<!--ADULTSONLY-->
<meta http-equiv="pics-label" content='(pics-1.1 "http://www.icra.org/ratingsv02.html" l gen true for "http://asstr.org" r (cz 1 la 1 lb 1 lc 1 na 1 nb 1 nc 1 nd 1 ne 1 nf 1 ng 1 nh 1 ni 1 oa 1 ob 1 oc 1 of 1 og 1 oh 1 va 1 vb 1 vc 1 vd 1 ve 1 vf 1 vg 1 vh 1 vi 1 vj 1 vk 1) "http://www.rsac.org/ratingsv01.html" l gen true for "http://asstr.org" r (n 4 s 4 v 4 l 4))' />
<SCRIPT LANGUAGE=JavaScript SRC=/scripts/common.js></script>
<SCRIPT LANGUAGE=JavaScript SRC=/scripts/scroller2.js></script>
<SCRIPT Language="Javascript">
<!--
runScroller();
//-->
</SCRIPT>
<pre>
 From: sd@links.magenta.com (Steven S. Davis)
 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.bondage,alt.sadistic
 Subject: STORY "Images 21" (NC, extreme cruelty, Long)
 Date: 8 Oct 1998 01:07:29 GMT
 Message-ID: &lt;6vh38h$a17$3@links.magenta.com&gt;
 Keywords: NC nonconsent torture long



My "Images" (a term I stole from Suki) are short ideas, images,
and sketches.   They are generally cruel and nonconsensual and 
of interest only to sickphuxs, so please read no further if such 
doesn't appeal to you.

The Images are impurely the products of a warped imagination, and
should not be seen as a reflection of the scene, nor should they be 
imitated by anyone not interested in a protracted term as the ward 
of the state.

Steven S. Davis

---------------------------------------------------------
Party


You are required to strip, blindfolded, and forced into your cage, 
which is then locked shut.  After some time, the cage is carried 
outside and placed on the car and secured in the cargo carrier.
A tarp is then secured atop the cage so the cargo is concealed
from passing vehicles, and the car drives off.  After a long
drive, the car pulls off the road and stop, and the tarp is removed,
and then, to your horror, the car begins to drive again, with
its cargo now apparent to any onlookers.  As it drives slowly
along, you hear voices, and the car slows to a stop as I exchange
greetings and banter with a number of men and women, who of course
comment upon my cargo and some of whom ask to try it out, which
I assent to, and you feel riding crops striking your bare, exposed
buttocks, then fingers stroking the path of the strike.  After
some more banter, including comments about see more of you tonight, 
the group rides off (it was, off course, purely accidental that
our paths instersected, if something so carefully scheduled can
be accidental &lt;g&gt;), and we continue on to the house, which I park
the car in front of and go inside.  I don't come out for a very
long time, leaving you naked in your cage atop the car, as various
other people drive up and enter the house, or leave it, a steady
flow of talkative men and women passing by you, some commenting
upon you, most not, and occasionally a hand reaching up to pat
or pinch your ass, sometimes with a crude comment about tonight's
entertainment, sometimes with a friendly voice telling you things
like "It will be OK, dear, don't be afraid - well, not *too* afraid !"

None of which makes you feel much better (you might feel better
if you knew I was watching from just inside the house the whole
time)

Eventually you are brought inside, and the cage laid in a quiet
room for a while.  Then it's opened, and you are brought out, 
too stiff to offer any resistance as you are bound, then bathed,
then tied down to a board and given several warm enemas.  Then
you are untied, and dressed in very high heels and hose and
some sheer lingerie that accents rather than conceals, and
your hands are tied behind you before you are laid on your stomach 
on a board and ropes tied around your arms and abdomen holding you 
to the board, then your and your ankles bound together and
your feet raised and another rope paced around them, the other
end of which is used to cinch your elbows and then holds you in
a sort of hogtie, your highly polished patent leather high heels
raised above your ass and reflecting it nicely.  Then an apple shaped 
gag is thrust in you mouth and secured in place before the blindfold 
is removed and your face is washed and your eyes made-up and your
hair combed and some flowers places on and around you before you 
are carried down a long hall leading into a dining room with a very 
long table on which there are settings for many people, and you are 
placed on the table as one of the centerpieces, and shortly thereafter
the guests, many formally dressed men and women accompanied by a
certain number of men and women in fetishwear (most of whom kneel
or sit by the feet of the others) and a multicourse dinner is served,
with much conversation, little of it about (and none of it directed to)
the centerpieces, though there are some compliments for how well-set is 
the table, and some comments about the fun and games to come after
dinner, comments that leave you with no doubt that the use of the
centerpieces will be more than decorative, and some comments which
scare you enough to cause you to involuntarily test your bonds,
though you know it to be futile, that you could never get free, 
a squirmimg of your hands and feet that bring chuckles from the
people near you who obviously enjoy both your fear and your
helplessness.


