Journey Of A Pain Slut - Act 2 free porn video

I sat back on the large rock next to my bag. I was exhausted, but elated. This past few hours had fuelled my desires, my kinks, my perversions ... and how!

This girl, my Little Girl, whose actual name was still not known to me, nor mine to her, hung by her wrists above me, several feet from the ground as the dusk turned to twilight and the darkness began to descend.

It had been a relatively warm December day with heavy cloud cover and a deluge of rain. But now she had stopped shaking, in fact she had stopped everything. She hung, swinging gently ... lifeless.

Fuck, she looked beautiful, so damn erotic, her nubile body, naked and exposed, beaten and bloody and her breasts punctured by the skewers.

I wanted to leave her like this to suffer the agony of death ... but then again, not really.

If it was possible to take this little beauty to that extreme, let her die through her wounds, the infection, the cold and exposure and her shoulders dislocating making me erect for evermore, but then bring her back to life with unflawed health so that we could do it all over again, then that would be just perfect. But alas that scenario only happened in the movies, and in this gloomy wood to the South of Leeds, we were very much in real life!

I needed to take her down and begin the process of recovery and rehabilitation. I chuckled to myself for no good reason save perhaps my general feeling of well-being at having completed my tasks and reached every objective here in the woods.

Moving to the tree where the rope was tied off, I sliced through the tight binding and the complicated knots with my blade, and she fell to the ground. It was a fall of maybe a metre or so, but she landed with a thud and a grunt as the little air she had left was forced from her.

She groaned away to my right as I collected up the rope and put the remnants into my bag before taking it back to the car.

“My Little Girl, I am so proud of you,” I beamed down at her drained, prostrate shape on the wet, mulched ground beneath us, as I knelt by her side.

Her eyes closed. It was the only response I received, but it was enough to make me smirk.

“Come on Little Girl, we need to get you back to the hotel so that I can take care of you.”

Scooping her up into my arms, she groaned and flinched a little as my hold squeezed her body into me, forcing her perforated breasts to push together.

“Sorry girl, but I have to get you into the car,” I said explaining myself to her. She offered no further acknowledgement as I managed somehow to hook a finger into the door handle and click it open.

“In you go,” once more I laid her on the towel.

Looking down I could see that there was no active bleeding from any of the wounds on her front, including the holes where the skewers had been forced into her body. They of course were now no longer apparent, having smouldered fully away, but it was key that the holes were cleansed as quickly as possible. Infection now with

splinters of burnt wood inside her could prove fatal. I checked out the nipple cut and that too had stopped bleeding but it was oozing a little light-coloured puss. That too needed urgent treatment.

Gently I pushed her over onto her side so that I could inspect her back. The cuts here were worse because there were more of them, and I had applied the lacerations methodically prior to exacerbating their severity by lashing the same area of skin with the vicious scourge.

“Fuck,” I whispered to myself as I lightly touched the puffy skin either side of where her skin was split, “Some of these need to be stitched.”

“Come on my darling girl, sit up if you can, I have to cover you.”

She fell into my arms, still largely unresponsive, as I pulled her upright.

I had brought packs of antiseptic Gel sheets and now I placed one over each of the main wound areas, just to provide a germ-free cover until she was back at the hotel. And then I helped her on with a soft pair of yoga pants and a large sweat shirt, over which I slipped an aluminium lined anti-shock blanket around her shoulders to keep her from shivering when the shock of everything attempted to kick in.

Securing her seat belt as she lolled still, her body refusing to wake up, I sighed and moved to the driver’s seat.

Had I gone too far? Could she really take all of this and survive?

Of course, she could. I knew what to do now, it was my job as an experienced trauma surgeon, for fucks sake.

She would be fine.

I switched on the engine and began the short journey back to the hotel.

Part 2 – The Girl

Fuck that hurt.

My wrists are hurting like fuck. My back is hurting like fuck.

I'm on the ground.

It's cold and wet.

I'm cold and wet and burning and my mouth tastes of blood and I fucking hurt all over and I'm so fucking cold.

He touches me.

His fingers are gentle. He's finished hurting me. I'm sort of glad, I'm sort of sad.

He hurt me so sexy.

I loved his hurt.

I'm still hurting. Loving his hurting. Loving my pain. Fucking pain. I'm a fucking mess.

I'm cut and burnt and filthy.

My fucking BF won't believe I did this to myself. I'm a fucking disastrous mess of a girl.

What the hell was I doing?

I don't know his fucking name. He's burnt me and whipped me and

hung me on a tree.

Who the fuck is he?

I don't care.

He's my torturer and I sort of love him for it.

I'm in the car. So, he isn't going to kill me. At least now.

I'm so fucking happy. I am so happy. I am so glad he hurt me. I don't know his name and I don't care.

I want to be clean and warm and I'm filthy and freezing and I love this soooo much and I soooo want to do this some more.

I'm a crazy fucking girl I think...

I imagine myself hanging there bleeding. I wish I could have seen myself. I think I must have looked so beautiful, so beaten.

I can feel the cuts on my body and the skewers in my tits. I am such a lucky, mad, stupid fucker of a girl.

Part 3 – The Guy

There are plenty of parking spaces at the Village Hotel on the outskirts of Leeds, near to the motorways. ‘Tis the Festive Season after all, although I don’t recall any of what I have done with the girl today being on any Christmas Wish-List that I have ever read ... and what we have done this day, my Little Girl and I, can hardly be described as jolly!

But at least there was plenty of parking spaces ...

I stopped the car, reversing in between the white lines, before turning in my seat to look at the girl in the back, sitting huddled under the anti-shock blanket, which was doing its best to ward off the shock that was already kicking into her broken body.

She looked back at me, her head moving slowly so that her eyes looked into mine ... and she smiled.

She fucking smiled.

Unbelievable, but seeing her pretty face light up just a little was almost as elating as breaking her had been, and she had been so badly broken. The pert, deliciously nervous, confident, challenging teenage girl that had arrived at the hotel just this very morning had been shattered into the silent, semi-conscious, damaged princess in the back of my car.

“Do you think you can walk my sweet angel?” I asked her with a gentle tone underpinning my words, “... because we need to avoid any sort of suspicion as we pass through reception.”

