits. He laughs at that.
I writhe and twist in the pillory for all the good it does me, unable to keep still. The power rises to its peak in the cycle but I can breathe through the pain this time, panting, hauling air into my lungs. “Happy now?” he asks, the inflection in his voice sarcastic, as if my answer didn’t matter. Then he lights up my rose, no longer mine but his, the whore’s cunt he’ll torture as he sees fit.
Slow, long pulses build and subside, then build higher as the same cycle of torment applied to my breasts reaches deep between my legs. It feels like my poor, sore clit’s in a vice but the agony is not pure pain but something else, something I feel through my whole lower body.
After a while, satisfied by my willingness to suffer this alternative torment he gives me a metal bar, placing it my right hand. If I drop it before I’ve come twice, I go back on the horse! I’m horrified by the idea that he thinks I’ll come in quick succession. I’m not a silly porn actress, I’m real, I need time. “Please let me rest!” I cry. I mean before he tries to make me come again but he thinks he’s been far more merciful than the whore that I am and her cunt deserves. The automatic cycling stops when he selects manual control and leaves me coping with the dizzying stress of so much current surging through my sex organs. I cling on to my metal bar like my life depends on it!
“Grip” is a good word to describe how it feels. The electricity claws at me internally, reaching past the pain, the fiery hammer blows my clit and my labia feel, making me thrash in my restraints. My nerves are burned out and orgasm is hardly physical at all but it overwhelms my brain. My intelligence fails for the moment I scream at him to turn the power off. It’s an anguished, animal howl and frightens him into letting me relax.
However I’m not relaxed. I’m confused, almost blacked out. I can feel my ribs heave as I struggle to breathe hard enough. I’m shaking, rattling the locks on the pillory, sweat and tears pooling in the floor under it. Does he wonder if I’m OK? I’m sure he’s unsure. The ruthless tormentor he wants me to suffer wouldn’t ask, he can’t. He has to wait for me to calm down anxiously believing I will. I haven’t dropped my bar.
Cautiously he starts shocking me again. I’m sensitive having come but externally numb from so powerful a current. I’m worried, holy fuck it hurts! I’m torn apart by it. Would branding me with a red hot poker be easier?
I concentrate on the idea that I’m being sexually tortured for the erotic gratification of my torturer and he’s taken my cunt, available simply as the means to torture me. I’m worth nothing, he doesn’t care, although my fantasy is only possible because he does! My whole body is tensed rigid, my teeth clenched and my knuckles white on the bar in my hand as each pulse reaches its peak. All I want is to survive the next.
“You didn’t think this would happen? You stupid slut, you worthless fuckin’ whore Kate! You deserve every minute of this, you need your cunt ruined!” I think, degrading myself to make the pain inflicted on me necessary as punishment for my depravity. That works and I feel so fucking filthy the shocks force me to orgasm again reducing me to the same breathless wreck as before.
We do it again, and again, until I can’t think anymore. It hurts so much I can’t hang on to my fantasy. The murderous pain destroys my will to continue and I eventually drop the bar. He switches the power off immediately it clatters onto the floor at his feet and I hang, limp and exhausted, praying my ordeal has ended.
He has to hold me up one the pillory is unlocked and almost carries me to the bath room, inside his house. I’ve not been in that before. I’m soaped up and bathed, he untangles my hair, dries me then massages oil into me, soothing my whip wounds and the grazing caused as I fought my bonds unaware of the damage I’d caused. And I mean massaged oil into me. My rose is my rose again, it’s not ruined but it’s owned as I am. I suffer his slippery fingers up my arse, of course he owns all of me!
I’m chained in bed. Did I look at him thinking “Oh god, it’s not over?” but today it is. He’s pleased with me, he calls me “My slave” as if I’m a prized possession. He tells me tomorrow will be “fun”, we’re going out. Shattered, I fall asleep unable to reconcile the public humiliation I imagine I’m in for with the happy, cheerful concept of fun. It’ll be hell, of course it will, it has to be, to make him proud of me. I want that more than anything.
Does he know how this works? The first shock’s too harsh and before I can complain his electrodes are stabbing at my nipples, disabling my capacity to think clearly. I can’t complain, god no, I must never do that! Somehow I have to try to advise. I’ve been forthcoming in admitting that electric shocks will make me come but aren’t we going to talk about it first? It’s necessary, I’ll fail if he’s unknowing and mistakenly brutal.
The power increases apparently automatically and before long each pulse tears at my nipples like it’s momentarily ripping them off. I can’t talk, I can only cry out in agony. This is the wrong mode, the wrong setting, if there are anymore. Sweat’s running off me, I’m crying, wailing uncontrollably before the torment stops but I can catch my breath before it starts again. He holds my head up so I can look at him, because he wants to offer me a reward! Yes, he is going to force me to orgasm. “Please, let me tell you how, please?” then I add “Please, before you fucking kill me!”
“Start slow, numb me first, then turn the power up.” Is all I have time to say before my nipple torture escalates to unbearable again. I’m desperate to make him see sense before he expects my genitals to suffer like this too. At least he’s interested and we wait for the current pulsing through my breasts to subside and allow me coherence and the luxury of breathing once more.
