Journey Of A Pain Slut - Act 4 free porn video

“How was your day love?” I made a point of calling my wife. It was Monday, a whole day since I saw my Little Girl at Leeds Station. We had our thing my slut and I, and that ‘thing’ was supposed to draw the boundaries and define what it was that we had, and where it was we had it, but if I was being honest I just could not get her out of my head.

Even during the waking moments with my eyes open I ‘saw’ her ... on the cross, tied to the bed, in the throes of orgasm, her arms around my neck whispering ‘thank you.’

… and she would be gone until Friday.

“Hi darling, oh we had a brilliant day, thank you for asking. Sis had invited the local councillors and dignitaries to the opening of her new flower shop and we actually started the day with bucks fizz,” she chuckled.

“Oh, how decadent,” I chuckled back.

Fucking decadent, a glass of weak champagne diluted with fizzy juice ... fuck me. I had crucified someone this weekend and hammered nails through their flesh ... that’s fucking decadent!

Fuck!

It was a real blessing that my wife was at her sisters, because I only had to pretend to be interested in what she was doing for a few minutes on the phone ...

“When are you back in theatre love?” She asked.

“Tomorrow, at the hospital. NHS trauma surgery, car crash victim to start with.”

There was a pause before my wife spoke. “Oh, my darling the work you do is so special, you and your colleagues should be knighted, and here’s me droning on about opening a new flower shop ...”

“Which is hugely important honey. Where flowers grow, hope blooms, is what they say, isn’t it? We all need flowers hon, so you keep doing what you’re doing, and stay as long as she needs you. I’m fine here.”

“Oh, darling you are so understanding, whatever did I do to deserve you ...”

Fuck, if only you knew, I thought.

“Not at all honey, I’m the lucky one. I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you. Night night.”

And with that the call was done and I could get back to wanking my erect cock to thoughts of my Little Girl and her friend, naked in the woods, being tortured, and beaten ... fucked.

My hands moved faster, my fingers massaging knowingly, applying pressure underneath the swollen head, and I soon came, my back arching, spurts of my seed arcing high to fall across my abdomen and thighs. I lay back gasping, physically satiated but even my self- induced climax could not remove the vision of that fucking gorgeous little slut from my head!

******

I needed to sleep. The weekend had been exhausting, and so fucking exhilarating ... but I was operating tomorrow and needed to rest. Except my mind was working overtime. I couldn’t stop thinking of what we had done ... of Red, her flame-haired friend and my beautiful slut, two pain-stimulated concubines whose names I did not know, but who were consuming my every waking thought.

With the Chinese Take Away opened out in the spacious and airy day room, and my beer opened, I flicked the MacBook browser to watch porn. It was easy to imagine my Little Girl in these situations. Fuck yes. Taken in a basement, secured behind piping, legs spread as wide as they could go, mounted on a phallus ... like being crucified only different ... and without nails.

I lay back naked on the bed, my 58-year-old body bearing up well, but if my wife could have seen me ... good job it

Having searched for my choice, I watched the link url appear in my web page ...

And as the video started, in my mind’s eye, the model was my Little Girl. Crying out as she was secured into position, then whipped, pegged and penetrated before being relentlessly fucked ...

Fuck ... I needed her so much. I had jerked off three times already since waking this morning and now I was hard again.

I paused the video and closed my eyes. What would it be like actually taking her out ... maybe for dinner? You know, having her on my arm as my date ... I laughed at the thought of me using the word ‘date’ and how uncontemporary that would sound to her young ears.

I wondered how things had gone with the BF and if Red was now on the scene more formally as her lover.

In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about her for as second, she was plaguing me with her sweet images ... I could hear her voice, see the orgasm in her lovely face, feel her tremble as I fucked her.

I needed her so badly.

I switched the video back on and watched as the submissive Asian model was dominated and used and then, once my take out dinner was finished, I wanked ... again ... and once more it was the sweet Little Pain Slut that brought me my welcome relief.

As my gasps settled and the residual sperm had dried into my pile of tissues, I took out my phone. Swiping to the contact called only ‘LG’ – Little Girl. I read the texts she had sent me previously. The one during the Christmas Break asking how I was, and then several reporting on their progress, hers and Red’s, as they made their way across the Pennines last weekend.

And then I began to type.

“Hey Little Girl how are you? How’s things with Red? How’s things with the BF? I miss you, a lot. A fucking lot. When can we meet again xxx”

I looked at the words. Re-read my message. Damn how I wanted her ... needed her even. She would be my undoing this Little Girl with the pain fetish ... and there was nothing I could do about it.

My finger hovered over the SEND button ... but I didn’t send. I deleted every last character. My slut needed a little more time away from me ...

Part 2 – The Girl

Shitty journey. It always is. Useless Northern Rail. Shitty weather. Over the Pennines. Shitty.

But good to be home.

Unlock the door. Climb the stairs. Open my door. Fall on the bed. With her. Kiss her. Home.

I know I have to. Phone him. Not in.

Text. How are you?

Kiss her again. Sleep a bit. My fucking hands still hurt so much. A glass of water and too many paracetemols.

Ping. Text. Him.

Better. How are you? Drinks? In the pub tonight?

Kiss her. Kiss her. Tits out together. Kiss her. Love her. Tell her. Text back. Yeah. Abi will come too. OK. Seven thirty?

Our fave pub. Down in D'bury. Three beers. So, you ok?

Shit!

What the fuck have you done to your hands?

Look at my bandaged hands. Stuff, I say. Stuff.

Fuck, he says.

Sip on our beers.

Her hand in my lap, stroking me.

He looks at us. We smile at each other.

So... well...

Yeah...

So...?

So... I love you still, but... You and her?

Yeah.

So that's it then? Well...

So that's it.

I say nothing.

He says nothing. Kisses me on the lips. Stands. Leaves. That fucking easy.

Order another drink each. Cuddle. Kiss her. Fucking love her.

Fancy a curry?

Yeah... cool.

Let's fuck off down the Mile then.

That easy. Poor thing. I'm a fucking bastard. But I fucking love Abi. And a nice hot curry. And a beer. And fuck my fucking hands hurt so fucking much.

And we'll have tonight together in my little cosy room before she has to head to N'town. And she'll be back next Friday. Yeah.

But first a nice curry and a lager and a kiss in the rain.

