2
On the Friday night, all his preparations made, Mike drove in to the university,
parked his car and settled down to wait. Not for long, a few minutes later he
heard footsteps coming up behind the car. He looked in the rear-view mirror and
saw a figure coming towards him from behind. He made out long hair in the dim
light of the campus street lamps and knew it was Martine. He reached over and
opened the door on the passenger side. The girl got in. He started the engine
and pulled away, nice and slowly, tonight was not the time to get mixed up with
nosy cops.
It wasn't far to the house and as they approached it Martine saw that it stood
alone, surrounded by trees, about a mile from the main road.
Mike drove into the open garage, got out and shut the garage doors. When he
turned, the girl was standing silently by the car, biting her lip. Without a
word he took her by the arm and steered her towards the house.
Once inside he ushered her into the big front room. She stood there, motionless.
"I'll take your coat"' he said, holding out his hand. Almost as though in a dream
she unbuttoned the garment and gave it to him. Underneath she was wearing a
fuzzy, pink angora wool sweater at least one size too small for those big
breasts, and a mini-skirt that came down to the middle of her thighs. No
stockings. It was obvious that Martine thought she was in for a sexy weekend and
had decided that, since she couldn't avoid it, she would make the most of it.
She was in for a surprise.
"Would you like a drink", Mike asked and, without waiting for an answer, moved
over to the drinks cabinet and mixed two martinis, one of which he handed to
her. She took it and sipped slowly, her eyes roaming round the room - not that
there was anything special to see, it was a very ordinary sort of room.
"It's quite hot in here", said Mike, "why don't you take off your sweater."
She hadn't been expecting such a brutal start to things, especially after being
offered a drink, but it seemed she had no choice. Putting her glass down on a
coaster on the small table, she pulled the sweater over her head and threw it
onto the armchair. This last movement turned her back towards him and he was
rewarded with the sight of broad, tanned shoulders tapering down to a tiny
waist, the expanse of naked flesh criss-crossed by the straps of a white bra.
Mike felt his prick starting to rise, this was going to be some weekend!
"Now the shoes", he said, and she stepped out of the high-heeled sandals she was
wearing.
"The skirt", Mike said, hoarsely, his prick pushing hard at his pants.
Her hands went to the waistband and he heard the "Hsss" of the zip as she pulled
it down. The skirt dropped in a rumpled circle round her ankles, and he was free
to gaze at a long pair of slim, brown legs, ending in tiny, lace-edged white
pants that hugged a gloriously rounded pair of ass-cheeks. By now his prick was
absolutely rigid and he knew that he would need quite a lot of self-control if
he was going to carry through the program he had planned for the weekend. This
one was just crying out to be fucked, but if he did it now, as he wanted to, it
would spoil everything.
"Turn round," he said "and put your hands behind your back." She did so, and
taking a length of soft cord from his pocket, Mike swiftly twisted it three
times round her wrists, pulled it tight and neatly cinched it.
At first Martine didn't seem to realise what he had just done to her, but when
realisation did come, she whirled around, face crimson, screaming "Let me go!
Untie me at once, you filthy beast, I didn't agree to anything like this! Untie
me!"
"No way sweetheart", thought Mike, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling her
head right back, so that her mouth came wide open. Into this he forced a
ball-gag that he had ready in his left hand. As she came upright, choking on the
ball, he lifted the long hair and buckled the black strap firmly at the back of
her neck, then let her go.
She stood, there, face still bright red, coughing and spluttering around the
ball, trying to breathe properly, tugging madly at the cord around her wrists.
"If I were you, Martine," he said, "I'd save my strength for more important
things. I am not going to untie you, and you are going to stay gagged, so you
might as well get used to it."
She stopped trying to free her wrists and concentrated instead on not choking.
