Teaser

 When I was much younger, barely past 18, I acquired one of my first real doms. He was married to a submissive woman who loved very kink activities. They'd do rigging demonstrations at some of the open bondage gatherings, and were active in seeking partners for various types of play.

It was through this dom I experienced my first armbinder (equipment most people don't invest the money in) and real strappado. In later life I sought him out to perform a crucifixion on me. I didn't have many others that I trusted, and while he was out of state by then I was willing to travel to see him. 

One of the things he introduced me to that I've had a lot of fun with since, was kidnap scenes. Role-play, essentially, where I would be kidnapped, taken to a location and used / abused. The first time we did this it was for a Saturday afternoon. I loved it. I sank into subspace so deeply he and his wife had to care for me an hour after the scene was over.

Because it went well, we eventually decided to try a weekend-long scene. I'd be abducted sometime Friday afternoon. We arranged a bar pickup, where I would dress as slutty as I could and attract as many men as I could, though I would reject them all until my dom came in. Then I would tease and flirt with him and eventually agree to head back to his place, except things would not go as planned (for me).

My dom was also one that hated teases. I found out later he thought I was a tease, probably because I have an unconscious tendency to flirt with  others, both men and women.

We did several weekend kidnap scenes, and they were mentally exhausting but extremely rewarding. The world would shrink into the little space I was in and all I wanted was to please my captors. The dom put a lot of effort into these scenes as well, making sure they were well done, scary, painful, and filled with orgasms. 

Recently I agreed to write up some of my experiences in the weekend kidnap scenes for a friend of mine, a guy who also hated teasers and told me I was a tease.

When he heard I had been kidnaped and punished for an entire weekend for being a tease, he wanted to do it himself. I told him no, but I did write up a modified version of my experiences for him. I took some of the episodes, activities, feelings, events from the several kidnap scenes we had done, embellished them and glued them together, and created the story.

This story is published on Unnaturally Bound, here:

Teaser

Don't think much happened exactly the way I describe it. I absolutely do not remember the exact dialogue from 20 years ago, and it leaves out long periods sleeping in a locked closet in the dark and eating at the dinner table with my captor, and other boring things. It's been written based on my experiences, but I would say it was only about 60-70% accurate. But the core of it is based on my true experiences.

First Time Needles

I like being scared.

No, not in fear of my life, but I like feeling nervous because I don't know what will happen during a kink scene. I like the cold shiver of fear and anticipation when I slowly realize what is coming down the pike and know there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.

That's one reason I married Jason, and why I have submitted to Dean consistently since the divorce.

That's part of the thrill with someone you trust and knows you-- you are giving yourself over and shit will happen and you won't have control over what. That's what I seek. It's sort of like what bungee jumping must be like... except I am too scared of that.

I am remembering a scene from a long time ago, before Dean, before Jason. A guy I knew and was in a relationship with.

Well, the relationship wasn't super serious; we saw each other and did social things together and fucked in addition to his attempting to tie me up in ever more uncomfortable and weird positions, that last bit being the real attraction for me.

We were seen as a couple, but it wasn't a committed relationship. Not committed, but ongoing. An understanding where we met some needs each other had.

Let's call this dude Bill. He is a big guy, he towered over me and spent time at the gym so his body was pretty decent. No flab, though he wasn't super muscular. And he had a nice cock. Not huge, but it got hard really easily and was big enough to make me feel filled. And to choke me if he rammed it into my throat far enough. Which happened.

Bill texted me and told me to come over. I wasn't always at his beck and call, but he did expect a certain amount of obedience. When I got a text, I didn't drop everything but I did try to obey if I could.

This time part of his instructions were to put on nipple clamps prior to driving to his place. I was told I had to photograph myself with the nipple clamps on under my top before I left. No putting them on just outside and saying I had them on the entire way.

So I did.

"Owwww.... fuck," was what I said when they went on.

The clamps he instructed me to use weren't large, but would make it impossible to wear a bra, and would definitely show through a top.

