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.

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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