Journey Of A Pain Slut - Act 5 free porn video

The girl begged so well. Her eyes stared back at me, and as she said “Please,” it was unclear whether she was pleading for the horror to stop or whether she was desperate for more.

I shifted uncomfortably as a burgeoning erection began to push at my jeans. The girl, young and nubile, was not my slut and she would never be able to replace her, even in my mind’s eye, but she suffered so well.

I watched as the sackcloth bags filled with bricks and tied around her ankles pulled her stretched body towards the ground. This evil pull of gravity, filled will malintent, opened her labia, exposed the hidden soft folds to the sharp edge of the splintering wood and she cried out. The delightful yell added yet more length and girth to my hardening cock, as my gaze focused now on her overextended arms, the chains around her wrists and the constant flexing of her fingers in an attempt to distract her tortured mind from the extremities of the pain.

She wasn’t wet, her thighs were not glistening, she wasn’t turned on by the pain like my Little Girl would have been. But she was suffering and as the nail was hit hard, the small spike driven home, piercing through her manually, unwittingly engorged clitoris, securing it to the wood between her thighs, she passed out.

I was left breathless.

“I’m heading out dear.” My wife’s loving, caring voice broke through the sexual tension that had infused my solo erotic reverie.

“O … o … oh, okay see y … you later.” I closed down the screen on the Apple Macbook, and my voice was croaky and not certain of itself as I shouted my response down the stairs.

I heard the door lock as my wife left for her yoga class, and once more I was blissfully alone, left to reflect upon the times I had spent with my Little Girl, the real love of my life. I missed her so damn much. She clouded my thoughts. She woke up with me first thing in the morning and she went to bed with me at night.

I ate with her at the dining table and, somewhat worryingly, she accompanied me into my clinics and the surgical theatres.

Closing the curtains across the large bedroom window, I stripped off my clothes. As I took out my phone and swiped the screen until the picture of Red, tied to my Little Girl’s bed, firm, peachy ass high in the air, her body covered in red welted scratches,

her thighs glistening, the thorny, long-stemmed roses strewn across her glorious body, my balls tightened and my hard-on was complete!

******

It had been a few weeks since those two glorious back-to-back weekends with the slut and Red. Subsequent weeks of frustration and desperate wanking and becoming more and more obsessed with what I did to them … and what I would do to them in the future.

Where was there to go next? They had ‘died’ for fuck’s sake, both of them, the last time out … what more was there to achieve except to make their death permanent. In one sense that was the ultimate goal. It wouldn’t be murder because they would want it, it would actually be a glorified way of assisting their own suicide, or so I was convincing myself.

I recalled the dungeon porn scene I had watched earlier and my Little Girl’s face took the place of the model in the scene. Agony in her eyes, bulbous red ball gag stretching her mouth wide, gloopy saliva dripping from her chin to the flat surface on which she was hog-tied.

As those thoughts floated around my head, my mind’s eye bringing the scene, and my slut, to life … infiltrating my erogenous zones and fuelling my lust, I closed my eyes, lay back in my chair and groaned.

“Are you okay love?” My wife looked up from her book, well her kindle reader actually, and peered over her glasses at me.

Her voice interrupting my thoughts was a surprise, though why it should have been I didn’t know given that we were sitting together in our front room.

“Fine honey, thanks, just a little stiff. Long surgery today.”

That was no lie. It had been a long surgery. Reconstructive work, supporting an ENT surgeon as he rebuilt a shattered cheek bone using vascular tissue and muscle from the girl’s slender, smooth thigh, the extraction of which was my job.

She had fallen from a wall, though what the fuck she was doing on the high brick structure in the first place I had no idea … but ours was not to question why! Her face had hit the ground first and now she needed urgent surgery.

She was eighteen, the girl. Pretty, with a firm body, in fact she was a real treat to the eye, all except her shattered face of course. She was just a little younger than my slut, and as she lay naked on the operating table, anaesthetised into her own welcome oblivion, I slipped my scalpel into the soft flesh of her thigh. Holding my breath as I gently pressed with skilled, knowing fingers, I watched the skin split and open up for me. I observed the blood oozing out in fast flowing rivulets down her thigh as I stepped back to allow the nearby arteries to be clamped.

I imagined the soft flesh belonging to the breasts of my Little Girl. Using a scalpel to slice into the firm mound, but of course she wouldn’t be safe within the unconscious confines of an anaesthetic … she would be wide awake so that she could ‘enjoy’ every moment.

And now, aching from the long-standing nature of the operation, I sat at home, in my country-side, privileged domesticity and groaned at thoughts of my Little Girl and her stunning friend, Red.

What next? The slut had been busy recently with her essays and whatever else it was, other than drinking and fucking … oh and getting stoned, that students did.

Had she seen Red? I knew that her flame haired friend was at another Uni in another town and so they couldn’t live together. Had my slut and her BF become friends with benefits? I felt more than a little jealous. She had kept in touch with me. The odd text, and a picture or two … but when I had asked about meeting again, she had been a little evasive. Essays, exams, library sessions, a home visit back to her Ma and Pa, as she called them … she was ‘not sure when’.

All her reasons were potentially genuine, but all also possibly playing for time. Had they had enough? Had they both suddenly come to their senses and realised that if we continued our trysts then they would both most likely end up permanently dead? Maybe through finding each other my slut and her friend had found a reason to live?

“Another drop dear?” I opened my eyes to see my wife standing over me with the bottle of 2006 Nuit St George, bought from a trip to the Burgundy Wine Region a few years ago.

I nodded, “Yes hon, please that would be lovely.”

It was as she poured that I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket.

Part 2- The Girl

Abi went home to N-town after that night together.

But we knew half-term, or as they call it 'reading week' was coming up (along with more lecturer strikes...) and we had sort of made an agreement.

And so there I was at the station. Slummy Victoria. And I saw her coming up from the underground and ran to her and let her fling me in the air as we kissed and let her spin me round and, to be honest, so many girls are with girls now in London no one even blinks an eye. Well, maybe some old duffers off to a matinee or up to see an escort...

Trundle train down to the coast. To my little town. Big town really. Pretty lovely B-town by the sea. So excited to see her, to be with her. A week is sooo long! Fuck I love this girl and she loves me. The BF is history. Saw him in town and had a coffee and we decided that it was really over and I kissed him and gave his hand a sad farewell stroke. And went out into the drizzle.

Seagulls. Love them and hate them. Nah, love them.