The clamps are pre-set with a specific tension and are not the worst ones I've ever worn by a long shot, but hurt nonetheless. When I put clamps on myself I can make sure they don't hurt too badly, by positioning them far enough back they grab a bit of breast and areola, not just the nipple itself.

Of course they hurt the worst when they are first put on. The nipples numb a bit after a while, though the burning clamp pain continues constantly; it doesn't go away. These things hurt, and I wanted to get them off. I figured he'd take them off soon after I arrived, which meant I didn't waste time.

I texted the image and piled in the car for the 15 minute drive to his place as fast as I could. I hoped he'd remove them when I arrived.

I entered his house (I had a key) and greeted him with a hug and kiss. His hands roamed to my breasts and fondled the clamps, which of course hurt.

"Oww.... that hurts...." I breathed in his ear as we embraced and he fondled.

"Good," he said, we separated and he brought me to the play room.

"Strip," he ordered. I did as told. I was already wet, the presence of the nipple clamps basically putting me into a rather aroused state well before I arrived. My clothes came off quickly. The top, which exposed my clamped breasts; shoes, shorts and panties. And that was it. I was naked.

He moved over to me, kissing me, checking my cunt for moistness.

"You are such a slut," he chuckled when he felt me. Yes, I was wet. I knew what was coming, I wanted it, and my body didn't hide that. Yeah, I was a slut.

"Please be gentle," I said. He laughed.

"Anything but gentle today, Siobhan," he growled. "You will be begging me before long."

That got me. I knew he was serious. I didn't know what he would be doing but I knew he intended for it to be difficult. I don't beg easily. I'm a big girl and can take a lot. I gritted my teeth and prepared myself mentally.

He grabbed my left wrist and twisted my arm behind my back, driving me forward. I staggered, a little off balance as he pushed me toward the chair.

Bill had acquired a lot more equipment since meeting me. Not many girls are as open and intense as I am, and he had invested in more equipment to satisfy his fantasies as well as my desires.

The chair was an addition he had made, rather than purchased. It was just a good sturdy wooden chair, with a straight back and flat seat. He could bolt it to the floor, though he normally didn't.

There had been padding on the back and bottom at one time. Upholstery. That has been removed, making the chair more of just a wooden frame than anything else.

That made it pretty uncomfortable to say the least, but also made sure that once I was secured in it, most areas of my body would be exposed and available for him to access. My ass, my cunt, my back, my breasts.

So to me the chair was a tool that restricted my movement and exposed my body to him, preventing me from covering or protecting my 'sensitive parts'.

Bill pushed me down to the chair, which was awkward because it had no support for my butt. My legs went over the front of the frame and my pack pushed against the bare wood frame behind, but my butt sank down.

That would all be fixed once he strapped me in. The straps would hold me to the wood frame.

First to go were my wrists, which were strapped to the back of the chair, arms pointing downward and out of the way. I prefer rope but straps are used a lot of the time for ease and speed. Rope creates a tighter, more secure experience. Straps accomplish the job, though.

In every scene there's a point where you cross over from being a free agent, being able to back out or just run, and the point where you are trapped and stuck. I anticipate that point, my heart racing, my muscles tense, every nerve in my body hyper sensitive, adrenaline surging.

It's the point where I lose control. I belong to someone else now.

Once my wrists were strapped to the chair, I was gone. That was the point. I'd crossed the threshold and Bill now had me at his mercy. God, it made me wet. My mind shrank into subspace, the entire world disappearing. There was nothing but me, Bill, and the chair. My naked body had just become his toy and my mind accepted that.

My ankles were next, strapped to the legs. This spread my knees, though I could still close them somewhat. To make sure I didn't do that, Bill tied my knees to the outside frame of the chair.

I was more or less restricted to the chair, but when one is panicked or in pain, there's a lot of leeway in struggling that you might not realize.

So, Bill tied my waist to the back of the chair, and then my shoulders.

My head could move a lot, but otherwise, I was stuck, strictly restrained to the chair.

I jerked a bit in the chair, testing the restraints. I was secured.

"Writhe a bit more, Siobhan. You look so good when you are writhing."

"Fuck off, Bill."