At last dinner ends, and all the guests retire to a drawing
room for drinks of their choice.  The centerpieces are carried
into the room as well and placed on display pedestals while
various appraising comments are made.  All the comments are
favorable, as all the displays were carefully prepared (and
as all the guests are courteous and caring people who would
not strike such a blow to a vulnerable submissive, even if they
didn't know or care what wrath they would face from the host
and the rest of the guests were they to do so).

Now it's time for the entertainment to begin.  Tonight is a
musicale, and you'll be the first soloist, with accompaniment
on the keyboards.

By this time your tight bondage has become extremely painful,
and you are most relieved when the attendents begin to remove
it.  Until you discover how much the removal of tight bondage
hurts.  After feeling has fully been restored, it's time to
start.


You are stripped naked and placed in a standing spreadeagle
before the seats where the audience will be seated (the guests 
are still socializing).  The cuffs placed around your wrists 
and ankles are fastened to chains that keep you in position, 
but which have a lot of slack.  A harness is placed around
your chest and shoulders and secured above you ("for if
- or rather when - you pass out", one of the attendents
whispers to you).  A new pair of high heels are brought,
and shown to you.  The insides are full of needles.  Not
so sharp as to break the skin, but sure to be very painful.
The shoes are then placed on your feet, and locked in place,
and each foot pressed down hard on a plate in the floor
while a wire is attached to a spot on the inside of each heel.

When they release your ankles, the pain in your feet is enough 
to cause you to lift one foot as far as the chain allows, then 
the other, then to lift both and hang by your wrists (or more
accurately by your chains, which you grasp with your hands).
While you are doing this, the attendents note some reactions
on their equipment (and some of the guests take note of your 
amusing reactions).

Now electrodes are placed on various spots, your hands,
the insteps of your feet, your thighs, labia, clit,
each ass check, on either flank, and on your nipples.
Each is preceded by a conductive ointment to minimize
burns, and then taped firmly in place.  Before the
electrodes are place on your nipples, a female attendent
shows you how the clamps have hard rubber on the back
and the one side, and how the silver tips within are
pressing in on either side of your nipples.  "The
current is going to shoot across your nipples, not
into your breasts or through your chest.  It's going
to hurt terribly, but it won't kill you.  I've been
where you're standing now, and you aren't going to
die.  There may be times when you'll wish you could,
but you won't.  If anyone has a heart attack from
this performance, it will be some of the older male 
guests watching you, not you.  You'll be fine, and
you'll be lovely".

You would thank her, but the applegag is still in
your mouth, until another removes it, sticks
a pair of pliers in your mouth, and makes you 
stick your tongue out while another screws two
pieces of wood tight down upon it, so you can't
withdraw it, and then clamps an electrode onto it
(this wire leads to a dead connection so no 
electricty will hit your tongue, but you don't
know this).

Finally a belt is placed around your waist, and 
from it another belt dangles; in this belt are placed
well lubricated (and well covered in conductive cream)
plugs, which are inserted in your anus and vagina
before the belt is cinched and buckled to hold them 
in place.


Now all the attendents step away from you, and at
the flick of a switch your feet are in agony and
you start kicking madly and twisting in your chains,
only briefing suppressing the scream that rises
in your throat.  "You have to put your feet down,
dear.  The pins in the shoes hurt like hell, but
unless both feet are on these plates the pins shoot
electricity into you and that hurts even more.
Put your feet down, I know it's hard but you've got
to put them down".  And when, with a great effort,
you force yourself to put your feet down, the pain
subsides, though the pins still hurt terribly and
you wonder how longer you can stand to stand like
this.

A point that you continue to ponder, with increasing
urgency, as you stand and stand and stand and the
guests continue to casually chat, and you wonder 
if the next phase will ever begin (and looking at
some of the other centerpieces still tied in place,
like the man trying so hard to hold his head up
because each time it dips the wire from his headharness
(with the shoegag in his mouth) pulls ever tighter
the vise so cruelly compressing his testicles (made
all the worse by the ratchet design that only allows 
the vise to tighten, not loosen (though from time to
time his owner reverses it a notch or two, usually after
he's tightened it three or four notches)) but it's been 
so long and he's so tired he can barely hold his head up
(which will never be a cliche for him again) - and he's 
scheduled for last, as his owner has happily whispered 
in his ear - and he's not sure how he can possibly get 
through this evening).

Finally, they begin to drift to their seats, and
after along while the audience is assembled,
and one of the guests takes her place at the
keyboard, and starts to touch the keys, beginning
with those keys so familiar to fans of ultraviolence,
the ones from Beethoven's fifth.

