BDSM Library - Story: Torture Me Please, Chapter: Part 1

Saturday morning around 6 am, just home from work, and I asked my ex-wife...

"Ally, would you torture me, please?"

"With relish", she replied. "What would you like me to do to you?"

"Let's start with handcuffing my hands up and behind the kitchen table pedastal, with my head bowed and me kneeling uncomfortably under the table, with nothing on except a tight mesh panty. Put some rock salt on the floor under my knees.

Leave me in that position for several hours, without food or water. Feel free to eat at the table yourself though. I'd like very much to be taunted in my hunger and thirst. As you may not know, I went without food at work yesterday--the last time I had anything to eat was Friday morning, and the last time I had anything to drink was Friday afternoon at about 2pm."

I was really getting thirsty at this point, and quite hungry as well, but I like the extreme hunger pangs that my body delivers at around 20 to 30 hours into a hunger session--they are almost debilitating in their severity. Thirst, on the other hand, is for fantasizing about, but hard to endure for real--this would be forced, and there would be nothing I could do about it.

If you don't mind the concept, and if you start to feel sorry for my thirst and hunger at some point during the day, I would love to serve as your human urinal, and/or toilet. 'Twould require you to temporarily release me so I could "service you", then it would be back into the same or another bondage torture position.

"Hmmm", she said. "What do you mean by taunting?"

"Saying stuff like 'This is delicious, AJ, would you like me to hold it under your nose so you can really make your stomach ache, or should I just sit down on the floor so you can watch me savor every bite?' or ' So sorry you can't eat anything today--I guess I'll just have to put the leftovers down for the cat to lick up'. Use your imagination. Drink ice water in front of me, pour it on me, or in front of me into a bowl. Say how comfortable you are in your chair, while I am cramping up under the table, with my knees in pain from the rock salt (and quite possibly bleeding, as it eventually tears the skin), and from my arthritis.

"After 2-3 hours under the table, or as soon as it really warms up outside, release me and have me don a bra and some heels, then take me out. I brought with me a 12 foot 4 x 4, that I would like to do some creative work on--installing eyebolts, a cross piece, a large wooden dowel, etc, and then tamp it into a 3 foot deep hole in the ground (after digging it of course). I purposely have left out the crowbar and the shovel in the sun, so they should be quite hot to hold by then, especially the crowbar. Force me to dig the hole, continuing without water and food, with no gloves, no sunscreen, and only the high-heeled strappy sandals to deliver force to the shovel. It should be an "interesting" experience. Being allowed to drink some urine (or urine/water mixed) might be necessary at this point so I don't keel over from heat exhaustion. After I finish with the post, you should be able to figure out several creative--and very uncomfortable--positions to handcuff or tie me into. Again, do some taunting--I'll set it up not too far away from some shade, so you at least, can be comfortable, while you watch me suffer and sizzle in my bra and panties. The sunburn, in addition to being very painful, should be quite embarassing as well. Toward evening, the mosquitos should be out in profusion--and you know how much they like to suck on my blood. To get them to cause some more exquisite suffering, release me a half hour or so before sunset begins so I can re-dress into a special set of leggings and shirt, with cutouts to allow access to my ass and crotch, and my nipples, of course. Put me into some standing bondage that will cause extreme suffering the longer I am in it, perhaps with my ankles strapped to a 4 or 5 foot spreader bar, and some high heels of course, and leave me there until morning.

"Tomorrow morning, I'd like you to make me eat some shit, either as it is coming out, or from off a plate, or if you're really feeling wicked, directly off the ground. Or I could "bob" for some turds in the toilet bowl--whatever your pleasure is. Taunting me about how 'shitty' it tastes, compared to how good the food was that your body made it from, or the fact that you get to eat real food while I get to assuage MY hunger with shit should 'go down well' at this point! Make sure that I eat it all, and slowly, chewing each bite thoroughly before being allowed to swallow, so the shit particles get wedged in between my teeth, insuring that I continue to taste the shit in my mouth for several hours afterwards. Don't allow me to wash it down with piss for at least a couple of hours for the same reason. Also, don't allow me to use my hands to eat it with--some shit smeared on my face will cause me to nearly gag from the smell for as long as it remains.

