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 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.bondage
 Subject: STORY "Images 22" (NC, extreme cruelty, Long)
 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

---------------------------------------------------------

A Brass Bed Image


Hello, dear.

I hope you haven't become too uncomfortable.

You do look very nice on that brass bed.  I know that sitting
in a split with your legs spread wide and your ankles tied
to the sides of the brass headpiece, and your wrists in front
of you raised and tied to the top of the headpiece, that must
have become quite uncomfortable after the first half-hour.
And the scarf gag, which mainly serves to hurt your mouth,
combined with that pillow case over your head, these haven't
made it any easier for you.

Hopefully the caning of your bare buttocks and the whipping
of your bare back after a half hour helped distraction you.
At least any frustration you had must have been relieved
when you cried.  Just a dozen strokes on each, but it was
enough to make the tears flow.

And to mark you nicely.  Though it's hard to be sure if
those marks came from the dozen each you got after
30 minutes, or the next set of 12 each you got after
an hour.  The set you got after 90 minutes is more distinct.

It's harder to identify the time pattern of the crop marks on
your thighs, as they've been coming at random for the past
85 minutes.  Your thought your thighs were going to be the
one safe part, didn't you dear, when I made you strip naked
and then slip on stockings ?  But stockings can be rolled
down, can't they, precious ?

Almost two hours now.  You squirm and squeal delightfully,
dear.  No, don't worry, dear, it's not going to be another 
whipping of your upper back and caning of your ass.

I think a nice long paddling over those nasty welts on
your ass would be much more interesting.

Two minutes to go, dear, then you get your paddling,
and I get the joy of seeing you sobbing again. Well,
seeing your body wracked with sobs; it's only by the
wet spots on the pillowcase that I know how much you
cry in there.

As you'll cry much more tonight, my sweet.  The clock
you like so much will strike in a bit more than a minute,
as it does every half hour.  When it gets done striking, 
I'll start paddling your ass, this time for as long as
feels right to me.  But by the next half hour mark after
that you'll have stopped crying.

Almost time, dear &lt;tapping your ass lightly with the paddle,
and waiting for the chimes, while admiring how you squirm
and squeal and struggle&gt;


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

You know how I love images of women hanging by their wrists.

No, dear, I'm not going to do that to you.

But what I am going to do is make you squeeze your naked
body into this body harness.  Which will cover very little
of your body, but which will provide a lot of support and
spread the pressure around when I suspend you in it.

It still won't be very comfortable for you, and will be
less so as time goes on.  But it won't dislocate anything.

Well, not if you're careful.


Get in, dear.  Now.


Good, dear.  Now we buckle up for safety.

Raise your arms.  As you can see, I'm securing your hands together
way above your head.  But while it may look like you're hanging
from the obvious chain to your wrist cuffs, all that's doing
is holding your hands up.  The wires attached to the rings at
your shoulders and waist, nearly invisible in this light, are what
actually support you.

Well, yes, dear, *will* support you.  I'm quite aware that you
are still standing on your own oh-so-nicely shod feet.  You
won't have to stand for very long in those 5" heels, as in a
while I'm going to put cuffs on your ankles and slowly pull
your feet apart until they come out from under you, and then 
those heels will be purely ornamental, and you will be suspended
in that harness.

Ah, no, dear, you won't be purely ornamental, though you will be
a very pretty ornament.  But I don't plan to just look at you,
dear.  You do notice that all the fun bits are accessible, for
torture or for use.

Expect to be tortured and used.  Then tortured some more, and
used again.  Then tortured and used until I'm no use anymore.

And then be tortured some more, just because I love to hurt
you, you sexy fucking piggy slut.

But first, slut, well, you are in sexy shoes, and you are
in a nice leather harness, and you are standing on a piece
of slate, so lets see this filly prance.  &lt;cracking crop
across your cunt&gt;  Get those knees up high, slut.  Prance
for me, ponygirl.  