And which each keystroke you jerk as the current hits
you, and you forgetfully lift a foot causing it to catch
fire again until you can plant it firmly.  An effort
made harder because each time you try, the woman at
the keyboard touches the key which makes your
thigh scream and spasm, to the laughter of the
audience.

When you settle down, she fiddles with some knobs,
then starts to play a slow tune, one that you don't 
know.  It's not a particularly fine piece of music 
(though at the moment your musical appreciation may 
not be at its most acute) despite being commissioned 
for a goodly price.  But the way you're dancing in 
your chains, as one part and then another receives 
a shock (your thighs aren't screaming as much
now, the juice seems to have been reduced, but it
still hurts a lot, and the constant shocks are
quickly reducing you to tears and shrieks that
find their way past your clamped tongue, leading
to applause for your vocal performance), no one
will be asking for a refund.

Finally, eternity ends, and as your brain begins to
realize that you're not being shocked anymore, you
dimly perceive the accompanist standing and bowing
as the audience wildly applauds your performance,
and calls out "Bravo... Bravo...Encore...Encore".
And she sits down, and touches two keys, zapping each
nipple to watch you jump and see that you're awake,
and says, "Masters and Mistresses, and adored slaves
and honored submissives, for her encore, this lovely
slave will be doing the Minute Waltz", and she turns
a knob and begins to play.

And you begin madly gyrating and shrieking, but for less
than a minute; well, your shrieks stop as you hang
unconscious in the shoulder harness, your arms raised
but not supporting your body weight.  Your body continues
to twitch till the number is done, and the audience
applauds.



You awaken much later, lightly restrained, padded
wrist cuffs locked together in front of you, wrapped
naked in a comfortable bearskin and propped up amidst
scores of pillows, and as it's observed that you are
awake, guests stop by to congratulate and compliment
you while offering you water or juice and asking you
if you need anything else.  After letting you bask
in the well-earned adulation for a while, I pick
up the bearskin with you within it, and carry you
to a room where we'll spend the night while I cuddle
and comfort you.

----------------------------------------------------
Entanglements


The woman is on her knees, naked (and barefoot) except for the
spreaderbar on her ankles.  She's upright, so most of her body's
weight rests on her knees.  The sharp wire around her neck, securely
fastened to the sharp, two-sided stake in the ground between her
legs, plus the sharp metal points againt her belly, flanks, 
and spine, give her little option but to hold this position 
- well, there are other options, but none that she wants.  
Her knees rest on a piece of wood worked into the ground, 
the upper edge filed small enough to narrowly focus her 
weight, but not sharp enough to cut the skin of her agonized knees.
The feathers dangling just above each bare, and very ticklish,
foot, move gently in the occasional small breezes, but they no
longer make hir squirm uncontrollably and cause the wood
to push deeper into her knees or the wire to scrape her 
now raw neck nor the sharp points to poke her, or the
precious cargo in her hands to rock precariously.

Her arms are outstretched to her sides, and each upturned palm
is holding a rock.  A few inches below each hand is a pole 
supporting a long and lighted candle.  Neither the weight of 
the rock nor the heat of the candle was oppressive when she was
first placed in this position, but both have become so, and so 
her aching arms tremble while her burning hands desperately want
to escape the heat and her knees scream for her to stand, though
in this heat she's not sure she could.  It's all she can do just
to hold the rocks up.  Not that she wouldn't love to get her
rocks off (her hands) and move her hands away from the heat.
But each rock is attached to a large, precariously balanced
weight, sitting on a pedastal five feet high and attached,
in a vertical line, to four feet of sharp wire, the other
end of which taut around the testicles of a naked man
tightly spreadeagled between two high posts.  Being
suspended in a vertical spreadeagle, the sharp tight rope 
biting into their ankles and especially their wrists,
their arms and shoulder stretched agonizing, every taut
muscle aching, their bare skin burned by the sun, these
men would be even more in agony if their eyes weren't
focused on the hands of what has proven to be their mutual
girlfriend, aware as they are that if she either pulls
on or drops those rocks, that will dislodge the weights
attched to their testicles, and after those heavy weights
drop four feet the sharp wire will at best cut and cruelly
stretch their testicles, and will more likely castrate them.

She could get out of her predicament, and move aside or remove
the devices that force her to hold position or die, if she
just had a free hand.  But which hand should she move, thereby
castrating one of her lovers ?  But if she doesn't move one of
them before the last of her strength is gone - a condition
she expected long ago, unaware of her own reserves of strength,
which she now knows are nearly depleted - both boyfriends
will be ball-less.

Decisions, decisions.  She never could seem to make up
her mind, as the couple picnicking in the shade, reclining
against one another as they watch this pleasant tableau, 
each of whom is aware of her indecisive nature (after all, 
she hadn't even been able to say "yes" immediately when 
offered a chance to become their slave; a problem of 
too many entanglements, they'd decided) tell each other 
between cool drinks and kisses.