Part 3 – The Guy

I watched my Little Girl cry out. For the first time in our short relationship I saw her looking really, really scared. Frightened to the point of terror, and in her terrorised state she was crying out, begging for mercy ... but none was to be given.

Her face was slapped, hard ... time and time again until tears poured down her cheeks and her eyes blackened from the cheap makeup that she wore.

Is this what she really wanted? What WE really wanted?

For her to be beaten and used by another man, a large overbearing man, who would whip her and hurt her while I watched ...

Had we progressed to this already? Was my Little girl now no more than a slutty porn addict, whose sole purpose in life was to be used, not just by me, but by anyone and everyone ...

The man, his name restricted to a short icon like label ... ‘The Pope’, he was called by those who knew him, and although we did not know him, he had been easy enough to get to when we wanted him and showed him the money.

I had said before that I considered myself a moderately religious man, but these days I found myself blaspheming somewhat effortlessly. A crucifix in the woods, a bondage Dom called ‘The Pope’ ...

He had a chain around her neck, a thick linked chain and it was padlocked tight against her throat as she lay back over a flat surface, her tight, nubile body naked.

Again, she cried out as the whip fell hard across her breasts, firm mounds that seemed somehow to be miraculously healed from the previous gatherings, in fact not a blemish stained them.

“Please!” she begged with a plaintiff cry, but all she received was a harsh slap across the face.

“You can jerk off if you want,” The Pope spoke directly at me in his American drawl, as I stood to the side watching this explicit scene of graphic torture porn unfold before me ...

So, I did. With my cock hard and aching in my hand I slipped it out and began to wank for all I was worth, not caring about who could see me.

“Top Surgeon in Torture Porn scandal ...” the words, sensational in their linkage, kept on playing in my head, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop this ... it was what we wanted. It WAS ... wasn’t it?

Fuck, I was so damn hard and my knowing fingers were rapidly bringing my climax on.

I watched as my Little Girl’s head was covered by a bag. I knew what he had planned, and so did she. Now she really began to struggle.

“Release ... Releeeeease ... RELEASE!!!” She cried out the safeword that The Pope had agreed with her.

“Fuck that,” he growled back at her. We have no safe words here, and her groan of anguish was lost inside the material of the bag.

No safe words … my cock stiffened even more.

Her naked body writhed in fearful anticipation as the man, large and foreboding in his appearance, began to pour water onto her face, laughing as he did so ... she convulsed in movements that were infused with an ever-increasing desperation. The bag was pulled back so we could see her pretty face covered in a sheen of glistening wetness, contorted with the agonies of her terror, before he quickly covered her back up, capturing her efforts to breathe, so he could ‘drown’ her all over again ...

“Cum if you want,” he looked over at me, his gaze focusing on my cock, “Come over here and explode on her tits while I do this, I’m gonna make her pass out ... make her think she’s dying ... you know that’s what she wants ... what she wants ... what she wants ...”

His repeated words echoed with his laughter ... and then ...

“Fuck!” I woke with a start. Sitting up in my bed, gasping for breath I flopped back down onto the duvet.

“Fuck ...” I repeated. Then I realised that my fingers were wound round my erection. It had seemed so real, the dream ... so fucking real.

I groaned and glanced at the time. It was only 5am ... I was exhausted.

Fleetingly I thought of my wife, but only to thank the stars that she was still at her sisters and would be for a few more days yet. I closed my eyes and my thoughts turned to my Little Girl. How I wished she was here in bed next to me, so that I could pull her into my body, hold her, cuddle her, kiss her, fuck her ...

Man, was I feeling tired ...

The first day back in theatre following a holiday break was always a trial of effort, with extra determination to concentrate and focus being required, and this time, with my potential for mental distraction being even greater, the energy required was even more burdensome!

But I only had a 10am clinic at the local BUPA hospital today and that was it. Two hours of easy discussion and surgical planning, and that was it. I then had the rest of the day to plot and plan and masturbate to my favourite Little Girl ...

The bag ... the water ... the agony and the pain ...

The Pope was a well-known BDSM Dominant, who I had seen ‘perform’ on his porn models many times online, how and why-the- fuck he had suddenly appeared in my dreams I had no idea.

But I was delighted that he had because now I knew exactly what I would be doing with my Little Pain Slut the next time we met!

Once my clinic was over, I would be researching the fuck out of ‘Waterboarding’ ...

Part 4 – The Girl

A curry and a lager and a few more lagers... and to a bar and a few more lagers.

We shouldn't have. Lectures tomorrow and she has to go home. Fucked.

So sweet. So sweet to be swaying pissed with her.

Collapse onto my bed. Too pissed to piss around with things. Clothes off. Bodies together. Sloppy sloppy kissy fucky.

Sweet. Pissed.

Love her

Love her in the morning.

In the shitty flat in the dull morning light.

With a coffee in a chipped mug.

Missing lectures and trains.

Snuggling with her in our sweet fucking nakedness.

Think about him. A bit. I so love him. He's gone. Best I leave it like that. Kiss her.

On her belly. On her tits.

I don't want you to go.

Have to.

Same as you. Studies. Love you so much. Love you too.

Did you like him?

Nah. Not really. Like him... no... I like what he does to me.

Me too.

What about him?

I think... I think he's married. Sort of a professional. Sort of well off. He's fucking old.

Yeah.

But he's good. I mean. Like super good. I like that.

And I don't mind him fucking me.

Nah. Me neither.

He's sort of .... well... I preferred the wooden thing. But it's like a weapon he has, isn't it? Not like he loves us.

Love you babe. Love you Abi.

Shall we?

Yeah. I want to.

Ok.

Then I will. When can you?

Hmmm. I need to chill a bit. But soon.

Will you come down to me next weekend? In N-town? Yeah.

And then we can text him, right?

Yeah.

Kiss me Abi.

We kiss. Lots. I fucking love her. I fucking love that we will do some stuff with him again. Soon. I want to text him now.

But I will wait.

Let's fuck I say.

We do.

I fucking love her.

Want to be hurt again. By him. Badly. Me and Abi. Us both. Fuck. How did I find this sweet sexy thing? So, fucking sexy. So much want to watch her watching me being hurt and her being hurt too. So much Fucking love her.

Kiss her. Kiss her sweet gorgeous cunt. Kiss her sweet soft tits. Kiss her. Kiss her.