"After my 'breakfast', set me to work on various outdoor maintenance projects that need doing. Since I will be outside in the public eye, so to speak, I'll need to be dressed somewhat more modestly than bra and panties--perhaps a mini-skirt and bra, or a pair of short shorts, or a skort, along with a pair of Thi-Top stockings, and some knee length high heeled boots. Along about noon, allow me to, finally, wash off my face with a hose (but no drinking from it--I again want nothing to drink except straight urine, or a half/half urine-water mixture, suitably and unappetizingly warmed up, of course). If you have any slave projects you need worked on inside, from doing the dishes to cleaning toilets or the oven, feel free to bring me inside to work on them. But make me walk through some mud before coming into the house so that I track it in onto the floor. Punish me liberally with a whip/belt/cane/switch for this infraction, force me to lick the floor clean, and make me swallow the dirt. Don't allow me to sit down while inside; if I kneel, it should only be with rice kernels duct-taped to my (very tender from the day before) knees and shins, to insure that kneeling won't be a 'restful' experience. I should be pretty tired at this point--I doubt that I will have gotten much, if any, sleep while suffering in my stand-up bondage last night. While inside, I should like to shed my skirt (or whatever), so that my mostly bare ass will be available for occasional canings, beltings, or switchings, to urge me into more speedy work efforts. Don't allow any work breaks--if there is a lull, feel free to re-handcuff me under the table again, especially while you are eating. If you REALLY feel sorry for me, dish me up a half can of cat food directly onto the floor, and force me (with an occasional whip lash) to lick all of it up. Make sure you use a particularly dirty area of the floor.

"Towards sundown, I would like to be staked out in the nude using hemp or sisal rope so the scratchy fibers can chafe my skin (and I mean REALLY stretched spread-eagle) either up on the hill, or over an anthill, if one can be found. First, though, I would like to be tied to my whipping post so that I can only just barely stand on my toes, and I would like to be whipped, and caned, and switched, and belted over every part of my body, front and back. If you can't effectively reach my upper body, concentrate on my lower half, including the soles of my feet, until I am covered with welts, then lower me down to my knees and concentrate on the upper half. Show no mercy--there will be no 'safe word'. If any of the welts bleed, increase my agony by rubbing either salt, vinegar, chile powder, or all three, vigorously into the cuts.

"In the morning, release me with enough time to take a (cold) shower, and drive back to work. Without food, but with a bottle of urine to drink on the way in case I get thirsty. Nothing for the pain."

"I can live with that", she said. "Question is, Can you? If I agree to this, you have to agree to become my complete and total masochistic (and femminizable) slave--for at least the next 2 years. Any torture I mete out, you will humbly accept, without complaint, to the absolute limits of your ability to endure, up to and including passing out from either pain, or exhaustion, or both, trusting that I will do my utmost at that point to restore you to torturable health again. Again, any humiliation I require of you, or any femminizing procedure I choose to inflict upon you, will be acceded to by you without complaint. Either here at home on weekends, on any shopping trips or vacations I allow you to participate in, or at work (you will admit, upon questioning by your coworkers, that you voluntarily requested feminizing enslavement by your ex-wife, and that you willingly accepted her conditions, no matter how embarrassing such an admission will be). Do you accept MY conditions??"

I had to think about it only for a moment, then "With relish, and unconditionally!"

My torment began thus, and has continued henceforth, limited only by my now Mistress' almost limitless imagination, and occasional solicitations for suggestions from me, which my masochistic alter-ego is most happy to supply, even knowing just how much suffering it will cause.

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The next Friday evening when I got home, Mistress said "What'll it be, my little pain bitch? Have you recovered from last weekend? Do you want some more torture? I've been saving my piss just for you--keeping it "bottled up" inside for 12 or more hours at a time so it gets really dark yellow, and tasty. Just the way you like it, eh slave?" I nodded. "This weekend, you're going to not only be my toilet, but your own as well. I just hope you haven't lost your taste for shit!" "Did you buy the butt plug I told you to buy with your week's lunch money?"

"Yes Mistress. May I have permission to build a pillory tonight and tomorrow, and may I be tortured in it for the rest of the weekend? I've bought the necessary items for construction--I just need someone to lock me in it." (One of the conditions that Sunny forced upon me last weekend as part of my servitude agreement was allowing me only a limited amount of money to take for work each week--just enough to buy 3 basic meals each day. Buying the butt plug and pillory materials had effectively limited me to only one, small, meal per day, and thus insured that I had constantly been in a state of hunger all week long.)

"Oh yes, and you'd better get with it, then, but first, you need to strip down to your panties and bra (and you'd better be wearing one), insert that butt plug, and get ready for some tasty shit, because I've been saving it for you for 2 days. By the way, best get used to that plug--you're going to be wearing it constantly, with no relief except to take a shit, which you will then eat, the entire weekend."

