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TESTED BY LOThAR
Chapter 2 - EXPERIENCINGS
By: Charles E. Campbell
About a month after moving in with Grandma Jo, she became confident that I was suitably acclimated to my new home. It was about this time that she began to resume some of her old activities and routines from before I arrived, which included twice weekly Bingo nights. Tuesdays was the fire house, and Thursdays was the Legion Hall. A strict, disciplined, and superstitious player, she always sat in the same seat, always played eight cards per game, always brought along her own tikis charms for luck, and always wore the same green scarf around her neck She never drove, the same friend always picked her up, 6:15 on the dot, and brought her back home again a little past 10:30.
I looked forward to these two evenings alone each week. I had made exactly zero friends at school, fitting in like the proverbial square peg in the round hole. It mattered little to me, though, as the computer Kendra had insisted on getting for me had opened up an entire world of new dimensions that set my crotch on fire and brought on waves of intense tinglings deep inside of me! One misplaced keystroke a week after I got it had brought me into a world I never knew existed, with women tied up, bound in chains and shakles, hogtied, trussed, whipped, flogged, exhibited, and generally pictured in situations that fueled my own fantasies 24/7. That first night, I stealthily stayed up past 2:00AM studying the stills and videos I had discovered. A few months shy of 14, one might presuppose I would be mortified, frightened, or disgusted, when in reality the direct opposite was true, I was elated, excited, and extremely jealous of the women I had found. I wanted it to be me that was forced to be naked, tied up, whipped, and tortured, and filmed! For all to see!
I had found the site on a Saturday afternoon while doing homework, (I got very little homework done after that!), so I had a little more than three days for my mind to dream up scenarios, plans, and rules for my subsequent visits on the evenings when I would be alone..I came up with very simple ideas in the beginning, easy and basic, but growing ever more elaborate, strict, harsh, and demanding as the weeks and months went by.
The first Tuesday after I located the website, I anxiously anticipated Grandma Jo’s departure for Bingo, and the four whole hours it would provide for me to explore the site and what it was unlocking deep within me. Something inside me told me that I had to earn the privilege of visiting the site, and that certain rules would be placed upon me. The first rule I instituted for myself was that I had to be naked the whole time whenever I did this. The entire time. No shoes even. The second rule was that I had to leave the lights on in the house. Grandma Jo had a thing for leaving all the lights on whenever she went out, and I adopted that as rule #2.
After about two weeks into my web surfing activities, visiting countless sites, I got the idea to try and act out some of the scenarios I was finding on the various sites. After Grandma Jo had left, I took off my clothes and headed for the basement to see what sorts of things I might find to make my “Special Nights,” as I now called them, more special. I was somewhat disappointed in that the only things I could find down there was some clothesline and clothes pins. I headed back to my room and clipped some clothes pins on my nipples and pussy lips before trying to tie my hands together. My knot tying skills had not improved at all over time.
I was sitting in a swivel chair at my desk, feet up on either side of the computer monitor, tied hands burrowed deep in my pussy watching a women hanging from her wrists as she was being whipped by two men at the same time, one in front, one from behind. Her screams and the angry red welts on her body told mer this was real, not staged, and it had my pussy soaked and the tinglings at full tilt. Suddenly, Grandpa’s garage workshop popped into my head. I pressed pause on the keyboard, and headed for the kitchen door. It’s about twenty feet from the kitchen door to the side door of the garage. I was about to get dressed when I remembered my primary rule about nudity. I started to shake a little, but I felt the tinglings deep inside which was more and more becoming my guiding force, leading me, directing me, pushing me, making decisions for me. Taking a long deep calming breath, I opened the kitchen door and walked, I did not run or even jog, to the garage door, and went in. Immediately my eyes beheld a treasure trove of possibilities. Overhead beams for suspension, tools, hardware, lengths of chain, sawhorses, all sorts of things I had been looking at on the websites now lay at my disposal. I was overwhelmed and didn’t know where to begin. I touched myself and exploded in a mind numbing orgasm, the most intense I had ever experienced. The strange thing is, it did almost nothing to quell the tinglings. And, on top of that, I felt a strong urge to punish myself for cumming so quickly. So I instituted a third rule right there at that moment: if ever I cum before a pre-ordained time, I must punish myself harshly and quickly to atone for my pleasing myself and to remind me that my own pleasure is secondary to my suffering.
