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The Twisted Mind of Tina B

This blog is NSFW, and not for those under 18, or of a delicate moral nature. But if you like your bondage strict and your gags tight, cum on in! Read more of my hot bondage stories at SMASHWORDS - https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tinab5885 and see my galleries on IMAGEFAP - https://www.imagefap.com/profile/TinaBtheAuthor.

Backwoods Bondage Camp

Hi Sweetie!  


I have a NEW BONDAGE STORY out!  It’s called “Backwoods Bondage Camp”, and you can READ SOME FOR FREE here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/993907


Better yet, because I want your opinion, you can MAKE ME TAKE OFF HALF using coupon code KS43C !!!


Have you ever wanted a story that made you feel like you were IN it?  Actually TAKING PART?  DOING STUFF to someone?  (Or having it done to you?)


How about this?  You’re standing looking down at a luscious, naked piece of fuckmeat spread out and lashed down on its back on a table?  Tiffany something.  You know the one.  The porn star.  Piles of blond hair, long, lean legs and lush lips just made for sucking on something.  Or maybe it’s YOU, heaving helplessly against the straps.


The legs shudder, heaving against the restraints, making the little butt muscles flex sexily, while the straining arms make the big firm boobs loll from side to side. A bright red pillowcase is wrapped tightly around the head, which flops back and forth making stupid grunting sounds through the heavily gagged mouth.  A good beginning to your night, no?


Perhaps it’s your fingers, squeezing the darkly bruised nipple, forcing tit-juice out of the battered tip until it runs down the udder.  Clenched in the fingers of your other hand, the cigarette glows redly as your eyes seek virgin skin on the rounded bottom of the teat.


Or perhaps it’s your hands arranging the red and black wires across the fluttering, sweaty belly.  Taping them down to the thighs so her struggles can’t dislodge them.  And your thumb on the button, pressing it down until you feel the little click.  Sense the wires jerking as the bitch plunges and heaves desperately against the straps.


Or perhaps it’s YOU struggling against the ropes as the hands work you over?


Want more?  Get your hands on my boob - er, book - NOW!


(For You - or for someone you love!)


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And MAKE ME TAKE IT OFF using coupon code KS43C !!!


Your slut,


Tina


When the girl answered the doorbell, there were two young men standing there.

An hour later, deep in the cellar, Mistress catches two working the girl over.

“We were just . . .”

“Yeah, we didn’t hurt her or anything . . .”

“. . . playing around . . .”

“We weren’t gonna . . .”

Mistress’ voice cut through it.  “Bring me a gag.”

“NOOOOOOooooooooooo,” I heard myself whisper tearfully.  “They aren’t any good.  They can’t do it.  They don’t know . . . We have to stop this . . .”

“Shhhhhhh,” Mistress murmured, stroking my back.  “We’ll see about that.” 

She roughly turned me away from her to face the brunette one, standing there, smirking, a gag in his hand.  And not just any gag.  Attached to the back of the thick leather strap was a five inch dildo.  A thick one.

I began shaking with fear, my tearing eyes locking on his beseechingly.  Behind me, Mistress said sternly "Is that what you want?"

As the boy nodded, almost grinning, I opened my mouth to beg him not to, a wavering cry that he muffled by simply shoving the dildo into my mouth.  My head tried to jerk back, hitting Mistress' chest.  Pinned there, the boy shoved the fucking dildo into my throat, the leather slamming into my lips as my body contorted, choking, my arms heaving uselessly against rhe cuffs.

Reaching behind me, his body heavy against mine, he fumbled with the strap.  Suddenly yanked it brutally tight, the leather smashing my lips against my face painfully as I made humming pleas.  Tried to relax and ride the gag.  With difficulty.

Stepping back, he jabbed a hard punch into my right breast, flattening it against the chest bones as I groaned and choked into the gag, sagging forward as the pain exploded in my tit.

"Ya like that, don cha slut," he sneered. I tried to beg him NOOOOO, shaking my head, but the dildo poked at my throat, making me cough and gag.

"Do we need something else?" Mistress asked the blond kid.  But he already had it, a thick black leather blindfold.

“Yes,” Mistress murmured.  “You wouldn’t want her seeing you naked.  Or what you’re going to do to her.”

