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Wife set up for sex and torture, what to do with her next?
iuiu38
Magistrate
I tried the nettles. After counting 30 I was completely stripped naked by taking off my side-closing thong, and forced to rub my sex with the nettles, tightly tied. I suppose that in a woman the torture can be greater if the nettles are introduced into her entrails
S
slave666597
Guest
This whore must be whipped with 500 lashes at public. Then sold at o cheap brothel to be fucked every day by everyone. Also forced to play in hardcore porno sex films with bdsm and animal sex. Her body and face craves for all this, she is a classic nymphomaniac masochist pain slut whore
stretchedgirl
Magistrate
You wouldn't have to pay if I was your victim
stretchedgirl
Magistrate
Please send me a job aplication asap!
Better still, no payment required if I am the victim - I'm a cheap bitch !
stretchedgirl
Magistrate
Maybe she would like to be suspended face down, back arched so her gorgeous tits hang down inviting her tormentors to . . .
- squeeeze, twist and pull them
- dowse them with hot oil them and then beat them with paddles
- attach glass vacuum cups to her nipples and suck them high up into the tubes and then prick her areoles with hot needles
At least that's what I would like . . . for starters!
(if only I had tits like hers!)
- squeeeze, twist and pull them
- dowse them with hot oil them and then beat them with paddles
- attach glass vacuum cups to her nipples and suck them high up into the tubes and then prick her areoles with hot needles
At least that's what I would like . . . for starters!
(if only I had tits like hers!)
"PETRAFIED" Part 2
This is the continuing story Petra 53 having her gorgeous breasts taken off by her seemingly cruel, seeming loving seemingly selfish, all at the same time, husband.
(We left sweet Petra and ... him ... in the bathroom of their home. She just finished her pre-op shower and he had dressed her in sterile coverings for the walk down into the sunroom where the amputations will be done. And she becomes so scared you might say she's Petrafied. )
Petra stands staring at me staring at her. Her body shivers again. Fear, excitement, or cold, I wonder. I've got the temperature turned down to 68 degrees; operating room temp to retard bacteria and excessive bleeding. I know how beautiful her body is under that robe. I have a hard time believing what she's going to let me do to it.
Well?" she finally breaks the silence. (Brave woman, I think, suppressing a smile) I nod my head.
I step out of the doorway, bow and sweep my arm across my chest holding it out indicating she should pass. Petra goes into the bedroom and stops. I come in. We stare at each other for another long moment, then I toss my head towards the door.
Petra goes through and starts down the hallway.
I stop in the doorway watching her. Her steps are faltering. She looks over her shoulder, sees me not following and stops. She turns around crossing her arms over her chest pressing her covered hands to her shoulders. Her trembling is noticeable.
"Please!" With teary eyes, Petra begs. "I'm sooo scared. I can’t stop shaking. I’m light-headed and my legs like, seem so weak. If I fall down you’ll think I’m trying to go back on my word or something.” Her mouth is filling with the saliva of fear showing at the corners. She swallows and continues.
“ No matter how bad what you’re going to do is going to be for me … I couldn’t do that to you. Go back on my word to you...?” She looked down, shook her head then look back up at me.
She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Then, “Or… to myself.” She tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows in a questioning pose, like asking me if I understood. I did. Petra just admitting she wants her breasts taken off, too. I nod, yes, I understand.
Again, Petra readies to speak but waits. She draws a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking. This is probably going to be the most extraordinary and intense thing we’ll ever do in our whole life together. And we can only do it once. I’m glad you’re not going to drug me senseless. I want to be aware of everything going on. I’m glad there’ll be no anesthetics. I want to experience every painful minute of it. To see and feel everything you’re doing, and doing to me.”
She stops again, then with trebling lips and little sobs, “I love you so much…… I want to give my breasts to you…. just as much as you want to take them.” The next came in a gush of tears and a mournful wail, “ I just wish you weren’t going to take off them in such a cruel, violent, terrible way. “ She got herself under control after several more sobs. “Please don't make me try to walk down there alone. I’ll never make it by myself. Not for this. I’m terrified!” Her whole body slumps forward a little at the waist, head down, arms still crossed holding her shoulders…protectively?