He laughed. I never show it, but I get a chill of fear when he laughs. It's delicious.

"I need to prepare something. While I do that, let me keep you amused."

One thing about that chair, it allowed for a vibrator to be inserted in different ways, clipped or strapped in place where it would press right up against my cunt. Once there, I couldn't get away from it.  Well, he put a vibrator in place and turned it on.

"Oh.... fuck..." I said, sort of moaning.

Forced stimulation is one reason I liked to be tied up with Bill. The feeling of being helpless and having my sexual responses manipulated, even having an orgasm controlled by him, was priceless. He'd give me an orgasm or take it away at his whim.

Just when I wanted to cum, needed to cum, he'd remove the vibrator or stop rubbing me. Just when I wanted a rest, he'd ram the vibrator in and turn it on and I would find myself reaching for a climax.

My clit is really sensitive. Maybe because it's been abused a bit over the years, maybe because it just is, maybe because women in general have very sensitive clits. I have no way of knowing. I just know a vibrator on my clit will slowly, but surely, drive me insane.

The vibrator distracted me and kept me from watching what Bill was doing. I sort of sat there, struggled a bit to try and either get away from the thing, or press against it harder. Neither worked well so I just sat in the chair and let the vibrator take me closer and closer to an orgasm.

It's easier for me to achieve orgasm when I am restrained. In fact, there are times when I am fucking someone that I wish I was restrained, I yearn for it.

I swear, getting fucked or vibed while completely restrained and unable to move is the best thing in the world for me. I think I was so wet the vibrator was splattering as it shook.

Anyway, it didn't take long and I was panting and getting there pretty quickly. I was watching the vibrator, concentrating on what it was doing, but Bill pulled the damned thing away.

"God dammit, Bill. I was almost there!"

"Yes, my pet. I know. I can tell. The noises you make are a little different, and your nipples get hard and there's... flushing of the skin that comes on. But I am not ready to let that happen. Now..."

He moved the vibe away and sat before me.

"I must offer you a gag. This will be painful, and you might appreciate something to bite down on."

I looked for the first time and saw he had a tray filled with stuff. The tray looked a little like something from a surgeon or dentist office. At first I didn't understand what was in it. Pieces of plastic wrapped around things, a few things rolling free in it.

My brain identified the contents of the tray. Needles. Lots of them.

Most were needles which could be attached to syringes for injections. Some appeared to be pins-- the kind you'd use on a cork board, but long.

I made a noise.

"Ohhh......" it came out as sort of a groan.

"Oh.... ohhh fuck no...." Those were words.

"Fuck no... " I added. "No... Bill... you are not going to stick those in me... no..."

I must clarify that I have a safeword and "no" is not it. I could beg and swear and say no all day and it would have no effect at all.

Which is what happened. Bill essentially ignored me except to say, "Do you want a gag now?"

"No... no... no, Bill... please, no... " I guess that was taken as a no to the gag because I didn't get one.

He'd offered me a gag for a couple of reasons. First and probably foremost, I prefer a gag, especially when the scene is going to be painful as this one was. It's weird to say but a gag can be comforting. Something to bite down on. It's a familiar thing that I actually welcome (depending on gag type).

The other reason was to muffle noise. Bill's house has plenty of yard space from the houses nearby, and his playroom is at least somewhat sound deadened. But a good long shrill scream might be heard. Gags actually have practical application in some suburban and urban situations.

I was secured very well to the chair, unable to move anything much but my head, which I could flail around but that didn't really do much except give me a headache. Hips, chest, wrists and arms, ankles, thighs.

The gag might have been a good idea, but we didn't use it-- at first.

He sat down next to me with his tray and caressed my face, pushing hair behind my ears. Affectionate. He really did love me, you know, even as he was hurting me.  Perhaps he loved me most when he was hurting me.

"Shall we start with the breasts or your cunt?" He asked clinically.

All I could do was protest. "No, flog me Bill, whip me, but not this. Don't. I've never had needles before. I'm scared Bill, I don't want it!"

