Pau de Arara

I play submissive for males a lot. My entire marriage involved me being submissive. I'm not actually a "submissive" though.

My girlfriend is submissive. She enjoys being controlled, ordered, forced to do things, and humiliated. I might write more about that sometime. Humiliation is never something I have been into. Being with her has forced me into being a switch. I can do that, but it isn't my kink. It's what I do to satisfy my partner.

No, my kink is getting tied up. Securely and uncomfortably. Part of that is feeling vulnerable. Unable to control myself, unable to get loose. The more vulnerable and helpless the feeling, the better.

Very early in my self-bondage exploration (before I even started dating guys, I was still a virgin), I started stripping naked. The first times I tied myself up I was clothed, but soon after I upped the ante. Somehow I knew the feeling I got when tied up would be enhanced if I was naked. So I tried stripping and tying myself up and yes, it was better.

From there I gradually discovered various ways to make myself feel more excited, more afraid, more vulnerable. The biggest leap, the huge leap, was giving myself over to another person, to let them tie me or lock me up in a way where I truly had no control-- they did. What a high. Being tied up, handcuffed, used and fucked or spanked or whatever they wanted, and I had to just take it because I was bound and they had control.

It's an adrenaline rush, a dopamine rush, endorphins, whatever.

Gradually my kink has developed based on this need to feel vulnerable when restrained. One way it has expanded is by taking pain. I am not into pain, it isn't something I seek, but it was introduced very early on as a way of enhancing my feeling of vulnerability.

For example, I like to have my hands cuffed. Sure. That can be fun, especially if I am going to have sex. But if a guy or girl slings me over their lap and gives me a damn good spanking that hurts like hell, and my hands are cuffed in front of me so I can't reach behind and protect my ass, well, that feeling of being helpless by being bound increases ten fold.

I don't seek the pain of being spanked, but it increases the feeling of helplessness associated with the handcuffs.

(This is one of those stupid things that shows inexperience. If someone cuffs your hands behind your back then tries to spank you, they are completely naive. Behind your back, you get to move your hands in front of your ass to protect it from being spanked. Cuffed in front, you can't get to your ass and just have to take it.)

Other ways to feel vulnerable are various bondage positions. We are all trained that between our legs is our "private" area. So being bound in a position where my legs are spread or pulled back or whatever, exposing my ass and pussy to others, it just... makes me feel more helpless and vulnerable.

Then of course having someone proceed to touch, use, abuse my ass or genitals just makes it all the more exciting.

Not knowing what is going to happen enhances these feelings as well. Turning myself over to someone and knowing things are going to get ugly, but not knowing how or when or what will happen... jeeze the adrenaline flows long before the scene even begins.

Stress positions are also a great way to feel helpless. These are bondage positions where the simple act of being bound is in itself uncomfortable or painful, and most importantly, the discomfort or pain builds over time.

Lots of bondage positions can be considered stress positions. Simply being hung by your wrists quickly becomes painful as the body weight takes its toll on the wrists, elbows, shoulder and back.

A good tight hogtie can drive me insane after ten minutes, especially if my head or hair are tied and pulled back. There's enough leeway to struggle, just a bit. Not much.

Mostly in a hogtie one just waits. Endures. Feel someone's hands run over your body, seeking cracks and holes, maybe sliding along the soles of your feet to make you jerk helplessly when it tickles. Feel the bladder gag pumped up to fill and expand in your mouth. Completely helpless. In storage.

My favorite (or most hated) stress position is a ball tie. This involves tying legs bent, shins or ankles to upper thighs, sort of like a frogtie though the legs are also tied together so they don't spread (in a frogtie they usually can be spread apart).

Then the legs are also tied to the body, usually near the knees to the back, so the legs are pulled up and pressed against my chest. This puts the body into a forced bent position.

Arms are secured behind the back, usually in a reverse prayer or boxtie.

In the most severe balltie position the head is secured to the knees, as well. This is usually done with the neck or a head harness being roped to the knees.