Looking around the workshop, I saw a plastic cabinet with lots of small drawers mounted to the wall near the work bench. Each drawer was labeled with it’s contents. I walked over to it and opened the drawer which read “Carpet Tacks.” Pulling open the drawer, I saw hundreds of sharp black tacks inside. Spilling them on the top of the bench, I knew what I had to do. Folding my hands behind my back, I leaned over and pressed my breasts into the tacks. It hurt! It hurt so bad! But I did not stand up. Rather, I steeled myself and leaned harder onto the bench and began to rub my chest around on the filthy surface and tacks. Tears fell from my eyes, but I didn’t stop until I looked and saw blood on the bench top. Standing up slowly, dozens of tacks remained imbedded in the soft, bloody, tender skin, I felt proud of myself for having endured my punishment. The tinglings were even stronger. With one hand, I rubbed the tacks that were in my breasts, and with the other, I brought myself off again.
I straightened up the workshop and went back to the house to take a shower. My breasts were covered in red marks from the tacks and they were sore to the touch, but I was in heaven. Cloud nine. Happier and more contented than I had ever been before. Dressed in my pajamas, I sat down and started typing up a list of items I wanted to search for, along with some things I would need to make in Grandpa’s shop. I started a second list of things I had seen women forced to endure in the pictures and videos on the bdsm sites that I wanted to try myself. I also decided to begin to visit websites that dealt with knot tying. It was important that I develop that as a primary skill. A third list was for safety, how to get out of whatever situations I placed myself in. I decided that I would expand these three lists during the evenings when Grandma was home, and I would explore the things on the lists when she was out.
The list of things I wanted to try grew very quickly, as virtually every time I visited a bdsm site, I saw something new and exciting. My skills at knot tying went from non-existent to proficient to expert as I practiced every night, learning all sorts of knots and their applications.
I can’t remember each and every “Special Night,” of course, but there were many of them that stand out in my memory. Many of the things I tried were total failures at first, but improved and evolved over time as I adapted and modified what I had on hand to fit my needs. The saw horse wooden pony is a case in point. Having stumbled on one on the net, I immediately knew I had to ride one, and Grandpa’s well worn sawhorses seemed the perfect vehicle.
The first chance I had to try them left me utterly disappointed. They were far too short, forcing me to have to bend my knees to lower myself on them, and even when I did, it wasn’t hardly uncomfortable, let alone painful. More searching on the net, combined with a little experimentation over a few days, however, and I had made a first class torture device for myself.
Addressing the problem of the height was easy, I just set the sawhorse higher up on some old planks. This forced me to stand on tip toe whenever I was astride the beam. Making the beam less comfortable was harder, but solvable. Using a rust covered block plane, I had found in a tool box, I methodically shaped the flat top of the beam into a sharp “V.” This new shape would cause the wedge to get well up inside my slit, while at the same time concentrating more of my weight on that sensitive area.
Finding a way to make me lower myself from my tip toes down onto the sharp edge took a bit more thinking, but after a few days I conquered that problem as well. I nailed a short length of some 2 X 2 to a board which I could slide under the saw horse. Then, with my block plane, I honed the edge on that as well. My bare feet wouldn’t be able to take standing on that for very long, which would force me to lower my pussy onto the unforgiving wooden pony.
The first time I tried it out with all these modification, I was extremely excited, but I was only able to ride it for a few moments before the intense pain overwhelmed me and I pushed myself up off it with my hands. Disappointed with myself, I resolved to try it again, only this time with my hands bound behind my back. I employed a slip knot that does release, but at the same time, it is hard to get it to come apart, especially when it’s behind my back and I can’t see what I’m doing.
Standing on my tip toes, hands tightly tied behind me, fear began to grip me. My feet hurt, and I was quaking, muscles aching, as I fought to prevent being split open on the wooden pony. When I could stand it no more, my knees buckled and I dropped onto the beam. I yelped in pain as the full weight of my body rested on that sharpened edge that was now deep inside me. Instinctively, my feet started feeling for the board I had stood on before, but the tinglings took command of my self preservation senses and not only wouldn’t allow me to stand back on it, I actually made myself kick at the board, knocking it far out of reach, leaving me on the pony, legs flailing, unable to find purchase.