I tried to turn to Mistress, groaning through the gag, my eyes pleading for mercy.  But She wasn't feeling merciful, twisting my head to face the boy as he covered my eyes and reached behind my head, pushing his lanky body against mine so hard my boobs flattened on his chest and my hips wiggled around awkwardly, trying not to feel the cock pulsing against my crotch

Mouth gagged and eyes covered, I waited fearfully in the darkness.

Miraculously, I felt Mistress' hands unlocking the cuffs, freeing my burning wrists.  I could have kissed Her.  But then hard hands closed on my arms, tugging so I had to shuffle or fall, tugging me away from the stairs and safety.

Toward the post.

I grunted and gurgled into the gag, begging for release, but they backed me up against the rough wood, wrenching my arms up over my head and back.  While Mistress lashed my wrists to a ring on the back of the post, leaving all my breast meat nakedly displayed. 

To do whatever they wanted . . .





Somewhere off to my side, my Mami is snuffling and crying.

Being blindfolded, I can’t see. There’s a loud slap. Then several more. The man - her “friend” - is cursing and grunting rhythmically. Kind of like he’s riding one of them mechanical bulls they have in bars.

But FUCK, I can’t even worry about Mami. My toes and thumbs hurt too much.

I’m lying face down on the bed, but he tied my thumbs with that leather cord and has them wrenched up behind my back toward the ceiling so hard my back is arched, my new big titty-balls hanging down in the air. The pain in my thumbs is sharp, like they’re gonna get torn off my hands if he don’t lemme down NOW. I squeal again against the sour-tasting ball thing he shoved in my mouth, trying to push it out with my tongue again, but the strap is REALLY tight around my head, and I just hurt my tongue.

That ain’t all. After he tied me up, he worked on my titty-nipples with his hard little fingers, squeezing and pinching and tugging and milking them until they stuck out all stiff and swollen and somehow NEEDY despite all that.

No time to think, though, ‘cause there’s my fucking TOES. Although my legs are on the bed, knees spread and tied to the sides so my coochie feels awful exposed, he yanked the toe cord down TIGHT so it feels like my toes are being pulled out of their sockets, holding my poor feet twisted terribly.

“C’MERE, CUNT,” the man says in a harsh grunt.

My Mami is blubbering no no no nonononoononononNO but it comes out weird, like she’s has soapsuds in her mouth or something.

“Just DO IT,” the man says, his voice stern. “You REALLY don’t want ME to do it, cuntface. I wanna see you lay that hose across that cute little bottom like you MEAN it.”

Suddenly his hands are on my breasts again, and I jerk and wobble but can’t stop him from pinching down on my buzzing nubs so hard I jerk against the cords, grunting and begging stupidly through the gag.

“Oh yeah,” he says, just as Mami begs him again “NOOOOOOOOOOoooooo”.

“DOIT!” he yells at her, his hands yanking my boobies so hard I shriek long and high pitched.

Behind me, there’s a flat WHUP sound, and a searing pain across my bottom makes me gasp for breath, then scream, my body jerking and flopping like a wild thing despite yanking on toes and thumbs.

“Maybe next time I tie YOU up and fuck HER, hunh, you piece of filthy trash whore.” Something big and firm is rubbing against my lips where they’re all stretched out around the ball.

“Nooooo por favor!” I hear Mami say, her voice tight and shaky.

The thing pushes harder against my lips, my cheeks, my nose. Against my blindfolded eyes. I’m blubbering with the burning pain across my ass, hoping that’s the end of it.

“Maybe I start right now. What you think, you worthless puta? Take this gag out and let your baby use her sweet lips on my cock. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

NOOOOOOooooooo I try to scream through my tears. I haven’t! I won’t! But it sounds all garbled, and he pays no attention. Mami is pleading with him too, telling him all the sick things she’ll let him do to her instead. Her hand caresses my ass, where the pain is kind of echoing back and forth from cheek to cheek, making my butt shiver, clenching and releasing.

His fingers clamp down on my nipples, and I howl spit and high-pitched squeals around the gag. He lets go, but my teats keep on buzzing, strange waves of feeling echoing between my legs.

