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CH 18
I was fascinated by Donna, the woman who liked electrical torture. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Her love of pain was way ahead of mine and I began to have some disturbing fantasies of my own. It wasn’t the thought of electrical torture that bothered me, far from it, but her death fantasy did. I began to have horrible, yet erotic thoughts of dying. I didn’t have a death wish, but Donna’s fantasies were the ultimate manifestation of bondage and submission. To submit to that ultimate form of torture seemed incredibly exciting. I began to wonder what it would be like.
I rationalized my fantasy by pretending that I’d been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had only a short time to live. Rather than die slowly in a hospital I would arrange to have someone torture me to death while others watched. I masturbated many times as I ran through different scenarios of my own death.
I imagined that I was a captive of the Maya. I was kept in a ceremonial house in the center of a huge plaza. Every day high ranking men of the city came and fucked me. As each man spurted cum into me he whispered a message to the gods in my ear. When I died I would deliver the messages.
On the day of my sacrifice I was ritually bathed then led outside. I was naked but an elaborate feather headdress was placed on my head. Then I was bound to a rectangular wooden frame. The frame was wide enough that my legs and arms were spread open. I was lifted onto the shoulders of four muscular priests and carried through the city. Other priests sang and chanted prayers to the gods as I was carried along the great processional way to the base of a pyramid. Crowds of people watched silently as I was paraded past.
The priests carried me up the steps of the pyramid. At the top my frame was lifted upward while the priests continued their chanting. Each lift was higher and the priests grew more excited until they were practically throwing me into the air. My body bounced in the frame. I screamed in terror and excitement.
The chanting stopped and I was removed from the frame. I was bound to a stone altar with my legs apart. The chief priest raised his arms to the sky and shouted an invocation, then he tore off his loin cloth and exposed a huge and very erect penis. He stepped forward and thrust inside me. I screamed in ecstasy when he came inside me. The watching crowd roared their approval.
I screamed and writhed in continuous orgasm while seven priests fucked me. I was a quivering mass of orgasmic flesh by the time the last message to the gods had been deposited in my sopping wet pussy. The high priest raised an obsidian knife and looked into my eyes. I smiled and thrust my breasts upward as he plunged the knife into my heart.
Another terrible scenario that I thought up involved being tried for witchcraft in old Salem. I saw myself in the dock of a courtroom filled with dour old puritans. My accusers said that my body carried devil’s marks, the sign of a witch. I was forced to strip naked and display myself. I tried to explain that the marks were common moles and freckles, but the jury did not care. I was found guilty and sentenced to be flogged, branded and drowned in the dunking chair.
I was led out of the court room naked to the center of town. My wrists were locked over my head beneath the gallows and everyone gathered round to watch my punishment. I was flogged with a hundred strokes of a cat o nine tails. I had several orgasms during my flogging and the city fathers pointed out that this was further proof of my depravity.
After my hundredth stroke, I was taken down and chained to a wagon wheel that was suspended off the ground by a pole. A brazier was brought close and a dozen irons put in the fire. The crowd prayed while we waited for the irons to get hot. They knelt when the torturer pronounced the first iron hot enough. My pussy throbbed with excitement and I watched him draw out the red hot iron and approach. He touched it to my belly and I screamed to heaven.
For hours they branded my body. They touched the irons to all parts of me but saved the best for last. I had already had several orgasms, but when the iron touched my nipple I went insane with passion. I fainted.
They threw bucket of cold water over me and I awoke to hear the preacher indignantly telling his flock that I had fainted from another wicked and unnatural pleasure. They murmured in pious disapproval but that didn’t top them from branding my other nipple. That resulted in another terrific orgasm for me. I thanked them sweetly but that only convinced them of how sinful my depravity was. I was afraid they might not brand my pussy, but after a lengthy prayer, the governor of the colony himself stepped forward and performed his duty. Best orgasm yet!
When the fire in the brazier had gone out, they took me to the river and bound me to the dunking chair. It was a typical dunking chair, a wooden chair secured to the end of a long pole balanced on a pivot. However, because I was such a wicked woman, they had added a special refinement. A wooden shaft, like a large penis stood upright in the seat.
I was forced into the seat (and the wooden penis was forced inside me) and strapped in. The torturer took his time and tied me very, very tightly. I giggled in delight as the ropes tightened on my skin. This brought some more lengthy prayers and a sermon about my sinfulness. I didn’t mind because it gave me more time to enjoy my bondage.