Down to the front. Wind in our faces. She strokes my hair. Freshly dyed my favourite brilliant electric blue. Leans back on the rail, her legs apart. I lean in between. Bodies together. Kiss her sooo much. Fucking love her.

I'd told Ma that Abi was coming.

'Sharing?' she'd asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

'Mm.'

'I always knew' she said.

I smiled.

Pa hugged me.

'We love you, you know..' he said. Not a question. Obviously. I love them too. Which I know will be difficult in the future. But now I am so happy.

Dinner. All of us. Me, Abi, Sis, Ma and Pa. (big bro out). In the dining room. Burnt red walls. Polished table. Wine. Chatter. Cardinal Newman looking down from his frame. Me biting my lip. Tell us everything they say. And then they tell everything. All about me. Kiddy stories. Abi laughs.

My hands are hurting. My palms are burning. Sis sees me writhing my fingers. Gently pulls my hand towards her. She looks at the mark, burnt red. She can guess. From all those times in her room or mine with a hair brush or a wooden spoon or whatever. Girly games with bits of rope. She can guess.

In my room with Abi. Naked. Our marked bodies on each other. Marked by the thorns.

Sis taps at the door. Comes in. We sit up.

'Tell me about it' she says.

Quietly, slowly, not exactly fully, we do.

She's silent.

'I'm going to Oxford' she says.

I kiss her.

At the Marlborough. Crazy make up. Bright eyes. Wild. Fuck I love her. So fucking beautiful.

In bed with her. Text him. Just 'hi'. Think of sending a photo, but don't.

Then do.

Us two in the Marl.

Us two in bed.

'Shall we do something again?'

Wonder where he is when his phone pings. With his wife?

Wonder what he'll say....

Part 3- The Guy

Naked I stood before the whore. The girth and lengthening burden between my legs felt heavy, the swollen head pushing forward, rolling up the soft folds of the foreskin in its wake. Wide eyes watched it grow as the naked student-slut looked first into my face but then further down my body.

“On your knees,” I growled. Dropping slowly into a crouch and then to her knees, her eyes never leaving mine, she obeyed. I knew that she would. Unhurriedly her nubile, young, dark-skinned body slipped to the ground, her eyes becoming deliberately averted, gazing at the floor, knowing now not to meet mine.

I needed this release. I wanted my Little Girl. I wanted to feel the tight pussy enveloping my erection, her soft, young lips on mine, our tongues dancing in mutual ecstasy. But she was not here, and so I had to make do with a whore.

“Good girl,” I smirked, my words filled with platitudinal overtones. She didn’t speak but I saw her swallow, the constriction of her throat betraying the nerves that right now had no doubt infused her body.

“Open,” my command was a simple, single word. But as I approached, the undergraduate let her full lips part and then gasped as I gripped her lustrous, long, unfettered black hair in my fist and held her tightly.

It was not a blow job I wanted, it was a face-fuck. I slid my erection into her mouth, pushing firmly forward, navigating her oral passage until I reached her throat, whereupon I continued to thrust, impaling her, making her gag.

I smiled. Then I fucked her … hard … and fast … and deep.

By the time I released my grip, throwing her to the ground before me she was gasping for air and dripping with a thick, potent mix of my pre cum and her saliva. I was as hard as a rock. My urethral slit was dripping …

I needed more.

From each of the bedposts at the bedhead of this little student bedsit hung a pair of industrial strength handcuffs. None of the pink fluffy comfort that sometime adorns such tools, these were steel and hardcore, tools of her trade!

The whore flinched as I secured each one in turn around her wrists, leaving her arms stretched out wide, her gaze staring towards the bedroom wall before us, her peachy, dusky ass enthralling me, now fully exposed for my viewing pleasure.

I gripped her hips and pulled her towards me. She whimpered as the weight of her body now rested in part, on her knees, but in more painful part on her wrists, supported only by the harsh, steel cuffs that were now biting into her skin.

I picked up the crop. Her crop, the one she already had, and I whipped it quickly just inches from her ass, making her squirm from the sound as the rod sliced through the thin-air. Seconds later it was slicing through her flesh as I landed several blows in quick succession onto her firm ass cheeks.

She cried out as the red welts rose and glowed back at me.

“Does that hurt whore?” I asked.

“Y … Yes, Sir,” she replied in the manner prescribed.

If I used no names with my Little Girl, this student-whore who advertised her services from her pokey university bedsit in the student-land district to the North-West of Leeds, wouldn’t get my name either, not even a false one.

I had paid cash for her and so she did not require a name. Two hundred pounds for two hours of ‘bondage style fun’, was how she had advertised on the ‘Leeds Escorts’ web page.

I wasn’t sure how much ‘fun’ she was finding this right now. That thought rifled excitingly through my body and morphed into a lust-fuelled drip from my cock-head.

“Do you want more?” I asked, though the question was rhetorical because she was getting it anyway.

“Y … yes please, Sir,” she responded in a less than convincing manner.

I laughed and struck her again, even harder this time. Her whole body motioned forward as she crashed into the edge of the bed, jerking her arms and dragging at her cuffed wrists.

“Fuck!” she whispered. I waited for her to resume her position and then I hit her again … and again … and again.

Then I fucked her.

By the time I was ready to leave she was still laying, face down, on the bed. Nude and exhausted. Battered and beaten.

“There’s an extra fifty pounds for you here.” It was all I said as I left. She did not speak.

******

“You’ve lost weight,” my wife smiled at me as her delicate fingers circled around my upper arm to squeeze at my biceps. I had, she was right. Since I last saw my Little Girl a few weeks ago I had taken to the gym again, resurrecting my membership and so now, at least three times a week, I was working out, climbing infinity stairs, overworking my creaking knees with knee-lifts and treading-the-mill for kilometre upon kilometre. The whole routine was followed up with a swim and then some R&R in the hot tub and the sauna. I was feeling good … I was in love with a young student girl, I needed to feel, and look, way more than ‘good’!

“It’s a long time since I’ve seen you in this shape dear,” my wife was cozying up to me, she thought I was doing all this for her. I wasn’t.

But that wasn’t a fact I needed to share with my wife. Let her believe it was all for her. The slimmed down paunch, the reclaimed definition across my chest and my abs, even the trimming of my pubic hair, something I had never, ever done before.

I smiled and kissed her. When I say that she was a ‘fifty-something’ that was unfair really, because my wife had turned fifty only just before Christmas, and she was in good shape. Careful eating, twice-weekly yoga and an active lifestyle kept her very trim. She was fuckable still for sure, and I must not forget that. If I wanted to keep my trysts with the slut and her friend Red a secret then I must never forget to give my wife the attention she deserves.