Her mouth was wedged wide open by the hard rubber ball, which effectively
stopped her from making anything but mewling sounds when she tried to speak. She
began to realise that she was in trouble, that this was not the cosy, sexy
weekend that she had expected. Instead, she was tied up, vulnerable, no-one knew
where she was, and she had no idea what Mike had in store for her, but if the
beginning was anything to go on, it was nothing good.
Mike decided that it was time to take her upstairs to the attic, to the special
room he had spent the last three weeks preparing and equipping just for her.
Trouble was, she wouldn't walk up those stairs willingly. So, he grabbed a
handful of hair on the crown of her head, pulled it down to waist level, so that
she was bent right over, and then pulled. She tried to resist, but the pain in
her scalp was atrocious, and she was forced to follow him. He led her down the
short corridor and up the first flight of stairs, then the second, until they
came to a plain door at the top of the house. Opening this, Mike dragged her
inside and let go of her hair.
Straightening up, blinking away the tears that had formed in her eyes from the
pain of having her hair pulled, she looked around her.
The room, which was high in the middle, had a sloping ceiling on three sides.
Heavy wooden beams indicated that they were up in the roof space of the house.
The walls were white and in the corners of the room there were lamps which gave
out a soft, red light, giving the room a strange feeling. She shivered. The
walls were decorated with instruments of various sorts, some made of wood, other
of shiny metal. Ropes and pulleys hung from hooks in the beams and from heavy
wooden battens screwed to the walls. A small table held what looked to be
electrical equipment and in the middle of the room there was a low dais with
metal rods sticking up from it in a pattern that made no sense to her, but which
seemed to be vaguely menacing. The whole room seemed to threaten her and she
took an involuntary step backwards, only to come up against Mike, who was
standing right behind her. She felt her ass-cheeks press against his rock-hard
prick, as his hands came up to hold her by the upper arms.
He pushed her across the room and turned her so that her back was pressed to the
wall. At either side of her neck there were metal studs, from one of which
dangled a leather strap. This he pulled across her throat and hooked it onto the
other stud and then stood back. Martine was held firmly against the wall by the
strap.
Mike crossed to the door. "Take a good look around, Martine, " said, "Try to
guess what all these things are for. It'll give you something to do while I go
and change into something more comfortable." And with that he left the room,
closing the door behind him.
Martine looked around the room. What was that thing like an elongated tennis bat
with holes in it for? And surely that thing, hanging on the wall, was a whip!
Over there were handcuffs, and that very solid-looking wooden armchair with
straps riveted to the back, arms and legs was a...""Oh my God," she thought,
"This is a torture chamber!" As the realisation burst over her, the first
reaction was to try to scream for help, but the ball-gag effectively stifled any
sounds she tried to make. Then she tried to get away from the wall, but only
succeeded in nearly strangling herself on the strap. She stood still and tried
to think coherently, but it was impossible, she was too terrorised to have a
single rational thought. All she wanted was to get out of there, but there was
no escape! She could feel clammy fear-sweating running down her sides from her
armpits and she started trembling. She was in trouble.
At this point, the lamps started to dim, went right out and left her standing in
complete darkness. Then they flashed back up to full brightness and there,
standing in front of her, was a man. He was naked, except for a thin leather
string round his waist holding up an incredibly thin leather pouch through which
the outlines of his balls and a very large prick were all to evident. On his
feet were lace-up sandals, he had leather bands round his wrists and biceps, and
his face was covered by what looked like a medieval executioner's hood.
Terrified, she tried again so scream, and again she failed.
Mike - for it was Mike behind the mask - grinned to himself. Mental torture is
often as good as the physical kind, and it was obvious that the girl was very,
very frightened, which was just great, now he could get down to the physical
stuff.