“Tell you what,” the man says, sounding like he’s grinning evilly. “I’m gonna sit right here and watch, and you gonna whip that hot little ass until I cum. I wanna see you put some muscle into it, make that ole hose disappear into them fine fleshballs, ya hear me? Turn the whole assfuck into a red and purple mess.”

I hear him dragging a chair over next to the bed.

“On the other side, ya fucking STUPID WHORE, yer blockin’ the view!” he barks.

In the darkness of the blindfold and gag, I wait, tensing my ass in fear.

WHUP


My little ass explodes in pain, as if the hose had cut down through my flesh and hit the bones. My body thrashes uncontrollably on the bed, trying to drive my crotch right through it to get away. Making my little ass bounce back up - to receive another searing cut.

WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP

Somewhere, a girl’s voice is screaming “MAAAAAAAAAMI”

WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP

A man’s voice, grunting thickly.

WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP WHUP

*. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *

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They hogtied me so I couldn’t move.  


Then put a big fat shock dildo into my pussy and another one in my ass and crotchroped ‘em in place.  Then I moved.  Oh yes, I did, whether I wanted to or not. Whether their thin, hard cords abrade my flesh like knives or not.  Whether my heaving arms threaten to snap off my toes or not.  Whether my worn muscles can even do it.  Or not.


Soaked their cocks in me first.


One minute I was drinking with this cute guy at the club, the thumping bass massaging my pussy as he moved closer - and the next, lying on the floor on a dirty mattress.  Well, not lying.  Stretched out, spreadeagled with my legs spread so far apart my stretched thighs are aching, chafed raw by something, my cunt with that familiar burning sensation.  Ropes around my ankles and wrists pulled out TIGHT to some kind of pipe frame.  My mouth packed full of some guy’s underwear, taped tightly in place, the taste making me gag, needing to vomit.


Darkness, much like the club, though the music further away.  Shards of light on guys standing around, drinking and talking.  


I try to raise my head to inspect my body, but my sweat-streaked blond hair and a wall of boobs block the way.  As my head falls back, I suddenly comprehend the ugly red and purple bruises on my swollen udders, the feeling like a truck has driven back and forth over them.  Slowly.


A yell.  “Hey guys, it’s awake.”  They surround me, hunkering and kneeling on the floor to grab handfuls of my flesh, hard fingers digging into my thighs and breasts as I squirm what little I can, the tears sliding down my cheeks as I make stupid grunting sounds through the gag, pleading with them to let me go.


Laughter.  The horrifying sound of zippers being slid down.  Dicks in the dark, dangling and swinging, rising, purple-headed.  Stiffening hugely.


They used me good.


It wasn’t so bad at first - I’m a girl that likes having a nice cock filling my cunt - but they kept coming.  Long thin penises, short fat penises, curving penises, thick, hairy penises, white penises, dark penises.  All finding my sore slit, their hard tips prying my clam open as they rammed themselves into her. 


It seemed like hours before they stopped, leaving me a sweaty, stinking mess.  Still stretched tightly, trying not to think of the raw burns around my ankles and wrists where the ropes held me.


Ragged, panting breaths snorting through my nose.  I want to cry, terribly, but my eyes are sand, despite the black streaks over my gag-swollen cheeks.


Commotion.  A girl’s voice, crying weakly in protest.  A guy’s voice, “Oh yes you WILL!”


A girl standing at my feet, naked except for a strip of cloth around her waist and a black collar around her neck, looking down at me unhappily.  Flaming cuntbush.  Something black in her hand, hard to see in the fark, long and thin, wide end.  A riding crop?  Nooooo.  NO.  NOOOOO.  Tugging on the ropes helplessly.


A guy chanting “DO IT!  DO IT!  DO IT!  DO IT!“ taken up by others.  The girl turning to look around, tears glinting on her cheeks.  Her sudden screech, doubling over, the crop flying as her hands grab at the collar.  


Someone dragging her up, putting the crop back in her hand.  Her blubbering something at me as she reaches the crop down toward my sore pussy.  Just the barest touch of the stiff leather end on my swollen labia.  My body leaping against the ropes in protest.


Hands on the girl shoving her up onto the mattress, standing shakily astride my waist, facing my feet.  The red stripes on her back and ass catching the light as she raises the crop.  