The pain was unbearable, far worse than I had ever experienced, or could have imagined it would be. I was crying freely, whimpering, and yet somehow, I began to concentrate on the tinglings deep within me and I relaxed a bit, focusing on my pain and suffering, and how proud I felt at offering myself like this. I don’t know if it was an endorphin rush, but I steeled myself, gritting my teeth, and I sentenced myself to remain where I was for ten whole minutes, as punishment for taking so long to offer myself like this. There was an old clock in the shop, long broken, something I mentally added to my list, so i slowly counted down the seconds. About two minutes into it, I was consumed by an orgasm. I sentenced myself to the tacks on the workbench as penance for the grievous offense of cumming without permission.
I actually came two more times before undoing the knots and gently extracting myself from the pony. There was blood on the sharpened edge of the pony when I got off and was standing on the cold concrete floor.
One of my favorite nights was the first time I was able to hang myself by my wrists. It wasn’t all that difficult to plan out, the hardest part was deciding on a foolproof way of safely extracting myself from the suspension. My knot tying skills would be put to the test this time I knew.
I had located some heavy duty screw hooks in one of the workbench drawers. I measured how far apart my outstretched arms were from wrist to wrist, and using a step ladder, I screwed the hooks into one of the overhead joists in the garage, about eight feet off the floor. I set a third, smaller hook, in the joist right in the middle of the other two. Using two lengths of rope, I bound first my ankles together, and then I tied my legs together just above my knees. (I had to undo the ropes when it dawned on me that I couldn’t climb the step ladder like that!).
I climbed up the ladder a few steps and retied my ankles and knees. Next I fashioned a knot with a loop in it for my left wrist. I did the same for my right wrist, but for this one, there was a release pull, which I first looped through the middle hook, so the release would dangle in front of my mouth. Lastly, I slipped the rope loop tied to my left wrist over the metal hook and followed suit with the right wrist. Making one last check of the release rope, I started wiggling the ladder until it fell down and I was left hanging by my wide spread wrists, my feet about three feet from the floor.
The pressure in my shoulders, arm pits and wrists seemed to increase by the second as my entire body weight was suspended by the rough ropes cutting into my wrists. I looked up at my hands and saw that they had gone from pink to dark red very quickly as the circulation was cut off to my hands. My eyes fixated on the release rope dangling a few inches in front of my mouth. All I needed to do was lean forward a bit, grab the rope between my teeth and pull, and my right hand would be free. It was at that moment that I realized that the tinglings didn’t come. I had no sensations in my pussy at all. I was in pain, bound, and yet something was wrong. I tried squirming, crying, but nothing worked. Dejected, I grabbed the rope between my teeth and undid the slip knot. I reached up and pulled myself up a bit on the joist so I could slip the rope on my left wrist off the hook, and jump to the floor.
I glanced at the clock I had stashed in the garage and knew I had to straighten up soon before Grandma Jo would be home. It was while I was squaring everything away that it hit me. I instantly knew why the tinglings didn’t come. Thinking back to playing with Tommy, it was the helplessness that was missing. Surrendering myself was part of it, (even though it was as easy part for me). Pain was part of it as well, but helplessness was integral. The release rope was too easy. Too convenient. In the back of my mind I knew I wasn’t helpless. The next time, I vowed, I would make it so escape was possible, but would have to be difficult, maybe even painful. I would need to earn my escape, or risk detection.
Looking back now, I know this realization was a major step in my escalation to getting where I am today. The next time I hung. myself from the joist I used no slip knots, no release rope. I had to pull myself up on my chaffed and bruised wrists and lift the rope off the hook. It was excruciating, and arduous, taking many failed attempts before I was successful, but the tinglings were more overpowering than ever before, and I actually came multiple times as I pulled with my arms trying to free myself and escape.
About fifteen months after moving in with Grandma Jo, my breasts had swelled to their current dimensions, 38C. (I had made many trips back to “Fancy Panz,” both alone by cab, with Grandma Jo, and with Kendra a few times as well, as I rapidly outgrew my bras). My waist was still a very narrow 22 inches, and my hips hadn’t flared past 26 inches, (they never did fill out. A great “pre-pubescent little girl” look, but bad for birthing). My breasts had become quite the object of stares and behind the back rude comments at school, and so, through my tinglings, I felt it high time I paid attention to them as well. After all, didn’t they deserve it, poking out like they did, drawing eyes to them all the time? They needed to be frequently punished.