I hurry to her, wrap my arms around her, trapping her arms between us and begin kissing her face, her neck, her lips. Not sure she knows what she’s talking about. She puts her head on my shoulder, touching my cheek and sobs.
“Silly. You’re just having an anxiety attack. I certainly understand why. It’s been two months of nothing but preparation. Of fantasy. Today is reality come to life. The pill will kick in soon and you’ll feel a little more comfortable. And there’ll be one more while I’m strapping you onto the cruciform.”
I hold her at arm’s length and give her a smile. She drops her arms and taking deep breaths slowly stops sobbing. A tiny smile works its way out and onto her lips. She reaches up with her hand to wipe her face with the sock. I stop her and use the sleeve to wipe her eyes and cheeks and then her runny nose. She looks at the sleeve and says, “Yuck!”
I laugh. “Well, The sleeve’s thick enough it won’t get on your nice clean body. See, I love you so very much, too.” She lets a little laugh out, too. I wrap my arms around her and lovingly kiss her lips, her red eyes and her salty nose.
Now that she's calmed down I ask, "What's this cruel, violent and terrible stuff all about?"
There is a bit of rancor in her voice. "The way my tits are going to be amputated."
"What?!!
" I figured out what you're really going to do to me," she says, lips pursed in accusation. "For the last two months you've been going to the posts on those comics and animation websites on Cruxforums where women are getting their tits sliced off with knives or torn off with tight ropes while on the cross."
"What?!" I exclaim again, and step back. "Both of us have done that ever since we found Cruxforums."
"Yeah, but we looked at other stuff, too. You only look at those now. Over and over. Nothing else." She's got her arms crossed across her chest now and her chin up, defying me to make a denial. I don’t know what to say, turn my palms out, shrug my shoulders and raise my eyebrows showing I don’t understand.
“Hmpf!” Petra goes on another tack. “Several weeks ago you started finding paintings of St. Agatha on the internet and showing them to me. She’s usually depicted with her severed breasts on a plate of some kind. You said they looked like pastries and we both found that funny. Then you found the one where her executioner was holding her cleaved breasts in the palms of his hands. Her arms were tied behind her to a tree. Two bloody holes on her chest showing the white of her breast bones. Agony all over her face.” Petra titled her head and gave me a quizzical look again. Again, I said nothing. She went on. “You became fixated on that painting and have said several times that you want to hold my severed breasts in your hands like that. When I was riding you on top and my breasts hung down? ….You would cup them in your palms like you were weighing them?...Before you pinched my nipples to help me cum.”
Again, I didn’t speak but shrugged with an obvious smirk on my face. “Well…. I’m not laughing anymore!” she exclaimed followed by heavy breathing for a few moments. Then, in a sly tone…
“Tell me, why do we need an eight inch ceramic butcher knife and a three inch ceramic paring knife? You bought those right after you found St. Agatha. I haven’t seen them since.” My face turned blood red and my mouth fell open. She went on. “The kitchen drawers hold a small fortune in good knives. Wusthofs, Zwillings, old high-end Henckels and several other good brands. All very, very sharp. I know. We use them to cut our food every day. Why can’t you use one of those?” Now I know what has her so upset. What is terrifying her. I am so impressed with how she put everything together that I’m dumbfounded.
“Nothing to say, husband?” I shake my head, no. “Then let me say it for you. You don’t want my blood on one of the good knives. You don’t want to pick it up later and have it remind you of the horrible thing you did to me with that knife today. We’d have to throw it away. Right?”
She was on a roll now, venting her fear and her disappointment at the broken plans of two months ago. But there was something else I was starting to recognize. I just shook my head, no, again. She rants on…
“Right! So instead of giving it the respect of clinical amputations like we planned, you’ll use a cheap ceramic butcher knife to saw the top half of my womanhood off of my body just so you can hold my severed orbs in the palms of your hands like some stupid executioner in some dumb, damn, titillating painting.” When she stopped she was panting for breath for several moments. Then, glaring at me…
“Well? Are you going to deny it?” I kept my silence just staring back. Emphatically she repeated, “Are you going to deny that you’re going to just saw my tits off , no matter what the deeper damage it causes?”