An explosion of pain in my crotch as the hard leather slaps my raw-rubbed thigh.  My body bouncing and heaving on the mattress.  Then she goes at it, fast and hard, slamming the crop down on my thighs, on the soft clefts between thigh and crotch, on my grossly swollen cunt labia.  My exposed, bruised clit.  The hard leather hammers into my raw flesh without stopping.  Without appeal.  


My body sweats and heaves uncontrollably.


Sometimes the whipping tip cuts right at my clit, making my body try to wrench itself off the mattress.  They make her walk it up my terribly naked thigh, not so bad at first, but as the red marks grow - and the girl desperately puts her back into it - searing unbearably, like she’s slowly peeling my flesh off.


Sometimes she drives the crop too deep, the hard, terrible end beating against my little pink asshole, tugged partway open by the stretch of my legs.  And the hard rod gnaws down on my swollen, screaming clit, tearing my breath away.


I howl and plunge and writhe, my long legs and slim arms yanking desperately against the ropes, burned flesh be damned, because I cannot cannot CANNOT CAN NOT.


She turns me into a flesh-puppet that dances for them.


By the time they drag her off, my whole crotch is glowing a dull red, with the meat flaps flaming red, shiny.  Grotesquely swollen.  Sticking up and out obscenely.


They dick me down again.


Every touch burns, even just the first bump of a hard purple-swollen cock head makes me howl into the gag, my blond head flapping from side to side like a rag doll.  I’m dry inside, every thrust a knife in my vagina.


Even the guys complain.  The other girl is brought back, hands tied behind her, forced to kneel while they squirt lube in her mouth until it’s drooling down her chin.  Men stepping up to her, holding her head, cocks stabbing into her mouth, wet THLUPing sounds muffling her cries as cock after cock swells, long, glistening and erect.


It’s like they’re whipping the inside of my vagina.


I fade in and out, like a dying candle, my whole existence this hellish fire between my legs.


Much later, still lying there, untied, but unable to move, my body drained completely.  Somewhere I hear a girl screaming.  I don’t even know who I am.


My muscles can do nothing to prevent it as they hogtie me, bending the weeping legs and arms into shapes they don’t want to take.  Forcing a large dildo into my virgin asshole. Another, larger, into the raw, savaged cunt hole.


I lie there, limp, barely registering the prick of a needle in my thigh. “That’ll keep her awake,” a voice says.


My body couldn’t possibly move, but it does.


It heaves and writhes as the fire torments me, eats hungrily at my tortured, sensitive flesh, turning my body into a twisting, jerking, spasming THING for their pleasure.  I pray desperately to faint, to get out of it for even a second, but the shot prevents that.


My agonized muscles demand oxygen, but the gag fills my mouth and snot fills my nose as my chest heaves and it feels like I’m drowning.


In fire . . .



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These cute three guys at the club said they’d give me a good time if I’d go with them.


So of course I did.  Did I mention I’m a whore?


I stripped slowly, giving them a good show of twirling legs, wiggling ass and shaking boobs.  Dancing into their waiting hands, but then backing away, allowing them only a quick, teasing touch of everything I have to offer. They seemed to like it.


When I was done, they politely insisted that they “take care” of me.  Surprised, cause when do guys EVER think about pleasing ME, I let them hold me, one behind, one holding my thin little arms out in front - and the third guy binding my wrists slapping handcuffs around my wrists.  Manhandling my crying body over against the wall, they tied the cuffs to a rope and hauled my arms up overhead.  


They ordered me to spread my legs, but in my terror I clamped them together, already blubbering and pleading for them not to hurt me.


To my surprise, they promised not to, so I relaxed my legs enough for them to haul them wide apart and tie the ankles to some bolts in the floor - stretching my body out nakedly.


They were sort of right: they didn’t hurt me - at least not at first.


They began by working my nipples and clit.  Not painfully, but on and on like they were machines.  At first, it felt good, all my stuff swelling with blood and feelings, stiffening under their fingers like the little slut that I am.  I came, embarrassingly.  Then again.  And again, my heaving body dangling from the ropes.


And then it began to feel not so good.  To feel sore, to feel used, beaten, tortured.