-----------------------------------------------------
Variations


I'm having fun with an image of you tied up nice and tight (you're 
on your knees, wearing just a garter belt, stockings, and high heels;
you're pressed up against a pedestal set to the height that
allows your breasts to rest on top of it; your ankles are
crossed and bound, your hands are bound behind you, and there's
a web of rope holding you tightly against the pedestal, which is
too heavy for you to move; the web of rope covers much of you,
but conspicuously leaves your ass bare for beatings).  Both
your breasts are inside a vise which has been slowly tightened
(the insides of the vise are lined with dull teeth), and
clamps that can be tightened with a screwdriver are on each nipple.
As you acclimate to the pain caused by the vise and the clamps,
they are tightened some more (never at the same time; I want
you to feel all this pain, I don't want the new pain in one place
to partly mask the new pain in another place).  There are also
clothespins all over your breasts, the tops of which I periodically
run my hands across, and the number of which I periodically
increase or decrease (again, never when I'm adjusting the clamps
or the vise) to alter your pain; sometimes, when an area of tit
has been cleared, and after the pain of restored circulation
felt, I'll use a crop on the open area).   Initially I let you 
see all this, later I blindfold you so you'll never know when I'm going
to alter your pain, which includes never knowing when the crop
will bite your breast or the cane kiss your asscheeks, or when the
paddle will make your welts scream even louder, nor when I'm going
to shift from stroking your hair to cruelly pulling and twisting it.  
You'll never know what pain you are going to experience, only that 
it will keep changing so you can never reconcile to it, and the general
movement of your overall pain level will keep going up, but in small
enough increments to assure that you feel it all.

And nothing you say or do will change my actions.  Your tears,
pleas, and screams will move me (or at least part of me &lt;g&gt;),
but since I can use your body anyway I want, anytime I want,
there's no reason for me to bargain with you or show you any mercy.
When I think you've suffered enough, I'll untie and use your
body.

But I think you know me well enough to be very afraid
when I say that the torture will continue until I think that
you have suffered enough &lt;vefg&gt;

______________________________________________________

I've always liked the idea of taking an elaborately coiffed,
elegantly dressed, and heavily made up (but tastefully so)
woman, binding her, and securing her inside a sealed car 
on a hot summer day (in such a away as to prevent opening 
the doors or windows), and watching her elegance melt.
A variation which might amuse:

******************************

"Glisten"

The woman was doing a good job of hiding her discomfort.
Not that her bondage was particularly painful; the leather
and nylon restraints had been chosen for her because
they were secure w/o being painful.  However, sitting at a
table in a strange place waiting for people she'd never seen
to explain why she had been abducted and what was going to
be her fate was distressing to her.  Her main comfort was her 
certainty that this was for all money, and the equal certainty 
that her family would pay any ransom.  Indeed, the only thing
she found distressing about the prospect of a ransom demand
was concern whether the ransom would be larger than any 
previously paid for anyone else in her circle.

She was perhaps a bit upset by the fact that her gated
community had proven so ineffectual.  A gated community,
armed guards, an expensive security system - and none of
it had kept her from ending up a prisoner.  And she was
more than a bit miffed about needing to miss the party
tonight.  A new gown and an new coiffure wasted, probably.
Tugging again on the restraints that held her silk-sheathed
ankles, it seemed unlikely she'd be going anywhere.

It wasn't such an unpleasant place to be a prisoner;
a nice ocean view, and a pleasant breeze which made the 
warm day bearable.  This direct sunlight made her evening 
makeup a bit gaudy, but she hadn't expected them to take
her while she tested a new combination.

Wiggling in her chair, she indulged a pique at her captors.
The twits presumed to act so imperiously with her, of all
people.  To imagine such common types refusing to answer 
her questions.  And the gall of carrying her around like
a sack of groceries.  And tying this plastic penis in
her mouth was just intolerable

Finally, she thought, seeing a man and a woman approach
her.  Now some answers.


If, that is, being carried to a post, stood against it,
and tightly bound to it answered any questions.  Even more
bizzare was affixing steel rods from the post to the concrete
floor on which she stood.  And whatever was that clear plastic
wrap and the hair driers for.  What kind of joke was this,
sealing her in this clear plastic pyramid.  The plastic wouldn't
hold her if she got loose, one stab with a stilleto heel would
puncture it.  Not that, with the ropes so tight around her, she'd
be likely to get a foot free, or that she could make much of a jab
cuffed and hobbled as she was.  But this plastic wasn't adding
to her restraint.

And it certainly wasn't hiding her.  It was so clear that at
a distance one might not know it was there.  The light passed
through quite easily.  Very easily indeed.  It was getting rather
warm.  Well, so fine, she was a lady and she'd glisten a bit.