"It will be fine, Siobhan. I know you can take it. Be strong for me now. Let's tie your breasts, that might help a bit to have them nice and tight."

A piece of rope wrapped above and below my boobs, positioned so they created a slight bulge. Then a couple of crosses, creating more of a bulge. Finally, a loop around the ropes between my breasts, tightening the entire thing.

Not painful. But I could feel the taught pressure and flesh. My breasts would be firm and steady for when Bill decided to puncture them.

Bill ran his hand over my breasts.

"I like them when they are nice and tight like this, Siobhan. You don't have big boobs, but you have fine ones. I like distorting their shape like this, making them bulge and turn purple."

He was taunting me. Being in bondage is humiliating at times, my body exposed or twisted or distorted in very unattractive ways. That's one thing breast bondage does, it takes my otherwise perfect boobs and makes them look like ridiculous balloons.

He was also dragging this out. I knew what was coming, the needles on the tray were sitting right in front of me, only a couple of feet away. By taking his time he was making me sweat. I'd never been pierced with needles before. Well, I'd had my ears pierced ten years before, and was thinking of getting a nose piercing, a stud. But this was new and the situation was driving me up a wall.

My breathing was fast. I was stressed.  I wasn't crying yet, though.

"Beautiful. Let's get you nice and ready. I ordered the nipple clamps earlier to help swell and sensitize your nipples. Let's see how they are doing?"

He grabbed both nipples without warning, squeezed and twisted at the same time.

It's amazing how much that can hurt. It's nothing compared to a nasty tit clamp but I yelped and cried out as he pulled my nipples out and twisted, stretching my boobs out.

"Owwwww.... oh fuck fuck fuck.... oooaaahhhh.... "

It wasn't a scream, but a yelp.

He continued pulled and yanking for a while as I swore at him. That just encouraged him but I couldn't help it. It hurt!

"They seem OK. Probably won't get any more sensitive. Shall we begin?"

I shook my head. "No... no, let's not. Let's not begin. Let's do something else."

Bill picked up a needle in a paper and plastic sterile package and tore it open.

"There are different gauges, you know. I have a variety here. Long and short, too. Short ones are for the nipples. Longer ones can go through your breasts."

Oh my god he was going to skewer me.

He held the needle up. It was a smaller, thinner one but looked huge up close. I kept telling myself I'd been poked by needles in the arm many times before, and this was no big deal. These were needles used with syringes for medical purposes. People got this poked in all the time.

My mind went over this, and over this. Somehow my body didn't cooperate. Adrenaline and fear was making me pant and hyperventilate. I was getting dizzy and he hadn't even stuck me yet.

He put the needle down, stretching the tension out further.

"Would you like a hood? You're hyperventilating."

So kind.

"No. Just... get it over with."

"In such a rush. I just realized I need to do something first."

He took out an alcohol wipe. Several of them. He wiped down my breasts. The caustic fluid evaporated quickly, making my boobs feel cold. He was really serious about this and was taking precautions.

He picked up the needle again.

Grabbed my right nipple and pulled my breast out a bit. I clenched my teeth. He put the point up next to the areola that had been elongated a bit with his pulling. I could feel the sharp point. The point hurt, there was pain there and I winced, but it didn't go in.

"Maybe from above," he said, withdrawing the needle and positioning it from above. He release my nipple and grabbed it again, thumb and forefinger.

This is all part of the awful experience of bondage and submission-- having your body manhandled and manipulated in very uncomfortable and sometimes embarrassing ways... and there is nothing you can do about it.

The needle touched the areola again, this time from above. The point pressed in. I was breathing heavily, which didn't make any difference to the placement of the needle because he had my boob stretched out with his fingers pulling.

"Wait! I know what we need."

"Ohhhhhfffuuuccckkkk.... " I groaned. He still hadn't done it.

Standing up he moved to the side of the room. There's a full length mirror there.

One of the weirdest and awful things (at least for me) that enhances the bondage and submission experience is to be forced to watch yourself. To see what is happening to you from the perspective of another. To see the sweat trickle down, the look of pain in one's own face. The way the ropes squeeze and tighten when one struggles. The look of agony and despair on your own face.