Finally they got around to business and I was swung out over the water. Another prayer, then I was dunked. The water was cold and felt good on my brands. They held me under until I thought I was going to drown, then lifted me out. The people applauded as I sat limply like a wet rat. My hair clung to my face so I shook it away. They interpreted this as defiance and under I went. They dunked me twenty or thirty times. I lost count and have to admit that I didn’t find it very erotic. If it hadn’t been for that wooden penis up my pussy I wouldn’t have had a single orgasm. Luckily, each time I dropped into the water the penis jammed a little deeper inside me. That was nice, and I discovered that wriggling around on the seat produced some delicious sensations in my pussy. I was engaged in making myself come when they hauled me out of the water. The sight of my body writhing in ecstasy infuriated the puritans and they dropped me under water until I drowned.
I borrowed another of my death fantasies from Donna.
I imagined that I was to be executed in the electric chair. I was guilty of something pretty serious because it was decided that my death was to be televised around the country.
I was led naked into the execution chamber, which was a large auditorium because of the need for additional room for the cameras. Every seat in the auditorium was filled with official witnesses and reporters. The electric chair sat on a stage and illuminated with brilliant lights. An extra feature had been added. The electrode between my legs was larger than usual and it was designed to thrust up and down.
I placed my pussy over the electrode and sat down. My first orgasm hit before it was fully seated. The guards strapped me into the chair, and like Donna, my legs were secured apart. Electric cables were attached to my nipples by heavy alligator clips. The guards tested the motor that moved the electrode in and out of my pussy. They only let it run for a few slow thrusts, but they were delightful and orgasm number two shot up through my belly. Then they ran a low current through my nipples. I thanked them sweetly.
I found myself looking into the lenses of dozens of television cameras. I could even see myself on a monitor.
The warden stepped forward and read out my sentence, then he asked if I had any last words. I politely asked if he could prolong my death as much as possible. He said he’d see what he could do, then they gagged me.
They turned on the electricity and the first jolt flamed through my pussy.
The warden was a man of his word. He drew my execution out for quite a time. The first few dozen bursts of electricity were high enough to get my attention, but not enough to kill me. The electrode moved slowly up and down in my pussy, like the most wonderful dildo in the world. Its speed was regulated by the voltage I was getting. I was enjoying my execution immensely when they ramped the voltage up a few notches. My body stiffened and white hot electricity seemed to explode inside me. I watched myself on the monitor. My body was convulsing and the electrode was pumping in and out of my pussy. They increased the voltage and the electrode moved faster. I was coming about every thirty seconds when I saw the warden signal the executioner to turn it up even more.
The electrode sped up until it was a blur in my pussy. My body was convulsing, my head was jerking from side to side and I was screaming through my gag. Pressure, electricity, and ecstasy built up in my pussy until every thing went black and I died.
I was sinking into a dangerous frame of mind.
I shook off those ideas, but it wasn’t easy. I was frightened. I decided I needed a break from Denver and the S and M scene so I went home to mom.
It was wonderful to be home. The farm looked so nice and comforting. Mom wasn’t home when I got in. I dumped my bag in my room and peeked into hers. I was delighted to see that she still had ropes tied to her bed. I couldn’t help myself, I looked through the drawers in her dresser. My pussy got very wet when I found several more coils of rope, some vibrators and a thin leather pussy strap.
I took out the strap and examined it. It was home made, obviously well used, and secured to the waist belt by a tiny padlock. I put it back and went to my room.
I unpacked, undressed, walked to the barn naked, and tied myself to my torture machine. I pushed the weight off the loft and almost cried with happiness as the familiar rope snubbed tight on my wrists. I don’t know if it was the familiar surroundings or getting away from the strange people in Denver, but I felt so contented.
I heard Mom’s car arrive and smiled as I pictured her looking through the house for me. I knew eventually she’d come to the barn. I timed her search and smiled when I heard her footsteps on the ladder.
She shook her head when she saw me on the rack.
“So, you couldn’t wait long enough to give your mother a hug?” she joked. “You’re not home ten minutes and you’ve already tied yourself up.”
“That’s about the gist of it,” I said stretching contentedly. “Besides, I wanted to make sure the equipment is still working.”
“Oh, it works,” she said.
“So I see. How many days a week do you come up here?” I asked.
“Every day,” she laughed. “I’ve gotten as bad as you.”
“Probably not that bad,” I said. That didn’t come out as lightly as I’d intended.