“I could deny it, but I’m not going to.” I say. “You’ll think I’m doing it just get you into the sunroom.”
"How noble," she sneers. "I thought my imagination was working overtime, creating a scenario that could not possibly happen. But here you are. You’re all but admitting that my vision is exactly what you're going to do. I'm your wife! I love you so much. You know that. How could you do this to me?!!"
Her face is blood red now and she's panting again. This whole time she's been talking, working up to the 'how could you' question she's been working herself up, too.
I step next to Petra, put one arm around her waist and hold her close and tight. "Perhaps it wasn't your imagination directing your movie of the mind, but your subconscious.” I slip my free hand inside her robe and find her sex with my fingers. Petra is so wet with her arousal juices they are bathing her inner thighs. I slip two fingers inside her and find her clit with my thumb. “Yes, Petra, your subconscious. Bringing it to the surface and letting you tell me what you secretly really want. And you have a loving, adoring husband who’s going to give it to you. You said, ‘any way you want to do it’, the night this started.”
I start curling and uncurling my fingers inside her and rubbing my thumb around her clit. It only takes several seconds before she mumbles, “No... oh no… no, no, no” and growls into an intense shaking orgasm that buckles her knees forcing me to use the fingers inside her to help hold her up until it stops.
When she regains control Petra steps away. She takes a couple of deep breaths and nods to me. “Have a good cum?” I ask. “Shut up!” she retorts.
“Ready to go on?” I ask. She takes a deep breath and nods, yes. “Good,” I say. I take her arm to steady her. As we start, I suppress a chuckle. “I want to get you in the butcher shop while we still have the morning sunlight.”
Petra stops, bares her teeth and growls. “NNNnnnnnnnnnuh!!! Why did you have say that?!!” I didn’t say anything and had a hard time keeping a smile off my face. “You’re horrible!” she yells. “Why do you have to be so horrible?”
I do smile this time. “Because you let me, darling. You always have. You love it.”
She reaches around and punches my chest with her free hand as we continue toward the steps and the sunroom.
This is the continuing story Petra 53 having her gorgeous breasts taken off by her seemingly cruel, seeming loving seemingly selfish, all at the same time, husband.
(We left sweet Petra and ... him ... in the bathroom of their home. She just finished her pre-op shower and he had dressed her in sterile coverings for the walk down into the sunroom where the amputations will be done. And she becomes so scared you might say she's Petrafied. )
Petra stands staring at me staring at her. Her body shivers again. Fear, excitement, or cold, I wonder. I've got the temperature turned down to 68 degrees; operating room temp to retard bacteria and excessive bleeding. I know how beautiful her body is under that robe. I have a hard time believing what she's going to let me do to it.
Well?" she finally breaks the silence. (Brave woman, I think, suppressing a smile) I nod my head.
I step out of the doorway, bow and sweep my arm across my chest holding it out indicating she should pass. Petra goes into the bedroom and stops. I come in. We stare at each other for another long moment, then I toss my head towards the door.
Petra goes through and starts down the hallway.
I stop in the doorway watching her. Her steps are faltering. She looks over her shoulder, sees me not following and stops. She turns around crossing her arms over her chest pressing her covered hands to her shoulders. Her trembling is noticeable.
"Please!" With teary eyes, Petra begs. "I'm sooo scared. I can’t stop shaking. I’m light-headed and my legs like, seem so weak. If I fall down you’ll think I’m trying to go back on my word or something.” Her mouth is filling with the saliva of fear showing at the corners. She swallows and continues.
“ No matter how bad what you’re going to do is going to be for me … I couldn’t do that to you. Go back on my word to you...?” She looked down, shook her head then look back up at me.
She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Then, “Or… to myself.” She tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows in a questioning pose, like asking me if I understood. I did. Petra just admitting she wants her breasts taken off, too. I nod, yes, I understand.