Fucking love her. So much. Love her so much. Fuck. I want to hurt again so fucking much. Fuck.

Love her.

Need him.

Fuck.

Kiss her sweet open mouth. Sip my fingers into her sweet soft cunt. Slide over her. Sleepy soft kissy sweet babe.

Part 5 – The Guy

“... Waterboarding is a form of water torture in which water is poured over a cloth covering the face and breathing passages of an immobilized captive, causing the person to experience drowning ...”

Wikipedia had never sounded so erotic!

I could feel the stretching of my shorts by the growing rigidity of my erection just from reading the words. The thought of my Little Girl being tied down to a board of some sort, her naked, panic stricken body writhing and convulsing in desperation, was almost too much.

Crucifying her was unimaginably satisfying, but there was far more process to Waterboarding a person, and much more potential for adding ‘other elements.’

For example, I could vibe her while she was ‘drowning’ making it literally impossible for my slut to draw breath. I could actually stop her heart, and then defibrillate her back to life ... wow, that thought grew my hard on substantially. Could I actually fuck her while she was dying and then shock life back into her dead body? Fucking hell!

I wanted this ... I wanted this like never before!

I had to take a break from the intensity of my thoughts and walk around the garden for a while. The morning’s clinic had been a breeze. Three post-operative check up’s and a couple of new surgical requirements. My private work was the icing on my professional cake. If it wasn’t for the NHS working-hours-threshold, I would only do private work. Not very public spirited I agree, but hey, this was about me!

I had thought about my Little Girl all throughout the session. Her face, her body ... breasts, ass, cunt, nose, eyes, hair ... I wanted it all for myself!

Would she want Red to come with her again? I hoped so, because whilst the slut was my obsession, her flame-haired friend was a true beauty. A canvas of decorated flesh designed only for pleasure. Was my pain toy taking her pleasure from Red’s perfect body ... I guessed she was ... I hoped she was, and I assumed the BF had been consigned to history. My Little Girl knew exactly what she wanted, and I knew that she wanted Red.

I suddenly realised that I had been holding my breath at times throughout my meandering walk, and so now I enjoyed a long, gasping exhale and my body relaxed. Our gardens were a decent size and the air was fresh. Snow had been forecast for the coming weekend but today was more Spring like. Snow-drops had appeared in clumps around the lawn and the warmth of the Winter sun cutting through the chill was soothing.

As I sat for a while on the bench that looked over the expanse of grass at the back of my property, I sipped at my coffee and thought about my little slut.

Could I waterboard her ... really, properly? Where would we do it? How would I do it? The latter point wasn't an issue. I had seen many ingenious methods on the internet porn sites so she could be 'boarded in many different ways.

But could I truly stop her heart? Now that would be something. Actually make her die for a few seconds before shocking her back into life ... Damn, just imagine that? I could get hold of high voltage defibrillation machines for sure ... fuck, I really could kill her!

But where? That was a more difficult question, and one which right now I didn't have the answer to.

******

Over the next couple of days I found myself in theatre pretty much full time. In fact on Thursday the ninth of January I was called in during the early hours from my bed for an emergency.

The required operation was reconstructive. Ribs shattered, along with shoulder bones and blades. I high impact fall fuelled by drink that put the guy in hospital and got me out of bed! His internal organs had been battered and at one point it was touch and go. But he pulled through, we pulled him through.

It was sitting in the rest area after the surgery, for which I had been one of three surgeons, that I found myself alone with a young, pretty nurse.

"Would you like coffee?" She asked me, “Keep you awake for a little longer.” She beamed a lovely smile at me.

Since Christmas, or more to the point, since meeting my Little Girl, I was seeing ‘sex’ and ‘eroticism’ everywhere. TV adverts, shop assistants, girls in the street and right now I found myself staring at the firm breasts of this young nurse as they pushed against the tight blue front of her uniform. Fuck, I needed release. Not just from my own hand, but proper release inside the body of my slut.

I could feel my groin tingle as the hot coffee was placed before me. “Are you going home to sleep now?” She asked.

“Well certainly to rest,” I nodded back. “I managed a few hours in bed before we got the call, so I’m not feeling too bad.”

“You don’t operate much here do you?” She questioned me somewhat rhetorically. The girl was clearly a theatre nurse and so she would know the surgeons pretty well.

“No, just the second time for me.” I smiled back, taking another sip of coffee.

“Thought so,” she replied sitting back on the comfy couch. I watched as the hem of her uniform made its way up her thigh and she unwittingly flashed her legs at me more than she realised.

“Thought we were going to need to defib him at one point ...” the nurse relaxed into the seat, closing her eyes. The guy had been in a poor way, but we had patched him up and left him in ICU to complete his recovery ...

The analogy of giving him his life back was not lost on me as, in the presence of this pretty young nurse, with the long, slender legs, I thought of how I could do the same for my Little Girl when the time came, but this time in the name of erotic torture!

******

“What’s that building over there?” I asked my nursing colleague as we left the hospital together.

“What, the old basement store?” She replied, building the answer to my question into the reciprocal question of her own.

My interest was piqued. “Basement store? Is it disused?”

“Gosh, yes. I have worked here for over three years and I have never seen anyone go inside.”

“What’s down there?” I asked.

She shook her head, “No idea really. I guess old stuff maybe. You surgeons and Senior Management can actually get into it if you ever needed to. The code you have set on your pass for the main building is the same as the code on the keypad for the old storehouse. Let me know what you find if you ever go down.” She grinned as we parted and she headed for her car.

“Great job today,” she beamed at me, “See you next time.”

I smiled back, but my mind was already ticking over. The old basement storehouse, to which I had access, apparently. Had I just found the place for the next tryst with my little slut?

Part 6 – The Girl

Kiss her on the lips. In her mouth. At the station. Hugs. Til the weekend.

Back to the library. Work. Late lecture. My hands hurt. Pop pills. Want to phone him. The BF. Know I can't. Pissed off. Love her. Abi.

Home. Bathroom's free so have a soak. Stings. Lie on my bed. Music. Let's Eat Grandma. Put some clips on my nipples and twist. That's good.

Take myself to the student union bar. Beer. Slouch sexily. A first year tries to chat me up so I let him. Drag him into a corner and snog and drag him home and fuck.