In this position you just can't move. Toes and fingers can wiggle, but that's it. And bent over like that puts pressure on the chest and stomach. This is actually an issue because if the tie is tight enough it makes breathing hard. Experienced doms only.

Stress positions like this are both very unpleasant and extremely exciting for me.

I had gone out to dinner with a couple of friends, both doms who had experience making me cry when bound and helpless. It wasn't a kink thing (though I was wearing a light locked ankle bracelet for which I did not have the key. Better than the tack bra I talked my way out of.). Conversation wandered into the topic of various bondage positions and techniques. I am always careful when talking with doms because a slip of a tongue can sometimes have nasty ramifications.

"I really hated that last panel gag you used. Tasted like vomit." Next time you show up for a session, guess what is slapped into your mouth? Yep, the panel gag. So you have to be careful.

Apparently, though, I had engaged in a discussion that covered some new areas of stress bondage positions without quite realizing it. A few weeks later, it came back to haunt me.

I'd begged for a time slot from Dean (that's the rule, I must beg for his attention). He'd agreed and I was scheduled for an eight hour session starting at 2 PM a couple of Saturdays ago. I know, that sounds like a long time and it is. I know girls that go entire weekend or a week and I myself have been in bondage for up to two weeks. Whether the session would actually last that long, and what we'd be doing during the scene, I didn't know.

Dean lives on a street filled with older homes, and his is a small home at the end of a drive, shielded from the street by trees and bushes. It's not large, but relatively private. One of his bedrooms is converted into a full time playroom.

I parked on the street and walked to his front door. Before knocking I stripped. Yes, naked. Completely. Folded my clothes and placed them next to me. This is part of the ritual we've agreed to.

If I am right smack close to his front door it is very hard to see me from the street, though at just the right angle it's possible. Neighbors can also see me if they look over the fences. Being naked there is nerve-racking. That's the purpose, I suppose.

Then there's the leap of faith; he had hung two items for me. I took the first, a blindfold, and slipped it over my head. It was form fitting and did a fantastic job of blocking light. I was blinded.

Next, I reached to the handcuffs he'd left out, and clicked my left wrist into them. Moving wrists behind my back I clicked my right wrist in, and I was handcuffed. That prevented me from removing my blindfold and of course, I didn't have the key.

I knelt in front of his door and waited. This is the leap of faith. Once I am naked, cuffed and waiting, I am exposed and vulnerable and waiting his pleasure. If he doesn't come out and get me right away, well... I just hope no one sees me.

Once I put those handcuffs on I am at his mercy. Stuck outside, naked. I can't get them off, can't even take off the blindfold, and can't get dressed again. So I knelt there and waited.

Five minutes later he opened the door.

"Stand, come in," he guided me in.

The first ritual is usually to kneel before him and get him hard. Sort of useless, he is almost always hard before he even lets me in his house, but... it's ritual. Expected. So I was lead in and knelt in front of him and felt his cock against my lips.

I opened and felt his cock enter my mouth. It was hard, as usual.

I like hard cocks. I hate soft ones. Flaccid cocks just turn me off, even if they are large. A hard one is attractive and makes me think about it pushing inside one of my holes. So I enjoyed taking him in for a while, slipping him down deep into my throat, feeling my stomach clench, suppress the gag reflex, letting him fuck my face for a while.

The blindfold was still on, but I knew it was him. Easy to tell.

Until he stopped, got up and another cock pushed into my mouth. Whoooops. There was another man in his house, and I didn't know until the second cock was pushing into my mouth.

It was a bit of a surprise but I took it in and sucked it just as if it were Dean's, not questioning. After a couple of thrusts I knew who's it was. A friend of Dean's named Anthony. He likes to be called Tony, I call him Ant. Ant's cock is big, cut, and he has a specific way of wanting a girl to use her lips on his head. That style is a giveaway combined with his unique taste and shape.

