Her Pain for His Pleasure

On the outside, Michelle looked ordinary. 5'3”; long, brown, curly hair. She worked out a lot, weight lifting and bicycling, so she had nicely defined musculature. A narrow waist, flat abs. Great shoulders. Small breasts (36B).

On the inside, Michelle could not be farther from ordinary. Ever since she could remember, she desired pain. When she was young, she didn't understand why she would purposefully lose at dodge ball and have to crawl through the other children, who would each paddle her behind as hard as they could.

When she was older, out on her own with her own internet access, she learned why. Michelle is a pain slave and a submissive. Michelle craves nipple and breast torture, endless whipping until she is crying. She craves the raping of all three of her holes, with no regard for her pleasure (or pain.) She craves tight bondage and huge implements inside her for long, excruciating periods of time. She craves harsh words from the dom that she serves, harsh words to keep her in line and to direct every one of her movements. She needs to be told that crying out and squirming will be punishable by extended, even more brutal torture.

Michelle likes to wake up with her Master's marks on her, where only she can see. She loves the painful feeling of her bra on her tortured nipples, and the agony of sitting on whipped flesh.

For a long time, Michelle did not know that there was a whole world out there, a whole world of people like her (other slaves and submissives) and a whole world that needed people like her (dominants.) Thank goodness for the internet.

The first handful of doms that Michelle met, via the internet, did not work out. She was not yet competent to adequately describe what she was looking for, and what she could provide. She did not yet know how to vet her dominant partner. Over time, she learned.

Now Michelle is alone, thinking of the perfect dominant, checking her e-mail multiple times per day, hoping that one of her BDSM personal ads will yield the right one. She has started to lose hope in finding that perfect match. She has taken to sitting in front of her computer, late at night, a huge butt plug inside her, tight nipple clamps on her, looking at BDSM pictures and wishing that she were in them.

And then one day …

It started in the predictable way, with the e-mail message. She liked that this dom, Master Steve, was articulate in his opening statement. She liked that he clearly described what he was looking for (Dom seeking female sub/pain slave for discrete sessions. Drug/disease free, non-smoker, single; require the same of my sub/pain slave. Must enjoy nipple/breast torture, whipping, caning, fisting, butt plugs, candle wax, tight bondage, humiliation and electro-torture. Experienced subs/slaves only. Physically fit and attractive subs/slaves only. )

When he first e-mailed her, he asked her to e-mail him back with a fantasy about an interaction with the type of dom that she was looking for, and also told her to describe herself. He wanted detail about what she ate, how her health was, and how many times per week she worked out. He said that he did not expect a picture right away, but would require one before meeting.

Michelle was excited. She absolutely loved to kneel naked, in front of her Master, with his cock in her mouth. She loved to have her pony-tail pulled aggressively, as he raped her mouth. She hated to do this to a pot-bellied dom, but had yet to find one that was physically fit. To have a dom so up-front about this requirement was quite a departure for her, and she was excited to respond.

And so she did. She told him her fantasy about the games impossible to win. I am in your basement, she said, naked, but for a garter and stockings. Cuffs are on my wrists and ankles, and my body shows signs of hours of your attentions. My nipples are red and swollen, and my breasts have whip marks on them. My butt has a rosy glow and my pussy is swollen and red. You've just put a huge butt plug inside me, after most recently using that hole for your pleasure. 

You secure my hands behind my back, and bring my elbows together with a binding. My breasts are thrust forward painfully, and I know that it will only get worse. You attach large Japanese clover clamps to my already tortured nipples. They are tight, and get worse when you pull on them with their chain. They did deeply into my sore, sore nipples. You lead me to a sawhorse that has a modified top. Along the length of the sawhorse, the normally squared edge has been brought to a wicked point. You push a huge, wide dildo deep inside me, and then have me straddle the sawhorse. I have to stand on my tiptoes to keep the sharp sawhorse edge from biting deeply into my flesh. You take the chains from the nipple clamps and attach them to the ceiling - in my tiptoe position, they are already pulling painfully. You put a blindfold on me, so that I cannot use my eyes for my sense of balance. Then, you sit back and watch.

I last a long time for you; you are pleased. You love that I am strong and fit, and can take a lot of torture. I last so long that you leave the basement for a few minutes to fix yourself something to drink. When you come back I am starting to weaken. My nipples are stretched to incredible limits and the sawhorse is digging painfully into my bruised cunt. But you are not content to let me fight a fair battle. Using a lever that I cannot see, you raise the sawhorse one inch. Now it is digging quite painfully into me. You also tighten the chain attached to the nipple clamps. Every few minutes you raise the sawhorse and tighten the chain, until all of my weight is supported by my nipples and my cunt. You know that I am in agony, because tears are running down my face, but you also know that I can take it, for you. I remain quiet and still, as you instructed, fighting my screaming nipples and clit, and the heavy, deep pressure of the dildo and butt plug. You are very aroused by this torture.