When you're too tired to prance anymore, you can just
hangout for the rest of the night.


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

You're naked.

Your hands bound behind you, a hook slipped into the ropes
to raise your arms.  A rope tied to the front of your
collar, and pulled back between your legs, rubbing your pussy;
this rope would make you bend over even if the raising of your
arms didn't.  Your ankles bound together and secured to two
rings in the floor so your feet can't move.  Thin ropes tied
around your big toes and from them to your bound breasts.
A nice red ball-gag filling your mouth. Which, as you stand
bent over my bed, helpless and hurting even when I'm not
swatting at your dangling breasts, causes you to involuntarily
drool onto my cock as I stroke myself, hardening it with
your pain and lubricating it with your drool, until I can stand
it no longer, and a squirt of some cold jell in, followed by 
the rubbing of some warm oil on, your anus, tells you what
to expect when your ankles are untied and your legs spread.

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

An Image of an image


I've been enjoying a vision of you.  You're abducted off the street,
handcuffed and blindfolded and placed in the back of a closed truck 
with a helmet placed over your head to muffle any screams (and echo 
them into your own ears).  You are laid on your back, your steel-sheathed
wrists beneath you, and your legs raised and spread and locked in
leather cuffs suspended from the roof of the truck.

After a long drive, the truck stops, and the bar to which your
ankles are secured is released from the truck ceiling, and you
are dragged from the truck and prodded forwards, followed by
a cane stroke across your ass for additional inducement, and
you start walking, awkwardly, the bar between your legs forcing
you to take lurching strides, and your inability to see and your
wrists cuffed behind your back adding to your precarious balance.

After a short walk, but one which seems very long to you, hands
on your shoulders tell you to stop, and soft kicks to your legs
tell you to shift your feet slightly.  Then you feel the ankle
cuffs being detached from the bar, and reattached to chains
which you guess are attached to rings in the floor; when you
feel nothing you risk testing this theory by trying to move 
your feet, and confirm that they are being held in this spread
apart position.

After a short wait, your wrists are seized, one cuff opened,
your hands moved in front and recuffed, and a thumbcuff locked
on your thumbs.  Then you feel your thumbs, and of course the
attached hands and arms, being raised high above your head.


Your remain in this position for what seems a very long time,
before you feel your clothes being cut off, and then your shoes
removed and replaced by some very high heels.  Hands run up and
down your legs and then your naked body, and then you wait again.
After a time you feel a tug on your helmet, but then nothing.

And then you feel the helmet being pulled from your head,
and pulling the blindfold off as it comes, and bright light
assaults your eyes while cool air relieves your face.  As your
eyes adapt to the light, you see that you are standing in front
of a wall to wall mirror, and being given a good look at the
beautiful sight of yourself in strict bondage.  No one else
is in the room, which, as you look around, you see includes
a number of pieces of sturdy furniture, and that the other three
walls are covered with instruments of pleasure and pain, or
with cabinets which doubtless contain more such instruments.

And then you wait again.

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

"Busy"

Wake up, dear.

It's about 3:00 AM.  Friday.  Yes, I know.
I've been busy.  My apologies for neglecting you.  
I hope you haven't been too terribly bored.

I suppose it has been boring being alone in this
bare room, no window, no TV or radio or reading
material or any distractions, chained to that bed 
for the past week.  Especially since most of the time 
your hands were above your head.  And always above
your waist.

I trust extending the chains from your collar
and cuffs at varying times and for various periods,
to allow you to reach the toilet and the food and 
water dispensers worked out OK ?  I hope being
kept hungry and thirsty hasn't been too great a trial.
At least it made the bland food available more tolerable;
the best you can say for those nutribars is that they
are barely adequate sources of vitamins, minerals, sugars, 
and, as I'm sure you noticed, salt.  Enough to prevent
malnourishment during a short captivity.  But not hunger.