She nodded, and I reciprocated the affirmation back to her. “Okay, good. Wait here while I go check-in and get the key.”

Another smile. No words as yet but the smile said more than a sentence could ever achieve, however I still needed to treat her body with the utmost urgency.

“Fossbrook, Steve Fossbrook ...” I answered the receptionist’s question when asked.

“Okay, yep we have you here Mister Fossbrook.”

As a Surgeon I go by the title Mister, which is good because it’s far less conspicuous than Doctor. I used my own name when checking-in just because it was so much easier when it came to credit cards and the like ... and in any event I wasn’t looking to do anything wrong now, was I, at least not here!

“Done and sorted, I have our key,” I said to my Little Girl as I opened the passenger door once more, helped her slip on her trainers and assisted as she staggered out of the car.

“We need to leave this behind ...” I slipped the Anti-shock blanket off her shoulders feeling the back of my hand brush against the provocative swell of her left breast under the sweat-shirt.

“Th ... thank you ...” She spoke her first words in a long time as I left her leaning against the car so that I could retrieve her small back- pack and my larger holdall.

As we entered reception I could feel her almost collapsed against me, and so I slipped my arm around her shoulders and hugged her to me as we walked, trying to look as if we were age-mismatched lovers trying to be discreet as we headed to our illicit liaison, which in a dark debauched way we were – if only everyone knew the real truth!

The elevator was empty, thank goodness, and soon I had somehow got us both to room 274 on the second floor. And so, it was with great relief that I heard the door click shut behind us.

The room was large, with a view back out over the car park, and sitting her down in a chair before she fell down, I spoke softly. “Stay there please while I cover the bed with a towelling sheet ... we need to keep the room as clean as we can.”

It sounded like I was saying this for medical reasons but the truth was that I simply didn’t want to leave unnecessary traces of our activities behind when we checked out tomorrow.

“Okay good, now I need your clothes off again please.” As I said this, I moved to close the window blinds and curtains, before returning to her and slowly removing the sweat top up and over her head.

“Wow,” I uttered when her wonderful breasts, stained with blood, skewered and burnt, but still well-defined and high with the firm flesh of youth, stared up at me.

“You are beautiful ...” I remarked, and there was that smile again. Wonderful!

Reaching down to her hips I nodded at her and began the gentle tug of the yoga pants. She managed to ease her ass up off the seat for just a few seconds as I pulled the pants down and off.

Once again, she was naked, and even now she fuelled the fire of my lust by just simply sitting there.

Most of the antiseptic gel patches had come off as her clothes were removed, but the few that remained I now pulled gently away by hand. They had already begun their cleansing work on her battered body.

“May I drink ... pl ... please, I’m so thirsty.” Her soft words were heart rending, but I had to reply, “Not yet Little princess. I have a special energy and protein drink for you, which will renew you and make you want to urinate, because I need to see you pee ...”

She looked confused, worried again, almost ...

“No, no Little One, it’s not for my kicks ...” though watching her piss would stiffen my groin, I knew that, “... it’s so that I know your bodily functions are in working order, which is very important, especially following such a severe flogging ...”

She nodded allowing me to continue with my words.

“But first we need a shower Little Girl, and I need to wash you down with this.” I produced a plastic bottle from my bag.

“Wh ... what’s that,” she asked in whisper, more words finding their way out of her mouth.

“It’s Dettol wash with E45 and Aloe Vera in it ...” It was just the best thing for this initial wash.

Reaching back inside the bag I pulled out a ball-gag. Now her eyes widened and her head cocked to one side, looking delightfully confused.

“You need to put this on,” I said with a renewed assertion.

“But, I ... please ... no ... more ... not ... now ...” she begged beautifully, and I laughed.

“No, you silly girl, of course there will be no more torture, and certainly not here in this room. But we have other rooms either side of us and I need the shower to be hot. It will be very painful for you, certainly initially, and I need you to scream into the gag for me, and you will scream believe me, but this way your cries won’t be heard above the sound of the shower.” I attempted a gentle smile to accompany the words and she seemed to relax, allowing me to place the gag, not too tightly around her head, the red ball filling her mouth.

If she looked beautiful before then now, she appeared stunning. Oh, how I wanted her again ... but right now there was medical work to be done.

I slipped off my water proofs and then my sweater, shirt and jeans, finally taking off my socks and boxers to leave myself as naked as she was.

Did her eyes flicker towards my semi stiff cock? Oh, how I hoped they did.

“It’s time for us to shower sweet Angel,” I smiled at her once again.

Gripping her upper right arm, I helped her out of the seat and we headed to the bathroom.

Part 4 – The Girl

He leads me through the lobby.

These people, back from shopping or meeting or whatever, they don't know.

I like that.

He leads me to the room.

I hurt. I fucking hurt. I love hurting.

Ordinary. Dull. View of the car park. So ordinary.

So fucking extraordinary for me.

I hurt.

He asks me to get naked again. He looks at me.

He's going to hurt me again. He says he isn't.

He looks at me.

I think I must look beautiful to him, all cut and bruised and fucked up.

I think I am beautiful all like this.

I love this. Looking all cut and sore and full of hurt.

I hurt so much everywhere.

My tits hurt. My back hurts. I’m so cut.

I love being cut.

He gags me,

He says he will clean me and it will hurt and I will scream I want to hurt

I love this so much.

Hurt me again please I am thinking.

Hurt me, you whose name I do not know. Hurt me.

I love this.

I am so tired. He has broken me to pieces. I love him for this. I love my pain. I want to do this so many more times. I want to be hurt by him.

I don't care about Christmas and my BF and everything.

I want him to hurt me and to torture me and to kill me if he wants I want sooo much to hurt.

I want to bleed and hurt and cry.

I love ...

Part 5 – The Guy

I am hard again. Not just hard but achingly erect. The swollen head of my cock keeps brushing her abdomen ... and the way her eyes glance downwards I know she wants me, wants it, wants to be fucked ... not just metaphorically this time, but truly, properly and wholly fucked!

As the steaming hot water strikes her body, she screams like I knew she would. Palms flat against the wet tiles she cries out into the ball gag, her agony contained in the muffled secrecy of the round rubber ball.

It is a cleansing yell, a cry that begins her recovery in earnest, as the water, unpolluted by unfiltered rain or mulched, muddy leaves, flows through every blade or lash-made opening on her lovely body.