While I was sucking Ant, I began to realize the eight hour session was a bit more intimidating with two guys. If it had just been Dean, I know he would have pooped out after an hour or so, and then left me tied up in a rest position until he got hard again. He might even stop after a couple hours. But with Ant there, they could pass me back and forth for a while.

Oh well. This is the kind of thing I buy into, it's part of the game and what keeps it alive and exciting. I like to edge my limits.

I'd gotten Dean and Ant hard and was kneeling on the floor naked with hands cuffed behind my back and blindfold on. They left me there for a bit and were doing something, I couldn't tell what until Dean told me to sit on my ass.

I did. He instructed me to sit with my knees up and bent. I obeyed.

A cable noose was slipped over me head and pulled tight. It's a technique Dean uses to keep me in line, docile and cooperative while he is switching my restraints around. It's weighted and pulls on my neck, and closes up and chokes me if I move around too much.

I tend to be rather cooperative when it is on.

So there I was sitting on my ass, knees up, and they unlocked the cuffs. I still couldn't see what was going on.

Then I felt a bar, or rod, or pole, I couldn't tell, slide under my legs. It was pulled up until it nestled in the crook of the back of my knees.

I still didn't know what was going on but I knew it was different. This was new.

Dean roughly grabbed my wrists and pulled them under the bar and over to my shins, where he quickly applied a loop of rope cinching my wrists together. Over my shins.

At that point I knew exactly what was happening. This was a classic parrot's perch position, the Pau de Arara. Used to torture and interrogate prisoners in south America. Also known as the Boger swing, named after some demented Nazi guard.

"Oh.... wait, no. OK, no, guys. No... nono... please not this. Not this..."

I was begging as Dean cinched the wrist ropes tight and added some loops to make it quite secure. My entire body weight would be dependent on that tie, after all.

"Oh jeeeezes... oh god... fuck no..."

I have a safe word. I never use it. Don't want to. My heart was racing, I was scared, and with one simple tie of my wrists my entire body was immobile. An ingenious position. But I wasn't going to bail out. I'd been through worse. This was why I was here, this was why I came to Dean. He put me through stuff no one else did, except Jason and things were no longer viable there.

It took him less than a minute to secure my wrists and Ant took my blindfold off. I could see the bar now, a metal thing, heavy, thick. It would hold my weight while I hung from it.

I barely had time to think before they positioned themselves at either end of the rod and lifted it up.

Whooooaaaa.... as soon as the bar went up, pulling my body with it, I tipped backward. I totally felt like I was falling, backward, which I guess I was. My entire body pivoted on the bar, my knees took my weight and my head went back. My entire naked body swung backwards until me head was actually pointing down.

I swung a bit but just a couple of times.

The whole process was incredibly disorienting and happened fast. Before I knew it I was hanging by my legs, my knees. There was a fair amount of pressure and strain on my tied wrists, but it was the knees that were taking all my weight.

And my head was leaning way back, flopping back without any effort to keep it up.

I lifted my head up and took quick stock of my position. Holding your head up is a pain, it's effort, but I had plenty of energy, still. It helped me get oriented, shake off the effects of being lifted up and falling, and figure out what was hurting.

I'd never thought about this position in much detail. I knew of it, but this was a sudden introduction to it and threw me completely.

The first thing I noticed was how my entire body weight was on my knees, or the inside of my knees. The legs and knees are pretty robust parts of the body and it wasn't awful, but any time your entire body weight is placed on something that wasn't designed for it (i.e. anything but the feet) it's going to eventually wear on you and hurt.

The second thing I noticed was how immobile I was. With a very simple tie, a single wrist bondage, my entire body was in place and not moving. I struggled a little and was immediately aware that it was going to accomplish nothing. The only part of my body free to move was my head.

Wow. I am used to being immobile but this was unexpected. I pushed up my legs but my upper body was pressing on my shins through my tied wrists, and I had no leverage for moving. The best I did was to rock back and forth an inch or two. And grunt.

"I like it when she grunts," Ant said to Dean.

"Yeah, I like it too. I especially like her to grunt when I ram something into her, like my cock. Or anything really."