Until my body was spasming and jerking against the restraints like a mad thing, tears running down my cheeks, squealing nonsense.  My body hanging there like a side of beef, jerking and flopping helplessly as they began taking their pants off . . .




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I gave them everything they wanted. Everything.


Just not willingly.


OK, so I’m a prostitute, and not proud of it, but generally guys treat me no worse than they would treat their own wives, and sometimes a good deal better.  Seems that knowing they’re gonna get what they pay for they don’t mind paying so much.  Sometimes they treat me really good, dress me up, buy me jewelry, take me out to fancy places - and I feel like I’m a gorgeous piece of jewelry myself when I’m on their arm.  But knowing I have to put out later.  Whatever they ask.


OH GAWD MY NECK HURTS!  The strap is snug around my neck as long as I stand up straight, but as I tire, I know it’s going to dig in, to choke me.  And if I faint, I’m dead, my body just hanging like a piece of cold meat from the noose.  Is that what He wants?


So far, He’s let me keep my heels, which helps, but I know He’ll be back sooner or later to take them off, my fuck-me pumps, no matter how hard my legs kick and struggle.  Then I’ll be forced to stand on tip-toe, gurgling and choking and swaying in tight little circles, my eyes getting desperate, the tears streaming down as the whipping - or whatever the fuck it is He wants to do to my helpless body - starts.


WHEN THE FUCK IS HE COMING BACK?????


I try not to sway, try to keep my heavy boobs from bouncing, to keep the hard steel clamps from tearing even worse at my swollen teats.  Usually the pain is worst when the clamps first go on - unless the bondage forces me to keep moving.  Like now.  And those terrible little mouths keep on biting, twisting, forcing my nipples to swell, helpless  against the sharp teeth.


aaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahw 


There’s no answer.



I DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER THE STUPID FUCKING CUNT.


I PAID for that sleek body, and I’m going to enjoy it.  Oh yes I am.  I am already, just watching her sweat and twist, those gorgeous boobs swaying as the weights tug at her nipples.  That’s gotta HURT, don’t you think?

I’m not going to take away her heels, though.  There’s no need.  No need for her to see me yet.  I can just push the button and haul her up a little more, so she’s just beginning to choke.  That’ll make her start howling and pleading.


But I’m in no hurry.  The mouth on the ugly little cunt tied on her knees in front of me still has my cock huge, stiff and well-lubricated.  She’s tiring, the useless bitch, but what do I care?  She’s probably good for another five or ten uses, and then I have my prostitute.


And my tools . . .


*.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *


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Are You one of THEM?


With this fierce light in my eyes, I can’t actually see them, but I know they’re there, sitting in a circle around me in the darkness.

Do they feel guilty, I wonder?  After all, this is only happening because You - each of You - paid a lot of money to witness a six hour interrogation.

And I get the feeling that the first hour has not satisfied some of You, that my hanging by my noosed breasts, gasping and crying, wasn’t enough.  And I heard You.

“Pull her heels up off the floor, fer Christ’s sake.”

“Make the bitch HURT.”

“Come on, get her up on her fucking toes.”

“Tie those long legs apart so the feet can’t reach the floor.”

And then Your hands.  The rules say that You may not use implements on me, on the helpless white body hanging there in the bright light, but the fists punching my belly, my cunt, my swollen breasts were not implements.  Neither were the hard hands spanking my raw ass or tautly spread thighs, making the legs shake helplessly against the ropes.  Nor were the fat red penises, angry and hard, that ravaged my slutty cunt until it’s burning red.

And there were other things You said, things You wanted to do to me, that I’m sure He heard.

Your hands won’t be allowed to hold the wire whip, to slash bleeding red weals into my softness - but His can.

And Your hands won’t snap the harsh little clamps onto my protruding, weeping nipples or onto the meaty flaps trying to protect my cunt.  But His will.

It won’t be Your fingers holding the cigarettes, letting the burning tip slide slowly around my areolas no matter how hard I heave and strain against the ropes, no matter how hard I choke, whine, scream, plea, beg.

The rules say no permanent marks, but I have seen Your whispered conversations with Him.  The money changing hands.  Know the rules will be bent, flaunted, discarded.

After all, You have a hot booby bimbo helpless in the depths of a torture chamber.

For AT LEAST six hours . . .