Oh, how she cries out.

I squeeze a palm full of the antiseptic wash into my palm and, as her sobs diminish, I slowly spread the liquid over her back, reaching around her chest to embrace her breasts. Is that a groan?

I lather the wash making sure to clean everywhere, and as my fingers slide down her shining wet body towards her firm ass, I slip my index

finger into the crevice between her cheeks and allow it to slip further down and under, into her soft folds.

I feel her body jerk as her forehead falls to rest on the tiled wall, and slowly I move my finger deeper and deeper within her ...

“You are mine now Little Girl,” I whisper into her ear so that she can hear my words above the loud, warm flow from the shower head.

She nods. She knows my words to be true. It turns out that I did have what she wants, and now she wants ... no, scratch that ... now she NEEDS, more ... that was so plainly obvious.

I bring my finger out from the warm, wet depths of her cunt and return to focus on the task of cleansing her body, until I have used more than half the bottle of Dettol cleanser on her skin.

Having turned off the water flow I help her step from the walk-in shower – modern day hotel rooms seem to have huge showers and no bath, which I guess is a sign of the times.

Smiling I reach around her head and remove the gag, grinning as she coughs and splutters into her new found oral freedom.

I’m still hard. So fucking erect. She glances again, then smiles, then bites her lips. It makes me laugh.

“Not yet Little Girl, we have more work to do.” I say, knowing that she is already recovered enough to gaze upon my nudity. I am not a young man, but I do work out and as a surgeon I need to keep my stamina in-tact, and so I was of my own not-so-humble opinion that I was in more than decent shape for a man of my years.

She nods. “Thank you,” she says again. I don’t know whether her thanks is for the torture I gave to her, or the painstaking recovery

process we are now undertaking. It doesn’t matter, because she came to me wanting to be broken. I did that and now we are rebuilding her. Maybe her thanks was for all of the above ...

I took her by the hand and led her back to the bed. “Lay down please girl.”

As she shuffled onto the towel, I noticed how she was able to lay, albeit gingerly, on her back. That was a good sign, but I needed now to tend to her breasts.

Taking a small bottle out of my bag I affixed a thin jet spray nozzle to it’s opening. Inside the bottle was Neosporin which would give her pain relief and infection protection.

“I’m not going to anesthetise you so grit your teeth please.” I gently pushed the tip of the small jet spray against one the skewer puncture marks, small holes that were already rapidly congealing with blood, and squirted the antibiotic pain relief into the opening. She groaned as the liquid spray made its way into the flesh of her breast. I repeated the action against each of the puncture marks and then, after covering each with a small, antiseptic plaster, I stood back, and looked down upon her nakedness.

“Fuck it Little Girl, you are so damn beautiful.” As I said this, I allowed my fingers to close gently around my shaft and I began to pull my foreskin back and forth. Once more her bottom lip disappeared under her teeth as she watched my action with an intensity that made her recovering desires only too clear.

I laughed, releasing my grip.

“You need these,” I reached for her cut nipple and squeezed the sides of the laceration together before applying several butterfly sutures, so that the aureole could heal with the minimum of scarring.

“Over please,” I twirled my finger indicating that I needed her on her stomach. Groaning softly, she obeyed allowing me to repeat the suture application to several of the wider cuts on her back. On these open wounds, once the stitches were in place, I put a smaller version of the anti-infection gel pad onto each one.

“There girl, you’re done. Now you may drink.”

I handed her a ‘ProvideXtra’ Energy drink that contained additional protein elements to help not just quell her thirst but also to refresh her dwindled natural resources.

She sat up into the nest of pillows I had made for her and guzzled it down, and then sighed, closing her eyes.

I knelt by her side and touched my hand to her cheek. “You really are beautiful,” I repeated my affectionate words and then I turned her head towards me and moved my lips to hers.

We kissed. I mean we really kissed, like we couldn’t get enough of one another. I used my lips to open hers and she reciprocated the passion with the movement of her tongue ... it was delightful, delicious and desire-fuelling, doing nothing to dampen my ardour. My erection was convulsing through its own free will, desperate to be touched ...

But, not yet ...

“You must sleep now Little Girl ...”

“Please,” She said quietly, “Tell me your name.”

I smiled and nodded. “I’m Steve,” I answered softly hoping that I radiated the warmth that was intended.

“Would you tell me yours?” I took my Little Girl’s hand in mine and waited for her to reply.



Part 6 – The Girl

Fuck it's hot!

I’m fucking burning!

I try to scream but only hear my choked groans and the sound of the shower.

His fingers are in me.

My head bangs on the tiles.

My back and my tits are screaming.

I'm hurting, but not the hurt of the whipping. This is an antiseptic, hospital hurt.

I don't like this.

He takes the ball out of my mouth.

I'm hurting. I bite my lip and taste my blood. I say thank you to him. I mean it.

But I don't like this.

The afterwards The hospital bit.

He puts me on the bed, on my back. On my cut up back. He's going to hurt me. He's going to clean me up.

So he can do it all again.

So my BF will be nice to me. So I'm not a big mess.

It FUCKING HURTS!

It FUCKING HURTS!

He stitches me up. He's good. He's done it before... I wonder...

He kisses me. In my mouth. He can. He deserves it. He can fuck me if he wants to. I don't care. I need fucking.

My poor fucking tits!

What the fuck have I let him do to me?

I know and I am so happy.

I let him hurt me so bad.

I ask him his name. Why the fuck did I do that?

I don't want to know his name. He's my torturer. I don't want him to be a person I sort of know.

'Steve'

What sort of a name is Steve?

I didn't need to know his name.

Now he wants to know mine.

Fuck.

I shouldn't have asked.

No names. I want him to stay my torturer, not some guy who lives in a nice house somewhere. Not some nice middle-class professional. My torturer. That's who I want him to be.

I say 'Amy'.

It's not my name. I'm lying.

I want to be his Little Girl who he likes to hurt.

Not 'Amy' or anyone.

A nameless girl who appears and wants to be hurt.

I want him to fuck me. I want anyone to fuck me right now. I want to be fucked so much.

I want him to hurt me again. Hurt me hard. Soon. Again.

I know he will.

I want to hurt so fucking much.