He rolled the mirror over. It wasn't right in front, but slightly to the side so he could work on my body without interference from the mirror.

I could see I was flushed, the adrenaline and stress causing outward reactions. My skin was slightly shiny from sweat. It wasn't gathering and trickling down, not yet, but was evident. I could see my cunt as he could, pink and dark with lips slightly spread and glistening, revealing my arousal for anyone to see.

"Try again?" Bill said, sitting in front of me again, taking my nipple and pulling it out.

I'd been there almost an hour and it took that long to get to where he actually punctured my flesh and inserted the needle. I had almost gone crazy, or lost interest, one of the two. My mind had waffled between being scared to death of the coming pain, and confident that this was just a stupid little poke like getting a shot in a doctor's office. It was a syringe needle, after all.

This time the needle went in.

I am proud to say I didn't scream. I was used to pain by this time in my life, though it was a long time ago. Even so, it was pain, it was sudden, it was a new kind of pain, and I yelped. And cringed and moaned and swore.

What surprised me was how long it took the needle to go through. I was thinking about when I got my earlobes pierced when I was 14, and that was fast, just a second. Wham, done. This wasn't.

When the needle first went in it pushed against my outer flesh, which resisted. That hurt, but there was a point where it suddenly poked through with a sort of pop and that's when there was a sharp, nasty burning sensation of pain. It didn't stop because he continued to push though the flesh beneath. He was inserting it through my areola, just behind the nipple, and it had a way to go. At least an inch, maybe more.

So I gritted my teeth and said "aaaaafhh ghhgaaggghhhioi oiggggg....." as it slowly made its way through my breast. And then hit the other side, trying to break through and out. And of course, the flesh there didn't want to give way either. I wasn't looking, I was looking up, at the ceiling, but I could tell the needle had hit something tougher. He pushed and I could feel my flesh stretching as the point penetrated and suddenly burst through.

It was worse than getting a shot in a doctor's office. Much, much worse.

I'd made quite a bit of noise while the needle went through, because it hurt, and it wasn't like in a doctor's office. Nope. It was a sharp, nasty, burning pain that announced something was happening to my flesh and I needed to stop it, which of course I couldn't because I was strapped down nicely.

"Well done, Siobhan. There's the first. Only.... well, it looks like I have around 50 needles left to go."

"Fuckfuckfuck that hurt... " The needle was through and the lingering pain was not nearly as bad as during the insertion. A soreness, a sense something had been damaged and was wrong there in my right breast, but nothing awful.

"Well, yes," Bill said, calmly picking up another needle. "It's supposed to. Though it really shouldn't hurt that badly, these are relatively small gauge needles we are starting with."

The next needle went in almost immediately. He was toying with me, of course, so I couldn't predict when the needle would go in. So it came as a surprise when he suddenly jammed the needle in his hand right into my nipple, straight in.

"OOOooOWWW...." I yelped. This time the pain of entry and penetration was only for a second or two, but the sensation of pain was different. The nipple itself is most sensitive and it hurt more. At the same time, the pain was shorter.

Each time a needle had gone in I had jerked and strained against the straps. No luck of course, I was strapped down and couldn't move. That's actually the most rewarding sensation to me, feeling the need to move, to escape, to get free and away, and being completely and totally unable to.

Two needles in. Something like 48 to go?

Bill adjusted his chair slightly and focused on my other breast.

"Oh shit... Bill... please..."

Bill was selecting another needle and peeled the wrapper off of it.

"Slightly larger. I want you to tell me what the difference in feeling is. I can't tell a lot by looking at the needle, but it's a larger gauge. See the color here on the base? That's an indicator of the gauge. I started with a very small, narrow gauge...."

He kept talking about needles and their size, waving the needle around. "I should try a different area too. Though if we are trying to see how much different they feel, like, what the pain is like, it should probably be the same place, huh?"

"Shove the fucking thing in and get it over with, Bill," I said. I knew it was going in. It hurt during insertion, not so much after. Might as well get this done and his taunting was working, I had to admit.