I found a pair of Grandpa’s heavy clamps, the old fashioned wooden ones with two twist handles for keeping even pressure when using them for furniture building. Using “C” clamps, I clamped them to the workbench, and inserted my breasts. Alternating between twisting the front handle and back, left breast and right, I crushed my breasts between the massive jaws. The tinglings came, but not intense. I knew I needed to do more, offer more, to keep the tinglings happy, satisfied with my sacrifices to them.
I undid the clamps, (the painful rush of blood re-circulating into the tender flesh always hurt far more than the act of squeezing them in the clamps). Heading back to the bouse, naked of course, I found some doubled sided tape, which I then applied to the jaws of the clamps. I swept up some ancient debris in the shop and picked out odd bits of wire, clumps of solder, small pieces of broken glass, rough chips of wood, small pebbles, nuts, and other coarse materials, which I dropped onto the sticky tape. Now, both the top and bottom jaws of the clamps were covered in tingling inducing bits.
As I began to place my breasts in the open jaws, the tinglings came on with a surge deep within me. Penance was being served. I was dutifully offering myself up to my demons, and they were pleased, satisfied with my acts of contrition. I started the sequence of tightening the clamps, alternating and could immediately feel the glass, stone, metal, and wood cutting into my soft tender skin. I watched with a sense of detached fascination as my breasts went from pale milky white to pink, then red and on to purple. Veins pushed up angrily to the skin, nipples and areolas forced forward as the clamps slowly crushed my orbs in their relentless jaws.
With no touching of my pussy, I started to shake in a mind blowing cum. I tried to hold it in check, but the tinglings were too much for me. I made a mental note to punish myself for this severe infraction of my rules, as I twisted the handles even more. When I couldn’t turn them any further, I was crying freely from the pain in my crushed chest, but I promised myself out loud, (something I now did all the time on my “Special Nights,” talk to myself out loud), that I would remain clamped like this for a full twenty minutes.
When the sentence was served, and I undid the clamps, I looked down at my now mangled breasts. Pieces of metal, glass and wood were deeply imbedded in them, blood streaming from multiple stab wounds and lacerations. I had to use tweezers to get most of the glass and metal out. The wounds took a long time to heal, and some of them turned into pink scars dotted across the fair white skin. I look at them today as I did back then, as a source of tremendous pride. The tinglings were duly impressed with my level of self sacrifice.
In May of 9th grade, a new girl started showing up at the school bus stop. She was about my age, Hispanic, short, and morbidly obese. Her black hair was stringy and oily, her clothes a size or two too small and worn, (hand me downs, I knew them all too well), and her English was cloaked in a thick accent. Her name was Carmelita. She sat alone on the bus, as I still did, and no one talked to her or even approached her. ( We had that in common).
About the third day, after getting off the bus, she dropped her book bag. I bent down to get it for her, and introduced myself to her, “”I’m Sandy,” I said, handing her the bag.
“Gracias, Sandy,” she said, the caught herself, “Thank you, Sandy. I’m Carmelita.”
She had a meek low pitched voice.
“Where are you from,” I asked, as we walked down the street.
“We just moved here from San Juan, that’s in Puerto Rico,” she added.
“Oh, well, welcome to the neighborhood,” I said. “What grade are you in?”
“9th grade,” she said, “But I have, what do you say, extra help with the reading because my English it’s not so good yet.
“Which grade are you in?” she asked.
“9th.”
We had reached Grandma Jo’s house by then, so we said good bye and I watched as she went on down the street to the three family house at the end of the block. Then I headed inside to get my homework done before trolling the porn sites on my computer.
Within a week, we were sitting together on the bus. I could hear the comments about the “slut and the wetback” from the rear of the bus. Didn’t bother me in the slightest, though, I had learned from the net by then that I was a slut, a pain slut, and I was immensely proud of it, beaming with pride whenever a classmate would say it. I only wished they had the guts to say it to my face, out loud, not behind my back or under their breath. I wanted, actually, I needed to hear it.