I'll bet you never imagined a week ago that you'd
ever be anxious to eat those nutrient bars, or be so
dissappointed when your chain extended and you could
reach the dispenser and it was empty.  Or that you 
would actually cry when the chains pulled your hands away
and pulled you back onto the bed just as a bar dropped
into the dispenser.

Or that you would ever find yourself straining to lick the 
wall for the water that leaked down it.  By the way, the water
was quite healthy.  What looks like slime is just some
harmless coloring, and the water was dripping from a clean
nozzle, not some distant broken rusty pipe.  Well, yes,
it had a diagreeable odor from the additives, but they were 
harmless.

Aside from being diuretics, of course.  I hope that didn't
cause you too much distress.


Well, that's all over with, dear.  I've some free time,
so we can have dinner.  Yes, dear, your favorite.  And
all you want.  &lt;rolling over cart, lifting lid and letting
delicious odor fill the room&gt;  See how much, dear ?
Even now you couldn't possibly eat all that.  And see these
pitchers ?  More than you can possibly drink.  

After a very nice meal, I'll help you with a bath, and then,
well, then with something else that you've been missing.

Just let me get these chains off you and we can enjoy our
meal.

&lt;ring-ring&gt;

"Yes ?  Now ?  OK".

Sorry, dear &lt;rising from bed, scouping some quick spoonfulls
into my mouth&gt;.  I have to go &lt;pushing cart out of the room 
before me&gt;.  I'll get back as soon as I can.

&lt;pausing at door&gt;

Oh, dear.  I am sorry, but I didn't arrange for anyone to 
load the food dispensers, and there's no one available
now.  I've leave a note and someone will start loading them
again on Monday.  You'll be alright till then, won't you ?

Bye. &lt;closing, and locking, the door behind me&gt;


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

 [ Here's a small F/m scene that some may enjoy
   (it starts rather abruptlyly because it was in 
   reponse to a comment that I found it best to snip) ]


It also sounds pretty good for you to seize an ear and force me to
my knees, then, with a quick wrist action, flip off my glasses
before slapping my face, taking a moment to survey the impact,
then slapping me a few more times.  Then pulling me to my feet
and slamming me into the bars, grabbing my arms and shoving my
hands against places where the horizontal and vertical bars
cross, and tying my wrists there.  Then kicking my feet apart
and pressing them to bars to be tied in place, before you place
a loop of narrow cord inside my mouth and pull it tight so it bites
the sides of my mouth, and then pull my head back so I'm staring
at the ceiling while one hand undoes my pants and shoves them
down, then you take the one end of the cord in my mouth, pull
hard to move my head back as far as it will go, then take my
scrotum in your hand and pull it as far as it will go, then
tightly tie the end of the cord around my balls, so any movement
of my head from it's very uncomfortable contemplation of the
ceiling will pull at my balls.

Then you decide that unbuttoning my shirt would be too much bother,
so a sharp knife appears and you cut my shirts off, then run the
knife tip and blade over my back and neck and between my legs
(where you promise to be very, very careful, not to cut - the rope,
that is).  

Then you fit some blinders on me, so I can see nothing except
that grey, boring ceiling, and leave the cell, locking me in 
(but, of course, not away from you, as you have a key), and 
get in front of me and let a finger touch my dick, and when it hardens,
secure an adjustable strap around it's base, then run your finger over
my cock a few time to complete its stiffening before you tighten
the strap at the base of my cock. Then you place several clothespins
(with plastic wings firmly attached to the ends) on strategic
places on my cock.  Then you toy with my nipples for a time
before placing a long and tight clamp on first one, then the
other.  Each clamp has thin but strong cords attached to either
side, so by holding both "reins" in one hand and pulling back
you can oull my nipples forwards, or by taking a rein from
one clamp in each hand, you can twist the nipple from side to
side.

Now you seems ready to lay down, but first you turn on a rotating
fan that will blow against those wings on the clothespins, and
keep the clothespins flipping on my cock.