With a moment to myself I swiped the phone to open the message from my Little Girl …

“Hi, shall we do something again?”

The pictures she sent were exquisite. Two were attached, both of her and Red. One showing the two of them in bed together, clearly naked, Red exposing a nice, hardened nipple, and another of them in the pub. Beautiful. That told me they were together now as an ‘item’. I presumed therefore that when my Little Girl said “… shall WE do something …”, Red was included in the ‘we’.

That was fine. That was good. I liked having them both. Red was stunning, statuesque almost, but the slut was the one I loved.

I read my reply. I had replied immediately with a very definitely, positive … “Yes. Can you make this weekend? Saturday?”

It was Tuesday the 18th February and it seemed they could make this coming weekend. Could I? You bet I could, whatever it took. I had proposed that date, this coming weekend because I couldn’t wait any longer for my piece of their ass, but I hadn’t thought it through, and so now I needed a plan. After developing a fixation on dungeon related porn over the past couple of weeks, a dungeon it had to be. Inquisition style. No mercy.

But where?

I knew just the place, if I could make it happen.

I opened the contact for George Meadows. George was on the security team at Leeds Town Hall. We did not live in Leeds but it was only a stone’s throw away from our countryside residence on the Pennine Way looking down over the Calder Valley.

“Hi George, I’m after a favour …”

I had operated on George’s daughter a few years ago, nothing life or death, but a substantial enough procedure and he had been eternally grateful. Like all surgeons I was consciously aware of de-coupling from my patients and their family post-procedure, as soon as the time was right. It was easy for them to become attached to their surgeon, given the service we provide, and over the medium to long term that wasn’t a healthy situation to be in.

But George had been useful, sorting out preferential parking at Town Hall events for me, and even getting me an upgraded ticket for a major concert, when they were like gold dust.

I had asked him for access to the subterranean cells under the Town Hall. They were the old jail cells, built in 1858 with the new Town Hall when Bridewell Police Station was based there … unused since 1902, but still in-tact. Cold, barren, stark … you could tour around them during certain days, and sometimes ambient events would be held in them, at Halloween for example.

I flipped through the pictures open in front of me on my MacBook screen and imagined my Little Girl naked and bound inside them.

But I wanted the cells to myself for the night. Could George arrange it, could he make it happen? When I called him I needed to skirt the truth, but not lie entirely. I had a ‘friend’, if he knew what I meant. A special, young girl-friend, and she was a bit of a thrill seeker. I needed to keep up with her, prove myself … but she was so worth it George, you should see her. Yes, it was deceitful, but with my high-pressure life, surely George you don’t begrudge me this, do you?

He didn’t. He understood, so he said, and his tone assumed the officious, confidential levels that were regularly assumed when someone was ‘helping you out’.

He would meet me and get me a key. I needed to be very discreet – I assured him that would be absolutely no problem.

Could he let me have the ‘interrogation cell’, the one with …

“… with the ‘devices’ still inside?” he had finished my sentence for me.

“Yes, that’s the one George.”

It wasn’t a problem. George called me a lucky bastard.

He had no idea.

Part 4 – The Girl

It's a cold, blowy day. Slumming in bed with Abi. Music from Sis's room. Billie Eilish. Nice.

Tangled in the twised duvet. Touching her. Playing with her hair.

Kiss her ear. So sweet she is.

Kiss her neck.

Kiss her nose.

Kiss her eyes.

Kiss her belly and her cunt. Linger. Round. Sweet. Softly.

Bacon and eggs and toast and let's go out!

Shopping in the Laines. Old clothes and LPs. Coffee and a cake. Joking and laughing and everyone is just like us here.

But they aren't.

At all

Because we are two mad crazy girls.

Bookshops and rain and wild seas.

Fucking love her. Being with her. Watching her hair blow over her face. Salt.

Wet skirts and faces and fingers touching.

What shall we do? I ask.

We'll go, won't we? she says

We'll go. I say.

Hoping for something. I don't know what.

Whatever he wants. She says. When we go, it's up to him. She says.

Yeah. I say. Up to him.

I don't really mind what he does. I say.

As long as... you know... it's us two. I want him to hurt us. I love you but I love seeing you hurt and you seeing me hurt.

I mean. When I cry. I hate it. But I want it so much.

Yeah. Me too. She says.

I never thought about it. Not before. Couldn't have imagined it. Not before.

But now?

Yeah. Now. It's all I want. I mean. Whatever. Fucked up world. Careers. Whatever. Nah. I want this. You and this. You and hurting.

We're mad aren't we?

We're fucking crazy. She says.

Bath. Soap. Her and me. Her back wet against my tits. Hate the fucking taps.

Back at the Marl. Love it here. Queer heaven. I knew I loved it even before...

Hide in a corner with her.

What do you fancy?

Well... She says. I sort of fancy bad things. Like... well... like a torture chamber. You know. Like in the inquisition. Not like in Iraq or some shit hole. Somewhere where they treat you properly as they torture you. Like a witch or someone. You know. Strappado. Rack. Hot things. Spikes. Ropes. Whips. Dark places and flaming torches and flickering shadows.

'Poetic' I say.

Yeah. She says. Poetic. Pain poetry. We should write a book.

And you? She says.

Hmmm. I guess the same. I say. Or an old bedstead and electricity on my tits and cunt.

And him? She says.

Don't care. I say. He can fuck me if he wants. I think he thinks I love him. Fucker. I mean, he's ok. He's enjoying it. And I don't mind him fucking me. Anyway he wants. I like being fucked. I love being with you and... you know... but I like being fucked. Hard. He's good at fucking. Not a kind fucker. A bastard fucker. But that's good. I think. But I don't really think anything of him apart from that. Just lucky to have found someone. I guess he's crazy too. I wonder what he spends his days doing?

Porn. She says. All day. Whenever he can. Or paying sluts for sex. Or ogling students. Dreaming. I guess we are perfect for him. Toys he can play with. No strings attached.

Unless he's tying us up. I say.

Ha.

I think he's married. She says. You can tell somehow. I think he loves his wife but he needs us. More. He needs to do these things. Like we need him to do them. I think it will get heavier and heavier coz he just can't stop and in the end...

He'll kill us. I say.