Again, Petra readies to speak but waits. She draws a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking. This is probably going to be the most extraordinary and intense thing we’ll ever do in our whole life together. And we can only do it once. I’m glad you’re not going to drug me senseless. I want to be aware of everything going on. I’m glad there’ll be no anesthetics. I want to experience every painful minute of it. To see and feel everything you’re doing, and doing to me.”
She stops again, then with trebling lips and little sobs, “I love you so much…… I want to give my breasts to you…. just as much as you want to take them.” The next came in a gush of tears and a mournful wail, “ I just wish you weren’t going to take off them in such a cruel, violent, terrible way. “ She got herself under control after several more sobs. “Please don't make me try to walk down there alone. I’ll never make it by myself. Not for this. I’m terrified!” Her whole body slumps forward a little at the waist, head down, arms still crossed holding her shoulders…protectively?
I hurry to her, wrap my arms around her, trapping her arms between us and begin kissing her face, her neck, her lips. Not sure she knows what she’s talking about. She puts her head on my shoulder, touching my cheek and sobs.
“Silly. You’re just having an anxiety attack. I certainly understand why. It’s been two months of nothing but preparation. Of fantasy. Today is reality come to life. The pill will kick in soon and you’ll feel a little more comfortable. And there’ll be one more while I’m strapping you onto the cruciform.”
I hold her at arm’s length and give her a smile. She drops her arms and taking deep breaths slowly stops sobbing. A tiny smile works its way out and onto her lips. She reaches up with her hand to wipe her face with the sock. I stop her and use the sleeve to wipe her eyes and cheeks and then her runny nose. She looks at the sleeve and says, “Yuck!”
I laugh. “Well, The sleeve’s thick enough it won’t get on your nice clean body. See, I love you so very much, too.” She lets a little laugh out, too. I wrap my arms around her and lovingly kiss her lips, her red eyes and her salty nose.
Now that she's calmed down I ask, "What's this cruel, violent and terrible stuff all about?"
There is a bit of rancor in her voice. "The way my tits are going to be amputated."
"What?!!
" I figured out what you're really going to do to me," she says, lips pursed in accusation. "For the last two months you've been going to the posts on those comics and animation websites on Cruxforums where women are getting their tits sliced off with knives or torn off with tight ropes while on the cross."
"What?!" I exclaim again, and step back. "Both of us have done that ever since we found Cruxforums."
"Yeah, but we looked at other stuff, too. You only look at those now. Over and over. Nothing else." She's got her arms crossed across her chest now and her chin up, defying me to make a denial. I don’t know what to say, turn my palms out, shrug my shoulders and raise my eyebrows showing I don’t understand.
“Hmpf!” Petra goes on another tack. “Several weeks ago you started finding paintings of St. Agatha on the internet and showing them to me. She’s usually depicted with her severed breasts on a plate of some kind. You said they looked like pastries and we both found that funny. Then you found the one where her executioner was holding her cleaved breasts in the palms of his hands. Her arms were tied behind her to a tree. Two bloody holes on her chest showing the white of her breast bones. Agony all over her face.” Petra titled her head and gave me a quizzical look again. Again, I said nothing. She went on. “You became fixated on that painting and have said several times that you want to hold my severed breasts in your hands like that. When I was riding you on top and my breasts hung down? ….You would cup them in your palms like you were weighing them?...Before you pinched my nipples to help me cum.”
Again, I didn’t speak but shrugged with an obvious smirk on my face. “Well…. I’m not laughing anymore!” she exclaimed followed by heavy breathing for a few moments. Then, in a sly tone…
“Tell me, why do we need an eight inch ceramic butcher knife and a three inch ceramic paring knife? You bought those right after you found St. Agatha. I haven’t seen them since.” My face turned blood red and my mouth fell open. She went on. “The kitchen drawers hold a small fortune in good knives. Wusthofs, Zwillings, old high-end Henckels and several other good brands. All very, very sharp. I know. We use them to cut our food every day. Why can’t you use one of those?” Now I know what has her so upset. What is terrifying her. I am so impressed with how she put everything together that I’m dumbfounded.
