Lauras lesbian awakening
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Laura's Torture
I was always excited by ideas of torture and pain. When I was a teenagerI made myself cum by thinking about prisoners subjected to agonizing torturesin dungeons. I read about Saint Sebastian who was tortured by having arrowsfired into his body without killing him. That made me hot, but most of thevictims in my masochistic dreams were female.
Once when I was alone in our house I decided to find out what torture reallyfelt like. I looked in the kitchen drawer for tools that I could use. I tooka pair of metal salad tongs with pointed teeth. Then I went to the garage whereDad kept his tools. He was a keen carpenter, and there was a wood lathe nextto his workbench. I knew that he used a curved instrument a bit like tongsfor measuring the wood that he worked on his lathe, and found several pairsof these hanging on the wall above the workbench. I took a small one, and thoughtabout how they would feel if I closed them on my skin. Should I try these twotools, or find more. A schoolfriend had told me stories about torture withclothespins. She had read about it in a book belonging to her brother, andsaid that the girl in the book had screamed when her boyfriend had put thepins on her breasts. I found a box full of clothespins in Mum's laundry basketand took two of them. Then I ran to my room and locked the door. I put thetools on a chair next to my bed, then took all my clothes off and lay on thebed. I was breathing heavily, and wanted to masturbate just thinking abouthow the tools would feel. But I had to find out first.
I picked up one of the clothespins and opened it, then clamped it on theball of my thumb. It hurt a bit, but not badly. This didn't seem like realtorture. Then I put it on the side of my left breast, just inside my nippleand areola (I have large areolas). That hurt a bit more, and I rubbed my clitwith excitement. I could still take that pain quite easily, so I left the pinhanging on my breast. I tried to put the second pin on my left nipple, righton the tip, but that hurt so much that I yelped and took it off again. I triedputting it on a bit further back, pinching the nipple together with part ofthe areola. I could just about manage that. My left breast felt on fire. Istarted to masturbate again, and this time I couldn't stop and rubbed untilI came. My pussy was sopping wet. As soon as I came the pins seemed to hurtmore, and I took them off. That wasn't comfortable! I hadn't even tried thetongs and my father's tool, so I put them back where I had got them. Therehad to be a next time, and I could hardly wait.
A few days later I was alone at home again. This time I picked up the tongsand Dad's tool and took them to my room. I tried the tongs on different partsof my body. They left little indentations, like toothmarks, bright pink. Themost exciting place was on the inside of my thighs, just below my pussy. Soonthere were rows of pink marks down my thighs. The tool from the lathe I puton my right breast, the soft fleshy part. I pressed the two sides togetheras long as I could bear the pain, then left the tool hanging. When I took itoff there were two deep pits where the metal ends had pressed into me. I mademyself cum, and it was even better than before.
Those were the first of many sessions with tools, instruments, anything thatI could get hold of and that I thought would do as an instrument of torture.I even pressed a thumbtack into my arm, making it bleed.
This was exciting stuff, but I knew that what was missing was the torturer.I could not really be cruel to myself, and needed a second person, or maybemore, to add that element of fear to the pain that I thought might give mean orgasm unlike any I had had before.
My chance came when I was twenty three years old. I had a job, and livedin a small apartment near the city centre. I knew about bdsm and bondage sexfrom the internet, and had looked at many websites, some with personal messagesfrom dommes and from submissives like myself. I took the plunge, and addedmy name to a personal site for mistresses, masters and slaves, giving a falsename, Laura. I said that I was a pain slut, young and good-looking, with aslim body, fairly large breasts, and shoulder-length straight brownish-blondehair.
Plenty of answers came in. Some of them I rejected straight away, eitherbecause they sounded dangerous or mad, or because the writers lived far away.But one of them was possible, and I kept looking at it, wondering if I hadthe courage to reply. After two weeks of agonising indecision I took the plunge.The writer, whoever he (or she?) was, told me about a torture club in my citywhere victims could discuss their fantasies and then take part in sessionsheld in the club's dungeon. I replied by email that I was interested, and gota reply the next day. I was told to come to an address about half a mile frommy apartment, at 8 pm the next day.