Can I have your number he asks. No fucking way. Lectures. My hands hurt. Miss her.

Text her.

Dying to see you on Friday night. Kiss you.

Shall we contact him?

Yeah.

Who do you think he is?

Does it matter? Who cares if he's married or whatever? He does it for us doesnt he?

Tremble a bit. Another sip of beer.

It's me. Well, us really.

We want to see you again. You tell us when. I'm with her in N town this weekend. You can let us know. We want you to hurt us again. You decide everything, ok?

Press send.

Fuck. Let Abi know. I so want to lie with her and kiss her again.

My fucking hands hurt.

Part 7 – The Guy

Hearing the door click softly shut behind me was far more exhilarating than I thought it would be. Partly because of the innate secrecy that surrounded my presence here and the sense that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be, but mainly because my imagination had already leapt ahead to when I may well return with my little slut to accompany me.

It was indeed a basement and the small outwardly visible building had, upon the code lock being entered and the door opened, immediately lead down a flight of stone stairs. The small internal threshold into which I had walked, had an auto-operated light that, upon my entering, flickered into some sort of faded life via the stark, naked single bulb that dangled above me.

It looked like a place that hadn’t been breached since before the second world war, but the placement of a light, any sort of light, even one as limited as this one was, showed that the NHS hadn’t totally abandoned it. That fact, which meant that, in theory at least, someone else could actually come into here and discover what we were doing! As stupid as this sounds, that element of potential for discovery made what I was planning even more stimulating ... I had felt the same about the woodland setting from the last meetings.

The light gave me just long enough to descend the stairs before it clicked off, leaving me to initiate the torch in my phone to see anything else through the gloomy darkness.

If I was to make this the setting for my Little Girl’s next torture, I would need candles.

It was surprisingly warm down here, I assumed that was from the underground placing of this space, the packed soil around the outside.

But as a venue for my next outing with my Pain Slut, it was perfect. It was dingy for sure, and filled with dusty boxes and old electrical gear, medical instruments and metal shelving along one side was filled with small, cardboard packing boxes.

But the floor space was large and there was a stock of unused wood along with a small pile of bricks stacked in one corner ...

... that would come in useful for sure, but there was more that I needed to make this work.

Water and power. There had to be some kind of power with the light in the threshold working, and I was right. By circling the phone’s light beam around the walls, I found several sockets, and by plugging an old kettle into one of them I was able proved that the power was active. Good.

Then the jackpot! A sink, and taps with water ...

This place was ideal ... Perfect. The game was very much on!

******

It was the afternoon of Friday the 10th of January. My wife was returning to me. I was at the local station, the one that required a short further train journey to get here from the main hub at Leeds.

Somehow, whenever I headed here, I was always early. I think I

anticipated the traffic that never quite manifested itself, and today was no exception.

Having parked the car in the short stay/pickup car park I sat down with a coffee. My mind was filled with my slut, as always, but now the mind-share that she monopolised was crammed with plans for her next ‘adventure’ with me.

It was while I sat in the moderately busy café, with my coffee, awaiting the return of my wife, that my phone buzzed.

“We want to see you again. You tell us when. I'm with her in N- town this weekend. You can let us know. We want you to hurt us again. You decide everything, ok?”

I stared at the words. It was her, my Little Girl. The words were unambiguous and to the point. There was little love contained in them, not even a ‘kiss or two’, but they oozed with need and desperation.

But, fuck ... this weekend. They would be together, her and Red and they both wanted to see me. This was, at one end of its spectrum, the perfect fantasy, but the notice of their availability was short, very short. Could I make this work? I had to, because I needed her, needed them, as much as they needed me!

******

“Well, I can’t really complain dear, now can I?” My wife had just flopped in the chair, the large leather one in our front room that looked out over the gardens through the large window. “After all I have just had a week at my sister’s so a weekend conference is a pain, because I will miss you, but if that’s where you need to be then so be it.”

Fuck, this was too easy. My wife smiled up at me as I brought her a hot mug of Mint Tea.

“Ohhhh I need this,” she said hugging the mug before taking a drink.

“Thanks for understanding honey,” I smiled sitting next to her. For a fifty-something woman, my wife was kind of very fit. Still slim, the right bra kept her breasts firm, and she wore her jeans tight ...

“I’m going to run to a bath while you drink your tea, you look like you could do to relax for a while. I have wine chilled ... I might even join you.” My smile turned to a smirk ...

“Ooooh, you bad boy!” she laughed back at me.

Under cover of the running water from the main bathroom, the one with the large jacuzzi bath, I took out my phone.

“Little Girl, this weekend is fine. Get the train to Leeds. Meet me at 2pm at the station. We will take it from there. You will be returned on Sunday.”

I crafted my text with as much brevity as she had written hers, and smiled at my use of the word ‘returned’. It made it sound like she was a ‘package’ a ‘thing’ or a ‘chattel’, to be transported under the directional whim of others. I grinned to myself picturing her reading this.

We would need no hotel stay over this time ... we would be entering my underground basement and not leaving ...

I pressed SEND.

Part 8 – The Girl

Trains through the ugly English weather. Going to see her.

Clickety clack.

Snuggled by the window.

Clickety clack.

Reading Olivia Gatwood. So gorgeous. She is. Her writing is. What would she think?

Badly. Of us. I think. Or maybe not. We are chosing. I think.

N-town.

Her.

Pizza, telly, bed. Kisses. Lovers. Love her. Sweet soft sexy.

Ping. The phone.

Kisses. Can't stop.

Him. Tomorrow at 2. At the station.

Fuck.

So, it's happening. And I'm shit scared. And shit excited. Hug her. We're both scared excited. Fuck!

Trains. Again. A stupid early start. We decided we wanted to get the most from the weekend...

So around 7.15 and a change at Chesterfield.

Get in by 9ish. Fucking excited. So so scared. Text him.

So he knows now. Two fucked up girls on the way to be hurt by him however he fucking wants. And returned. On Sunday.

Fuck.

And my poor hands still hurting.

Footsie under the table. The couple next to us have no fucking idea. What we are going to Leeds for.

Smile at her. She's so amazingly beautiful. So fucking gorgeous. And we're going so he can hurt us.

Clickety clack.

Almost there.

Nine passes by. Suburbs. Dirty place. Clackety click. Screeching to stop.

Two girls on the platform.