I stripped down to my undies, greased the butt plug with Mongolian Fire Oil and shoved it painfully all the way in, then got down on my knees, laying my hands behind my back for her to secure them in whatever way she desired, and waited. She flailed my back with three excruciating lashes from a small Mexican bullwhip, then locked on a 1" wide unpadded steel manacle onto each ankle, and padlocked them together. Then she snapped handcuffs on both my wrists, tightening them painfully. She squatted over my mouth and began to squeeze out a turd. I got it into my mouth and began chewing as rapidly as possible, while continuing to take the disgusting thing into my mouth. It was as horrid-tasting as the weekend before--I had to fight to keep it in my mouth, all the while fighting my gag reflex as well (at least last weekend, she had me bob for the turds in the toilet bowl--that way I got to drink a little shitty water to wash it down, and keep from smearing it all over my face!). I couldn't hold all of it before it fell onto the ground either, so I had to lick it up, and 5 more turds as well, along with the dirt and the sand, until I had chewed and gagged all of the gooey stuff down. She unlocked the handcuffs, then the padlock (but left the manacles on to chafe my ankles). I asked her if I could have the pleasure of having a short chain padlocked between the manacles to increase the chafing, as well as making it harder to move. She said she was trying to be nice, but since I obviously didn't want "nice", she was going to make me wish I hadn't opened my big mouth. She then proceeded to padlock a 28" logging chain (about 10 lbs) between the manacles and told me to get to work.

Since I knew that I wouldn't be allowed any sleep anyway, due to some torturous bondage position that she would have thought up, I figured on staying up all night and cutting out and building the pillory. Besides, if I got it done quick enough, I figured I might be able to get a little rest during the first few hours while in it. Before it turned to REAL agony. God I was thirsty, and the shitty aftertaste was almost unbearable. Somehow, I got the thing cut out and assembled, without water, by about 9am the next morning. I was exhausted, and horribly thirsty. My ankles were raw and bleeding as well. She allowed me to serve as her urinal which took care of some of my thirst--I no longer cared how bad it tasted--indeed, because of my extreme thirst, and consequent ion loss, it actually had almost no apparent taste at all, despite the deep yellow color as it came out.

She allowed me to assuage the rest of my thirst in small increments over the next hour, while she locked me in the pillory, with refrigerated piss that she had been collecting and saving during the week. After warming it up in the microwave, of course. She removed the manacles (finally), but decided that some salt and chile powder was needed to make the chafing REALLY hurt. I was then duct-taped into a pair of 5" spike heeled pumps (as if there was a way I could have kicked them off in my position). A scrotal parachute with a 5-lb dumbbell swinging freely from it, and of course, the butt plug, completed my preparations. I was bent over almost 90 degrees, with my salted, seasoned, and throbbing ankles locked in an integral horizontal pillory at ground level that was adjustable for distance from the vertical component, and which spread my ankles about 4 feet apart. It could also accomodate them in a position about 6 inches apart, should the torture "need" arise. I had made the positions for my head and wrists to be as stressful as possible--e.g. no padding, with the centers of the wrist holes about 4 inches above the center of the neck hole, and with them spread as far apart as I could manage.

It very quickly passed beyond being merely uncomfortable to truly painful, and more so with each passing minute. I said as much to my Mistress, and was rewarded for my insolence with 20 brutal, and extremely painful strokes across my now bare ass with a very wet bamboo cane that she had been soaking for just such a purpose. Most of the resulting welts bled, which she then "soothed" (and essentially cauterized) by wiping them down with a sponge dipped in salted vinegar. It took a while for the pain in my other body parts to exceed the agony this caused. But it completely fried the old adage that "a change is as good as a rest"--I got neither rest nor relief. Eventually, I even began to feel the agony my feet were now in. I spent a total of 7 hours in this godawful, grinding torture, from 10am to 5pm, with the summer sun brutalizing my partially healed sunburn from the week before. Upon release, I just collapsed on the ground, having no ability to move at all. Everything hurt. I would probably have welcomed death at this point. Instead, Mistress merely staked me out on my back, and spoon-fed me dog food from a can (allowing me to wash it down with a charitably diluted quantity of chilled urine and water).

Torture, I discovered, is relative. What would, to a beginning masochist, be considered a fairly uncomfortable, and not particularly enjoyable position--being staked out and stretched, nude and sunburned, with hemp rope over uneven desert gravel, baby cacti, and tumbleweed thorns--was to me the most restful position on earth--at least for the next few hours. I even enjoyed the dogfood!