*.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *.    *


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It isn’t me.  Yet.


But my Mistress is watching closely, observing how they Dom has cute little Darling, she of the big tits, stand on a little box before binding her arms to the crossbar so she’s forced to hang by the ropes gripping her soft upper arms, making her hanging body writhe slowly, despite her trying to stay still.  Even the pros are just fucking female bodies.


The crotch rope goes on next, pulled up behind her and tied off, the rough rope disappearing into her sobbing cunt as the bare legs kick feebly, dancing as her toes press down on the box, trying to lift her weight off the unyielding rope.


They pause when my Mistress orders me to strip.  Nervously, I pull my few things off and stand  there trying to cover my boobs and cunnie, but She briskly makes me sit on a chair facing the frame.  Quickly ties my wrists and ankles together behind the chair.  I moan a little with fear - and get a huge red ball gag in my mouth, forcing me to sit there with tears beginning to drip down my cheeks.  Darling looks at me without caring, worried enough about what they’re going to do to her, I guess.  Maybe a little envious of my boobs?


My Mistress pulls up a chair next to me, dropping her hand into my exposed crotch possessively - and lays a short, heavy leather tawse across my shivering thighs.


The man starts in on the poor slut again, noosing her boobs, yanking the ropes tight so they stick out like bullets, and my own udders jiggle nervously in sympathy, my nipples swelling and needy.  Bigger than hers, too.


The Dom steps in front of Darling, his hands doing something to her protruding teats that makes her gasp and shake her head.  I grunt through my gag and he turns, as if seeing me for the first time, stalks over and gently squeezes my boobs, milking my buzzing nipples until I’m groaning through the gag and jerking against the ropes with the waves of pleasure.  My Mistress’ fingers splay my moist cunt open, forcing my clit to stand out like a tiny pink penis.  But She doesn’t touch it, no matter how I whine and squirm and thrust.  Pleasure and pain are so close - just a little one way or the other.


The man swaggers back to Darling, who whimpers in fear.  He puts his hands on her tits again, squeezing until she begins yelping for real.


Then kicks the box out from under her.


The ropes squeak as her weight bears down relentlessly on her arms and cunt, and Darling begins crying, her nice bare legs dancing as she tries to reach the floor.  The man wastes no time in roping her ankles and spreading them apart to the frame, so we can all see the cruel rope disappearing into her spread open cunt.  Can feel her desperation as her soft stuff is brutally rubbed by the rough, dry hemp.


Standing in front of her, the man again squeezes her nipples, twisting slowly until Darling’s body begins bucking against the ropes.


“Ropes hurting ya now, fuckface?”, emotionless.


She moans a little, and he moves behind her, tightening the cunt rope so her eyes bug out, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream as her legs strain against the ropes, desperate for relief that won’t come for a long time.


Satisfied that Darling is as uncomfortable as He wants - at least for now - the Dom comes and sits next to me.  His hands rove over me, making me groan into the gag and jerk against the ropes - again unable to get a rub on my needy clittie.


He looks across me at my Mistress, but I manage to keep my eyes forward, though I REALLY want to know what they are about.  She gives a little laugh.  Says “Mine against yours?” and I think he nods.  Gets up and moves behind me somewhere.


My Mistress picks up the tawse and rises, running it through Her fingers as She steps behind me.  Lets me know She’s there by draping the tawse down across my bare breasts, letting it tease the helplessly stiff nipples.  Slides the tawse lower, the leather roughing my cunt but STILL not touching my pink bud, though I writhe and twitch trying to get it.


The tawse disappears, but Her hand cups my tit possessively, and I feel a sudden rush of love for Her.  Watch the man step up to Darling, a heavy leather strap dangling from his fist, his other hand groping her bare, spread thighs.


Stepping back, he whips the strap across Darling’s quivering thigh.


Just before the pain slashes horribly across my own naked, stretched back thigh.  And I start heaving and writhing and blubbering, naked and totally helpless.


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www.infernalrestraints.com  


Her sadistic Master prepares her fat tits for electro torture.

This scares the shit out of me.  But gets me SOOOO fucking horny . . .

I scream.


My body plunges around on the board, helplessly banging my sore tits against the hard wood.