You tell me that you will not free me until you cum, and then you tell me that you are disappointed, because my current position does not allow you to use any of my holes. But, it does leave my breasts open for your whip, as a punishment for my lack of accessibility, and you use it on me for a while, until you are very close to cumming. You masturbate and cum all over my chest, smiling.

Eventually, you release me from my bonds, and send me off for a quick shower. When I am done, you are sitting on your couch, ready for more ...

Michelle was pleased that Master Steve responded quickly and positively to her message. He told her a little bit more about himself and his experiences. Michelle wanted an experienced dom, someone who knew how to extensively, brutally torture her, but not put her into the hospital. She felt that she had found this, with Master Steve's experience level.

She knew that this did not seal the deal, however. She knew that, for her, there had to be some sexual chemistry in person. In order for her to truly submit to a Master, she was learning, she had to be attracted to him.

Master Steve told her that he wanted to meet her on Friday; three days away. He told her that every morning, before 6:30, between now and then, she must send him a fantasy. It did not have to be as long as the one that she had sent previously, but it had to have one element that she had not talked about yet, but would be willing to experience.

Of course, Michelle complied.

On Wednesday morning, Michelle sent a second fantasy, at 6:15am. I am bound tightly to a sawhorse, she said, my legs straight and spread far apart with a spreader bar. They are so wide apart that, without the strong ropes tied to the spreader bar, I am afraid that I'd end up in a full split. The 5” ruby-red, high heeled shoes had me up on my tiptoes. I know that my tight, muscular ass, hamstring and calf muscles look great in this position. Even better, with the bruises from her last session still not faded. I am glad that I'm limber, because you have me bent over the sawhorse, with my abdomen very close to my legs. A horizontal bar is firm against my lower back, holding my back in an arch as my hands, bound above my head, are pulled tightly to the ceiling. This causes my breasts to stick out in front of me, nipples hard, as they always are. You have secured my ponytail tightly to the ceiling, as well, so that I cannot drop my head down. You love this position, I know, as all three of my holes are available for your use.

I got a little bit scared when the blindfold went on; losing my sight always makes me worry, because I cannot see what is coming. I had a feeling that I wouldn't be able to see, anyway, because I'm thinking that you'll be using this position for an extended whipping session; I am wrong.

The crack of the cane against the underside of my right breast makes me jump. You hate that, and tell me not to make that mistake again. The next strike is harder and directly on my right nipple. Three more strikes follow, on my right nipple, with 30 seconds between each, so that I may fully feel the pain … and fully anticipate the next blow. You return to the underside of my right breast … 9 more strikes there, in a perfect pattern. You switch sides; my right breast and nipple are on fire. 10 strikes to my left breast and then 5 on my left nipple. I think that you are done; you are just starting.

You switch to a cane of slightly less diameter; the impact has more sting and the mark is deeper. 10 more blows to the underside of my right breast. I think that you are playing a game to see if you can land each blow directly where you landed the previous 10. From the magnitude of the pain in my breast, I am sure that your aim is true. The 30 seconds of rest between each blow are agony for me. I am panting and clenching my teeth. I am not sure how I will survive the 5 blows to my right nipple, which I am sure are coming. You wait longer than 30 seconds for the first of the series; I think that you are trying to up the anticipation for me. It is working. The first blow is mind-blowing; I am sure that I will pass out. I know that you know this; rather than stopping, you just allow me more recovery time. More time to anticipate the pain to come and to feel the pain so far.

By now my cunt is dripping; you know this and it excites you. But you are taking your time; you have all afternoon to torture me.

4 more blows to my right nipple, in slow succession. Then, before I've even realized that the 5 th blow is completed, you are striking my left breast, in the same places as your first set. The blows are faster here – there is not as much time for me to process the pain, but somehow this makes the pain even worse. The 5 blows to my left breast are the worst pain that I've ever felt (but not the worst that I will ever feel, at your hand), and I cry out.

You tell me that you are disappointed (but you are secretly pleased that I lasted so long without screaming.) You tell me that my punishment is that you will use my mouth to cum; no orgasm for me today.

When you are done and satisfied, you leave me tied up, exposed, pondering my dripping sex and burning breasts.

Master Steve was very pleased with Michelle's second e-mail message. And he told her so.