Then you start to walk away, stop, and turn back in the other
direction.  I can only see the ceiling, of course. But as I
hear you coming back I hear the unmistakably click of high heels.

"Pretty shoes", you say.  "The heels are so high and thin.  What
a pity you can't see them", you say before reclining onto a nice
couch, and squirming/scrunching yourself into a comfortable
position, before pulling and twisting on my nipples repeatedly
until I whimper, then settling back with your vibrator and my
pain to amuse you, and telling me how much fun this is going
to be - *for you* - before twisting and tugging at my right
nipple until I moan, and, vibrator in one hand and reins in another,
work on me and on yourself until we're both moaning, and as your
audiblizations rise, the reins are pulled more, and my shrieks
rise as well.

********************
"Choices"


The sisters didn't seem very happy.  It was hard to tell who
was more displeased: 

the one in the tigress cage, a steel cage designed so she had 
to sit with her knees pulled up and her head lowered and the
cold, hard bars against her naked body

the one hanging in a gibbet, a steel frame in human shape
with arms and legs in which to lock hers; the legs of the 
gibbet being spread, and the cage being designed for some
adjustments around the waist and hips to hold snugly the
captives, there was nothing she could do to stop the pole
from penetrating her vagina and slowly turning inside her
(of course, it could be worse - though it could also be much
better, if she could enjoy her predicament and lubricate;
without lubrication, each turn and each withdrawal and thrust
of the pole was agony, and agony not helped any by the fact
that the gibbet's head was designed to also serve as a brank
and the metal bit in her mouth had broken some of her teeth
when she foolishly struggled against the penetration she could
not have prevented - their father was hanging in one in another
room, a pan of hot coals placed between the gibbet's legs to
slowly burn his cock and balls; when their mother was done
observing his agonies she'd be brought to join her pretty
daughters).

the one sitting crosslegged with her wrists tied to her knees
in a pyramidal cage which hung from a mechanical arm which
methodically and mercilessly pulled her cage over a bank of candles, 
then dipped to completely immerse her in icewater, and then moved
past a steampipe with a valve that opened each time the electric
eye was blocked, hitting her with a blast of steam, and then 
repeated the process.

the one hanging in the tight steel net, alternately being dunked in
hot oil and then laid on an electrified plate


or the one standing in a floor mounted gibbet, though this one
had no seperate arms and legs but did have extremely sharp spikes
protruding inward from the bars, which forced her to stand without
touching the cage, a task which was becoming difficult after a
few hours captivity and would become impossible as the hours wore
on and was made even harder by the loss of blood from the many
small wounds she would receive as she tried to stand there.


Well, no matter.  The sisters will be even more miserable later,
so we'll leave them for then, when we can bring their mother
to join them, and have her entertain them as star of a dog & pony
show (so, OK, it's actually a dog and donkey show).


For now, a young couple with car trouble  (odd how many people
buying gas from that gas station develop car trouble a few miles
down the road, and especially strange how often it happens to 
attractive young people; but at least assistance also shows up
very promptly (well, assistance of a sort; we help ourselves to
whatever we want, their cash to our stash, their cars to the 
chop shop, and their bodies to our, well, "body shop" aka
dungeon aka chamber of horrors and hellhole extraordinaire).


It's often nice to offer new guests choices.  Choices between
bad alternatives, but choices nonetheless.


The young man seemed rather distressed by the sight of many
dildos aligned in successive sizes from small to "that can't
possibly go in a person can it ?"  (well, of course it can;
there's so much one can do when one doesn't care whether 
the subject lives more than a few hours).  So he's shown to
a chair, or rather, two chairs.  One with a very large dildo
sitting where his ass will go if he sits in that chair, the
other with many spikes on the seat and back.  The spikes
won't penetrate very fair, but they make sitting excruciating
(especially when the metal chair is rocked and beaten with
hammers sending shock waves through those spikes).  Being
polite hosts, we ask him which he prefers.