Time passed.  Lady or not, she was perspiring.  So hot and still
in here, the sun came right through and the air didn't move at all.
She shook the post again, as best she could. Nothing loosened or
opened, and the exertion made her even hotter.  Her gown was
getting sticky, and for once she wished she wasn't in silk stockings.
Bits of hair were starting to hang down, and little lines appearing
in her makeup.  When the hell were they going to let her out of here.

OK, so, sometimes, gentlepeople do sweat, even those of the most 
feminine persuasion (hmmm, well, that would be her ex-husband's
new boyfriend, she thought, cattiness not requiring coolness).
And she was sweating.  Her shoes were filled; next kidnapping,
I'm wearing open toes, she thought, almost managing a smile,
until the movement of her mouth reminded her what was between
her lips.  Her stockings were soaked, her gown sticking to her
in ways the designer never intended.  Her carefully balanced
coif was so weighted with water it was about to collapse, and
her skin gleamed with sweat, except where her makeup puddled.
She'd felt mascara running, and knew she must look dreadful,
but she was so hot and so miserable she almost didn't care.

And then she saw the camera.

Oh, no, she, thought.  Not now.  They weren't going to take
the photo for her ransom demand now.  Oh, god, they are,
she thought, as they shot several photos of her now comic
visage, hair drooping and in makeup no clown would ever
wear, no matter how hilarious it looked.  And from how
they were acting, she knew she must look hilariously pathetic,
worse than nouveau riche in new suits and old homes.
However could she show her face again; she never live this down
(ignoring the issue of whether she was to live at all).


"Here comes the boat", one of them said, and the two of them
went away.  A bit later they returned, and the man opened one
of the panels, allowing a small bit of air into her still 
stifling stand while he cut the ropes holding her to the post.
And she slumped away from it, the couple caught her and held
her while she briefly enjoyed the glorious feeling of cool air
on her hot, wet skin; oh, what she'd have paid for that feeling.
And then it was gone, as they shoved a large plastic bag over
her head and down to her ankles, imprisoning her again it hot 
stifled air, and she hoped her captors couldn't see that the 
rivulets of saline now rolling down her cheeks were coming 
from her eyes.  But through her blurred vision and the steamed
 plastic, she could see them laughing at her.  The bastards
had made her cry, and seen her cry, and were laughing at her
tears.  She could have killed them.

Except, as she realized, when she convulsed against her bonds,
that she couldn't.  She couldn't do a thing to them, or for 
herself.  And when they turned her around and pushed her towards
the boat, she couldn't do anything.  And then she felt her ass 
burning from the cane stroke, she couldn't do anything but hobble
a little faster.  And when the man on the boat handed her captors
what couldn't have been more than a few thousand dollars, she could
do nothing.  As she was dragged onto the boat, and heard them 
laughing about how they'd be sure the papers got her pictures, 
she seethed inside, but could do nothing.  And when she was dropped
into the damp, smelly hold, and told that tomorrow she'd be
on a freighter, and next week she'd be in Dakar, and they'd
dye her hair blonde because blonde white prostitutes were
popular, and that she'd be making a lot of money, but she'd
never see any of it, that she'd never again see anything 
save a windowless room in which she'd be chained to a bed 
and forced to work 20 hour days doing whatever the customers 
wanted, she could do nothing but bring her knees up and her 
head down and cry as she never had in her life.

-------------------------------------------------------------
"The Chair"


&lt;you awaken to your ankles being loosed and hobbled&gt;

I hope you slept well.  I know you didn't sleep long enough,
but you know the importance of keeping a prisoner tired.

&lt;removing your elbow cuffs, and helping you to your feet&gt;

Still wobbly, I see &lt;removing blindfold, and letting
your eyes adjust to the light as you stand there with
my arm around you&gt;

Well, dear, it will be better soon.  I'll be removing
those terrible shoes soon.

&lt;evil grin&gt;

That's why I waited for your eyes to adjust; I do so enjoy seeing
them widen so when you get frightened.  And yes, if I'm going to
take those delicious shoes off you, that does mean that there's 
something very bad - well, very bad for you - coming.

Walk this way, dear.  For once, I don't think you'll mind
taking tiny steps

&lt;several minutes later, pushing aside a curtain to reveal
a chair&gt;

I thought you'd like this.  Those sharp, but not too sharp,
steel cones on the back and arms and seat, and the bed
of sharp, but not too sharp, pins in front of it.  And,
of course, that nice thick dildo in the center.  Come
closer.