Two pretty young girls.

A bit nervous. Bite our lips. Scared. Excited.

Come to be hurt and hurt bad.

Two pretty crazy girls. Wondering. Fucking crazy girls. And no-one else knows...

And we're so fucking excited.

About the idea of being hurt by him.

I love her so much....

Part 9 – The Guy

The night before. Alone. In the bathroom.

Excited like a teenager. Mind working on overdrive ... Like a teenager.

Love her, Red! Love you more my Little Girl!

Can't wait. Erect. Turned on. Wank but edge only and drip. Don't want to waste it.

Still hard. Edge repeat. Edge repeat. Fuck I am aching for release, aching for Red’s body. Aching for yours more.

This time boundaries will be pushed. Outcomes cannot be guaranteed. Be scared, be terrified and be very afraid ...

“There you are,” My wife looked up from her book as I sauntered into the living room.

“What?” She says, angling her head. I must have had the look of lust on my face, or something, for her to ask the question in such a random manner.

“Take off the gown.” I say with controlled assertion. I was going to save it for them. Save my sperm, my thick, white seed ... though not so thick anymore since the vasectomy. But still plentiful and I would generate more for them.

She furrowed her brow back at me.

“Stand the fuck up and take off the gown. NOW!” I repeated.

I saw her swallow hard. “But I’m ...”

“Naked underneath,” I finished off for her, “Yes I know. Now take it off or do I need to do it for you.”

My wife stood and the thin gown slipped from her shoulders. It was all she had worn since the bath. I hadn’t joined her then, but my subsequent wanking and thoughts of them had pushed me beyond the edge, and now my release couldn’t wait. I moved to her and grabbed her by the roots of her hair, pulling back, exposing her neck for my mouth ...

She liked it like this, my wife, well sometimes at least, and so she whimpered as I attacked her smooth flesh with my lips.

My free hand closed over her exposed breasts, not quite so firm without the fettering of a bra, but they felt good.

“I missed you so much ...” she whispered as I threw her face first over the couch. As I thrust my erection into her high, exposed slick opening, it was thoughts of my Little Girl and her flame haired friend that fuelled my lust. When I came deep inside my wife’s pliable, soaking wet cunt, it was all I could do to stop myself from crying out for them ...

******

The following morning saw the weather turn ugly. Today was the day ... fuck!

The ‘Heartstart’ portable defibrillator from Philips had been on charge all night. Most surgeons and Senior Consultants had such a machine, it proved a necessary tool for some emergencies. Never had I imagined using it in the way I intended to over the next 24 hours though.

Sitting at the table by the window I stared at the MacBook screen open in front of me. I had found an academic piece on Waterboarding, an interview on YouTube, and was avidly watching, and listening through my headphones ...

INTERVIEWER: Tell me, Doctor, what is it about waterboarding that makes it so contentious?

DOCTOR X: First of all, it can cause a range of very serious injuries. These include lung damage, broken bones due to the violence with which victims struggle against their restraints, brain damage from oxygen depletion, pneumonia, hyponatraemia – that’s a rare but deadly condition caused by lack of sodium in the blood – right through to asphyxiation, choking on vomit, or dry drowning. But what makes it especially controversial is that, unlike other harsh interrogation techniques, it is specifically designed to take the subjects as close to death as possible.

I could hardly contain myself. Fuck yes, this was going to be damned dangerous, edgy in the extreme. I continued to listen.

INTERVIEWER: And each time the interrogators just pour the water over the cloth?

DOCTOR X: Exactly. According to the US Internal Documents we have studied, by its own design Waterboarding “closely replicates” the sensation of drowning.

INTERVIEWER: So, the subject isn’t actually in any danger?

DOCTOR X: The language is misleading. The subject IS drowning, just not underwater. Interrogators are instructed to pour the water when a detainee has just exhaled, so that he or she is forced to ingest water directly into the lungs. That’s drowning, by any medical definition. Interrogators are also allowed to force the water down a detainee’s throat using their hands. [READS FROM MEMO] “The interrogator may cup his hands around the detainee’s nose and mouth to dam the runoff, in which case it would not be possible for the detainee to breathe at all during the application of the water.” And here, a little later: [READS] “We understand that water may enter – and accumulate in – the detainee’s mouth and nasal cavity, preventing him or her from breathing.”

INTERVIEWER: So, there is a very real risk of death? DOCTOR X: Inevitably so ...

I had heard enough. My erection was already burgeoning. The next 24 hours were going beyond fantasy. I could not wait.

I removed the headphones and looked outside over the gardens. The lush green and myriad colours of Spring and Summer, and to a certain extent Autumn, disappeared in the Winter, giving way to a sparse display of bleak outlines.

The weather outside was awful. It hadn’t rained for a while, not really since that time when I first had my Little Girl in the woods, but now the deluge had been falling all night, a relentless, depressing torrent that battered the glass pane before me.

At ten o’clock on Saturday morning it was so overcast and dark that the security lights were still on outside, and, despite their sullen yellow glares, I could barely see the outlines of the tree branches, now devoid of their leaves, across the lawns through the thick sheet of water that poured down.

“Dreadful weather,” my wife observed, stepping to me and sliding her arms around my waist from behind. “Do you really have to go to this thing?”

I placed my hands on hers and nodded. “’Fraid so honey, I’m hosting a focus group on the use of portable defibrillators in an emergency situation. Having to take my own damn machine!” A lie that covered the unpalatable truth.

I felt her head rest on my back as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I turned and kissed my wife. But I needed to break from her, make the mental transition from dependable husband to my other persona, the one that two young girls were travelling a long way to meet in just a few hours.

As I retrieved my clothes bag, packed with a few ‘cover story’ clothes and toiletries, I opened the message.

“We’re here. Having coffee in the Weatherspoons pub at the station. Can we meet before 2?”

My heart raced. They were here and they were so damn early.

I had things to buy before meeting them, and it was me that dictated the terms, me that held the control here. Her text was timed at 10:15am.

“No, we can’t. You get to enjoy a romantic few hours with Red in the big City Centre, but we can have a small change of plan. Nearer the meeting time head out of the City via the Main University. You will come across a large expanse of grass. It’s called Woodhouse Moor. There’s a small car park. Meet me there at 1pm. You might need to buy an umbrella for the walk.”

I pressed SEND.