The boys were talking to each other acting as if I was just a toy to enjoy, which of course I was.

They left me there for a while to think about and experience my new position. I was totally fucked; the weight of my entire body was on the rod that slid under my knees. The pressure was slowly getting worse. My wrists had the weight of my upper body and they didn't hurt at first, but as time went on my hands ached. Lack of blood flow.

So I tried to relieve the pressure on my wrists, just for a bit. I couldn't do it! There was no leverage, no way I could move to lift my wrists!

I finally figured it out, though. By moving my hands closer to each other, over my shins, I was able to hold my shins with my hands and lift slightly. I couldn't hold this position long at all, but for 15 seconds at a time I could get slightly better blood flow and my wrists didn't hurt as much.

Very quickly I recognized this position was a stress bondage position similar to my old nemesis, the ball tie. My body was bent over, chest against thighs, legs secured in a bent position, all folded on myself. It was a little hard to breathe but I managed.

Strain was occurring all over. My knees, of course, were bad. My my calves hurt, and my wrists, and my back. I kept trying to raise my head because having it hang upside down is disorienting and painful from all the blood rushing to it, but I couldn't hold it there. So my head would hang down backward for a bit then I would lift it again.

Back and forth. Sort of like crucified people, who tend to rise up and sink down while they have strength.

Then the interrogation began. I thought they would just end up fucking me (my ass was sticking right out there for them). But no, they wanted information.

Ant walked up to me and whacked me hard with a leather paddle. I yelped. It hurt like hell. He hit me again, and again.

My tears fell out of the corner of my eyes and trickled down the side of my head. I screamed a little, and begged.

Finally, Ant came around to my head and revealed they wanted something.

"Give us your pin number," he said.

"What?" I moaned, not understanding.

"We want the pin number to your bank account." He held up my ATM card. He'd gone through my purse, sitting on top of my neatly folded clothes at the front door.

"WHAT?" I groaned. Dean hit my ass this time, using a cane. Damn, that hurt and I screamed.

"No, are you fucking crazy?" I yelped. Dean and Ant were friends of mine but only in a very limited arena. I trusted them with my body and allowed them to tie my up and torture me and fuckme, but give them the PIN to my bank account?

No fucking way.

Ant left my head and stepped back to watch. He had his cock out and was slowly stroking it. Ant is a total sadist and loves to see me (or any woman) in pain. I am sure he'd just as soon not have me give him my PIN.

Dean continued with the strokes.

If you've never been caned you might be surprised by how much it can hurt. I sure was the first time I had a caning. It stings like fire. There's no deep damage to muscles or anything but a cane can raise welts and even make you bleed with widespread bruising in no time.

What really makes caning painful and damaging is repeated strokes in the same area. I'm not an expert but I think the flesh breaks down just a little bit with each impact and repeated impacts enhance the welts and bleeding.

Dean knows how to cane me. The strokes started across my ass, right about my rectum area and slowly moved up. The pain was like a fire, after a bit it really felt like someone was burning my skin with a red hot poker.

Lemme tell you, I was empathizing and understanding just how this position could be used as an effective torture device.

The position was fucking miserable, it was cramped and painful and tiring and made it hard to breathe and once in it I could literally not move, I just hung there. Exposed and vulnerable and being tortured, just the way I like it. Helpless. Completely helpless.

After a few minutes of this Ant asked me again.

"Give us your PIN."

"Go to hell," I spit. In my mind I was determined not to give anything to them. I didn't even think about the safe word, either. My objective was to endure.

Ant started in with his paddle again. Or a paddle, maybe not the same one. It seemed to hurt worse than the last one and I was sobbing in no time.

I wasn't counting strokes, of course. I seldom do, unless instructed to. Mostly you just have to endure.

Ant loved his paddle. He moved it across my ass, letting it gently slide against my burning skin. Showing me it had a rough texture like something had been wrapped around it.

Then a strike. I never knew where it could come, ass or thighs.