I scream again, my sore back incapable of not writhing upward as the cane sears my bare soles again.


I am totally terrified.


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I don’t know where or how She found him.  An actual torturer.  Someone who spent his life interrogating and torturing girls in a mid East prison.  I never got his name.


Retired now - or so he said when the three of us met for a drink at his house.  Laid down the rules:

 

  • No safewords

  • His choice of methods

  • My Mistress can watch but may not comment

  • No really permanent marks (whatever that means)

  • It stops only when he says it stops


Did they really have to clink glasses and shake on it?


He’s an older man, heavyset.  Not scary looking.  Kind of avuncular, actually.  He brought me a glass of clear liquid.  Said “drink it” politely.  It didn’t taste bad - kind of like lemonade.  He waited until I finished before answering my Mistress’ questioning look.  


“Stimulant.  We don’t want them fainting.”  THEM?


My heart started thumping in my chest.  


Yet I took my Mistress’ hand as She led me, following the nameless man along a hall and then down into his basement.  Felt a lessening of my nervousness at finding that it wasn’t a “torure chamber”.  No chains hanging from the ceiling.  No grotesque machines designed for hurting a girl’s body.  Just an unused basement with gloomy lighting.


He cleared some stuff off the top of a kind of workbench while we stood there.  My hand clutching Hers a little too tightly while the man searched for something.  Came back with a heavy plank that he leaned up against the table.  And my heart began to bang against my chest again.


Going behind the table, the man opened a cabinet.  It was dark back there, but I was pretty sure there were things in the cabinet that I didn’t want to see.  Still looking at the cabinet, he said conversationally, “Get undressed now.”


I tried to clutch Her hand, but She pulled it away coldly.  Turned Her back, found a chair and dragged it scratchily across the concrete floor to where the plank was.  Sat.


I was still standing there as the man came around the table, a long, stiff cane in hand.  He looked at me and sighed.  Unhurriedly raised the cane and pressed the tip into my slinky little croptop, the tip poking sharply against my breast.  I jerked away, hand soothing my tit.  He just stood there.  But I got the idea.


“Undress” he said.  Not coldly.  With no feeling at all.  Which was worse.


I got undressed, leaving me naked except for my high heels, the way She likes me.


“Hands behind the head.”


I assumed “the position” - hands behind my head, breasts pushed out, ass cocked up, legs spread.  Wobbling a bit on my high heels.  I’m a good little subby.  Proud of my body, but scared.  Or worried that I SHOULD be scared.  It wouldn’t be the first time that I stood naked and had to accept a man’s hands on me.  All over me.  Mentally, I shut my eyes, staring straight ahead.


No hands.  Just the sudden, excruciatingly perfect laying of the bamboo into my furrow, making me gasp as the hardness invaded my softness, held motionless for a while, then dragged slowly upwards so that the hard nubs on the bamboo raked over my clit, making me jerk and groan.  The man gave a little sigh, as if he were disappointed.  As if I weren’t worthy of his time.  Were a failure.


“On the board” he said, tapping it with the cane.


Turning, I sat on the board, hands clasped over my tits.


The man sighed again at my stupidity, saying  “Lie down”.


I scootched my ass up, pulling my legs onto the board, but that didn’t satisfy him either.


“Head down” he said, patiently, but still with no feeling.


Getting into position was difficult, my toes grabbing inside my heels, trying to keep them on.  He finally helped by grabbing my ankles and tugging me up, dragging my belly and breasts against the rough wood.


Then things moved quickly - a strap around my ankles, legs, lower back, wrists.  Done so I could move my chest and shoulders, but everything below my waist was immobilized.  His hands yanking my pumps off, his fingers pressing on my bare soles.  Something tightening around my big toes, lashing them together.  Impossible to turn my head far enough to see what he was doing.  Feeling a tugging on my toes and trying to flex my feet.  Finding the toes being stretched tightly down, leaving my bare feet trying to squirm nakedly.


I raised my head, pleading with my Mistress - who was looking at Her nails as if She was bored.


“I work down,” I heard him say from behind me.   And my Mistress was interested now, Her eyes intent on my feet.


The first cut caught me by surprise, and I yelped.  Realized too late that I wasn’t supposed to.  Should be a good little girl and take my punishment.  Wouldn’t be the first time I’d had a bastinado.  Knew they were very uncomfortable - but bearable.


