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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

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.


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


More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS




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.


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


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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The nippies hurt SO bad.

Just because I tried to turn away when that fat, smelly old man tried to grope me. 

In punishment, She has me bound helplessly to the post. Naked, of course.  Let him put his filthy hands on me.  Anywhere he liked.  Working his fat thumbs into my weeping cunt as I begged.  Then begged some more as he was allowed to flog my strangled udder balls until I was reduced to a crying mess of fuckmeat.

The bands make me all too aware of the naked teats, a sharper pain in the swollen boob agony.  Where perhaps the cane or hose will be applied.

Gagged now, I can only sob and writhe, unable to stop shaking my titties, as She debates letting him fuck me . . .

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More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS

Tied securely to my "writing" chair for my daily nipple training.  Not something I look forward to.  She makes me wait, jiggling helplessly, nipples warming despite my trying not to think about them.

Then Her litle smile, and the terrible clench of the fucking ring on first one nippie and then the other, making me grunt and gasp through the gag.

If I think about them, they WILL swell.

So at first, I try to think of other things.  The strain in my shoulders from having my elbows lashed securely together.  My bare foot, sticking out past the back of the chair, squirming with a needy itch where Her nails teased them.

My needy little cunt-clit, grossly exposed and slightly sore from Her loving appliction of a vibrator earlier.  Wanting Her tongue or fingers or even Her fucking TOE to rub me into a frenzy.

OH FUCK!  Thinking of that makes a horny need streak from cunt to breasts, starting the nipples' relentless swelling, despite the agony.

Now I can't think of anything else, writhing against the ropes and making blithering moans through the gag and shaking my titties as the pounding warmth fills the nipples, making them grow and grow until I can't think of anything else and can't possibly stand it any more.

As She gets ready to go out.

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More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS

Not every day is a punishment day, I think, as I grunt and choke inside the tight head wrap, trying to get used to the huge ball wrenching my mouth open. And to the hard edge of the table that makes me oh so aware of the udders dangling nakedly off the edge. Untouched. 

Behind, the hands claw at the wrist binding as they always do. Not being a good little subbie, but being tied up turns me until a scared little girl again. Terrified at what they may do to me. Desperate to escape. But helpless.

The legs are tied down to the other end of the table, holding me precisely here, despite the searing cane cut across the thighs that makes them struggle against the lashings. Makes the girly fuckbody's ass bunch, quivering.

The neck is already tiring, so the sightless head wavers up and down. Again, not like a well-trained submissive. But in this moment I'm just a normal girl, tied up to face her own nightmares, alone in the silence.

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More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS

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