I figured my ass and thighs were black and blue right about then.

They stopped. "Break time," Dean said.

What, they were giving me a break? Or they were taking a break? Yeah, it can be really exerting whipping and torturing some poor girl. Works up a sweat. Need a break.

Well, they actually lifted the rod up and put me back on the floor. My weight suddenly was on my back instead of my legs, knees and wrists. Oh thank god. They were actually giving me a break.

Good and bad. They were doing this so they could keep going longer. I breathed easier and let blood flow through my extremities more naturally, and let the fire in my ass and thighs begin to fade a bit.

After a couple of minutes on my back, still folded up tightly, I was lifted back up to hang.

I had forgotten what they wanted, initially. They were just hurting me, and I couldn't do anything about it. That's what the world was, right then. I had dropped into subspace and was simply enduring it. This was the world. I had no job, no family, no car, nothing... the world was this dark room with two sweaty men with their cocks out masturbating while they hurt me and I couldn't stop them.

I hung there a minute or two, waiting for them to start again. My ass and thighs were on fire and I was worried about scarring. I thought I felt trickles of blood, but it could have just been sweat. It was hot and stuffy in the room.

The cane hit again.

This time on my feet. Bastinado. I'd experienced it before and it's fucking miserable.

I discovered I actually had a tiny bit of room where I could wiggle. My feet were not tied together and while it was impossible to spread my knees, I could move my legs and wriggle feet out of the way. Which I did. Made it hard to land a good consistent blow.

Well, that didn't last long. Dean got a bit of twine and tied my big toes together.

So much for evasive techniques. The Bastinado continued. Slowly. One stroke every 30 seconds or so, enough time to let the sting and pain set in and become agony, before the next stroke added to it.

In medieval torture, the bastinado was done with hot pokers and clubs and stuff that would permanently break, batter, burn and destroy the feet. Thank goodness we are not living in medieval times.

In this case it was done with a thin cane rod, which invoked enough pain to bring the tears once again.

The slow strokes Dean was doling out were evil. It meant he could hit me for a long time. The pain from a single strike actually reached its full peak a couple of seconds after the impact, then faded slowly (very) after that. By doling the strokes out slowly he could get the maximum pain for (relatively) minimal damage.

My temples were soaked with tears.

"I want to fuck her," Ant said.

Well, at least it made the bastinado stop. My ass and thighs were on fire, though they were getting a bit better; now the soles of my feet were burning and aching with the caning. At least they hadn't tickled me. Oh god, I had to push that out of my mind.

Ant stuck a finger into my cunt, then two fingers. Being penetrated the first time during a session always makes me jump a little. It is a unique reminder that I am completely vulnerable.

"She's wet!" He said in surprise.

"Well yeah. She's a pain slut. What did you expect?"

I managed to pant out protest. "I am... not... a pain... slut..."

"What's your PIN?" asked Dean.

"Fuck you," I said.

"In a bit. Right now we have something else in mind. Don't fuck her yet, Ant. Wait until she's given us the pin and we can both do it together."

Dean gave my legs a push, making me rock back and forth.

I don't know why but that simple action freaked me out. I couldn't do anything about it. It was like being spun around when suspended, you have no choice but to let the world go round and it made me feel like a completely helpless object.

It hurt too, pushing the bar into my knees and elbows. I screamed and then cried a bit.

After a couple of rocks back and forth, Dean went off to the side for a while and left me hanging there, doing nothing but feeling compressed and dizzy.

It struck me that this position was one of the nastier stress positions I'd been in, similar to the ball tie that I love so much, but a bit more stressful because of the suspension. Stress positions are one where the body is forced into positions that are unnatural and as time goes on the discomfort and pain gets worse and worse. Stress positions can be anything from standing on tiptoes for long periods, to being bent back in a tight hogtie, to many kinds of suspension.

I was so deep in subspace by now I didn't remember my name or where I was. I knew my torturer's names but I had no concept of a world outside the four walls of that room, and frankly my consciousness didn't extend that far. It was focused on my body and the ropes and steel bar to which I was tied.