On Thursday, Michelle sent the following to Master Steve, just as instructed … Today you bound me spread-eagled to the double-bed in your dungeon/basement. You came over to me with a bucket; I could see that it was completely full of clothespins. You told me that these were modified clothespins; you showed me that a second spring had been added to the mechanism, to make them grip much more tightly. You also told me that many of them had had modifications to the gripper pads. Some had rough sandpaper glued to the surface; some had small metal teeth like alligator clamps.

You began with my breasts. One by one you added the clothespins in a methodical fashion, until my entire breast was covered. I was surprised that you left my nipple free. But I did not have time to ponder my nipple; with the addition of every clothespin, the pain level grew. Some were not so hard to take; the worst were the alligator-clamp-modified clothespins. I think that you saved many of these for my pussy. You covered every inch of my pussy with the worst of the clothespins, or so I thought. The pain was excruciating, and I was panting. I was happy that you had bound me tightly; each of my hands gripped the bonds and helped me to keep from screaming.

You continued with the clothespins, down the insides of each of my legs. You had trouble pulling enough flesh, there, for clothespins, because my legs are quite muscular. You moved up to my abdomen, and put pins where you could pull enough flesh. You love that I have a 6-pack and so have a very fit stomach.

10 pins went down the backs of each of my armpits; I had never had clothespins there.

Now you frowned. You still had clothespins, but nowhere to put them. You said that you knew that that would happen, and so pulled a roll of duct tape from the bucket. My punishment for having not enough fat on my body, was that you were going to twist and secure all of the clothespins.

I think that I sucked in my breath involuntarily. I didn't know if I could take that much. You just smiled and told me that that was a punishable offense that you would deal with in a few minutes.

You started with my breasts. You twisted each of the outermost clothespins 180 degrees, and secured it firmly to my chest or ribs. The twisting and pulling of my already throbbing flesh was intense. As you worked your way toward each of my nipples, you varied the twisting direction – some clockwise, some counterclockwise. I was concentrating on my breathing well before you had finished with my first breast.

My second breast left me almost screaming. On both you had wrapped extra lengths of duct tape across me, to make sure that the clothespins would not go anywhere.

Then you moved to my pussy. You smiled that I was dripping for you, as I always am when you torture me for your pleasure. You began at the outer edges of my sex, viciously pulling the clothespins directly away from my dripping core. Because I was tied in an almost full-split spread-eagled position, each pulled clothespin served to more and more deeply open me, expose me, to you.

When you were done, I was a mass of duct tape and pain. My body was screaming, though I was trying hard not to. You said that all that work had made you sweaty and that you were headed for a shower …

Michelle was again pleased when Master Steve said that he approved of her fantasy. He told her that her Friday installment should be a continuation of Thursday. Of course, she complied.

After 20 long, agonizing minutes, I am sure that I was in and out of consciousness. I became very alert when you began whipping my clothes-pinned and duct-taped breasts with your belt. I didn't think that you were whipping me very hard (and then you told me that you were not), but the pain was extraordinary. The strike of the belt, the compression of the mass of duct tape, the overall movement of my breast from the impact – it was overwhelming. You alternated breasts and speed.

And then you stopped. You started pulling the tape off my breasts, not taking any care not to pull up what was underneath each layer. The jerky movements and the pulling set off whole new levels of pain in my breasts. I couldn't believe how bad it hurt me, and started to cry silently. Silent crying was the one form of expression that you allowed without punishment, though you always told me that it would cost me in other ways. I had only been to tears for you once before. When you got to the lowest level of tape, I knew that the worst was yet to come. On this lowest level, sometimes the clothespin was pulled partially off by the action of you ripping off the tape. You see, you decided to get every last bit of tape off every clothespin. You did this by pulling only on the tape, not putting any counter-pressure on the clothespin. In 3 cases, the clothespin came completely off before the tape was removed. That was agony, especially for the two that had alligator clamp teeth.

Finally all of the tape was off the clothespins on my breasts. You ran your hands back and forth, brushing the clothespins back and forth like a wave. My crying continued, and I think that I lost consciousness for a little bit. When I came to, only some of the clothespins were off my breasts – it seems that you didn't want me to miss any of the removal event.

Finally, all of the clothespins were off my breasts. My pussy, abdomen, parts of my legs, and parts of my underarms were still wrapped in tape.

You picked up your cat o' 9 tails whip. You began whipping my breasts, methodically. I closed my eyes and tried not to scream; that's when you laid the first of many, many hard blows directly to my spread open, dripping pussy. I did scream, and kept screaming long after you tired of whipping my exposed sex …

And that was only fantasy, Master Steve thought, when he read Michelle's Friday installment. He was excited to meet her that night. If there was any sexual chemistry at all, this could be a good match, quite a good match indeed.