She's quiet... 'Yeah' she says. 'In the end... he'll kill us. And that's what has to happen I guess. Like Checkov with his gun. He'll kill us. He can't stop. We can't stop. So what else can happen. He'll kill us.

So do you mind? I ask her.

Not really. She says. Not really.

Let's get another drink. She says.

Part 5 – The Guy

“… The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way …” I felt compelled to look up the actual definition of serendipity after what had just happened.

My Little Girl had accepted the coming weekend as the time we would next get together. I needed a plan that kept my wife’s suspicions at bay.

Through another unbelievable turn of serendipity, I now had one!

******

“Darling,” my wife had sounded tentative when she spoke, the tone of her voice was the one she used when she wanted something.

“Yes hon,” I replied, only half listening.

“You know my sister’s new Flower Shop, the one that I …”

“Yes dear,” I was still not really listening.

“Well this weekend she has the final class and exam for her Extended Diploma in Floristry, and she needs someone to open the shop on Saturday for her …”

Now I was listening …

“And so …”

“And so, you need to leave me again on Saturday, and because she lives so far away you won’t be back until Sunday?”

“Leave on Friday actually darling, the shop opens at 8am … and most probably return on Monday if that’s alright? Oh my darling, is that okay?” She looked genuinely sorry as she moved to me and wound her arms around my neck.

I was beside myself with delight, and trying desperately not to show it.

“I guess I can manage without you … again,” I grinned as our lips met with a light touch.

She pulled away smiling, “Thank you darling, let me go call her. I really don’t know what I have done to deserve you!”

It was all I could do to stop myself from laughing out loud!

******

I had visions of a labyrinth of dark, wet, 'hostel' like cells and a heavy atmosphere held in chain adorned walls, I was not disappointed.

George had handed me the keys on Wednesday night, so that I could take a look round. Get my bearings. His spare set they were, and so I could hang onto them until ‘afterwards’.

The name Bridewell is the generic term for a Town Lock Up, historically a small prison used to house prisoners arrested in the town, and awaiting their appearance in court. The name comes originally from a prison for vagrants and petty offenders in London, which was near the church of St. Brides, and also near a well, hence the Bridewell. Most large cities in Victorian times had a centrally based Bridewell Prison and Leeds was no exception.

The old stone corridors were long and windy, catacomb-like, and surprisingly warm, a little like the basement storage at the hospital. Must be an underground thing. And this subterranean area that opened up once a flight of stone stairs had been descended from underneath the front entrance, was no different. Warm, scarily eerie and wonderfully soundproofed!

I could hear no sound from anywhere else. Not outside nor above … just silence, except for the natural sounds that emanated from this old circuitous series of corridors and rooms. Yet I would be able to enjoy every cry and groan, all of the yelling out loud from the slut and her friend, as well as their less voluminous pleas for mercy. Just walking around this place excited me.

Each cell contained an old wooden bench, and shackle rings for wrists and ankles fastened to the wood and to the wall. The rooms, were small and dark, with stone flagged floors, whitewashed walls, and no windows. The original thick wooden doors were in-tact with small food hatches cut into the wood that served the purpose of both serving the meagre food rations and ‘voyeuristically’ watching the prisoners.

Then there was the ‘interrogation room’.

Wow!

An old rack was the main device on display. This room had a small, modern rope-fence to keep the viewing public away from the pieces on display, but it was not secured and George had said to simply move it out of the way. I knew there would be no more tours between now and the weekend, there weren’t many this time of year anyway, and so I moved it off to one side now.

I fingered the old, rough wood of the rack. It felt so damn … evil. The long-slatted frame, its flat surface had rope ties at the top and steel manacles at the bottom to hold the victim’s ankles in place while the body was stretched to breaking point. A large cranking handle was placed at the head of the device, by the wrists, to pull the naked body taut, and then tauter still … I gripped the long handled and twisted. The wooden machine groaned superbly into life as the wheel turned and the ropes shifted. It worked! Fuck, yes …

When I saw the wooden rollers in the middle of the slatted frame my breath was taken away … they were adorned with wooden spikes. More blunt now than they once would have been, and no-where near as damage inflicting as the iron spikes that sat in the same place during medieval times. But bloody vicious and painful none-the-less, and they would mark an otherwise smooth, naked and exposed back for sure!

I couldn’t wait to get the slut tied up on this beauty!

I let my eyes scan around the rest of this larger cell. The whole warren of stone rooms and corridors had dull lighting installed, presumably to allow the visitors to see what they came to see, whilst not detracting from the atmosphere. And so, having switched it on I was delighted to see that the installed lighting meant that the electrics in here provided a small number of sockets into which things, like large vibrators, could be plugged. I smiled to myself with a very smug sense of satisfaction.

What else?

Oh damn! A wooden horse, and that edge was still sharp … and splintered. Fuck … and a chair. Large, old, wooden, studded all over with iron studs!

I had to lean against the wall and take stock of the thrills that were infusing my body right now. All of these devices, all straight out of my fantasies, and I would get to use them on my Little Girl, and her gorgeous friend Red.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuuccckkkkkk!

******

I sent George a text message of thanks.

“Enjoy Doc … ;)” was all he said, with a winking emoji. Even though as a Surgeon, I was a ‘Mr’, he always called me Doc.

My blood was pumping quickly and I was already struggling to control my excitement as I typed the text message.

“Saturday it is then Little One. All is in place. I have secured somewhere very special for us this time. I need you both to be in Leeds Centre by early afternoon. I will meet you at the station. Let me know the nearest train arrival time to 1pm for you. Book First Class travel on your credit card (you have got one, right?) You will need the comfort and rest. I will give you cash when I see you to pay for it. xx”

It was going to happen all over again. I looked up to the sky and once again thanked those damn lucky stars!

Then I re-read my message, let my finger hover over the screen momentarily, and then pressed SEND.

Part 6 – The Girl

So it's this weekend. In Leeds. Again. I really hate Leeds I've decided.

So far away from anywhere proper.

Wrong side of the hills. And even further from Sussex by the sea.

Too fucking far.

Shame he isn't somewhere up near... M... or in Shropshire or somewhere.

Not Shropshire. Beautiful but impossible to get to.

Fuck. Leeds it is.

And so here we are. Me and Abi. On the long journey north. I think we are both excited and both scared. Which is normal. For something so fucking crazy.

I mean, here we are. Two cute students who kiss each other and smile and attract glances which are somewhat envious in the Marl and here we are headed up to some shit town to meet this guy we don't know with the express intent and desire of being hurt and hurt badly. For a weekend. Some people go to Barcelona or Berlin, we go to some underground cell to be tortured. And we want to. Fuck us! We are mad.