While Dean was gone Ant spent some time roaming my body with his hands. I could feel him touching, stroking my legs, running fingers along the welts on my thighs, sliding fingertips along my openings, delving in slightly. He cupped my breasts, had me suckle his fingers so I could taste myself on them, and even leaned down to kiss my forehead as I hung suffering.

I knew my helpless suffering made me the most beautiful woman in the world to him right then, and his dick was hard as a rock to prove it.

Dean returned with a bucket, a really big bucket. It was sloshing, half full of water. He put it under my head. My hair hung down and the tips brushed the water below.

"Need to fill it the rest of the way here," he said.

"Oh, no... god, don't do that!" I pleaded. They didn't pay any attention, just continued filling the bucket with a hose.

It took a while. All the while the water beneath my head slowly rose I just hung there. I could see the bucket below me and the water slowly getting closer. My hair was deep in it now and I knew me head was slightly below the bucket edge so I would have to raise my head to keep from drowning.

The water reached the edge of the bucket and my hair was completely in wet. I held my head up a little, but keeping it up was too much effort. I'd been keeping it up for... well, I didn't know how long.

How long had I been there? I didn't know. An hour? Two hours?

My head dropped into the water and my eyes went under, and my nose.

But my mouth was above the water.

The water started to drain into my nose, sinuses and throat and I coughed and gasped and managed to close my throat off and breathe through my mouth.

After a minute in the water I lifted my head up and blinked, held my head up for a bit then let it back down into the water.

I did this for a while; it was unpleasant but I just had to breathe through my mouth when I dropped my head back.

After four or five cycles of going up and down Ant said, "Hold your breath".

"Oh god--" I got out before the bar on one side was unhooked from the stand and lowered. My entire head and face went under including my mouth.

I tried to lift my head up, get my face above water, but I was just a little bit too deep.

I had not gotten a breath before going under but the water was everywhere and I held my mouth shut and refused to open it. My head pounded and my body started screaming for air.

Then I was pulled up and out. I coughed, gasped, took air in but water went in as well which made me cough, and because of my folded position I couldn't breath or cough properly and it took me a while to recover from the dunking.

"Again," Dean said and this time I managed to get a breath before going under.

I don't think they actually had me in the water very long. Maybe 20 second, 30 seconds. But because I was suspended, in pain, upside down, I wasn't thinking straight and it was hard to make sure I coped.

But I did. They dunked me three times, after which Dean said, "This is a hell of a lot harder than I thought. She's heavy. Not going to keep doing this."

(I weigh 135 lbs which for my height is perfectly normal, even light, so fuck him.)

"Break time!" Dean called out. He and Ant lifted me out of the stands and lowered me to the floor again.

Oh sweet earth. I was still tied squashed and folded but no longer suspended and I took the chance to once again get blood flow and breathing going.

The position was still a strain. Muscles, especially in my legs and back, were trying to uncramp but until I could stretch out straight they were going to keep cramping.

"I need to pee," I said.

I have a routine before most scenes, which involves making sure I have peed and a small enema. It makes things a little easier. But this session had gone on long enough I needed to pee. Sometimes a guy will let me loose for a toilet, or more frequently will ease up on a position and provide a bucket. That's what I was hoping for.

"Go head," Dean said.

"Fuck..." I groaned. He meant I was to just soil myself and pee on the floor. With my legs bent back like that I would end up peeing all over my thighs and ass. Well, I really did need to pee, so I did. And yes, it got all over the floor, and my thighs and ass.

It's humiliating to pee in front of a man because you have no choice. That's why Dean told me to do it. Ant loves to humiliate girls, too. Bastard.

Fortunately, they don't like urine sitting on the floor or the smell, so they wiped it up, including me.

"What's your PIN?" asked Ant.

"No," I said, shaking my head but I could feel my resolve eroding away.

They lifted me up again.