Once again grabbing her by the hair, he undid the strap and pulled her over to
the dais, which he forced her to mount. Here, he pushed her head down so that
her neck went into a half-circle of rubber-lined metal on the top of a short
metal rod let into the wood of the platform. A strap round the back of her neck,
and she was secured. On either side of her waist there were vertical rods and to
these Mike fixed a horizontal one, pulling it up the rods so that it came up
against her belly. Then he pushed it back so that it was forced against the tops
of her thighs. Next came straps round her ankles, attached to short cords. These
he used to pull her feet wide apart, fixing the cords to hooks screwed into the
platform. Straps round her knees were pulled towards the upright steel rods by
more cords, so that her thighs were spread widely, lewdly. She tried to
struggle, but found that she was incapable of any movement. In particular, her
hips were totally frozen by the angle of her knees, she couldn't even wiggle her
ass!
Suddenly she felt him fumbling with the cord that tied her wrists and hope
swelled up, but it was short-lived. He pulled her right hand down and tied it to
the vertical post the top of which imprisoned her neck. True, her left hand was
free, but there was just nothing she could do, and then he grabbed that and tied
it to the post, too.
Mike stepped back and had a look at her. Her body was stretched out, parallel to
the floor, her heavy breasts hanging down in their thin covering. Her legs were
upright and spread wide, wide apart. The only thing between him and her cunt was
the flimsy pair of white pants, and Mike figured that situation wouldn't last
long.
Moving to a small table near the wall, he picked up a jug containing water in
which were floating a number of ice cubes. The jug also contained a pair of
long-bladed dressmaker's shears, which he took in his right hand. First, he held
the shears low down, under the girl's face, so that she could see them. The
sight of those evil-looking blades sent her into a new paroxysm of fear; what
was he going to do to her? She struggled against her restraints, knowing that it
would do no good.
Carefully, he inserted one of the blades under the waistband of her pants. She
could feel the ice-cold metal along her spine, but had no idea what he was going
to do.
Slowly, Make pressed the blade into the crack of her ass-cheeks, until she felt
it touch her asshole. She screamed through the gag. Mike closed the shears, the
blades hissing through the thin fabric of her pants. Then he took the shears
away and replaced them in the jug of iced water, waiting a few minutes until the
blades were again quite cold. He again slid a blade under her pans, this time
pressing it firmly in between the lips of her cunt. She went perfectly still;
stiller than she had ever been in her life, and sweat broke out all over her.
One false move and one of the most precious and irreplaceable parts of her body
might slip between those wicked blades, to be shorn off for ever! She heard the
hiss of the shears as the blades began to close, and she was so frightened she
didn't even dare to scream.
Finally there was a slight "Click", the hissing noise stopped and the cut was
finished. She slumped, suddenly boneless, in her bonds, relief flooding through
her - he hadn't cut her. Tears came to her eyes, she was intact. Little did she
care that her pants had been reduced to two elasticised circles, one round each
thigh, and that her puckered asshole and cunt were exposed to full view.
To Mike's view; and the sight was almost too much for him, he desperately wanted
to ram his cock up one or the other of those holes, but not yet. First this
little bitch was going to suffer!
He picked up three instruments and laid them at the foot of the upright rod,
under Martine's face. She looked at them. There was a thin, whippy cane, a
stiff-bristled hairbrush and the elongated bat with the holes in it that she had
noticed earlier.
"Martine, I am going to beat your ass. The choice of which one of those three
instruments I do it with is up to you. I am going downstairs for a drink. While
I am gone, make your choice. When I come back, you will indicate, by lifting
one, two or three fingers, counting from the right, to show which one you have
chosen. If you refuse to choose, I shall beat you with all three of them." So
saying, he left the room.
Martine stared at the three instruments. Which one would hurt the least? The
cane was thin and would probably cut her ass-cheeks, so that was out. But what
about the other two? The hairbrush shouldn't be too bad, if he beat her with the
back of it, but if he used the bristle side, it could be pretty bad. The bat, on
the other hand, seemed perfectly innocuous. And it was then that she realised
just how devilishly clever Mike had been. He was forcing her to imagine the
beating before it even began! In her mind she was already trying to feel the
blows!
Her thoughts went back and forth, the brush or the bat? Each time she thought
she had made up her mind, her imagination started up again.