Part 7 – The Guy

“Amy?” I smiled down at her and she grinned back at me, yes, she really did grin... it was just a few short hours since she had been broken into pieces in a cold, wet woodland miles from her home and she was grinning at me. This girl was something else.

“Genuinely? You’re called Amy?” I questioned and she nodded, her grin widening a little more.

“Like hell,” I laugh you’re no more Amy than I am.

Now she laughed too, and it was so damn heart-warming, “And you’re not Steve, are you ... Steve?” She emphasised the latter saying of my ‘name’.

“No, course I’m not ...” I chuckled.

“So, we’re none the wiser, are we?” She whispered.

“We don’t need to be, you can simply be my Little Girl, and I can be whoever you want me to be.”

“I like that,” she replied.

“And I like you ...” I moved closer to her on the bed in an attempt to give her something/someone warm to cuddle up to, only for her to look me in the eye and say, “Fuck ...”

“What is it?” I asked with a modicum of concern breaking through my confusion.

“I need to pee ...” She almost jumped off the bed, which was some feat given her condition and I chuckled once more as I followed behind her so that I could stand and watch her piss.

“Is this really turning you on?” She asked looking up at me from her seat on the toilet, her eyes clearly scanning my cock and its hardened shaft.

I nodded, “Oh yes Little Girl, it so is!”

“Perv,” she giggled as she walked slowly back past me towards the bed.

I laughed out loud. “I’ve just stripped you in a cold, dark wood, whipped you, cut you, scourged you, fucked you twice as a part of all that and then skewered your tits, and it takes me watching you have a piss for you to call me perv?”

She laughed too now and settled back down on the bed.

“Here, I need to put this on to these marks.” I had taken out a new tube of Acriflex cream as the externally visible burns from the skewers, mild though they were, had begun to blister just a little.

“Mmmmmm,” she purred as I applied the cooling cream, and slowly but very surely her eyes began to close.

******

My dream shifted to accommodate what was happening in reality, to ready me for when I finally awoke. I could see her, laying on her side propped up on one arm using it to hold her head up well her other hand was lazily brushing over and through my chest hair.

God, she looked so beautiful; like a fallen angel come to Earth with her short, dark hair all mussed, her heavy-lidded eyes looking down at me.

Her breasts were bruised now, still reddened with welts and I guessed her back looked even worse. She looked a little like she had been to war and only just survived, but she was still my fantasy ... this Little Girl.

It was dreamy thoughts of her bound and hanging, begging and

pleading that kept me asleep even though my conscious mind kept screaming at me to wake up ...

It wasn't until I felt her move and position herself in between my legs, until I felt the weight of her bare breasts on my stomach that I realised she was really going to suck my cock!

My eyes quickly snapped open and I looked down at her, snuggled in between my legs just in time to see her smile, she echoed my unspoken thoughts and, her gaze looking provocatively back up my body, she took me into her mouth.

And boy can my Little Girl suck cock!

I went from being completely flaccid to painfully hard in about two and a half seconds, and judging by the glint in her eye, she knew full well what she was doing, and she wasn't about to stop until she sucked me dry.

Up and down she went on me, deep-throating me, swirling her tongue around the head and lightly scraping the length of it with her teeth.

It was all I could do not to call out for her to keep going, as she bobbed her head up and down drawing me near and closer to my impending climax.

What felt like several glorious hours to me but in reality was only probably a matter of five minutes or so, she had my hand curled up tightly in her hair as I held her in place and thrust my groin into her with gusto.

I fucked her face and it felt awesome, so damn good ...

And then I felt her teeth nip at the underside of the head and I came. I came so hard that I actually cried out. The effect of her hot mouth on me, the fact that she woke me up to this unknown pleasure, wanting me inside her, was too much for my cock and I to hold back.

I lay there spent. Drained. Pleased ... fucking delighted and breathing hard, while she gave my cum covered shaft one final lick and climbed back up my body to lay in my waiting arms and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. I could taste myself on her lips and it tasted so damn good.

“Morning,” she smiled at me, wiping her face with her forearm.

"Well ... good morning to you too, Little Girl." I said when I was finally able to catch my breath. My voice was deep and still thick with sleep. 



"How did you sleep?" I asked.

“On and off, my body began to stiffen up and I just couldn’t get comfy. “What about you?” She asked.

"I don't even fucking know." I laughed. "All I remember is waking up to some very good head."

"Well, I wanted to give you a good wake up call, to say thank you ... for ... well ... everything really."

I touched my hand to her thigh and she shivered ... she was fucking horny. Despite her body still being in recovery, she was fucking horny.

What a fucking girl!

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked, as my waking state kicked in.

With a slightly weaker smile she nodded. “Yeah, I’m good, or at least I think so.”

We both looked down at the sheets and there were several red patches dotted around through leakage from her back and a gel patch has freed itself from her skin and now lay face down, doubled over stuck to the bedsheet.

“Let me see you, please, I just need to check ...”

“Later,” she said, moving nearer to me. “Check out is not for a few more hours yet ... and you need to ...” Her bottom lip disappeared under her teeth as she looked coyly at me.

"But what can I do in order to repay you." I said with a grin of my own, as I felt my energy start returning to me.

She looked away, still a little sheepish ... and said simply, “Hurt me again ... please ...”

Part 8 – The Girl

He's not Steve and I'm not Amy and we never were and we are back to where we should be.

I'm his Little Girl... He's my Torturer.

He's kind to me.

He slides his hands over me, softly. Smoothing my cuts. He's gentle.

Now, anyway. But I prefer him cruel.

I'm thinking about my screwed-up fucked-up body and my BF... And I want to roll my body over him and suck him

Salty. Always salty. He likes it. So do I.

Swapping over. Into my face. I'm fucking tired.

I don't know...it became morning. He's not awake.

I mouth him again.

He likes it.

He wants to give me something

I want him to hurt me.

I want to hurt so much.

I want to be hurt more than I want to be made better.

More than I want to go home.

I want to be back in the forest, in the rain.

Tied. Whipped. Bleeding.

I want it just to continue. No being made better. No comfy bed.

(Even if I like it).

I don't know what the fuck I'll say to Ma and Pa.

How I will explain why I couldn't go home for Christmas. How I will explain to my BF and my BFF and the others. When they see me. Fucked up.