"We need a  fluffer," Ant said and positioned himself in front of my mouth. I opened and felt his cock sink in past my tongue and down my throat. I really did not want to vomit in this position and did my best to concentrate on just suppressing the gag reflex.

I could tell they were hesitant to keep beating my ass. Probably because they could see the giant welts their previous beating had left. My ass and thighs were still burning and while I couldn't see how bad it was, I knew from experience I had some pretty deep red marks.

It was the caning that really left the bruises and stripes. I could feel some trickling there as well, though I couldn't tell if it was blood or just sweat.

Yeah, I was sweating. The strain of the position was getting to me. Muscles cramping, pain spreading, not to mention how stuffy Dean's play room can be. He sometimes puts up a fan to help a little.

There are plenty of ways to cause pain other than impact play.

Dean went over and filled a bucket with water.

I watched him, wondering if he was just going to wash me off to help my endurance, because he pitied me, or because he just liked the way I looked wet. That was actually probably it. I get water dumped on me all the time. Sometimes my body gets oiled.

I don't like getting oiled because it's hard to wash off later.

So Dean comes over and splashes the bucket of water on me, actually splashing it on my ass and thighs. Washing off the welts, probably.

Then he goes to work someplace where I can't see. Actually, I couldn't see a lot from my position, and what I could see was mostly upside down. I kept lifting my head but my neck was so tired by then my head spent most of the time hanging down.

I also wondered when I was going to get my orgasm. I always get an orgasm, it's like an unwritten rule. Polly gets an orgasm, at least one, if she lets herself get tied up and tortured.

Instead of an orgasm I felt a small clamp on my labia. Not strong enough to be painful, just secure.

Oh. Shock therapy.

"God dammit Dean... at least give me a gag if you are going to torture me!"

This is a strange thing I've realized recently. Over the years I have worn ball gags and panel gags and cloth gags so much during sexual and bondage play that it feels familiar. It's something I can bite on and feels comforting. I actually want to be gagged much of the time. It arouses me. The simple act of placing a ball gag in my mouth and buckling it nice and tight gets me wet. Pavlovian response, I guess.

Dean gave me a gag, but it was the wrong fucking kind.

"Open wide," he said. I did, expecting a nice rubber ball or even a soft rubber stubby penis. Either would have been fine.

Instead I felt a metal ring gag going in. It slides in sideways then gets turned to push the jaw open wider. I swore at Dean a couple times. (You can talk and make yourself understood with most types of gags. Not all, but most.)

So I had a wire attached to my pussy, which is never a good thing.

A second wire went on.

Even less of a good thing.

I hung there, waiting for what I knew was coming. Burning, vibrating, jolting pain.

And it came. I jerked, my head went back and I yelped.

"FFFUUUUckkk...."

"What's your PIN?" Ant asked, sticking his cock in my mouth again. Of course I couldn't answer with a ring gag and a cock in my mouth so what I did was choke and scream when the next shock hit my pussy.

Ant face fucked me for a minute or two while Dean lit my genitals on fire and made me jerk and try to wriggle (but failed, because hanging there I couldn't move much at all).

Ant really fucked my face then. Held his cock in, rammed it in and out. I've sucked so many cocks in my life it doesn't really phase me, but when I am being shocked in the pussy and have a ring gag on to keep me from chomping down on the cock, it sort of removes all style and skill.

My mouth and throat were just a flesh hole for Ant to use, and he used me. Dropped a nice big load of cum right in my mouth and throat, which I had to swallow as fast as I could or I was going to choke and it would end up going up into my nose which trust me, is completely gross.

When Ant finally took his cock out of my mouth I yelled it out.

"-y -in is -i... e..en... e...en ... threeee...."

"What's that? Dean asked. "Take the ring gag out, Ant."

The ring gag came out and I said, "My pin is five seven seven three!"

"Are you sure?" Dean said. "Because if you make us go all the way to the bank to try it out and we discover it isn't right, we are really going to have to torture you."

"Yes, dammit. That's my pin. Now... please... let me down!"