The girl seemed quite taken aback by the rows of 6" and 7"
inch high heels.  So after cattle prods forced her to
be a good little captured slut and strip like she was told
(after her boyfriend's clothes were cut/ripped off (he probably
thinks the handling of the knife was very careless when it was,
of course, very precise and cut him no more than was desired
(for now)), she got to trade her sneakers for a pair of heels.
Of course, not 7" heels.  Four inches is plenty for her.
Especially when she considers that of the two pair offered her,
one is lined with sandpaper, the other with sharp plastic
bits (making them "vampire shoes", I supposed (well, some people
who have worn them *did* say that they really sucked)).

Understandably, she picked the vampire shoes, and so that's
what she'll have to walk in.

After we stop rubbing her bare feet - nicely stuck in stocks
while her wrists are chained above her head and she's seated
on a wooden door fastened by its side to the floor and with
the upward facing side shaved down so it comes to a edge;
it's not a sharp point, but it gets people's attention
(especially men's when they are suspended over it, legs
apart, and dropped onto it) - with sandpaper, that's when
she'll have to walk in them.  But that will be awhile.


Oh, and the young man prefered to avoid the large dildo
and accept the spikes.  Of course, we only asked him
his preference.  So once we knew it, we took him to the 
chair best suited to him, one with an even bigger dildo
*and* a lot of sharp spikes (the ones on the seat
being longer than the ones on the other seat).  He was
inclinded to resist, but a blowtorch near one's balls
can be very convincing.  He did take way too long lowering
himself onto that dildo, but after he got on it, a sexy
woman sitting in his lap and squirming helped him to
"get down".

And the smelling salts should have him ready in time
to watch his girlfriend walk.  He should be really
wide awake after we explain to them both that she walks
until the all sand runs out of a 20 minutes glass, or 
we use the blowtorch on his balls and her face.

A face which is very pretty, and which I quite want to
see when she realizes that some of the sand is taped
to the sides of the glass and will never run out.


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

"Fire and Ice"


She looks so pretty with her hands bound behind her and 
a choker chain around her neck (fastened to steel bar
above her head), standing naked on a sort of walkway made by 
two rows each consisting of several large blocks of ice and 
two narrow blocks made of cement blocks.  She has one leg on each 
walkway, and the walkways are far enough apart that she can't 
remain standing with a foot on just one, and high enough up 
that she'll choke if she falls off.  Between the two cement blocks
is a small (but very securely mounted) brazier full of very 
hot coals, the coals being just below the height of her pussy
as she stands on this walkway.  The only place she can stand
without standing barefoot on ice is with this brazier below
her, and she's no way to get out of this predicament (except,
perhaps, pleading with us, and, of course, we can gag her
whenever we want to stop that noise).  She can stand to stand 
on the ice only so long, and has to step onto the cement,
putting her pussy over the coals, and she can only bear
that for a short time before she must step off.  So she have to
keep stepping on and off the ice, and, as her feet get colder
and her pussy hotter, the period she can bear the torture
of either gets smaller and smaller, until she's constantly
stepping forwards and back and in constant agony and wondering
when and if this will end and if, perhaps, the only way to
end the pain which is getting closer and closer to unbearable
is to try to jump off the walkway, and hope that we won't
really let her strangle.

And we don't.  But we do take her down, only to strap her to a chair
with a tray of coals beneath her pussy (ah, yes, coating her labia
with barbecue sauce may have been a bit much, as was adding so
much hot pepper ?) and her bare feet locked on blocks of ice, and 
sit there, now totally helpless to avert or reduce either the pain
of the fire or that of the ice, while we sit across from her
cuddling and groping and enjoying her desperate hopeless squirming, 
the inarticulate moans coming from behind her gag, and laughing at 
the tears streaming down her face.



 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)