Use the shocks to numb me then I can take more I tell him, my voice hoarse from screaming. Quickly while I still can I try to make him understand I’ll never cope with the power necessary to make me come if I’m not prepared carefully first. “Threaten me, scare me with it, don’t just fuckin’ do it!” I growl at him. Intrigued, he switches it off, I didn’t think he would.
He wants the power turned up as high as he thinks I deserve. OK, I know that. I’m locked in his pillory, unable to do anything about it. I can’t stop him, I know that too but he wants to watch me come right? I point out that he’s at liberty to mercilessly torture me for nothing if that’s what he wants but is that really what we’re doing? “Please, help me suffer?” I plead, sobbing and sniffing tears. I’ll come, I’ll have no choice but if he’s going to use my body doesn’t he want to know how to get the best out of it? I tell him he’ll need my head too!
The violent, simple pulses hurt with none of the tingling sensation I need. I tell him I know I’m the sub here and it’s not my place to demand anything, particularly when it comes to the pain inflicted on me, but please, could he try to learn me? I’m genuinely desperate, he sees that. I shake my head, I cry so earnestly he must take pity on me. I’m crushed, I’m humiliated and I’m pleading my heart out. “Please help me?” I sob.
My tearful eyes can’t focus on him as he says “OK, we’ll try another one.” and he presses a button. Is he smiling at me? I gasp “Oh fuck!” as this new agony grips my tits. He laughs at that.
I writhe and twist in the pillory for all the good it does me, unable to keep still. The power rises to its peak in the cycle but I can breathe through the pain this time, panting, hauling air into my lungs. “Happy now?” he asks, the inflection in his voice sarcastic, as if my answer didn’t matter. Then he lights up my rose, no longer mine but his, the whore’s cunt he’ll torture as he sees fit.
Slow, long pulses build and subside, then build higher as the same cycle of torment applied to my breasts reaches deep between my legs. It feels like my poor, sore clit’s in a vice but the agony is not pure pain but something else, something I feel through my whole lower body.
After a while, satisfied by my willingness to suffer this alternative torment he gives me a metal bar, placing it my right hand. If I drop it before I’ve come twice, I go back on the horse! I’m horrified by the idea that he thinks I’ll come in quick succession. I’m not a silly porn actress, I’m real, I need time. “Please let me rest!” I cry. I mean before he tries to make me come again but he thinks he’s been far more merciful than the whore that I am and her cunt deserves. The automatic cycling stops when he selects manual control and leaves me coping with the dizzying stress of so much current surging through my sex organs. I cling on to my metal bar like my life depends on it!
“Grip” is a good word to describe how it feels. The electricity claws at me internally, reaching past the pain, the fiery hammer blows my clit and my labia feel, making me thrash in my restraints. My nerves are burned out and orgasm is hardly physical at all but it overwhelms my brain. My intelligence fails for the moment I scream at him to turn the power off. It’s an anguished, animal howl and frightens him into letting me relax.
However I’m not relaxed. I’m confused, almost blacked out. I can feel my ribs heave as I struggle to breathe hard enough. I’m shaking, rattling the locks on the pillory, sweat and tears pooling in the floor under it. Does he wonder if I’m OK? I’m sure he’s unsure. The ruthless tormentor he wants me to suffer wouldn’t ask, he can’t. He has to wait for me to calm down anxiously believing I will. I haven’t dropped my bar.
Cautiously he starts shocking me again. I’m sensitive having come but externally numb from so powerful a current. I’m worried, holy fuck it hurts! I’m torn apart by it. Would branding me with a red hot poker be easier?
I concentrate on the idea that I’m being sexually tortured for the erotic gratification of my torturer and he’s taken my cunt, available simply as the means to torture me. I’m worth nothing, he doesn’t care, although my fantasy is only possible because he does! My whole body is tensed rigid, my teeth clenched and my knuckles white on the bar in my hand as each pulse reaches its peak. All I want is to survive the next.
“You didn’t think this would happen? You stupid slut, you worthless fuckin’ whore Kate! You deserve every minute of this, you need your cunt ruined!” I think, degrading myself to make the pain inflicted on me necessary as punishment for my depravity. That works and I feel so fucking filthy the shocks force me to orgasm again reducing me to the same breathless wreck as before.
We do it again, and again, until I can’t think anymore. It hurts so much I can’t hang on to my fantasy. The murderous pain destroys my will to continue and I eventually drop the bar. He switches the power off immediately it clatters onto the floor at his feet and I hang, limp and exhausted, praying my ordeal has ended.
He has to hold me up one the pillory is unlocked and almost carries me to the bath room, inside his house. I’ve not been in that before. I’m soaped up and bathed, he untangles my hair, dries me then massages oil into me, soothing my whip wounds and the grazing caused as I fought my bonds unaware of the damage I’d caused. And I mean massaged oil into me. My rose is my rose again, it’s not ruined but it’s owned as I am. I suffer his slippery fingers up my arse, of course he owns all of me!
I’m chained in bed. Did I look at him thinking “Oh god, it’s not over?” but today it is. He’s pleased with me, he calls me “My slave” as if I’m a prized possession. He tells me tomorrow will be “fun”, we’re going out. Shattered, I fall asleep unable to reconcile the public humiliation I imagine I’m in for with the happy, cheerful concept of fun. It’ll be hell, of course it will, it has to be, to make him proud of me. I want that more than anything.