“Nothing to say, husband?” I shake my head, no. “Then let me say it for you. You don’t want my blood on one of the good knives. You don’t want to pick it up later and have it remind you of the horrible thing you did to me with that knife today. We’d have to throw it away. Right?”
She was on a roll now, venting her fear and her disappointment at the broken plans of two months ago. But there was something else I was starting to recognize. I just shook my head, no, again. She rants on…
“Right! So instead of giving it the respect of clinical amputations like we planned, you’ll use a cheap ceramic butcher knife to saw the top half of my womanhood off of my body just so you can hold my severed orbs in the palms of your hands like some stupid executioner in some dumb, damn, titillating painting.” When she stopped she was panting for breath for several moments. Then, glaring at me…
“Well? Are you going to deny it?” I kept my silence just staring back. Emphatically she repeated, “Are you going to deny that you’re going to just saw my tits off , no matter what the deeper damage it causes?”
“I could deny it, but I’m not going to.” I say. “You’ll think I’m doing it just get you into the sunroom.”
"How noble," she sneers. "I thought my imagination was working overtime, creating a scenario that could not possibly happen. But here you are. You’re all but admitting that my vision is exactly what you're going to do. I'm your wife! I love you so much. You know that. How could you do this to me?!!"
Her face is blood red now and she's panting again. This whole time she's been talking, working up to the 'how could you' question she's been working herself up, too.
I step next to Petra, put one arm around her waist and hold her close and tight. "Perhaps it wasn't your imagination directing your movie of the mind, but your subconscious.” I slip my free hand inside her robe and find her sex with my fingers. Petra is so wet with her arousal juices they are bathing her inner thighs. I slip two fingers inside her and find her clit with my thumb. “Yes, Petra, your subconscious. Bringing it to the surface and letting you tell me what you secretly really want. And you have a loving, adoring husband who’s going to give it to you. You said, ‘any way you want to do it’, the night this started.”
I start curling and uncurling my fingers inside her and rubbing my thumb around her clit. It only takes several seconds before she mumbles, “No... oh no… no, no, no” and growls into an intense shaking orgasm that buckles her knees forcing me to use the fingers inside her to help hold her up until it stops.
When she regains control Petra steps away. She takes a couple of deep breaths and nods to me. “Have a good cum?” I ask. “Shut up!” she retorts.
“Ready to go on?” I ask. She takes a deep breath and nods, yes. “Good,” I say. I take her arm to steady her. As we start, I suppress a chuckle. “I want to get you in the butcher shop while we still have the morning sunlight.”
Petra stops, bares her teeth and growls. “NNNnnnnnnnnnuh!!! Why did you have say that?!!” I didn’t say anything and had a hard time keeping a smile off my face. “You’re horrible!” she yells. “Why do you have to be so horrible?”
I do smile this time. “Because you let me, darling. You always have. You love it.”
She reaches around and punches my chest with her free hand as we continue toward the steps and the sunroom.
Scoop
Guard
I think Petra 53 should be taken to the dungeon in this leather harness and paraded in front of a mixed gathering. Her hands will be tied above her head as a several whips are brought forward. Her harness will be removed and she will be sentenced to 75 lashes with the cat.
After the flogging she will be cut down and forced to kneel in front of me. At that point I will order her to start sucking my cock.It would be fully hard after viewing her naked body. After several minutes she is again placed with her hands tied above her head. Several men and women take turns sucking on her clit, just stopping short of making her cum.
Petra 53 is cut down again and taken over to a wooden horse where her ankles are tied to the bottom post . Her wrist are secured leaving her wet beautiful pussy on display. I proceed to lick her pussy from behind before I shove my cock into her pussy. As I am about to cum I pull out and thrust my cock into her mouth forcing her to swallow the entire load.
The bystanders start chanting………. Crucify her …….Crucify her…….. Crucify her
S
slv
Guest
You must be forced to suck dogs cocks and be dog fucked. Drink all the dog cum. Than whipped with cat o nine whip with nails at its edges till you bleed and faint
S
slv
Guest
Your nipples must me penetrated with needles, you must whipped to blood, tortured heavily, so you must prove that you are a real masochist pain slut whore