The needle slid directly into my nipple. He pressed this one in a bit further. I hadn't realized the one in the other nipple had only been poked in a bit, this one he kept pushing.

Using his thumb, he pushed the needle through the front of my nipple and kept pushing it all the way until it was up to the base.

It hurt worse, of course. The sounds I made reflected the extra pain. It started out and a sort of sharp burning pain that quickly morphed into a deeper aching pain the further the needle went in. I shook in the chair, jerking and straining and unable to move much at all.

When it was in and he let go of it I almost panted in relief. Yes, it still hurt but the main pain was during the penetration.

Which meant he had to keep sticking me like a fucking pin cushion.

The next needle he poked right into my breast, pushing it through the flesh and inside, pushing further in until more most of the metal rod was deep inside me.

It hurt the entire time he shoved it in and I started crying a bit. Not sobbing, but some tears formed.

"Enough, now, OK? Bill, my boobs are pin cushions, please stop. I am going to bleed out!"

This wasn't true, of course. In fact, at that point, there had not been one drop of blood.

My limits at the time did not prohibit things that would cut or create loss of blood. Just things that wouldn't heal fast, and needle punctures, if properly sterilized, would heal fast. Even with some bleeding, which they weren't.

"OK, so you want me to stop sticking needles in your boobs?"

"Yes, pleeease, Bill. No more." A couple of tears trickled down my cheeks.

One thing I was learning though, was that this pain wasn't that awful. Yes, it hurt. I didn't like it at all. But these needles stung and hurt, but it was relatively quick and not agonizing. I was learning to put pain in perspective.

"OK then. We will move to another area."

"What???" I should have known, but I was stressed, tied up and having needles inserted into my boobs. It's distracting.

He shifted slightly and positioned himself in front of my pussy.

My pussy was exposed, of course, the chair straps kept my legs and knees spread wide. I tried closing them but nope.

He'd left the needles in my boobs and I looked at them in the mirror. Barely visible except for the colored base. I could feel them though.

Bill reached with fingers and grabbed my pussy lips. I closed my eyes and waited. I knew what was coming and there was nothing I could do about it except wait. The more I talked to him, the more he would play with me.

So yeah, he pulled my lips out, stretched pieces of my cunt to see where the best place to put the needle would be.

I couldn't help but strain against the restraints a bit, but it was mostly just instinctual reaction.

He grabbed a needle, I didn't see which one, and started poking it around on my cunt lips. Each poke hurt just a little, but not bad. What was bad, was not knowing which of those pokes would suddenly give way to a shove and the pain of piercing through my cunt lips.

I told myself I knew girls that had labia piercings; this was no different. It helped a bit and I relaxed until he rammed one through.

I yelped, and cringed and swore and cried.

Fuck, did that hurt! More than my boobs!

He did it quickly, too. My labia lip wasn't as thick as my breasts, and one quick shove accomplished the task, but fuck it hurt.

After the needle was in, Bill fingered me a bit. Just pulling on my clitoral hood, massaging lightly, then hooking one finger inside to probe around and find my G spot.

I reached, and frankly, my reaction wasn't much different than when he'd pierced my labia. I moaned and wriggled my hips a bit, strained against the straps. My clit is very sensitive and he knew how to approach me, get me going and aroused without over stimulating at first.

"Can I have an orgasm?" I asked... well, sort of begged.

"Soon. Soon, dear."

He kissed my clit and got another needle. After playing with my other labia lip a bit, he ran the needle through that one too. I grunted and another tear came down from one eye.

"You know something, you are soooo wet. You really like this, don't you?"

I shook my head violently, but he was right. My pussy was wet and there was only one reason.

I was getting off on this. I wanted an orgasm from it though.

"OK. If you want an orgasm you can have one, but you have to take more to your boobs. OK??"

"Oh... fuck you!" I cried out in frustration.

"I know you'd like that, but maybe later. Right now there's an offer on the table. More needles in the breasts for a nice orgasm. What's it to be?"

I gritted my teeth and nodded my head. "Fine. More needles."

Bill smiled big and kissed my lips.