She sensed my mood, mothers always do. “What do you mean?”
I hadn’t intended to tell her what I’d been doing, but it just spilled out. I told her about John and the things I’d done at the mall. I told her about my night at the police station and breaking up with John.
Mom wasn’t upset, in fact she wanted to hear more. I was astonished when she nodded understandingly when I told her about walking around dressed like a hooker, then getting ‘arrested’. She nodded understandingly when I told her about undressing in the holding cell. Something in her eyes made me suspicious.
“Mom, have you done something like that?” I asked.
“Sure, I walk around out little down in skimpy clothes all the time,” she said wryly.
“Come on, “I said. “Out with it.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ve never been taken to jail but I have gone out in public wearing very little.”
“Wow.”
“Before you were born, your dad and I went to Atlantic City on vacation. I’d always wanted to see the ocean and your father wanted to go deep sea fishing. We had a great time, saw lots of shows, walked the boardwalk, and did all the typical tourist things. There were lots of prostitutes who wore some very revealing outfits, and strip clubs showing posters of their entertainers. Between performances the strippers lounge around on the walk to attract customers. They didn’t wear much either. I wondered what it would be like to go out in public dressed like that.
“Your father signed us up to go on a fishing charter but I changed my mind and stayed at the hotel. After he left I shortened one of my skirts and cut a slit up the side. I put on a white blouse, hose and heels and went out.”
“What about underwear?” I asked.
“Of course I wore underwear,” she said indignantly, then she shrugged. “At least part of the time.”
“Mom, that is so great!” I gasped. “Did you make much money?”
“Oh, aren’t you cute.” she laughed. “No, I didn’t.”
“Ok, go on.”
“I walked along the board walk and felt very sexy, and a little frightened,” she continued. “I got a lot of stares from men and a lot of whistles.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said.
“Atlantic City is full of cheap souvenir shops, tattoo parlors, bars and the like,” mom said. “I saw a store advertising lingerie and went in. The lingerie was cheap sexy clothing, see through blouses and crotchless panties, that sort of thing.”
“Do you still have the crotchless panties?” I asked. “Can I borrow them?”
“None of your business,” she said. “But I did buy a very naughty blouse. It’s almost transparent.”
“Do you still have it?” I asked seriously.
She nodded. “I took off my brassiere and changed into the transparent blouse in the dressing room. I left my old one at the store.”
I lay on my rack and marveled. We never really know our parents. I’d never have dreamt that my mom was capable of that!
“I strolled around all afternoon,” Mom told me. “I loved the attention I got, but I was worried that a policeman might think I was a real hooker and stop me.”
“Don’t knock it Mom,” I said. “You haven’t lived until you’ve been strip searched by a handsome cop.”
“Well, I wasn’t looking for that to happen, not in those days.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I ate lunch in an outdoor café,” she said, then blushed. “And I sat so that men could look up my skirt.”
“Oh, my God!” I said in delight. “How many men tried to pick you up?”
“Quite a few,” she said. “There were a lot of sailors in town and they seemed to swarm around me. I even let a couple of them buy me a drink.”
“Really?”
“They were a bold pair,” she said. “They just plopped down at my table and ordered a round of drinks. They didn’t even ask my permission to sit down.”
“Were they cute?”
“Very cute,” she said. “And they looked great in their white uniforms.”
“Did you have sex with them?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But I giggled and pretended to be a dumb little twit. We had several drinks and I admit I liked the attention, but when they started taking liberties I decided it was time to go back to the hotel.”
“What sort of liberties?”
“It started with a few pats on my bottom,” she said. “And I let them get away with it, but when one of them slid his hand up my skirt I decided it was time to go.”
“How far up your skirt?”
“All the way,” she blushed. “So I got up and left.”
“Spoilsport,” I said.
“I walked back to the hotel but ducked into a public restroom and put my bra on,” Mom said. “Even so, I attracted a lot of stares when I walked through the lobby.”
“Mom, that is so cool,” I said admiringly.
“It just goes to show that you’re not the only girl in this family to prance around dressed like a hooker,” she said. “Now what happened when they took you to the police station?’
I told her everything except the part about Jill fucking me with her night stick.
Mom’s face was bright pink when I finished. She kissed me on the cheek and told me to stay on the rack as long as I liked, then she went to the house.
CH 19
That evening I gave Mom a gift. I’d brought her a matching set of cuffs, slave collar and ball gag, all in red leather. I’d also brought a set of nipple clamps.