I just want him to hurt me really hard. But....

I don't want it to stop.

And it has to.

Otherwise it will. Just stop. Because he'll kill me.

I want to come back for more and more hurt. So it has to stop.

He hurts me so well...

Part 9 – The Guy

Opening the door to our hotel room I went back inside. My Little Girl looked up at me from her position on the floor. She was on her knees, on the floor in front of the bed, but her body was raised. Each ankle was tied with rope from my bag to one of the bed legs and pulled wide leaving her thighs spread wide.

She was raised up because her wrists, still chafed from yesterday, now had rope bound tightly around them once more as her arms were pulled high above her head, before the binding had been tied off around one of the oak beams that decorated this ‘Superior’ room.

She looked beautiful, wide eyed and expectant.

‘Hurt me’ she had said, and hurt her I would.

Her position was anything but comfortable but it meant that there would be no additional pressure on any part of her body that had been so badly abused the day before. It also allowed free access to the two areas that had not really been touched yesterday, her pussy, which only bore the red marks of the whip from that first session ... and her very pretty face!

“I have these for you Little Girl,” as I returned, I held up a small plastic, see-through bag of small stones that I had collected from the hotel car park. She cocked her head in slight confusion ... confusion that turned to concern, as I loosened the rope to pull her knees away from the floor and leave her in a position of even greater discomfort.

“Fuckkkkk!” she groaned as her shoulders began to take more weight, but her attention became distracted when I brought out a towel and placed it under her knees and then spread the stones out over it.

“Oh no, no, no ...” she gasped as once more I lowered her body until she knelt on the stones, her own weight now pressing her knees painfully into their sharp edges.

I laughed and stood before her, her face at my waist height as she knelt once more before me.

Without warning I slapped her hard. Once, open palmed across the cheek.

Her neck twisted, her head spinning to one side, until I immediately slapped her, back handed this time, back in the opposite direction.

“Owwww, owwwwww!” she cried out delightfully. I grinned as I set to work. Slapping her repeatedly across the same cheek until tears streamed down her face. Then I focused on the opposite cheek until her entire lovely face was ablaze with red hand marks and my Little Girl was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Thank me!” I ordered with gruff assertion.

Slowly she looked at me through tear misted eyes and said those words.

“Th ... thank you for sl ... slapping me ...” I nodded and grinned.

Kneeling before her I looked into her face, holding her gaze as my hand moved down to cup between the wide aperture at her the juncture of her spread thighs.

A quick downward glance showed me how hard it was for her to balance on the stones, her own weight, slender though she was, now having flattened her knees to the floor with the stone digging upwards deep into her flesh and bone.

Then I began to massage her pussy. Not penetrating her, not yet, just running my index finger slowly along the full length of her slit until it began to moisten and open up for me.

“Is that good my little Pain Slut?” I asked.

She nodded as her body began to tremble.

I laughed and slid a finger deep inside her, parting her soft labia, using my thumb to massage her blood-engorged clit at the same time.

“Ohhh please, please ... fuck!”

“You wanna cum slut?”

“Y ... yes please, oh fuck please ...” A new level of desperation had been reached now that a second finger had joined my first inside her soaking wet cunt.

Laughing I pulled out of her and, standing, my erection at the level of her face I pushed my fingers into her mouth.

“Open up Little Girl, suck them dry.”

And she did just that, the feel of her tongue, working hard to comply with my instructions.

Pulling the digits free I moved across to my bag and

removed a small plastic container which I opened in front of the girl to reveal several long sharp needles, all thin but solid.

My Little Girl drew in a sharp breath clearly realising that these needles were destined for her body, somewhere, somehow.

Grinning but saying nothing, I poured a little antiseptic gel into the palm of my hand and knelt before her again so that I could massage the gel over, around and inside her pussy lips.

Now she knew what my intentions were ... kind of.

The first of the needles was scratched lightly over the surface of her mound, before I took the fleshy part of her left labia, just under her clit, and pushed the needle hard into her pussy lips.

My Little Girl screamed as the first of the needles entered her body, and taking the opposite lip I had the needle continue its journey pulling together her pussy lips.

She screamed again as droplets of blood appeared at each entry/exit point, which I wiped away with the gel smeared onto a cotton wool pad.

I laughed and retrieved the ball-gag.

“Open wide slut,” I commanded, “We can’t have you waking the rest of the hotel.”

She did as instructed, and I secured the ball-gag tightly around her head.

A second needle was pushed in about a centimetre below the first in the same way and then a third below that. My Little Girl was screaming incessantly into the gag, the pain quite extreme as intended.

Leaving a slightly larger space after the last needle, the fourth needle was forced through one side of her labia and out the other side, piercing them both through and holding her pussy closed.

Standing to admire my work, after wiping away the small blood droplets, I took a pair of pliers and bent each needle into a hoop to prevent their removal or slippage.

She was gasping now, her chest heaving and head dropped onto her chest.

“You remember this Little Girl?” I held the small egg vibe in front of her face.”

Her eyes closed and the sigh was clearly audible, even from under the gag.

I laughed and pushed the vibe inside her cunt, deep inside, knowing that it could not come loose due to the needles piercing her pussy lips, holding the moist slit closed.

“Okay my slut, I’m heading down for breakfast. I won’t be long, well not too long anyway. Don’t worry I will bring you something back with me,” I chuckled.

With her eyes desperately wide, kneeling on small stones, her pussy held closed with sharp needles, I switched the vibe onto full speed, and immediately her groans were muffled by the gag as the penetrative little egg commenced its relentlessly, stimulating task.

I placed the remote in my pocket, put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, and left the room.

Part 10 – The Girl

My fucking knees!

Every time I move they scream at me, those fucking stones!

My poor arms!

(I love the pain of hanging from my wrists sooo much! How much I want to do this!)

My poor fucking shoulders! My cunt is burning.

My poor fucking cunt!

And I can't stop moving... The bastard.

It's not enough to suck him off. That thing inside me.

That fucking thing.

I love it so much.

I totally fucking hate it.

My poor fucking cunt!

I'm a fucking mess.

How the fuck will I even get home?

I need to go soon or I won't get back to my flat in time to get my train down south...

And then...

New Year...

My fucking BF!