"Can't do that. Ant, go check her pin. Banks on the corner a couple blocks south of here."

"Awwww, do I have to?" he asked.

"Yes you have to. You already came and I get to fuck her now."

Ant left to go suck my bank account dry and I continued to hang from the bar, my entire body in agony now.

Dean kissed my lips. It's a power play, a sort of sign of domination when a guy kisses you when you are tied up and suffering. It's like saying "you are mine and I love it most when you suffer for me."

He then rammed his cock into my cunt and fucked the hell out of me.

I have to say I had my first orgasm then. Dean knows how to fuck and my clit was stimulated as well as getting nicely penetrated.

You would think it would be hard to orgasm when suspended in a collapsed, folded position that makes it hard to breathe and is incredibly painful. Well, yeah, kinda, but over the years sex and pleasure and pain and bondage have gotten so mixed up to me that it happens. Like, more often than not.

When he was finished he let me hang a bit longer while he cleaned up his cock of his cum and my juices.

"Can I please be put down now? I gave you the pin. Pleeeaseee....."

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Gotta keep you there until Ant comes back. But I can do this for you.

He pulled out the clit vibrator.

So the clit vibrator is this little evil thing he got a while back, just to try out. It is small and the head sort of envelops the clit. It vibrates and stimulates the clit, like... intensely.

I have a love hate relationship with the clit vibrator. It is frequently over-stimulating. It can be relentless, vibrating the clit and demanding an orgasm, even when you don't want to have one.

He pushed it up against my clit, turned it on and I moaned, cried, and begged.

"Oh, fucking hell... please no... turn it off... jeeeeeeeeeeeze...." I wriggled my hips as much as I could to get away but he held it in and I couldn't escape it.

Rather quickly I built to climax and had a fucking orgasm. It was a lot more intense that the one when he fucked me with his cock, my entire body shuddered and I could feel the warmth cover me. Dean can tell when I have orgasms, rather easily. There are signs I can't fake. Things like the shudder. The erect nipples. And the flush that covers my chest and bits of my neck.

A few minutes later Ant came back with a wad of my cash in his hand.

"That was it! The right pin!" he declared.

"Let's get her down, then," Dean said and the two of them lifted me off the stands and carried me over to the bed.

Once there, they slid the bar out from between my elbows and knees. One simple act, one small piece of equipment and suddenly I was more or less free.

I found out then that just because you've been untied and freed you aren't necessarily free.

I've been there before. Once you've been in an intense stress bondage position for a while your body doesn't immediately cooperate. It needs recovery time. In this case, I didn't want to unfold. My thighs threatened to completely cramp if I straightened out too fast. My back and hips didn't want to move either.

My arms were better, but somehow my body wanted to wrap into a defensive fetal position and just recover for a while.

I had not withstood the interrogation. I had broken, and given my interrogators that piece of information that was special, that I truly did not want to give them. I'd compromised myself.

Ahhh... what the hell. They could take a maximum of $300 out of my account at a time. Not the end of the world.

Even so, I was crying. The scene had been intense and emotional as well as painful. The crying was a release in this case, it wasn't due to misery or pain, it was just the stress and emotional release.

In fact, I was going through some of the emotional and physical highs that I typically get with intense scenes. Adrenaline flowing, dopamine and endorphins going, an amazing sense of relief mixed with accomplishment.

Dean is terrible at aftercare. His idea of aftercare is drinking a beer while I suck his dick. Ant does better though. He helped me recover and go through the release and wind down after the scene.

One of the more intense scenes I've been in. Would I do it again? Yeah, sure.

By the way, the whole thing lasted about three hours, not the full eight we had cleared. After I recovered we went out to a late dinner and talked about it. They paid for the dinner from the money they had taken from my account. Dean wanted to go back after dinner for a threesome, but I was exhausted and said no. And to tell the truth, my body was hurting. It took my knees two weeks to fully recover.

Oh, I got the three hundred back, less the money for dinner. They didn't keep it. And I changed my PIN right away.