She was delighted with the leather gear but looked askance at the nipple clamps.
“I love the cuffs,” she said. “But I’m not so sure about these things.”
She put the clamps aside and started to put on the cuffs. She was fully dressed, but I insisted that she take her clothes off. She went to her room and came back wearing a lacy panty and bra set. I allowed her to try on the cuffs.
Mom’s eyes were sparkling by the time she had everything on. I clipped a hobble chain between her ankles and locked her wrists behind her back. She tried to walk in the hobble and looked very sexy mincing around the room. She shrieked and giggled when she almost toppled over. I hooked my finger in a ring on her collar and led her outside She balked and protested until I held up the nipple clamps. After that she followed me meekly onto the front porch. I pointed to the porch swing and she managed to hop to it and sit down. She curled her legs under her, wriggled around until she was comfortable, and we talked.
I told her about meeting Denise and Mary, and how they came to be dominatrixes. I told her that I’d had sessions with them and that they’d introduced me to other people who tied me up. I let her think that it was a bondage club and didn’t tell her that I was paid to be a slave. Again she surprised me and wasn’t upset. I think she sensed a lot more than I was telling her but she just suggested that I take precautions against pregnancy and disease and avoid torture that might permanently scar my body.
Her remark about scars made me think of Dorothy and her fantasy to wear rings in her nipples, so I told Mom about her. Mom was intrigued with the idea and wondered aloud where a woman could go to get her nipples pierced.
“Are you thinking of getting rings installed in your nipples?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she mused. “But it is an interesting concept.”
“Dorothy can’t do it because her husband wouldn’t like it,” I said. “But there’s nothing stopping you from getting rings.”
“They would probably show through my clothing,” she said. “People would see them.”
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“Possibly not in Denver,” she said wryly. “But around here it would be.”
“Yep, you would shock the locals,” I said. “On the other hand, you just might start a fad.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “I could see all the women in town walking around with rings in their nipples.”
“You never know,” I said. “Anyway, Dorothy wants more than to just wear rings. She has other ideas as well.”
“Like what?”
“She fantasizes about being hung by her nipples.”
“Actually hung off the ground?” Mom asked astonished. “That’s impossible! No woman could do that.”
“Fantasies don’t have to be logical,” I said. “And besides, Dorothy’s fantasy gets even wilder.”
“Oh?”
“She wants to be hung by hooks through her breasts.”
Mom’s mouth gaped wide. “She wants to be hung on meat hooks, like in a butcher shop? My God, it makes me squeamish just to think about it.”
“It makes me all tingly,” I said.
Mom gave me that ‘don’t even do there’ look.
“I think you’d get along with Dorothy,” I said. “I suggested that she might come here for a visit. I told her we could hang her up in the barn.”
“We are not hanging anybody from hooks,” Mom said tartly. “I don’t care if they like it or not.”
“Of course not,” I said primly. “I told her that she would have to be content to hang by her wrists.”
“That’s better,” Mom said.
“Dorothy wants to know if our hay crane could support the weight of three women,” I continued.
“Why three women?” Mom asked.
“Well, it occurred to me that we might hang all three of us,” I said.
“All three of us?” she asked. “What do you mean?”
“I thought it might be fun to have Dorothy, me, and you hanging at the same time.”
“All of us naked?” Mom asked.
“Of course.”
“By our wrists,” she persisted. “No hooks.”
“No hooks, Mom.”
Mom’s expression grew thoughtful. “Who’s going to hang us?” she asked softly. “And how would we get down?”
“Who cares?”
That night I woke up hungry and tiptoed down to the kitchen, as I passed Mom’s room I peeked in and saw that she was still wearing her cuffs. She had tied her bed ropes to them, her legs and arms were wide apart. She was sound asleep. One clamp was on her nipple, the other had fallen off. I kissed her and covered her with a blanket.
I spent my entire visit tied up and talking to Mom.
She was interested in my stories of torture. She seemed fascinated to learn that women are more cruel than men. I told her that when I was in the mood for sex I’d rather be dominated by a man, but when I wanted serious pain I would go to a lady. She wasn’t upset that I’d had sex with women but was glad to hear that I still preferred men. She wondered aloud what it would be like to be whipped.
“You should start off slow,” I advised. “Have someone spank you first.”
“For your information young lady, I have been spanked,” she said.
“Really? By who?”
“By your father,” she said. “He spanked me several times.”
“Wow, that is so great! Did he tie you up too?”