But bearable wasn’t on this old man’s agenda.  No warmup strokes, no slow build.  Each stroke - and he spaced them out so I had time to feel the burn and think about it before the next one came - was full force.


For the first three or four I tried to be good, to relax, lie still, not cry.  But as stroke followed stroke and the pain built, I began writhing around on the board, grunting with each additional agony.


Then, amazingly, he stopped.


I was almost at the limit of my endurance, so it didn’t come a moment too soon.


“Now,” he said with that same monotonous voice, “we move down only after ten strokes with no sounds.”  A really long speech for him.   I was still gasping and trying to bear the pain, so my mind wasn’t working that well.


And then he hit me again.


After the pause, it felt like he was inserting liquid fire under my skin, and I imagined my poor soles bubbling and blackening.  My tired back arched up again as I howled.


And then I realized what he meant.  That he was going to keep on whipping my burning feet until I could stand ten strokes without screaming.  And only then move down to whipping my calves, my thighs, my ass - each time beating me until I could somehow not cry out long enough.


I clenched my teeth together as hard as I could, but the cry burst out through them as he sliced my helpless feet open.


Tears were running down my cheeks as I looked at my Mistress imploringly.  Saw Her hand down in Her pants, rubbing vigorously, Her hard, glassy eyes staring at my torturer.


I screamed.  And kept on screaming.


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Hi tina, Thank you for the compliment. Didn't your Mistress give you a rule not to touch yourself without her permission? What makes you a worthless bimbo slut tina? M.
Sigh. She gives me many rules, Sir. But its hard to remember them all. I don't know what makes me a bimbo slut, Sir. Maybe that I love to shake my big boobs at guys?!


Sitting here, tightly bound, I shut my eyes as She nooses my breasts, arrogantly winds the rope around and around, tightening, digging into the udders, driving them out, pushing them up, squashing them until I jerk against the restraints miserably.  The rope squeezes back against my chest, wrenching the skin into its rough grasp, the big, dark nipples responding the way they always do, despite what I want.  


She tightens the ropes, making me gasp, then groan as She tightens them.  Tightens again.  And again, until She knows that I can’t think of anything else but the swollen purple meat with the blood pounding in their stiffening tips.


I try to plead as She slips the ballgag into my mouth.  Almost like giving a baby a bottle.  Tightens the strap until I feel the familiar bruising cuts in my cheeks.  Moan pitifully.  Just the way She likes, I suppose.


It feels like She has tied, not just two big pieces of flesh, but my very sexuality itself.  


I wonder how a guy would feel if his cock were bound this way.  Would he like it?  Would he feel like his manhood had been taken away?


Here’s the thing: my breasts have always been my weapons, my pride, the things I can flaunt at guys and use to get over on other girls.  Walking down the street with them, I feel arrogantly powerful. Like I can take anybody.  Perhaps the way a man feels with a gun on his hip.


But having my breasts bound makes me helpless - at once more aware of my udders and unable to make use of them.  Knowing that the pain is going to get slowly, slowly worse, especially if I am driven to shake my tits in an effort to get rid of the feeling.  And I always do, sooner or later.  She just waits and watches.  Judges when I just can’t take it anymore.  Then adds something.  


Perhaps just simple clothespins, their hard little mouths gnawing at my nipples as the sensitive nubs swell obscenely inside them.  


Perhaps a thin cord or wire wound around and around my chest, just above and below the nipples, tightened until it drives the trapped boobs back against my chest, the cord cutting agonizingly into the bulging, tautly swollen breast flesh.  And leaving the nipples protruding nakedly.  Terrifying me.


Perhaps the nasty little electrical clips, their steel teeth cutting into my weeping nipples like the jaws of hell.  And forcing me to wait, terrified, for the fire to come.


I cry into the gag, howling and screaming, tears sliding down my cheeks, dripping on the hugely prominent fleshballs, adding tickling to the agony.


I’d give ANYTHING to be a flat-chested, tiny-titted, boyishly-figured girl, one they’d call “mosquito tits”.  Anything to end this torture.


But I can’t.  And the helpless, terrified scream begins rising in my bound chest.


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