"That's my girl. Let's hurt you some more, shall we?"

But... before the needles went in he got the clit vibrator and positioned it just right. It went on low and I immediately arched my back, trying to press it in a bit harder, but my hips were strapped in.

And it simply shifted the vibrator.

Bill put it back in place. "Siobhan, you have to stay still now. Writhing around will just push the vibrator around and I am not going to keep putting it back. Just relax and let it do its work."

I did. The vibrator was on low, which was what I wanted when I first started out. I would need it turned up in a bit, but until my clit gets engorged and a bit numb from the stim, I can't stand the higher settings.

The needles were no longer a novelty. I had... what... at least six in me by now. They hurt, but I was learning it wasn't that bad, it was over quickly and the pain didn't linger too badly.

So I sat there trying not to writhe in either pleasure from the vibrator or pain from more needles in my boobs.

Bill encouraged me, turned the vibrator up after a few more needles went in, and told me to cum. I didn't need his permission but I did need a bit more time.  I pushed forward against the vibrator slightly and closed my eyes.

The orgasm was coming. I could feel it.

Just as I began to flush from the orgasm (I get flushed red spots on my chest and neck when I have a strong climax) he pushed another needle in. I didn't even react to it, I just concentrated on getting my body to orgasm, and was rewarded seconds later.

"Oh.... fffuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkk...." I moaned and took several deep breaths.

I was slowly but surely being turned into a human pin cushion, and while it hurt, it didn't hurt enough I couldn't orgasm.

Which I did.  A second time.

While I was concentrating on my clit and the vibrator (it was also touching the needles in my labia which introduced and interesting vibration in those foreign objects), Bill continued to insert needles, primarily into random areas of my breasts.

Each time one rammed through my flesh I yelped and my mind was distracted briefly from the vibrator, but after a few seconds my body continued where it had left off-- slowly building to a climax.

Needles in the breast tissue itself probably hurt the least. Second was the needle through the nipple, the one where he drove it straight in. My poor nipple was still throbbing from that one. The

After two orgasms (which are sort of obvious with me because I jerk a bit and moan and shudder and my chest and neck flushes), he took the vibrator away.

"Oh god... thank you for the orgasms," I thanked him. He needed to know I appreciated his cooperation.

"You are welcome," Bill said. He kissed me on my lips lovingly.

Have I mentioned he loves me most when he is torturing me? Yeah...

"Now I have a couple of other needles I want to try. These are not regular syringe needles. They are designed for reaching into the body, pulling out fluid or getting to internal organs."

He pulled out a needle I had not seen on his tray.

"Oh my god..." I swore looking at the thing.

Looking down at my breasts I saw a dozen needles, but compared to this one they were all small.

This new thing must have been six inchest long. What do you use a needle like that for, anyway???

For impaling my breasts, of course.

I realized that so far the needles I'd taken had all hurt, but not really that badly. I had more pain with a good caning, or flogging. I'd even have nipple clamps that were more painful than the needles I'd take.

They weren't comfortable, they really did hurt going on, but a lot of it was the novelty of having my flesh violated painfully, repeatedly. As with many things kink, I was getting used to it and no longer feared the needles, was not terrified of them at least.

"These are not disposable," he explained, "too expensive. So I sterilized them before hand. Heated them over a flame, then soaked in alcohol. Ready?"

I was staring at myself and my poor breast in the mirror as he positioned the needle above. I didn't say anything when he asked, but it didn't matter.

The needle pressed down and I cried out-- it hadn't even pierced the skin yet. He pushed harder, it hurt and I moaned and whimpered. He pushed even harder and I could feel my flesh stretching, resisting, then suddenly giving way to the point as the thing penetrated my breast.

"OOOWWWWW......"

"Not done yet..." Bill said calmly and kept pushing. I was breathing harder, moaning and scrunching my face as the pain of the needle going through layers and layers of flesh in my boob kept going on and on...

It stretched then popped out the other side.

"Tada!" he said happily.

This needle was still hurting. I whimpered, the pain still throbbing in my breast, deep inside.