Finally Mike returned to the torture chamber and stood beside her. "Well, which
one is it to be?" he asked. In desperation Martine stuck out three fingers,
indicating the bat, hoping like mad that she had not made a mistake. Mike
grinned under the mask, the bitch was in for a surprise.
Before starting on the beating, Mike picked up a tiny pair of earplugs from the
table and stuffed them into the girl's ears. Next he pulled a bag made of thick,
black material over her head and pulled the drawstring fairly tight round her
neck. Martine found herself in a world of her own, she couldn't move and now she
couldn't hear nor see either. The idea was to prevent her from hearing the noise
as the bat whistled through the air, or seeing it. In this way she would not be
able to clench the muscles in her ass to resist the pain of the blows. At the
same time, it augmented the mental torture, since she was confined to a dark,
soundless world, in which fear and anticipation quickly became the dominating
emotions.
Picking up the paddle, Mike took aim at those lovely ass-cheeks and let fly. The
impact of the paddle dented the resilient flesh, which immediately sprung back
into shape. To the girl, the blow was painful, but only moderately so, dull
rather than sharp pain, heavy, and she started to congratulate herself on her
choice of instrument. This was not going to be so bad after all.
Mike's arm drew back and then whipped forward for the second stroke. She grunted
and lurched forward, her breasts swaying beneath her. This time the pain was
greater, seemingly spreading over the whole area of her ass. Maybe she had
chosen wrongly after all.
The third stroke, when it landed, sent pain messages scurrying through her
entire pelvic region, and she gasped. This was no joke, it HURT! She clenched
her ass, stiffening the muscles in preparation for the next blow.
Mike saw this muscle movement and chuckled to himself. This was exactly the
reason for the earplugs and bag. He knew she would clench like this, but she
couldn't hold it, and she had no visual or audio signal of when the next stroke
was due to land on her ass. He waited until her muscles relaxed, and struck,
hard! She yelled around the gag, the pain blasting though her. If it was this
bad after four, what was it going to be like after twenty? And how many was he
going to give her anyway?
Martine clenched up, and decided to stay that way. OK, so she was wasting
energy, but better that than the terrible pain of the landing paddle. She lasted
all of two minutes before she relaxed, and immediately clenched up again. Mike
watched, and waited. Finally, detecting the beginning of relaxation, he struck,
not once but twice. This time she didn't even scream, because the double blast
of pain blew all the breath out of her lungs. God it hurt! She tried to plead
for mercy, but all that came out of the black bag were little mewling sounds,
which Mike ignored.
"Thwaaack!" The paddle landed again, creating a blaze of pure pain. It was as
though every nerve-ending in her ass has been set on fire, the pain spreading
from the surface of her flesh deep down inside her. She couldn't take much more
of this inhuman treatment, she felt she would...Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! As her muscles
slackened, the paddle bit again, the pain running up her spine to explode in her
head. Never, in her whole life, had she imagined that such pain could even
exist, never mind happen to her. But it was happening, and it felt like it was
killing her.
Suddenly, in an explosion of energy born of desperation, she struggled to get
free, the metal rods rocking , but it was no good, she was too tightly fastened
down, and as her struggles subsided he hit her again, full across both cheeks.
The pain was indescribable, and with each stoke it got worse.
Mike went on to give her thirty cracking blows across her ass, slowly,
deliberately, timing each one carefully. Her ass grew progressively pinker and
pinker. He regretted the necessity of gagging her, because he would have dearly
loved to hear her screaming, but she would have made so much noise it would have
been too risky not to have done so. Maybe he would use the ring-gag later on,
see what that sounded like.
After the last stoke Mike quietly laid the paddle down and crept noiselessly out
of the room. Martine continued to clench the muscles of her ass for a good five
minutes before she realised that it was over - for the moment at least. When she
did so, she slumped lifelessly against her restraints and gave way to floods of
tears. Her ass was a sea of pain and fire, and it was obvious that he hadn't
finished with her. What would he do next.