Just like I think Sis thinks.

'Be careful' she said. She knows me too well.

'She's nice, your Sis' Abi says.

'Yeah. Smart and nice. Smarter than me and probably nicer than me too.'

'She's going to Oxford?'

'LMH. English. In October. She has to get her grades, but that's no big deal for her. Smartass she is. Smart. Pretty and smart. Lucky her.'

'You're pretty and smart' she says.

I hug her to me.

'You are too...'

I'm thinking she'd like to fuck my Sis. I know my Sis would like to fuck her. It's always been girls for her. No straying into penis land like me. I can list them... Emma, Maddy, Miri, Becca... always cute. Always her curled up in front of the telly with chocs and a girlfriend. Of course she'd fuck Abi. Poor fucking Oxford when she gets there I think...

Slugging through London.

Onto the train north. Dirty windows. As ever.

Sandwiches.

My nails prise the plastic away from the cardboard. Slowly peeling the cover back. Like skin.

'We are mad, aren;t we?'

'Crazy mad' she says.

'Pretty lovely sexy mad' I say.

'I want so much to be with you in the place we're going' she says.

'I want to be naked and tied and bleeding and hurting and hearing you scream and you hearing me scream.'

'I love you too' I say.

I want it too.

The train takes for ever.

Clanking.

Stopping.

Jolting.

Kids and mothers and dropped coke bottles.

And a book to read.

And not a page really read as I imagine my body naked and bloody. And the rain cleans little stripes as it flies over the filthy window.

And I think of the whip on my belly and my abdomen tensing and my skin going red as the whip leaves its little stripes and beads of blood.

And I think of my mouth becoming dry and my fingers clenching.

And my wrists hurting and my ankles hurting and my breasts feeling so wonderful and tender and sexy and...

I look at her lovely face.

And I want to see her cry.

And here we are. Middle of another dull Yorkshire Saturday...two girls with two little Fjallraven backpacks headed to the coffee place to wait for a guy whose name they don't know who is going to look after them for the weekend and make them both very happy.

We're fucking crazy.

Part 7 – The Guy

It was almost 1pm on Saturday the 22nd February 2020. Another date for my collection of significant dates, a collection that was building rapidly every-time I saw these two masochistic little girls.

I knew the train they were on, it arrived at 1:04pm directly from Kings Cross. I smiled at the thought of them in First Class, laughing and joking, winding other passengers up … maybe even kissing and cuddling … the thought of their lips touching made me stiffen.

It wouldn’t be long now.

There were plenty of students around today. Saturday was a travel day … home to see families or off to visit the boyfriend or girlfriend. I watched a fresh-faced girl wander into my line of sight. Tight jeans, tits to die for, plump lips, button nose … damn those jeans, so fucking tight. Then she crouched down to look inside her bag and I could see the waist band of a black lace thong exposed … fuck, she was very, very hot. Would she like to be beaten? I found myself wondering.

Then a loud pitched laugh, maybe tinged with nerves, took my attention.

It was them …

******

She had left on Friday, the wife. No lifts required, no trains to catch, she had taken her car – it was easier to drive. And so, I had the full day to myself once my 11am clinic was over. There was only one place to go.

Leeds City Centre was busy, it was Friday lunchtime after all, but no one had eyes for a lonesome guy making his way down to the left of the large flight of stone, front stairs at the City’s town Hall.

I opened the door to the cells. It creaked in the stereotypical way that it should, and the pleasant sensation of the warm air hit me. This was more than just underground air capture, it was probably being heated from the rooms above it. Whatever, it was nice and warm, which meant that I could keep the sluts naked for longer.

I put the bag down in the ‘interrogation cell’. The bag with all of my accessories, both medical and sexual, contained within in. Pulling open the zip I smiled at the heinous collection of accoutrements that I had in there. I could hardly wait to use them … all of them.

One phone call that evening confirmed that the wife had arrived safely and was looking forward to being in the shop along with all of the flowers.

“Stay as long as you wish,” I found myself saying with, hopefully, not too much relish – I had flowers of my own to prune!

“You WILL be okay dear, won’t you?” Her question was genuine but she knew what I would say.

“Of course, honey, now go and forget about me for a couple of days. I will call you on Sunday once your busy day is over and we can catch up.”

Call over and the path through this weekend’s session with my girls, was now clear.

That night brought little sleep and an almost constant erection. I was desperate to satiate it, but I was damned if I would waste my juices …

******

“Hey Mister, we’re here,” the sluts fresh faced, stating-the obvious, student-enthusiasm rose above the white-noise din of the station.

I smiled and nodded, and without a word I put my hand around the back of her head, pulled her to me and kissed her hard. She gasped and I loved it … I loved it more when she stabilised the surprise embrace and kissed me back. Breathless parting I smiled down at her, my Little Girl, and said, “I missed you so much.”

Red stood by watching and I turned and nodded at her, “Red.”

She smiled weakly back at me.

Her flame-haired friend was stunning but I wanted the slut to know that it was her that I loved.

We walked the short distance to the Town Hall. Saturday afternoon filled with shoppers and afternoon drinkers. We were heading straight for the cells.

“You look good, both of you …” I said as we walked. Both of them wore dark clothes and, with the weather being a little warmer than it could have been in February, their jackets were short.

“I like the bare stomach Red, especially this time of year,” I glanced down at her open front that revealed the cropped top and her heavily tattooed abdomen.

She giggled.

“Where the fuck are we?” The slut said when I took them down the stairs at the front of the Town Hall. I laughed at her foul mouth.

“Get in,” I ordered unceremoniously as the door creaked open.

They walked silently into the gloom, I followed and closed the door with a loud bang, turning the key to lock us inside. My slut jumped deliciously at the loud sound, and then laughed nervously.

I flicked on the lights which did nothing to lighten the atmosphere.

“Follow me.” I headed further into the labyrinth.

They did, without a word being spoken.

We walked along the corridor and then I turned left into a small cell.

Pushing the door closed once they were inside, I looked each girl up and down.

There was no time for small talk. They were here for a reason … I was here for a reason ... I WAS the reason!

“Strip,” I ordered. Then added, “No, not you Red, just this little cunt. Do it now slut.”

With wide eyes and a gulp, my Little Girl slipped off her jacket and toed off her shoes. It was with trembling hands that she punched loose the button on her jeans and wriggled provocatively out of the tight denim.