"We can do this with your breasts because it is all soft tissue. Low density. Not like sticking needles into muscle or tendon."

I understood that, but it still hurt.

"Time for my reward," he said. He'd been clothed up until then, but stripped and folded his clothes neatly to the side. Once completely naked he approached me.

The needles were still in me, all over my boobs and several in my cunt lips. For the most part, they were a bit sore but not really hurting.

His cock was hard when it came out of his pants; he'd had a bulge since the moment I walked into his place.

Presenting me with his member, I opened my mouth obediently and took it. If I hadn't, he'd have simply used a ring gag and that wasn't necessary this time. I was sufficiently demoralized from having been repeatedly pierced with needles I wasn't in the mood to fight him.

He fucked my face until I felt him tense and being pushing deeper, making me gag a bit. I gasped but kept going.

As he came he grabbed my hair and rammed deep, pulling my head in until his entire cock was inside me. That meant I couldn't breathe, and my gag reflex was making my stomach and throat contract as I fought the desire to barf.


The needles were gone from my mind, he had reached the point where he wanted to be deep inside me so he could cum, but wasn't quite there yet.

A little barf came up, stuff that hurts the throat because it is like acid. He pulled out briefly then shoved back in.

Being face fucked when bound is a degrading experience, it emphasizes just how helpless one is. I couldn't stop him from doing me. I could struggle, but it wouldn't help.

My best option in these situations is to encourage the cock to ejaculate as fast as possible so I can get it out of my throat.

I tongued, squeezed, barfed a little, moved my head back and forth, fucked his cock with my throat and was rewarded with the warm, pulsing stream of cum sliding down into my stomach.

He kept his cock inside for a few seconds after cumming, deep enough I couldn't breathe and I jerked around a bit in growing panic as he held my head tightly.

Then the release and the fantastic gasping feeling of air returning.

It was over.

Well, mostly. He slimed my face with his cock just to remind me what a whore I was, then set about removing needles.

Turns out removing needles is a lot easier than inserting them, but not entirely without discomfort.

He started with my cunt, pulling the needles there out slowly, and fingering my clit a bit just to make sure I associated the feeling of needles in my flesh with sexual pleasure.

They hurt coming out, a little. I watched in the mirror and felt relief when my cunt was needle free. It bled just a tiny bit.

Next came my boobs, which were aching from the needle abuse earlier.

That took a little longer, as there were more needles in my breasts.

Each came out slowly and with just a little discomfort. Tiny drops of blood emerged from the puncture points. There hadn't really been any blood prior to that.

After pulling the smaller needles out he went to the two large ones, the skewers that had gone all the way through and were still throbbing a bit.

The large skewers hurt coming out. Not nearly as bad as going in, but they hurt and I ground my teeth and strained a bit against the straps as he slowly but steadily dragged those things out of my breasts. There was more blood from those things, which he wiped up with a sterile cloth, then wiped my breasts with some antiseptic.

What a great guy. Taking care of me after he damaged my body. (I actually did appreciate it).

One thing about Bill and one reason I let him do stuff to me was his care and aftercare. He could be ruthless, technical, unfeeling during the scene. waving the needle in front of my eyes as I cried and begged him not to, then slowly inserting it and beginning again. He escalated the experience slowly but surely, moving from relatively minor insertions in my breasts, to more painful needles in my labia, and finally to those large skewers.

But he made sure nothing got infected, he watched my reactions and understood how close I was to my limits. Afterward he held me and made it clear I was precious to him and loved me and brought me down off the high.

I have to admit in retrospect Bill freaked me out a lot with that first needle experience. He drew it out and played on my fears, which was his intent, of course. A lot of it was the whole idea of having my body cut into, pierced and penetrated. That was mentally challenging to me.

Yeah, it hurt, especially those big ones.

But ultimately the pain involved was actually pretty minor to many other things I've experienced. The experience was actually much more mental and Bill did a great job of needling my psyche.

Needle play can be more painful than that first time with him, but in general I'd rather have a small needle in my boob than a prolonged electric shock to my nipple, or a really nasty caning.

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.