******

It was fifteen minutes to one o’clock when I found myself just a short distance away from the Moors Car Park. The Defib machine was in the boot of the car, along with my overnight bag and a second bag now filled with rope, cable ties, alligator clips, duct tape, screws and nails, a hammer, a drill and a large, powerful hair dryer. I also had a vibrator, a larger wand than I used before. All items that I had picked up and paid cash for from a variety of sources over the past couple of hours, even the hair dryer, all except the drill and hammer ... those I already had.

The moors were ahead of me now, in full view. A huge expanse of grass either side of a busy main road that bridged the City Centre with the nearby student district feeding the University.

I felt my excitement rise as I clicked on the indicator to turn into the car park. It was deserted on a day like this, pissing it down with rain ... empty all except for two young students standing huddled under a large umbrella.

I parked the car and, peering through the windscreen between the swipe of the wiper blades, I looked out at them.

Red, the taller of the two, a little more statuesque with her brightly coloured hair, tied up today ... and then my Little Girl. The one that I truly loved. The one that I wanted to hurt the most.

They both turned to look at me and suddenly I was no longer the reliable husband, the experienced surgeon that earned such a good living and lived in a big house overlooking the countryside, looking after his wife and family ... I was their man. The pervert they needed. The dominant who would use them and hurt them. That man was back inside me now and how I had missed him.

Red, in jeans and black jacket, hair soaking wet from the rain that the umbrella had failed to collect, looked stunning ... my Little Girl in a denim jacket, tee shirt and a long flowy, studenty kind of skirt ... looked equally lovely and I could already imagine them both naked in my mind’s eye.

I got out of the car and immediately felt the needle-like barrage of the rain as it battered itself into me.

I had this moment planned. The next 24 hours would begin here. Both girls came running over, an eagerness about their demeanour.

“We came,” my Little Girl said with an enthusiastic statement of the obvious.

I simply nodded and smiled at Red. “Good to see you Red,” I said holding out my arms as I ignored the slut. I saw Red furrow her brow at my Little Girl as she fell into my embrace, but that was all part of the plan to reduce the slut to the level of nothing. Ignored. Used. Hurt. It’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

I opened the door for Red, the front passenger door, saying “Get in quickly, out of this damn rain.”

“Shall I get in here,” My Little Girl was already moving to open the rear door.

“You will stay out in the fucking rain until I say so. You take the umbrella,” I instructed Red. She did and as she got in the car, I took it from her so that I could cover my-self.

The slut stood shivering, exposed fully to the mercy of the rain, her hair plastered to her head. I moved to her and, in a move not unlike the one I used on my wife the previous evening, grabbed the wet curls with my free hand to twist her neck and head so that she faced me while her body was facing a different direction. She gasped and I grinned.

“Take off your jacket.” I ordered.

She looked incredulous as if to say, “What, out here in this weather, you must be joking.” But she said none of that, and in seconds she stood in just a tee shirt which was quickly soaked, clinging to her like second skin, her nipples, despite the bra she wore, were sticking out like bullets.

“Now the tee shirt.” Closing her eyes, she paused, but only for a moment. As I watched her struggle to pull the wet top up and over her head, I felt my groin tingle. Her hands were still bandaged and I could see how painful it was still for her to use them. I would inspect them when we arrived at the basement.

I could see her scars, some healed, some healing and others still looking a little angry.

I dragged her by the hair to the back of the car. I opened the boot door and ordered her in.

She looked up at me and her eyes once more spoke, this time silently saying “In here, in the fucking boot while she is in the front with you?” But those words were never said, and in the slut climbed.

“The bra please.” I think she knew that was coming and despite the restricted hand use, she quickly handed me the underwear. I stared at her breasts. My dream the other night had pictured them without a blemish, but that was not what they were like. Still full and firm of course, they were scarred with the small, healed puncture marks from the skewers and the welt marks of the whip. Beautiful.

As I pulled the secure- pet netting over her, skirt risen as high as her thighs, my slut was forced to lay down on her side. I cable tied her wrists behind her back and closed the lid of the boot door securing her inside and out of sight.

As I lowered the wet umbrella and opened the driver’s door I smiled at Red, then started the car.

Part 10 – The Girl

See you at one? What the fuck!

We get up fucking early and he says see you at one?

Jeez.

In fucking Leeds?

Whatever.

Another coffee.

Her across the table. Sweet lovely her.

And... why rush?

Shit. We want the hours to rush so he can strip us and hurt us.

Fucking mad.

Talk to her.

What do you think he'll do she asks.

Don't care. Up to him. That's the deal. He can hurt me how he likes. I like that. Not knowing.

I'm stupid mad crazy.

I know I am.

I don't care. He can fucking kill me if he wants. As long as he doesn't mark my face. As long as it hurts.

That's me. Fuck. How is this me?

A long walk. In the rain. It always rains here. And then we wait. In the rain.

Him.

Pissing down.

She gets in. Smiles at me.

He tells me to get my jacket off. It's fucking raining.

Hard.

Cold.

He can. Whatever he wants. I want him to do this.

I know.

T-shirt.

I know,

Into the back

I know.

He doesn't have to ask

Bra off.

Tits soaked.

Hair soaked.

My fucking hands hurt.

He can do what he fucking wants. That's what I want. Nothing. Just what he wants.

This weekend my body isn't mine.

That's how I want it.

His.

To fuck with.

I'm scared.

I'm stupid fucking stupid. I have a life.

I don't care.

I want him to hurt me.

I like this,

I like how this has started. I want it.

I want it.

Part 11 – The Guy

“So, she’s with you now?” Pulling out onto the main road once more I turned to speak with Red.

She just stared back at me and paused before responding, “You locked her in the boot?”

I laughed.

“In the fucking boot?” She sounded even more incredulous.

“Look Red, I’m in charge here, I dictate the terms and if I say the slut goes cold and wet, half naked into the boot of my car then that is what happens.”

We sat in silence for a short while, as the friend contemplated what was going on here.

“So, are you two together now ... you know, an item?” I tried the same question another way.

This time she nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. She dumped him, the BF, and we’ve kissed n fucked n stuff since we left you last weekend, so ...”

Good. I liked that.

