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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 - and see my galleries on IMAGEFAP -

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:

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!)

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

Your slut,


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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More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS

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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More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS

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

Some days I just hate myself. Hate what I let them do to me. Hate that I need it. Hate hate HATE.

I thought my titties were mine. Was proud of how bold they were, how I could tease guys mercilessly by letting them swing, by wearing skimpy tops that let my stiff nippies poke out, by bending over to show all my cleavage as I paid close attention to what they were telling me.

I was wrong. As my Mistress has now lovingly taught me over the last several hours, by the hard application of whips, canes, the tawse, plastic hose and the occasional cigarette. 

I was wrong, howling, writhing, screaming, flopping, squealing, straining, twisting, crying and choking into the gag. Utterly broken, the tears, snot and saliva streaking my stupid face, the breast-balls in such agony I can only hang there, staring in horrified silence.

As She prepares the shock wires.

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More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS

The clamps are tighter than usual. One of Her friends brought then - to see whether I could "take it". I can't. Already I'm moaning into the gag, my body shivering uncontrollably. Making the heavy breast meat swing, yanking on the fucking clamps. 

Somewhere up behind me, the hands claw at nothing above the simple turns of old hemp that bind my wrists and haul them up out of the way, wrenching my shoulders. 

The legs, pulled apart and strapped to the rings in the floor, aren't shaking yet, but it's a strain to stand like this, and they will. Making my little ass shake and dance and contort for them. 

Nothing has been done - yet - to the asscunt.

The gag - something another of Her GFs brought - is a big ball with a difference: a short dildo that fills my throat while the ball spreads my mouth so wide the lips are stretched into a big O. Strapped in tight with the wide leather strap that crushes my face.

Someone touches the shock button - just for a second - and my body lunges back before I even feel the current burning my titties. Tears squirt out of my eyes as I howl pathetically into the gag.

I can't possibly stand it.

But I know that very soon I'm going to be just a fear-crazed animal, my body plunging and writhing in a useless attempt to break free, the shocks going on for minute after minute after minute until I'm broken into a squealing mass of piggy flesh.

And ready for whatever comes next.

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More hot bondage stories for FREE at SMASHWORDS