“Of course. There are very few married women who haven’t been tied to a bed,” she told me.
“Did Dad ever whip you?”
“No, we never got to that,” she said.
I stayed home that entire visit. I didn’t see any of my friends and only went to town once. We drove to town to buy groceries. We went to the farm co-op store and I wandered around while Mom shopped. I went to the hardware department and was looking over the selection of ropes when she walked up. She shook her head and smiled.
“Nice ropes,” she said. “But we have all we need.”
“How about some fish hooks?” I asked innocently. “They have a nice selection.”
She looked them over. “Not big enough. You may have to special order what you want.”
A man was nearby and overheard us.
“What are you ladies looking to catch if these hooks aren’t big enough?” he said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Cat fish,” Mom said with a straight face. “We’ve found some a new kind of bait to put on the hooks.”
“Oh.”
“Cat fish?” I whispered as we walked away. “Or did you mean pussy fish?”
Mom just giggled.
I tied myself up almost every waking moment. I think I was trying to return to the time when my bondage was more innocent, as if I was trying to tie myself to my past.
When I tied myself up I really did it. I used the most stringent knots and never put myself in a position that I could get out of. I ignored all my escape devices and when I was ready to be released Mom had to do it. I slept tied to my bed or in a hog tie, and once spent the night tied to my rack.
I tied myself so tightly that I had rope marks that didn’t fade for days. Mom fussed that I might damage my circulation.
I did a lot of thinking while I was bound. I was still confused about my Denver lifestyle. On one hand I loved the bondage and torture, but on the other I didn’t like many of the people who used me and I was ashamed of taking money for it.
Mom saw that I was struggling with something, and I think she had a good idea what it was. She offered to help but didn’t press me. She allowed me to tie myself in the most extreme positions I’d ever tried. (I had no idea that bondage could be therapeutic). She even gave in to my pleadings and helped me hang upside down from the loft. She let me hang as long as I wanted then surprised me when she wanted to take my place.
“You want to hang from the crane?” I asked.
“Why not?” she asked as she took off her clothes. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, but I can’t do it alone.”
“Ok,” I shrugged.
I’d hung naked, but Mom kept her panties on.
I tied her wrists behind her back, then she sat on the ground while I looped the rope around her ankles. She sighed with pleasure when I hoisted her off the ground.
“How high?” I asked.
“All the way to the top.”
I kept an eye on Mom as she hung from the loft crane. I didn’t want her to be injured and I’ve discovered that you can get ill by hanging too long upside down. Mom seemed to be ok so I left her alone for about an hour, Then I decided to have a bit of fun.
I lowered Mom until her head was three feet off the ground.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “I’m not ready to come down yet.”
I didn’t answer, I just attached a long rope to her wrists then walked the rope to a tree and tossed it over a high limb. Mom twisted around trying to see what I was doing.
I tugged on the rope and Mom was pulled toward the tree. I pulled until her body was high off the ground, then released the rope. Mom’s body swung away in a long arc. She shrieked in delight. I let her swing a few times, then pulled her to the limb and let her go again. Her shrieks subsided to continuous giggles.
After keeping Mom swinging for a while, I climbed the tree and tossed the rope over a higher limb. I waited until Mom’s body was at the bottom of the arc, then holding tight to the rope, I jumped out of the tree. Her body swung much higher but I didn’t get the timing right and jerked Mom very hard, and I hurt my ankle when I hit the ground. I let go of the rope and Mom began spinning. She shrieked in genuine fear as she flew through the air. I was afraid she might hit the barn. I hobbled as quickly as I could on my sore ankle and tried to catch the rope. It slipped off the limb and trailed after Mom. It flew past her when she reached the top of her swing and it cracked like a whip.
Mom screamed again, long and loud, but it was a pleasure scream.
I waited until Mom stopped swinging, then lowered her to the ground. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing very hard. I untied her and helped her to her feet. She patted her cheeks and tried to compose herself. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Its ok if you had an orgasm,” I told her.
She blushed deeply and walked unsteadily toward the house. I watched through the screen door as she went inside. She paused in the hallway, took a long deep breath, then took off her panties and ran up the stairs. I waited outside for a while, then went to my room. Mom’s door was closed.
When it was time to leave I urged Mom to visit me in Denver.
“Maybe I will,” she said. “You could introduce me to your friends. I’d like to meet Denise and Mary.”
“Want me to set up a session with them?” I joked.
“We’ll see.”
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