He'll hate me (or he'll just walk). No way can I hide this.

I can't stop these thoughts.

They bound around then are swallowed by the bastard thing in my cunt.

I love it.

I fucking hate it sooo much.

I want it to stop,

I want it to carry on.

I want to hurt like this - hurt in my arms and my knees and my cunt. I want to do this so much more.

I want to kiss my BF and sit in a cosy bar with him in N...

I want to snuggle in his arms and kiss him and feel his fingers on my tits.

My poor fucking hurt up tits.

My poor fucking cunt that will bleed as soon as he fucks me.

I want to be with him.

I love this. I love this day and night and day in Leeds.

I love being in the wet woods and being whipped and cut and hurt

I love my BF... I want this to stop for a bit now... But I want to do this again.

I want to be hurt so much more. I don't fucking understand. I don't care if he fucking kills me.

I want to fucking hurt!

Part 11 – The Guy

“Are you sure?” I looked earnest as we stood outside the main entrance to the Village hotel facing one another.

She nodded and then the strangest thing happened. My Little Girl stood on the tips of her toes and kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered as if I was her favourite uncle delivering to her the Christmas present she had always wanted.

I smiled and nodded, “We will do it again, don’t worry Little Girl.”

My words were clear and unambiguous but my tone was gentle, as I attempted to radiate warmth through my expression.

“It will be here in a few minutes,” she replied reaffirming that she was refusing my offer of a lift to the station and instead would take the taxi which she had earlier ordered.

“I couldn’t small talk with you anyway,” she added with a further smile, accompanied by - was that almost a giggle? I noticed that as she slipped her small back pack onto her shoulder she winced. It was the only outward indication that she was hurting.

******

“Fuck,” was my only word as I returned to the hotel room some Forty-Five minutes later, following my hearty breakfast and with fruit and juice in hand for my Little Girl. But moving to her front I could see that her eyes had rolled upwards into her head and long strands of saliva hung in thick globules from the ball gag, flowing down onto her breasts to drip from her nipples and congeal in thick pools of spit.

If there was such a thing as torture-by-orgasm, this was it.

Her pussy was literally drenched and I couldn’t tell whether the wet stain on the wood floor just in front of the stone covered towel upon which she still knelt, was orgasm juices or piss, or both.

I laughed and moved to untie the rope from her ankles and then free the wrist rope from the oak beam. With her ties unfastened she fell sideways into a heap on the floor, her hips convulsing and her body squirming to the still constant hum of the vibrator inside her cunt.

“Oh, my poor Little Girl, did you orgasm?” I laughed out loud, whilst carefully reaching inside her slit, between the needles, to pull out the vibrator having first stopped its menace via the remote.

As I removed the gag she puked a load of thick spit out by the side of her head as she coughed and spluttered.

“So ... did you?” I grinned, wiping my juice covered fingers on her hip.

“F ... fuck y ... you,” she whispered. It was all the answer I needed.

Obeying my command to lie still, I removed the needles from her punctured and pierced labia very carefully given their curvature and gently pulled the small pieces of stone and grit embedded into the flesh and bone of her knees. Wiping her labial puncture marks with antiseptic cream I knelt back on my haunches to admire the beauty before me.

She lay unmoving, her nubile body once again used beyond the bounds of her current known levels of endurance ... levels that would be tested even further next time we met.

It took another two hours for her to eat and drink something, and have me wash her down with a self-drying antiseptic wash, before we were ready to check-out just before the time deadline.

And so, it was with her wounds redressed where necessary and her body, in certain parts, now black and blue with bruising, that my Little Girl had dressed herself gingerly in the clothes she had arrived in, and, once I had completed the auto check-out, she joined me outside the hotel to await her cab.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, not for the first time. She laughed with a somewhat sardonic overtone.

“Okay? No, like fuck am I okay. I hurt all over, and what you did to my pussy this morning is still burning like hell. And so no, I’m not okay. But I am elated. I loved it and yes I do want more ... can we see each other again?”

This was almost too much to believe. Could we see each other again, yes, yes, yes of course we could! However, in order not to over

demonstrate my enthusiasm I simply nodded and replied, “Sure, of course we can.”

Her cab arrived. Despite the careful mobility of her somewhat stiff movement, you could not tell that the pretty student getting into the car had suffered the brutal tortures that my Little Girl had endured over the past 24 hours. I knew that deceiving her boyfriend and parents over Christmas and the New Year, however, would not be so easy.

“Will you message me ... please,” she asked with raised eyebrows.

“Yes.” Was my monosyllabic reply. And with that her cab moved off, taking my Little Girl away from me ... for now.

Part 12 – The Girl

The train. Slow. Always too hot or too cold. Outside the moors are their same sullen grey. Damp and grey.

I'm going home.

I'm glad I brought my pully and my top. I'm cold. Shivery. I'm sore. Sore as hell.

Happy as hell.

He said he'd message me.

I love what we did. How he hurt me. How he left me hanging. Drooling. That fucking thing in my cunt.

Over the moors.

Then to my room for my things. Then to London.

Always thinking.

No-one else knows that I'm a fucked-up mess. Cuts and bruises hidden. Sore as hell.

Then to Victoria and the last leg. Almost home. For Christmas. The day before Christmas Eve.

Wake up. Hear the seagulls.

Shower. Change the dressing on the bad cut on my nipple. Then decide it isn't so bad now so just put on the cream.

Ma shouting from downstairs.

Steam in the shower.

Sis banging around.

Looking forward to the day. Sis can dye my hair. Brilliant blue. Makes me happy.

She can see the bruise on my neck. Love mark. That's what she thinks. It sort of is ... I suppose.

Shopping. Nice things. Christmas Eve.

We celebrate then. Dinner at home with friends. Pa, Ma, sis, bro. The Smiths. The Haynes.

I look fantastic!

Blue hair. Black lipstick. Black eyeshadow. Blue and black zebra leggings with a sweet silvery-grey gauze skirt over them. Black t-shirt.

Black leather jacket with lovely silver studs. A silver chain round my neck. Happy. Very happy.

The usual chat.