&lt;you hobble closer while I lubricate the dildo.
Then I remove the chain from your legs and push your
legs apart, and putting my hand in a container of 
lubricant, begin thoroughly lubricating your labia 
and vagina, until the trembling in your legs isn't
entirely from nervousness and those hated heels&gt;

&lt;Turning you around, positioning your feet on either 
side of the pins, then bending down to remove your shoes&gt;

Sit down, dear.  You know that no matter how bad anything is
there's always something worse.  Obedience, however awful,
is always better than disobedience for you, prisoner. Now
sit &lt;guiding you down, easing you onto the dildo, and onto
those nasty cones&gt;

&lt;undoing your wrists, then fastening your wrists and elbows
to the arms of the chair before applying shoulder straps
and a waist belt, all of them pressing you painfully onto 
the cones though the waist belt is a bit looser and allows 
a little movement; then kneeling to remove your ankle cuffs 
before placing your ankles in a heavy steel device, and 
lowering it so that it forces your bare feet onto the pins&gt;

You appear to be in quite a bit of pain.  Good.

You'll soon be in much more.  None of the pins or cones will
break the skin, but they a lot hurt now and they'll hurt a lot
more as time goes by.

Oh, and by the way, the pins your feet are on, and eight of 
the many cones on which your sore ass and soft thighs rest, 
are electrified.  Not all that severely, but enough to hurt 
a lot.  Especially after an hour of so.

After letting you really start to hurt from the cones, I'll
turn on the current.  They won't all be on at once; the pins
will be charged in a series of patterns, perhaps in a few
hours you'll be able to predict them.  The pattern of the cones
will be quickly discernible: front and back and side to side.
It's going to make you squirm rhythmically, which will make the
cones bite more, and which will also, coincidently, move you
around on that dildo.  Which, BTW, vibrates.

It should be most interesting seeing how many orgasms you can
have while you suffer, dear.

You remember this glass, dear ?  &lt;Setting timer while turning the
glass upside down&gt;&gt;  When the fifteen minutes are up, the machines 
alongside the chair will start sending current to it.  &lt;turning on 
several bright, hot lights&gt;

I trust you don't mind - and it doesn't matter if you do - if
I videotape you squirming and crying.  

Just a short time till it begins - though you seem to be squirming
a bit now, dear - and it will continue...    well, I'm not sure
how long it will continue.  At least until I judge you to have been
completely exhausted.

Then I'll take you off the chair and let you rest.  And then
maybe I'll take you home.

Or maybe I'll make some adjustments to this visit's scripts, 
and we'll repeat them all again.
---------------------------------------------------------
The Classroom


[Based on an correspondents idea of being alone in a classroom
after school, and encountering a man bearing a blade]


If I were the man with the open blade, the first thing you'd do
is take off your blouse.  Then your skirt.  Those nice thigh highs
you can leave on.  The bra, however is coming off &lt;blade snips
one strap, then the other, then the dull end rubs aganst your
chest as it slides between your breasts to cut the bra&gt;  As do
the panties &lt;they too are cut off&gt;

My hand grips your hair, and the sharp point of the knife slides 
around your chest and up across you neck and over your face.
With the knife now pressing ever so lightly just below your
chin, I pull up on your hair, raising you up on your tiptoes,
the knife rising with your head, so as I release your hair
the tip of the blade under your chin makes you stay up on
your toes while my other hand plays with your nipples and
caresses your breasts.

Then I take you by the hair behind your head, and force
you to your knees, where I bend back you head by my tight grip
on your hair and stroke your face, then bend to kiss your mouth,
a series of long kisses, after which I slap your face, not 
terribly hard, and push your head downwards as I order you to 
put your face in the floor, and put my foot across the back of
your neck and press down.  Then I reach down and pull you up 
onto your hands and knees, and order you to stay just like this,
the sharp blade very gently sliding across your throat while
my hand plays with your dangling breasts.

Then I walk away, giving you a sharp command to "stay".
Sitting down across the room, I watch you, nearly naked,
on your hands and kness, your dangling breasts trembling
with each beat of your heart.  I pick up a ruler, and toss
it into the corner of the room, well away from the door,
and say to you "fetch".  You hestitate, and I glower and
repeat the command, and start to shift in my seat as if
to rise, and you crawl across the floor (while I enjoy
all the jiggling), pick up the ruler in your teeth, and,
a blush across your face, crawl to me and drop the ruler
in my outstretched hand, at which I run my hands through
your hair and say "good girl", then rise and order you
to heel, and as I walk across the room to the desk you crawl 
at my heel, and then I sweep everthing off the desk and reach 
down for your, pulling you up by your hair and then spreading
you face down across the desk, pulling your wrists forward and 
binding them together, the tying the other end of the rope to 
the leg of the desk before moving to spread your legs and bind
you around each knee and then fasten your legs to the legs of 
the desk.