It took no more than twenty minutes of driving on the rain-soaked roads to get us the hospital. The main buildings and wings were busy, as they always were at weekends, mainly with visitors. But there wasn’t many people actually out on the streets or in the entranceways given the inclement weather, which made our presence quite unremarkable as we drove round the side, and then the back, past the car park I had been heading towards when I first discovered this building, so that we could stop out of sight near to the entrance to the basement ... my basement ... our basement.

“Okay, we’re here. I said coming to a halt.”

“Where are we?” Red said, “And what are you planning?”

I just smiled and got out indicating that she should do likewise.

The rain had actually eased a little and so we were getting less wet as I opened the boot and pulled back the pet-secure netting.

“Get out Little cunt ...” I said with aggression.

“Please be nicer to her ...” Red began to say, but stopped short when she saw my glare.

My Little Girl shuffled out of the car. And stood with head and eyes downcast.

“Strip her naked.” I issued the command and saw the friend look at the slut, who nodded.

“I give the fucking orders here Red. If I say strip her, then strip her whatever she fucking well wants.” My growl ensured that no more dissent was forthcoming and so in seconds the flowing skirt, pumps and my slut’s skimpy panties had been removed.

“Good,” I remarked, apprising my Little Girl’s naked body with an admiring eye.

Moving to her I gripped my Little Girl’s hair in my fist once more. She gasped as I pulled and twisted, but the gasps turned to a sob as I parted her thighs and began to slowly stroke her slit, not opening her, not yet, just stroking the full length from her perineum to her clit and back again, time after time until she cried out and her knees wobbled.

I laughed and let her go. On the edge of her climax my Little Girl resumed her position with a trembling stance.

The rain was coming steadily again now.

“Stay just here,” I said to the slut, moving her to the side of the building, away from the shelter of the raised car boot door, “Red and I will unpack.”

By the time the friend and I had taken my bags, the defibrillator, and the other accessories down the stone steps, lit the candles and paved the way for our entry, a further twenty minutes had passed by for my Little Girl to stand shivering, dripping wet. I would need to be careful she didn’t fall ill from exposure ...

“Move it cunt,” I ordered, pushing the slut forward towards the steps. Red was already down there in the dusty basement store room, waiting.

The car was locked, hidden from sight and so as the entrance door clicked quietly closed, we were in. There would be no turning back now.

******

I never actually said the word “Waterboarding”, but it didn’t take either of them long to realise what was going to happen, not when they saw the items that I had readied for our arrival. Buckets and bricks and wood and ...

“You’re gonna ‘Board us?” Red could spoke the words quietly, a choke in her voice very definitely there.

I nodded, “Oh yes, and in so many different ways ...”

There was a silence at first and then the sound of a steady water flow. I looked round to see my Little Girl pissing herself. Her eyes closed, her legs parted a little for comfort as the golden arc gushed from between her legs.

“I ... I’m sorry,” she whispered, the shame evident in her tone.

“Are you scared,” I asked her.

“Y ... yes,” she stammered her response, “V ... very much.”

“And so you should be, you both fucking well should be.” I was enjoying this preamble.

“What’s the Shock Machine for?” Red was still asking questions, whereas my ashamed and already humiliated little girl was happy to wait quietly, standing in the pool of her own piss, hands still cable tied behind her back and contemplate her fate silently.

“Use your imagination girl,” I growled back at the flame-haired beauty.

“Fuck!” was all that I heard in response.

I diverted my attention to the slut. I needed to check her wounds, but first an old metal bucket filled with water from the tap was used by me to swill the piss from the stone floor.

“You dirty little cunt,” I grinned at her. “If that happens again you get to lick it up, understand?”

Nothing.

“Do. You. Understand. Me?”

The slut nodded her head.

“Good, now stand still.” I moved around her examining the welts and scars. All were healing well, and to be fair I hadn’t really hurt her with the whip last weekend, it was more about her hands.

“Did you change the dressings like I said?”

My Little Girl nodded. I knew she had because the hand bandages she wore today were clean without any trace of seepage. I knew that underneath the holes would be sealing already, congealed with clotting blood that would now be forming a scab. In a week or two, when the scabs came loose, there would be just a small round shaped scar either side of each palm, and that would be all.

I clipped the cable ties loose and allowed the slut to free her wrists.

“Is this really a good idea?” Red sounded far more than cautious; her voice showed that she was becoming really scared.

I just turned to look at her. The flame-haired friend still fully dressed as opposed to me stark naked, exposed Little Girl, dripping in her own piss.

“You can leave now if you wish Red?”

I hoped she wouldn’t go. I wanted to use her too, and the last thing my Little Girl and I needed was someone who knew what we did but wasn’t a part of it.

“No, I want to stay.” She replied quietly whilst chewing on her bottom lip.

“Good...” Red smiled weakly back at me.

“Now lay on the board.” I addressed the slut and she looked down at the long plank arranged between two small piles of bricks so that it was raised a little off the floor.

My Little Girl looked up and me, tears streaking her cheap eye makeup and she said, “Am I going to die?”

Part 12 – The Girl

In the back of his car. Under some sort of net. Like a dog. Wet, cold, half-naked.

Shivering.

Cold and wet and scared and thrilled.

I don't mind. I want this. But I'm fucking scared.

No idea where we are. I can hear the wipers and the rain and him talking to Abi.

Stopping. I can only see the rain through the back window.

He opens the boot.

She's there.

He calls me a cunt. Tells me to get out. OK. I do.

Tells her to undress me. I look at her. We're in some public place. Like a campus or hospital or something. But that's in the distance. Here it's like an old abandoned factory or warehouse or something. I think this is the place.

She doesn't want to undress me.

But she does. That's good. I like it. The rain on me. Behind the building. But it's fucking cold.

They leave me there. I begin to think. What will he do to me? I'm so scared.

Eventually he drags me in.

It's like a cellar.

I can see the things he has ready. We both can. Abi sees it. She says it. Waterboarding.

Waterboarding. Images in my mind. He can kill me doing that. He can hurt me and terrify me and there won't be any marks.

Apart from where he ties me down.

Those will mark.

Then the other stuff.

Fuck. He's going to electrocute me. I can't help it. I feel my piss running down my legs. So fucking frightened.

But so fucking excited.

This is really going to hurt. I so want this. I want to hurt so much. But I'm scared. I think I don't want to die. Not here.

Abi's scared. He tells her she can leave. She says no. I'm relieved, I so want her with me.