Brexit. Cummings. Pa doesn't like him but draws vicarious pleasure seeing an alumnus of his college in control of the country. Faculty politics. Literature. Talking about the books that didn't win the Booker. Daisy Johnson is going to be the new thing. Eimar McBride's next one will mark a slow descent from her brilliant debut - masochistic confessional. Academics. From the Uni up the hill. That's their lair.

Bro talks about his new job.

Sis about prep for A levels. Hoping for an offer from Oxford.

Wine and warmth and all the time I'm feeling my body and its sweet little hurts and dreaming of hurting some more.

Christmas Morning.

Sis comes into my room without knocking. I've got a wooden spoon in my hand.

My legs are splayed.

My thighs are marked,

Marked by my torturer.

And now my cunt is red.

She smiles.

Of course she knows. Sort of.

I smile.

'Do you like doing that, sis?'

I tell her I do. Does she want to try?

Walk on the beach.

Pub and beers. She looks at me. I know she wants to ask more. I feel

so pretty today.

Christmas night.

Games.

Longing to go to bed.

Where I can hurt myself a bit.

Only sis has guessed. Only guessed a bit. She hasn't really guessed. Turkey sandwiches and pickles.

I want to hurt my tits.

I want to feel a rope around my wrists.

Tomorrow's a walk on the Downs.

In the rain. Then beers with mates.

I want to find some me time. To get my knotted rope out from my bag.

Sis doesn't speak about it again.

She's back to her books. Mocks in a few weeks.

And I'm already thinking about heading up to N-Town and seeing the BF for NY... and I'm a bit scared about that... I hope he likes what he sees.

I think I look so beautifully sexy.

I love my look.

I love my sweetly marked up body. I'm such a lucky little fucker.

Back up to Victoria, then the tube, then the train.

I like long train journeys. Snuggled into my seat. The sodden English Midlands passing by .

I text him.

Hope you had a nice Christmas.

I miss you hurting me.

Tell me what you're going to do to me next time...

I'm aching below.

I go to the toilet and rub myself silly and tweak hard on my nipple. I hope it's sound-proof.

N-Town.

Castle on the hill.

BF's first uni.

We're staying in a shared house with some of his old student friends.

Meeting up first at a curry place near the Lace Market. Rain.

I'm scared.

He'll hate me when he finds out.

Lagers.

His mates. They've stayed in N-Town. Doing Masters or whatever.

Two guys. Nice.

Three girls. Nice. One isn't a GF.

Red hair. Northumbrian accent I think. Pretty as a sweet thing.

Part 13 – The Guy

“Coffee would be just the best thing, thank you love.” I collapsed into my chair as the youngest of our two children had just left to head back home with her partner and their wonderful but chaotic dog, after spending Christmas with my wife and I at the family home.

Number 1 child had left earlier with her husband and our brood of delightful grandchildren, and now ... peace at last!

“Well I think that went well,” my wife said with a very self-satisfied smile. And well she might given the splendid display she had put on for Christmas Dinner and at every possible festive feeding time since.

“When are you back in theatre dad?” One of the girls, I forget which one, had asked enquiring about the time I had off.

“Dad ...” she had had to say again in order to get my attention.

“Where were you?” she grinned at me as my focus came back onto the present.

“Sorry love just tired ...” was my reply, but it wasn’t that at all. I was preoccupied, I had been all Christmas, especially on the Eve, when we attended the local church crib service with all of the family, and there in front of the pews where we sat listening to the nativity, was the crucifix.

I like to think of myself as a good man, a little religious if I’m honest, and these thoughts were so blasphemous ... but they were there in my head and the image of Christ on the cross, blood seeping down his arms from his broken wrists, was replaced by my Little Girl, naked, bleeding, crucified.

Damn, I had never had an erection at the Christmas Eve service before, and I didn’t want one now. But what I wanted didn’t seem to matter!

And I was still distracted by thoughts of her, my sweet little pain slut, desperate for her fix, when my daughter asked her question.

“Just tired love,” I repeated, “... sorry and the answer about my work is not until after the New Year, so I have a nice rest.”

“Well you deserve it daddy of mine, given how hard you work. Mum said you were speaking at a conference at some hotel right up until the Saturday before Christmas ... sometimes I think you do too much dad. So, relax ... let me fetch you another beer.”

If only they knew how flawed I was.

I didn’t deserve their gratitude ...

Not given what I had done and was planning on doing again.

But now the house and our lives were quiet, and they stayed that way through boxing day and in the lead up to the New Year. Just peaceful drinks with friends and surgical colleagues, mince pies with the neighbours, and TV bingeing with the wife – perfect ... almost. All except for one thing.

“Are you okay in there love?” The wife had shouted into the en-suite just as I was about to cum.

The image of my Little Girl with her back cut open, bleeding, ready to be whipped ... her breasts skewered with wood, and her labia punctured with steel ...

“Ohhhhh yesssssss!” I had groaned as my back arched and I shot my load into the toilet basin.

“Just coming ...” I shouted back ... eventually, and with (genuinely) no pun intended.

New Year’s Eve was tomorrow and we had a dinner at the local golf club. A black tie do, with five courses, pipers, fireworks ... everything ...

Everything ... but not her ... she wouldn’t fit in with my real life, but I missed her anyway ... more than that, I wanted her.

“Is that your phone love?” My wife reacted to the buzz. It was ... it was her, my Little Girl, so I reached out and picked up the handset as soon as I could.

I read her message, devouring every word.

“Hope you had a nice Christmas. I miss you hurting me. Tell me what you're going to do to me next time...”

Holy shit. Just those three short sentences brought it all back to me ... her lovely face, firm body, rounded breasts, even the chaste kiss on the cheek when she left to head back to the station and how broken she was ... oh damn!

I moved into my office, the one at home where I issued the paperwork for my private practice, the theatre work that made me the real money above and beyond the NHS. We all did it.

But right now, paperwork was not on my mind.

“I did thank you. I had a lovely Christmas, I hope you did too and that the family didn’t uncover your ‘marks’ – oh and the BF, how did that go? Have you seen him yet? I missed you though ... fuck, how I missed you. Once NY is done then we will arrange our next meeting. When are you back North?”

I pressed SEND, deliberately avoiding the answer to her question about next time. Once the message had gone, I began to type a second one.