I nodded and she pulled the tee shirt over her head before reaching down to unclasp her bra.

My throat dried a little when her firm, red-tipped breasts came into clear view.

“Beautiful,” I uttered almost to myself.

“Take down her panties Red.” I smiled as with just a single glance at me, her friend crouched and slowly pulled the lace thong off, peeling the gusset succulently away from her already puffy labia.

“How does it feel to be the only naked one among us slut?” I asked my Little Girl teasingly.

“I huh … fine … I guess.”

She moved a little from foot to foot, her body language demonstrating the apprehension that was no doubt active inside her head, a smirk riding her mouth.

“You find it funny?” I said in a style similar to that of her school teacher.

“What?” She responded with more than a hint of incredulity.

“Get on your fucking knees cunt!” I yelled so loudly that Red jumped and my Little Girl’s eyes widened. But she obeyed and averted her eyes while I wrapped a heavy chain around her neck and padlocked it.

She did as I ordered without delay or dissent, and I crouched by her side in order to kiss her, which I did with a savage passion. She gripped me, and returned the kiss just as greedily. What I take from her, this slut, I take with need and lust and greed and desire. With love. A strange love, maybe, to the outside world, yet it is our world and in that world we can have what we want.

I released her from the embrace, and I glanced sideways where Red was leaning impassively against the cold, stone wall.

“Suck.” Was all I said as I unfastened the button on my green army-style jeans and held my erection out towards her face.

With a single look upwards into my face before averting her eyes again, my Little Girl leaned forward and took me hungrily into her mouth before I could even raise my hands to her head.

I rather wondered, for a very brief second, if I am fucking her mouth, or if her mouth is fucking my cock.

Then I stopped wondering, as my fingers slid into her hair and her mouth glided down onto my erection. I groaned, fuck that feels good. Then I was lost in the sensations as she kissed her way back along my shaft, holding me ever so gently with her teeth just below the swollen head, and slurping her tongue over the crown of my penis.

The initial overpowering wave of sensations passed, and I regained control. Gripping her head tightly, fingers woven into her hair, I moved back just slightly, keeping her mouth on my cock, making her dependant on me for control, speed, depth, release. She tried to lean further in, pulling against my grip, trying to take more of my cock into her mouth, into her throat.

I let her, guiding her head forward, slowly, as she stretched her neck and breathed in a relaxed manner. I could feel her teeth barely scraping my shaft, her tongue pressing against the ridge on the underside of my cock, her warm, moist mouth engulfing me.

The slight gripping pressure as I entered her throat was exquisite. She gagged, and I slid back out, pushing her fully off my glistening, saliva coated erection, giving her time to grunt her way through her desperate search for breath. But before she had time to recover, I pushed and thrust and once more the slut was straining to take me into her mouth, straining against my fingers in her hair, allowing her to engulf me once again.

Then a laugh emanated from my throat, evil sounding, and I cruelly pulled her away from my shaft. She whimpered, the slut, and looked up at me. I relaxed my grip in her hair.

“Okay,” I said, as if granting permission for her to resume, and she speedily returned to nibbling down my shaft, breathing me into her throat, licking my balls. I groaned again, my legs trembled a little, and my juices began to rise.

I arched my back in pleasure, “Aaaaah, fuck … yes …”

She nipped back up the side of my shaft again, until she was focused solely on the head of my cock … my hard, throbbing, exquisitely sensitive cock. Her mouth felt hot and wet, and the moisture, silky and I swear could sense every taste bud on her tongue right now.

“Not yet,” I said, when finally, I pulled her mouth away from my cock. She was panting heavily, dripping in saliva, and that turned me on even more.



Some part of me, the surgeon, proper, social, kind-to-children-and-animals part was appalled at what I was planning. But the other part of me, the part I am revelling in right now, was smiling a cruel, gleeful smile of its own.

There is some part of my Little Girl as well that is appalled, I know that. The part that hands in her essays on time, makes her parents proud, looks out for her sister, the “good girl”, rather than the blatantly sexual slut, who is on her knees before me, dripping in spit and juices …

My lover. My love. I embrace all of her, every facet, every part … I want all of her.

“Get up.”

She did, and I grabbed her wrists before twisting her around and pulling them cruelly behind her back cuffing them tightly together.

Then, without warning, I gripped her by the throat and slammed her hard against the stone wall.

“Here use this on her,” I handed Red the small egg vibe. Her eyes widen, my slut had seen this malicious device before, and she groaned as best she can within the confines of my grip.

But Red asked no questions. They are here for a reason, and the still fully dressed friend knows this is all part of that reason.

I let her buzz the vibrations all over the slut’s clit, and along her labia, inside and out, until my Little Girl was tensed and ready to cum, pleading from the guttural depths of her body for release. I tightened my grip on her neck even more and then just as she was about to climax … I knocked Red’s arm away.

The slut’s knees gave way causing me to hold her upright entirely via my grip around her neck.

“Ten seconds Red,” let her calm down. But ten seconds doesn’t offer much calming time, however it was all she got before I took the egg vibe and slid it deep back inside the slut’s cunt.

“Duct tape in my pocket, get it out and tape the vibe inside her body. Do it now Red.”

She did, and that infernal little device was trapped inside my Little Girl.

Then she came. And we let her. Red and I watched the slut fall heavily to the ground, landing painfully on her arms, still secured behind her back, and then I smiled as she writhed and squirmed in exquisite agony, her wetness contained inside her pussy behind the wall of duct tape covering her slit. I grinned across at Red who looked down upon her friend wearing what I thought was an expression of envy.

I laughed and dragged my Little Girl to her feet before throwing her face first against the cell wall. Without her arms to protect her she hit the stone with her breasts first and slumped groaning to the ground. The vibe still hummed away inside her body building steadily towards its next onslaught.

“She can’t reach the tape and the vibe will go for hours yet.”

I pulled Red to me and kissed her. In a feline-like manner her body moulded to mine and she kissed me back, already breathless from the scenes she had just witnessed.

“Let’s go eat somewhere nice Red, just you and me and leave this cunt to her orgasms …”

Red said nothing, but she offered no resistance when I moved her out of the cell and slammed the door shut. It bolted locked from the outside trapping my Little Girl inside its gloomy walls.

I turned and opened the small food hatch in the main door panels, and my Little Girl’s pathetic eyes were there staring out at us …

following our every move as Red and I walked away, switched off the lights and left her alone, cuffed in the old cells … the vibrator eating away at her very sanity.