He didn’t tell me that I could leave.

He tells me to lie down.

I am really shit scared. It's for real. I thought I was imagining but it's for real. And it will start so soon. And it will be awful and I am so fucking scared.

I'm on the board. I look up at him, look up at Abi.

I'm crying. I can't help it. My belly is like lead. My heart is trembling. I'm so, so scared.

I'm going to be helpless. Just like I wanted. I'm going to hurt so much. He can do what he likes.

I'm scared. 'Am I going to die?' I ask him. I don't want to die. I just want to hurt. I really want to hurt. Naked and helpless and hurting. I want it so much.

But I'm so fucking scared...

Part 13 – The Guy

She was scared, my Little Girl. I mean really scared. I had never seen her eyes so filled with terror ... terror and tears.

Her simple words “Will I die?” were bordering on being heart- breaking, even to me, her torturer.

“Please, Sir, don’t do this ...” Red was still pleading for her friend, her lover ... and she called me ‘Sir’ in her desperation to appeal to my common sense. But this scene transcended common sense, it transcended anything at all ...

“Yes, I believe you will, Little Girl,” was all I said in response to the slut’s question. I had already tied thick string around the slut’s neck, securing her to the wooden plank, and was currently busy tying the same binding around her ankles. She made no movement to get up, despite my fatalistic reply, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she had struggled, because she was already bound to the board. As the slut whimpered, I looked down at the Cross Brand near to her mound. I fingered it, touching the healing mark ...

“You will always be mine Little Girl.”

The whimper turned into a groan, or did I imagine that?

I might well have imagined the slut’s groan, but the moan that came from behind me was very real, and caused me to look round especially when I heard the thud that went with it.

I stared at Red, who was crumpled on the dusty floor. Her eyes were open but she looked dizzy, dazed almost ...

“You can’t kill her?” It was a question not a statement and as such needed no response.

I continued to bind the slut. Completing the ankle tie I moved to the tops of her thighs. I wrapped several lengths of the twine around her thighs, right at the very top, pulling them together, before tying her wrists and knotting each wrist rope with the twine around her thighs, securing her hands by her side. I then took the binding and wrapped it under her legs but around the wood. The resultant look was very aesthetically pleasing, and as I stood my pleased expression most probably showed that was the case.

Kneeling once more, the last tie had gone around my Little Girl’s knees, and now she was immovably secured to the long wooden plank that was raised from the ground by a small stack of bricks and concrete pieces at either end, with the ‘foot’ end being raised higher so that any excess water from the ‘Boarding would run up her face and into her nose.

I looked back round at Red, who was now kneeling, her jacket and sweater removed to reveal a skimpy blue vest top.

“Do you want to kiss her Red?” I asked. If my intonation made it sound like the offer was for them to engage in a final kiss then that had been my intention. With a sob her flame-haired friend crawled over to my slut and, placing a gently hand on her cheek, she lowered her mouth until their lips touched. Then she kissed my Little Girl, who kissed her back.

“Move away,” Finally, after watching them embrace, I issued my orders to Red, and she did. The room was flickering and cast with

large shadows from the candles, which, unless the automatic bulb was on, which it wasn’t, the candles were the only light we had. We had no indication of night or day outside, rain or shine ... it was like being inside a Pharaoh’s tomb ...

The slut was visibly shaking, and she had clenched her fists in an effort to control her tremors. Red had moved away and was now backed up against the wall, watching everything unfold ...

“And now we begin,” I said, maybe a little overdramatically.

I wrapped a cloth tightly under my Little Girl’s head and then around her face so that she was forced to breathe through the coarse material. The shape of her open nose and mouth was clearly defined under the fabric.

Stripped down to my tee shirt, with my free hand I picked up the plastic jug filled with water from the nearby metal bucket, also filled with water, and began to pour.

It flowed in a clear, thin stream over the cloth and for a long moment nothing happened. Then, with a sudden gasp, my Little Girl released the breath she’d been holding and inhaled the water.

She choked violently, her limbs convulsing, her head shaking from side to side in a frantic attempt to deny the liquid access to her mouth.

“Jesus,” I heard Red muttering. “This is unbearable.” I turned my head briefly to look around but the girl with the long flame hair kept on watching.

On and on I poured. Glancing at the mobile phone at my side away from the water pour ... I knew how long each application of water would last. After exactly twenty seconds, I stopped.

Peeling back the cloth my slut stared wide eyed at the ceiling. She couldn’t draw breath, and when her eyes began to bulge I immediately pushed her face to the side so that she could vomit the liquid contents of her stomach away from her body.

“Fuck this, you have to stop, please stop.” But Red’s pleading only spurred me on, and her plea efforts were somewhat diluted given that she made no attempt to move away from her vantage point.

Leaning into my Little Girl, and with an almost gentle touch, I smoothed the wet hair out of her eyes, tucking it back behind one ear. The slut was still shaking, the fear showing in her face.

My Little One held her breath as I stroked her breast, enjoying the feel of her wet, hard nipple. I could tell that it wasn’t a conscious decision but an instinct, her body saying, ‘no you cannot let this happen to you’. But she could only hold it so long, and of course I knew that. I also knew that by pausing like this, waiting for her to inhale, increased the mental anguish and the ultimate impact.

When, finally, my Little Girl drew a breath, a great gasping inhalation of the air her body was screaming for, it wasn’t air she sucked in but water. I decanted the second pouring with perfect timing. Water filled her throat and lungs like cement, and with it would come a bolt of pain that would only made her gasp for yet more air. And there was none, only more water.

Her lungs would be exploding and the pressure between her ears would be immense. It would be like that moment when you swam underwater as far as you could and realised you had to get to the surface, fast. But here there was no surface.

Then I reached my time and abruptly, the flow of water ceased. I peeled away the cloth again and for a moment I thought it was too late, that she was going to lose consciousness. But then, with a massive effort from within her heaving chest, she forced herself to fight for air.

Spluttering and gasping, turning her head herself this time, the slut once more vomited up what was in her lungs, the water spluttering out of her in a fountain, and she was alive.

There were no words, but she sobbed, hard, an action that only used up more energy and breath.

“And now again,” I heard myself saying. As my Little Girl shook her head violently in mute protest, I tightened the cloth over her face once more, waited for the inevitable inhalation and I poured again. This time for longer.

Her body shook ...