That day I was in a feverish excitement. I showered and put on a pair ofjeans and a T-shirt that showed off my figure. I kept looking at my watch,but time seemed to go twice as slow as usual. At eight I was at the address.It was nearly dark. I pressed the bell. A woman in her thirties, good-lookingand smartly dressed, opened the door, smiled, and ushered me into a small office.She sat down in an armchair, and asked me to sit on a second one. She toldme that it was her job to find out about by fantasies before planning a painsession. She told me that the club was like a clinic that helped clients expresstheir deepest desires. When I asked if I would have to pay for this "treatment",she explained that it was free for the victims, and paid for by the mastersand mistresses. I spent the next half hour telling her (her name was Jane)all the ideas that made me hot and the various things I had tried on myself.She said that I seemed to be turned on by instruments that pinched and bit,but was particularly interested in my telling her about Saint Sebastian. Shewrote notes about that in a book on her desk, explaining that one of the sadisticclients had asked her if she could come up with a victim who would accept beingpierced with small darts. That was a frightening idea for me, but one thatI couldn't stop thinking about. When Jane had finished questioning me, shesaid that she would now discuss the interview with some other people. WoundI wait for perhaps 15 minutes, and would I be willing to have a session thatevening? I said yes to both, though by this time I was really nervous, tremblingslightly and with a dry mouth.
When Jane came back to the office, she was with another woman. Jane introducedher as Martha, and told me that if I was willing, Martha would like to havea session with me that evening. She then left Martha a me alone to work thingsout, explaining that everything done in the club was consensual.
Martha asked me if I would take bondage from her, and torture with variouspinching instruments. I said that I would, and we agreed on a safe word. Marthaasked me how much pain I was willing to take. I told her that I wanted to beher victim and let Martha decide. I said that I thought I could take a lot.The Martha asked me how I felt about being bitten, as I seemed to like pinchingtools. I said that I had never been bitten, but that I was willing to try.Were there any areas that were out of bounds? I explained that I didn't wantbruises or marks where they would show when I went to work the next day, butanywhere else was OK. Lastly she asked me about the idea of darts. Obviouslyshe was the lady that Jane had talked about. I said that I would have to thinkabout that and asked if we could leave that for the moment. Martha seemed satisfiedwith my answers, and told me to follow her.
We walked down a short corridor to a heavy wooden door covered in baize.She opened the door with a key and led me into a dark room in which I couldjust make out a kind of couch or bench, a chair, a wooden cross with straps,and a table with various implements, tools, whips, canes and clamps. I hadthe impression that there were some people at the other end of the room, perhapsan audience of some kind, but it was too dark to be sure. "Take off allyour clothes and put them on the chair", Martha said quietly. Feelingeven more nervous than before, I managed to undress and stood before Marthanaked. "This first session is to see how much pain you can stand" Marthasaid. She took my arms and tied a soft rope around each wrist. The she tiedthe ropes to a beam above my head. I hadn't noticed that before. I stood beforeher, helpless and vulnerable, with my breasts stretched upwards.
"I'm going to start with the pincers", Martha said softly, butwith a cruel tone in her voice. She was obviously as excited as I was. "Howpainful they are will depend on where I use them, and how hard I squeeze. Thatwill give me some idea of your pain threshold." She picked up a pair oftongs, made of steel and about eighteen inches long. Each jaw had three sharp-lookingteeth. She came nearer until she was near enough to use the tongs on me. Sheseemed to hesitate before deciding what part of me should suffer. "I thinkI will start with your thighs". She said, with a gleam in her eye. Sheheld the open tongs to the front of my left thigh and gradually closed themon my skin, pinching a fold of skin and muscle. As I felt the teeth close,I thought that I would show my torturer that I was a tough victim and not afraidof a little pain. She squeezed a little more, and the pain began. I could seethe teeth indent the flesh of my thigh and gradually the pain became intense.I knew that any moment now, if she squeezed harder, I would have to scream.I started to moan, and Martha released the pressure. The relief was great.My injured thigh tingled and hurt, but I could stand that. There was a pausewhile Martha looked at my body. "The second time will be harder" shesaid. "That was pain, but not really very much. Not enough to satisfyme". She put the tongs on my other thigh, a little further up than beforeand a little to the inside. I knew that from my experiments as a tender placewhere clothespins and other implements could hurt quite badly. She close thetongs more quickly this time. The teeth bit deep and I could not stop myselffrom crying out. "That really hurts!", I sobbed. "I know",said Martha as she withdrew the tongs. "But I am going to hurt you muchmore than that".
(to be continued)
Valentina
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