“Watch out for the Rats slut …” were my final words as we closed the main door with a loud bang.

Part 8 – The Girl

Sometimes I could really love him. Not really. Yeah. He does this stuff so well.

FUUUUUCK!

I really could love him. Or someone like him. Who does this.

FUUUUUCK!

And so it starts again. Here. On the floor.

I've pushed myself back to the wall. My naked back against the wall. My arms cuffed behind me. My shoulders hurt...

FUUUUUCK!

Oh god! I love this fucking thing inside me. I fucking love it. I'm fucking throbbing with it.

NO! It's impossible! NOT MORE!

FUUUUUCK!

It won't stop.

It won't stop. I can't.... I love it hate it love it....FUUUUCKKK!

My belly. My mouth drooling. My cunt. My fucking cunt!

FUUUUCK!

He came to meet us. Just off the train. In the student-crowded station just two more student babes meeting their dad/uncle/whatever.

Kisses. More than you should with girls like us. Too young for that sort of kiss unless we're selling.

But no-one notices.

And so it starts.

Out round the corner and to the building, the ugly, ostentatious, imperial edifice of a building that is the town hall. I'd recognise its small man's penis columns and cock-envy tower anywhere. Ugly stupid big fucker of a building.

He takes us through a door that he has the key to. Down some steps. More like it. A sort of dungeon. Another door.

What can I see?

Amazing things!

Just for us!

Lucky girls that we are!

FUUUUUCK!!! It's fucking burning me up! FUUUCK! Fucking can't control myself! OH MY GOD! STOP!

DON'T STOP!!!!

Tells me to strip. I like this bit. It really is starting.

Down on my knees. His little girl doing what he says. What I like to do.

Suck him off. He pushes into me. Deep. Can't hardly breathe. Love this. This thing in my throat. Hate it filthy hate it girl. Not. Yes. Yes. Love it.

Not.

Fuck! Yeah.... Fuck... Gasping for air. Gagging. Gagging. Out. Gasp. Breathe. In. Again. FUCK!

FUUUUUUCKKK! This thing! My whole fucking body!

Up.

I get.

And

HE cuffs me. I'm his. Not mine. My body is his now. Til he's finished. Yeah. I want this. This is what I want so much.

She pushes it in. FUUUCK! YES!!!

She pushes it in. Tapes it in. FUUUCK!

I fucking want this!

FUCKK!

Slams me down. On my belly on my tits. Air knocked out. Still fucking buzzing in me. FUUUUCK!

FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK! I fucking... a....

Gone.

They've gone.

Nothing.

Just me moaning.

FUUUUCKKKK! Not stopping.

GONE!

Her and him.

So fucking lov FUUUUUUCKKKK!!!!

FUUUUCCCCKKKK! My body!!!! FUCK. Legs bouncing. I can't fucking control... FUCCCCKKKK!

Me in the dark. FUUUUCKKK! And nothing but me and my FUUUUUCKKK

He'll be back.

With FUUUUUCKKK her. And then.... FUUUUUCKKK! I want to him.... me to him... Her.... TORTURE ME!

FUUUUCKKKK Him me her and now along nothing silence.... SCREAMMMM! FUUUUCKKK! Love. How much fucking MOREFUUUUUUCKKK!!!

Part 9 – The Guy

“I love my Little Girl, Red, you know that, right?” I looked up from my bowl of Penne Carbonara Pasta across the table at the beautiful flame-haired girl sitting opposite me.

She nodded, “She doesn’t love you though.”

I smiled wryly, and then she added, “But she loves being with you, loves what you do to her, loves that she found you …”

“So, she loves me then?” I queried.

Red chuckled, “If you say so.”

“Do you?” I said, as she took another mouthful of her Rustic Pizza, Farmhouse style served on a slated platter.

“What? Love you?” She laughed, “No, of course not, but I do love her, your Little friend. She is the perfect lover and partner for me …”

“I meant, do you love what I do to you?”

Red looked down at her plate.

“Do you?” I pushed. Seeing her so reticent to answer was turning me on.

“Tell me Red,” I whispered with an underpinning assertion to my tone.

“It scares me. You scare me.”

What a perfect answer.

“Really, and why is that?”

She hesitated, before saying, “Will we survive this weekend?”

“Do you want to?” I said taking more Pasta onto my fork. Her question was stiffening my groin.

She looked at me now. Eye to eye, and there were tears in hers.

She did not answer.

******

We had been gone almost two hours when Red and I walked back into the cells, and opened the door into the small stone room that we had left the slut in.

What I saw when the old wood creaked open sent my burgeoning erection into full blown overdrive.

My Little Girl was sprawled on the floor, on her side, hands still cuffed behind her back. Her thighs were wide apart and glistening, the duct tape was half on half off, and a pool of liquid had formed under her. The evil little vibe was still very clearly lodged inside her sweet body … I could hear it buzzing away, still pursuing its erotic devilment.

Slowly her closed eyes flickered open. “Pl … please, Mis … Mister, m … make it st … stop,” she pleaded in a broken, sensual whisper.

I moved to her and knelt by her body, Red followed me.

“Did you piss yourself?”

She nodded, and I laughed. Reaching between her legs I ripped the remaining tape away from her pussy and saw how red and puffy her labia already were.

I pressed the button on the remote in my pocket and the slut visibly groaned as her body was able to relax. She looked exhausted already and we hadn’t even started!

Moving my fingers to her slit, she winced as I worked two fingers inside her. She had obviously climaxed so many times that she was almost dry … perfect!

Hooking my digits inside her body I scooped the vibe down and out.

“Th … thank you,” she whispered, still struggling to speak.

Grabbing her by the neck chain I pulled the slut to her feet and dragged her behind me to the interrogation cell. She struggled to maintain her footing over the few yards that we travelled, but I cared not.

“You, come too.” I spoke quickly at Red as we marched past her.

Unfastening the slut’s wrists, I looked at her, and then at the long, old, flat, wooden rack.

“Get on.”

There was no dissent from her as she climbed aboard, and I set about tying her wrists, one to each corner of the wooden device. I then fastened her ankles into the iron manacles that were fixed to the bottom of the heinous device … and she was fastened in … ready for the ride of her young life!

My Little Girl’s eyes were now wide open and she stared upwards at the ceiling as if trying to focus her mind … was she focused on what was about to happen, or something completely different in an attempt to divert the pain.

With the slut secured on the rack I turned to Red.

“Strip.”