And then I stroke your back, and sides, and kiss your check
and the back of your neck while stroking your shoulders and hair.
And then I step back, and run my hands over your buttcoks and thighs,
and then lightly touch the ruler to your ass, and then begin to beat 
your buttocks and thighs with the ruler, and when you start making
noise I stuff your ruined panties in your mouth and go on spanking
you over your barely muffled cries, until the tears flow nicely,
and then I stop to admire your tears and run my fingers over your
wet face, before taking a yardstick and starting in on you again,
and then taking a point and using it on your ass and thighs before
breaking it across your shoulder, and then putting an arm across
your shoulder as I kiss and stroke you, and a hand fondles your
breast while another unties first one knee, then the other, and 
you are turned over on your back while your knees are raised up 
and pushed back, and then pressed down while my cock finds your
pussy and I press into you, thrusting and withdrawing with long 
strokes while holding you down on the desk, sometimes stopping 
when my should replace my hands on your thighs as my hands reach 
to squeeze your breasts or stroke your clit or run my hands through
your hair, but always soon resuming my thrusts, these interruptions 
becoming shorter as my thrustings become quicker, until they
stop, and I hug you and kiss your breasts and your face and pull
the panties from your mouth to kiss your mouth and hold you
close, while pulling the knife again and raising it up till I
find your wrists, and cutting the cord holding your wrists above
your head, and your still bound hands arms come down so your arms 
can encircle my neck as we cuddle.

As we recover, I pull you from the desk and push you on the
floor on your belly.  I pull your hands behind your head
and tie the end of the rope to a ring attached to the end
of another rope.  Raising your feet, I wrap the end of that
rope around your crossed ankles, leaving you in a nasty hogtie.
Then I take a long candle and squirt some lube on it, and
take and light another candle, and while dripping warm wax
on your glistening back I gently work the lubricated candle
into your anus, and move it back and forth within you until
you begin to squirm.

"No, Dear, not again, not just now", I say, as I stop moving
the candle.  "Just a little preview for later", I tell you,
as I light the candle that's in your ass, and roll down your
stockings (nylon is such a nasty burn).

"I'll see you later.  It shouldn't take that long for the
candle to burn through the rope, not if you keep your ass
on target.  Then just untie your wrists with your teeth, 
untie your ankles, get dressed, clean up this mess, and
come home.  I should have dinner ready for you by then".

"Bye, dear".
 
----------------------------------------------
I'd never fear you, Mistress


The subject is blindfolded and led to a bench on which he is 
required to lay on his back.  His arms and abdomen are strapped
to the bench securely, and his legs placed on either side of the
bench and his ankles fastened to bars.

The blindfold is then removed, so that he can see that he's
facing a guillotine, and then the block thru which the blade 
will slide is placed in position.  

"Scared ?", she asks.

"No, mistress", he replies.

"Really", she says, as she brings a tall candlestand under
the rope that his holding up the blade.  Flicking a lighter
and lighting a candle just below the rope, she says "Are you
sure ?".

He answers "yes, mistress", but he sounds less sure.

She walks around her helpless subject, studying him from different
angles, sometimes running her fingertips across him as she passes
him.  Then she plays with his cock and balls for a few minutes,
before she starts to undress, stoping every so often to stroke
him some more, until she's completely naked.  And then she
straddles, mounts, and begins to ride him, slowly but with 
increasing force and velocity and enthusiasm.  

An enthusiasm he would like to share, except that the candle
is rather quickly burning through that rope, and he can't stop
staring at it.  And as the rope begins to flame, he starts
to say "mistress ?", and she tells him "Shuut Upp".  He waits
a moment, and tries again.  "Not-t n-n-ow" she manages to grunt out
as she enthusiastically humps him.  "Ah, it's rather important",
he remarks, and she exasperatedly stops and takes a plug and 
shoves it in his mouth and then tapes it over, saying "I *told* 
you to shut up" as she does so, and resumes fucking him, oblivious
in per passion to the state of the rope, and rides him on and on
while he stares in growing terror at the freely burning rope,
his fear now overwheming his trust in her and he squirms madly
beneath her, trying futilely to get her off him and himself off 
this bench, which urges her on, and then, which just as she seems 
to be nearing climax, the rope finally breaks, and he screams 
through the plug and bucks madly as the sharp, heavy blade
descends.

To within a couple feet of his throat, before the steel chain
that formed the core of the thick rope, folded back on itself
several times at the spot where the tautly woven rope (lightly
oiled to enhance the burn) was to be placed under the candle.
Unraveling several feet of steel chain as the heavy blade
pulled it downward, the chain reached full extension and
stopped the blade just above his vulnerable neck.  But didn't
prevent his reactions, which might have been very different
had she allowed him to eat or stopped forcing him to urinate
again and again during the day preceding this activity, but 
which, as things went, she found quite satisfactory.
----------------------------
"Tarp Strap"

Hmmmm...


Hello, dear

Haven't seen you for an hour.  I missed you.

Of course I knew you were right here the whole time.  
It's not as if you could go anywhere.

Don't worry about the shoes.  I know you don't like to walk
in high heels.  And I don't expect you to walk in those
5" heels. 