“Next time I will hurt you even more Little Girl. Next time you will feel nails in your body, pain in your genitals and metal scourge tips eating your flesh. You won’t be able to breathe and I will only torment you more to heighten your desperation. I will cut your body while it hangs on the cross and take you closer to the edge of death than you ever thought possible ...”

She wouldn’t die, of course, I needed her too much for that. But sowing that seed would fuel her imagination, of that I had no doubt.

And then for a second time I pressed SEND.

Part 14 – The Girl

More beers and I’m knackered and I want to go to bed with him. BF

We're laughing.

She's looking at me. Curious like.

I want to go to fuckin bed. Don't they know I've been on the fucking train all day?

I want to fuck him

It's raining still.

The place is a real mess. At least we've got a room. With a single bed.

Dark.

Fumbling drunken fuck. Sleep.

And it's NYE! Lazy sun through the half broken blind. He's up.

I can smell coffee.

I look at my phone.

I'm wasted.

Message. Him

Fuck.

Switch it off.

BF says mornin' Then stares.

What the fuck? He asks I say what?

I know what. Of course. You're a fucking mess! Yeah. So?

What the fuck have you been doing?

Yeah. Just what we do... You know. I like it.

But look the fuck at you! Who the fuck are you? I thought you were my girl?

Yeah. I am. Give me some coffee. I'm fucked.

You can say that.

What the fuck?

He holds me and traces the marks on my tits and belly and cunt. And your back too? He asks.

I nod.

Fuck

He's very quiet. I can hear him thinking. He's going to ditch me, for sure.

I deserve it.

He gets up and goes downstairs. Breakfast in 20, he shouts. Maybe he's ok.

I know he isn't.

I'm fucked. On NYE.

It's all sorted. All of us. Lunch in the park by the uni. Bottle of fizz. Then the pub. Party time. Then the town square. Is it a city square? How the fuck should I know.

So.

This could be a shit shit shit day. Bacon and eggs and brown sauce.

The redhead slopes in late. Lazy long t-shirt. Messy hair. She looks at me and strokes my head.

Nice hairdo, she says.

Bit hung-over babe?

Like us all, eh?

Day of rest, eh?

Then party party party!

Orange?

She leans over me with the glass. Her tits hang over my face. She's really cute.

He looks at me between glancing at the Graun on his Samsung.

OK, he says. Everyone ready by 12, then it's the park. Not raining. OK you? He says to me. Tradition. We do it every year. Fizz in the park.

OK I say.

I think I've fucked it with him. Fuck.

Part 15 – The Guy

“I think next year is the year of more private work for me,” My fellow surgeon, James Benton droned in his alcohol infused tones. “Harley Street is the place where the money, AND the interesting work is. I intend to treble my monthly clinic there ...”

He stopped speaking and looked across at me and the others in our party.

“Dear?” My wife used the term of endearment as a question.

“Huh?” I replied, my mind elsewhere.

“Wine dear, the girl is here with the wine.”

I nod “Yes please,” Then I glance up at the pretty young thing looking down at me with the wine bottle ready to pour.

I wonder about her. She is around the same age as my Little Girl, and has that provocative look about her that says ‘I want something and maybe, just maybe you might have it.’

Or is that all inside my head? As she leans in the opening down the front of her too-tight white blouse is opened and her firm cleavage stares at me. She knows that I am looking and if anything, she leans forward even more.

Her breasts are separated under the white cotton, trapped inside a white lace bra, the edges of which are visible. I imagine my cock, hard and leaking sliding back and forth as she lays, this pretty young thing, and naked under me pushing the flesh of her chest together so that I can fuck her there.

“Is that enough Sir?” She asks, shaking me from my reverie, her question filled with innuendo, or is that also just inside my head?

“Oh, erm, yes thank you ...” I reply and as she smiles, nods and stands up straight, I stare at her breasts to see if there is any sign of an erect nipple pushing through the cotton. As she walks away I watch her ass, and then glance up at the outline of her bra from the rear view of her tight blouse ... and I imagine her back ripped to pieces by the scourge as she hangs, unconscious in my chains ...

Does she want something? Does she want what I have?

I feel guilty. Guilty for thinking these thoughts. Not because I actually thought them, but because I had them about someone other than my Little Girl. She was my Pain Slut, MY Pain Slut. I would not want anyone else doing to her what I did, except maybe her BF and his light bondage offering, and so I should accept that I couldn’t do it to anyone else.

We were a partnership, my Little Girl and I, weren’t we? I wanted her so badly.

Fuck, no ... I needed her.

“Bathroom,” I smiled at the wife as I stood from the table at the NYE Golf Club Dinner.

She smiled back, unsuspecting of the chaos that was flowing unabated around my head.

I only needed to pee but I chose a cubicle so that I could lock the door and check my phone.

Nothing. No message, No reply.

Had my text scared her ... even her? The girl who enjoyed being hurt, who begged for it? Was she terrified now? Had I gone too far with my narrative of what would happen next?

Fuck!

I began to type. “Hope you’re okay Little One, it would be good to hear from you, if only to know when you’re next available ...”

I stared down at the words. Sending this message would seem too desperate, too needy ... and I was not the needy one, she was. I was her torturer, she was my Little Girl. I held the power not her. Right?

I deleted the message, and slipped my phone back inside my pocket. It was New Year’s Eve, she was out getting pissed, she would reply tomorrow, I was sure of that. Wouldn’t she?

“Okay love?” The wife asked turning to smile at me, as I retook my seat.

I nodded as the pretty little waitress thing walked by and smiled at me. Was it a smile? Was it at me? Or was that all inside my head.

Soon it would be the New Year and I already knew that my Little Girl featured in all of my New Year’s resolutions.

Part 16 – The Girl

Steamed up old shower room just like mine. Mouldy edges and a messed up mirror.

Feeling the water on me. Lovely hot.

Feeling my fingers over me. Over my tits and cunt. Over my cuts. Lovely hot.

Washing out the dye.

Washing away the fucking year.

Scratchy towel. Nice.

I'm pretty in the mirror. Little bits of blue in my black hair. Sweet sexy me.

Thinking of that message.

Get ready.

Lie on the bed. Later.

Pick up the razor blade I found in the bathroom.

Feeling its lovely sharpness, running it over my breast. Press just a little. Press. Just a little.

Sweet little stream of blood. Fuck!

It's just me, she says. Alright if