The flame-haired beauty nodded and slipped off her jacket. It was if she knew her time was coming … and that it had just arrived.

I watched as she pulled the cropped top over her head to expose her beautiful, braless breasts. Her jeans followed.

Red’s thighs were smooth, firm, just the right mix of muscle tone and softness. Wonderfully smooth calves, perfect feet; so dainty and pedicured, slender little ankles.

I nodded and she wound down her black, flimsy girl boxers, with the lace trimmed edge.

Wow. A perfect naked canvas, adorned with beautiful body art, ready to be beaten.

“Hands behind your back Red, now!” My tone was quiet, but the intent very clear. She obeyed.

I turned back to my slut and she saw the knife in my hand.

She stared, more in fascination than horror as I stepped closer, lowering the knife towards her belly. She tried to wriggle away, a natural enough response, but was held tight by her restrained limbs. Her eyes closed with a slight gasp as I laid the blunt side of the blade along her stomach.

“Be very, very still, Little Girl” I told her softly. I slid the knife up along the gentle groove of her belly and down between her thighs. Using the point of the blade I burrowed it slowly and very carefully between her puffy, sticky labia and slipped the sharp, shank into her pussy. The slut groaned, but she did not move one single inch, I gradually pushed the blade deeper. Leaving it in situ I moved to the top of the rack where the handle was.

She was gorgeous, my Little Girl, especially now that she was star-fished out on the cold, old wood of the rack, her wrists and ankles roped to its opposing ends. Her legs were slim and gleaming, her hips slender, her stomach flat and firm. Her ribcage formed a gentle arch topped by her proud breasts. Her arms were sleek and toned with young muscle, and from my vantage point looking down her body, I could see the knife protruding from her cunt.

I gripped the rack's cross-shaped handle, and gave it a turn. The roller shifted, and the ropes pulled on the slut's wrists, straightening her arms. She looked up towards her hands in sudden alarm, and the ratchet locked in place with a satisfying sound.

“Oh fuck?” she whimpered. Her bare breasts were shifting quickly with the movement, rising up her nubile body.

I turned the handle again. This time there was resistance, as my Little Girl’s body was moved into place by the tightening process, and wrist ropes pulling taut, her legs now being pulled hard against the harsh, old iron that encased her ankles.

I noted my delight that her fingers were closed around the ropes from her wrists, her toes fanning out, an unconscious reflex to resist. I really didn’t want her to like this too much …

And sure enough, when I started to turn the handle again, I saw her muscles tense. Her arms and thighs acquired a more detailed definition as she pulled on the ropes in opposition to the rack's force. But the slut soon learned that she could do nothing to halt its progress, as the handle moved regardless, drawing her body a half-inch tauter. She gave a moan of panic as the ratchet clinked home, and then screamed as her back began to move over the wooden studs that dotted the three rollers which she was now being dragged over.

I moved to the juncture of her thighs and saw a small trickle of blood dripping from her pussy, where the knife point had scratched her sensitive folds. She looked so damn hot with the red rivulet dripping from her slit, over her perineum to stimulate her pudendal nerve.

Gripping the handle, I slowly pulled the knife out and released a little more blood with it.

“You are so fucking helpless Little Girl,” I smirked with satisfaction.

Just to prove my point, and demonstrate the true nature of her helplessness, I gave the rack one more turn. This time, the stretch to her whole body was visible; her arms and legs, already straight, grew even more taut, her ribcage lifted, her belly hollowed, and she gave a loud gasp. Her fingers released the ropes, a sign that my slut had already started to accept the inevitability of the torture.

I left her there and moved to Red, who stood looking at the tortuous vignette, her hands now high behind her head. She too was breathing heavily, no doubt with a fear-ridden anticipation of what lay in store for her, and also at having watched the slut being tortured before her very eyes.

“Do you like watching?” I asked, moving my hand between her thighs, pushing her legs apart, cupping her mound.

She nodded.

“Do you want to be her?” I asked, my question now a little more pointed.

She did not reply.

“Do, you?” I pursued an answer.

“I, d … don’t know,” her reply was stunted, partly, I guessed, due to the nature of the question, but also down to the fact that I was now fingering her rapidly moistening pussy.

Pushing her back to the cell wall, my fingers buried even deeper inside her, I pushed my body close and my mouth to within an inch of hers.

“I know you don’t love me Red, but kiss me.”

And she did, a deep, open mouthed kiss, though I wasn’t certain whether the source of such passion was genuine or whether it was simply that Red knew that was what I wanted her to do. It didn’t matter … she did it anyway. Our embrace was broken by a wail from the slut.

I pulled away from Red and looked down upon the rack

My Little Girl was shivering, her ribcage stark, standing out from her otherwise perfect shape, her nipples settled like hard, fleshy bullets. There was beautiful desperation on every trembling breath. I smiled; fear only improved the effect of the rack, reducing the flexibility of muscles and tendons … and the slut was definitely showing some of that!

Then she wailed, but could do nothing as I pulled the lever like the handle of a slot machine. The handle turned, the ropes were pulled, and by her wrists, the slut was stretched further.

Her muscles and joints were already tense, and, as her body rolled over the wooden studs that speared her back, the heightened levels of pain seemed to hit her at once. My Little Girl gave a gasp, then a whimper, clenching her teeth. I waited a few seconds, then turned the lever once more. As the ratchet clinked into place, the slut was stretched again, and this time she gave a very satisfying loud yell!

Fuck, I was so damn erect!

Her fingers curled and flexed uselessly as I watched the sweat begin to bead on her breasts and neck. The muscles in her arms and legs were hard with the strain, the ropes tight around her wrists. Now it was getting interesting; the pain had really started to hit home, and every time she stretched it would grow exponentially.

I put my hands on the lever, fixed my eyes on her. “Feel this!”

I turned the roller. I saw the slut's lithe young body stretch as the wrist-ropes shortened another half inch. As pain flashed through her limbs and her back, she screamed.

“AAAAAARRGHHHH! Sto… o … op!” Her head tipped back, her eyes squeezed shut. I could see the tension all through her body, her ribcage stark. I knew at this early stage that the pain was intense and burning, but it was through muscles rather than tendons, still so relatively mild.

I moved to her head and grinned into her face. “Stop Little Girl, you want me to stop … you, my perfect Pain Slut, want me to cease your suffering. Do you really?”

The slut looked at me, tears flowing down her cheeks and then turned her head away.

“No, I thought not.” I laughed, and putting my hands to the handle again, and gave it another turn.