Just stand.

I trust your legs aren't spread *too* far by that spreader bar.
They do seem to be trembling a bit.

I wouldn't want you to fall.  Well, you can't really fall, the
chain attached to your steel thumbcuffs will assure that you don't
fall.  Might hurt your thumbs and shoulders, however.   Yes,
I know it's a bit unsafe having you in leather handcuffs and 
steel thumbcuffs and having you with your arms raised so high 
over your head by the chain attached to the thumbcuffs, all 
while your legs are spread so far apart and your feet are in 
shoes with such very high heels.

But you do look so wonderful this way.  A pity you can't see
yourself, but I do like you blindfolded.  I prefer you not see
what's coming, dear.  I've such a nice set of toys here to use
on your lovely, bare, vulnerable, flesh, my sweet.  Hmmm, let's
make a bit more of that lovely flesh bare and vulnerable.
You don't mind if I roll your stockings down some and expose
more thigh, do you ?  Not that it matters if you do.  Such
nice soft thighs you have, dear.  

And so nice and white.  So nice to mark.


That's not so bad, is it, dear ?  But a horsehair flogger
working over your ass and thighs and pussy, you can handle
that, can't you, dear ?  Even if it does sting a bit. This
riding crop stings a bit more, it seems.  Go on, dear,
twist and squirm, it won't help you.  Stamp you feet if
you want.  Well, no, I don't suppose you can stamp your feet
with you ankles spread so wide and the spreader bar fastened
to the floor.  I guess you'll just have to take the pain,
dear.

The leather shoelaces do make an interesting flogger, don't
they, dear ?  Such nice marks on your back and buns. How does it
feel on your smooth, bare pussy ?  Hurts that much, huh ?
Are those tears seeping out from under the blindfold ?  How sweet.

Please stop ?  I will, dear, but we've just gotten started.
Please, please, stop ?  How wonderfully delicious.  You beg so
wonderfully, dear. 

A few nice tight clothespins on your breast and sides, perhaps.
These will bounce so nicely when you twist around.

Oh, yes, they do bounce delightfully, dear.  That must really
hurt, BTW.  And you twist and turn and squirm so deliciously.
You must really hate this thin rubber whip.  Hm-hm.  But
it loves you, dear.  Yes, it does.  Ohhhhh, yes it does.

Go on and cry, dear.  Take a rest.  If I whip you much
more I won't be able to restrain myself, and if that happens
I might not have the energy to whip you.  And I don't want you
to miss any of this.


Here's what I don't want you to miss, dear.  Let me raise that
blindfold for a moment.  A tarp strap.  A 15" long thick piece
of hard heavy rubber generally used to secure traps to trucks, 
swinging freely in a ring so it can achieve a very high velocity
on impact.  When used in such a way, it hurts terribly horribly,
and leaves terrible (or wonderful, depending on one's perspective)
marks. One of D's new developments.  And it's going to be used
on your sore butt and tender thighs.  Yes, dear, it is.  There's
nothing you can do to stop it.  No, dear, nothing.

Ah, what's that ?  whoooa... Well, dear, nothing is going to
stop you from getting this tarp strap used on you but good.
But I suppose a delay is possible... what was it you had
in mind again ?

Ohhhh, well, we've no need to be hasty...  Let me detach this 
spreader bar from the floor... and get your hands down 
&lt;taking you by the hair and pulling you down on your knees&gt;
Crawl over to the bed, dear.  Good &lt;leading you with a hand
in your hair as you walk on your knees to your bed and climb
up on it (with some difficulty climbing up a higher mattress)&gt;

Excellent, dear.  Now, what was it you were saying.... ?

  &lt;Quite some time later, exhausted, unable to move, and
   completely at your mercy even though the handcuffs and
   spreader bar are still locked on you, I agree that later
   would be the time to try out the tarp strap, which
   I repeat we *are* going to mark you up with. But not
   tonight; tonight, you're going to find the keys to the
   bar and the cuffs, get out of the - just the spreader
   bar and the high heels ?  certainly, dear - and cuddle
   with me for a long time&gt;
-------------------------------------------


 The soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm FAQ is available from the WWW at: 
     http://www.unrealities.com/adult/ssbb/faq.htm
 The soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm charter is available at:
     http://www.mindspring.com/~frites/charter.htm
 Both can be found on the SSB Webpage, the URL of which is:
     http://ssbb.home.ml.org/
 The "Welcome to ASB !", almost all of which applies to SSB,
   can be found at:
     http://www.mindspring.com/~frites/wel.htm
***************************************************************************
 Steven S. Davis * ssdavis@ot.com * sd@magenta.com * sdupland@delphi.com
         http://links.magenta.com/lmnop/users/sd/sd.html 
         http://links.magenta.com/lmnop/intro.html (go to Users)