Summer came, and school let out. I hung out with Carmelita a few days a week. We were a study in contrasts, the two of us. I stood 5' 7", while she topped off at 4' 10". Me thin as a rail, except for my chest, while she looked like the dough boy, with fat arms, thighs that rubbed from knee to crotch when she walked, and stomach rolls that made her breasts unidentifiable.
There were similarities which did bring us together, however. Carmelita was sent here to live with her aunt, her mother’s sister, when both her parents ended up in jail on drug charges back in Puerto Rico. Her aunt wasn’t financially able to handle the burden of a teenage addition to her single parent household, what with her two small children and non-existent spouse. So she too was really alone in a new place, living with strangers, and not accepted at school.
One Tuesday, I remember it clearly, over supper I was mentally going through my list of things I wanted to do after Grandma Jo left for bingo, when I got the tinglings thinking about inviting Carmelta over after Grandma Jo left for her bingo. The more I thought about it, the more overpowering and intense the tinglings became. I knew I had no choice, I had to obey, and do it.
Deciding to make it somewhat above board, I asked Grandma Jo if I could invite Carmelita over to watch some movies and maybe spend the night. She readily agreed, as I had never had anyone over to the house since moving in. I called Carmelita right away and asked if she would like to come over for movies and a sleep over, and even added that it would be a “Special Night.” Her aunt agreed, also happy she had made a friend in the neighborhood. I told her to stop by at 7:00. I wanted time to prepare myself.
Grandma Jo left at 6:15 as usual, and I set about getting ready for my visitor. I showered, washed my hair, shaved my pits, legs, pussy, ( I had given up on Franny’s heart shape coif months before, preferring the totally bald look), and ass hole. I went out to the work shop to gather together the things I would need to carry out my plans. The tinglings were quickly building in anticipation of Carmelita’s arrival. I was consumed by their directions.
About ten minutes after 7:00, I heard the front doorbell ring. Taking a deep breath, I walked to the door and opened it, acting like nothing was amiss. Carmelita’s mouth dropped open, and she stammered, “I’m so sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you said 7:00. I’ll come back when you’re ready.”
I reached out and took the back pack she had with her, and smiled, saying, “I am ready, Carmelita. I am ready.”
“B....but you’re not dressed, Sandy. I can go home and come back after you get dressed.”
“I’m never dressed in the house,” I explained quickly. “I have a steadfast rule that whenever my Grandma Jo isn’t home, I have to be naked. I like it that way. I’m even naked when she is home, but I stay in my room then.”
I turned my back on her and said, “C’mon in, I’m gonna take your things up to my room.”
When I got back downstairs, Carmelita had barely made it into the living room. She stared at my exposed body and said, “Don’t you feel funny being naked?”
“Nope. Not at all. In fact, if I could have my way, I would never wear clothes. I want to be naked all the time. Everywhere. It’s how I’m supposed to be.”
She was still very uneasy about the situation. “C’mon, Carmelita. We’re both girls. You don’t have to feel funny.” I decided right then that if I was ever going to be able to include her in my list of things to do, that I would have to go slower.
We settled down, watched a movie, ate some popcorn, and relaxed in my room. Every so often, out of the corner of my eye, I would catch her looking at my nude body. I didn’t show her the workshop. I didn’t show her any websites. I didn’t talk to her about any of it either. I decided to wait and see if I could get her to come back the next week for another sleep over, rationalizing that if she did, then it meant she was somewhat accepting of my nudity, and she might, therefore, be open to helping me explore some of the things on my list.
I was correct in my assessment. The following Tuesday, I invited her to sleep over on Thursday night, and without any hesitations, she accepted, right away. “I won’t be wearing clothes, Carmelita,” I added, reminding her, testing her.
The phone was silent for a few seconds, and then she said, “I know. That’s okay. I don’t mind, Sandy. That’s what you like.”
I didn’t spring anything on her that week, or even the following week. She seemed less and less concerned with my nudity each time she visited. We would just watch a movie, chat about our favorite television shows, and movies, things like that.
When she accepted an invitation for the fourth sleep over was when I decided it was now time to involve her in my secret life. There wasn’t really any question about how to broach the subject, as I had been plotting and planning it for a few weeks by then. The Tuesday evening before the sleep over, I pushed myself a bit harder than usual, (I was generously rewarded by the tinglings for my efforts, however, cumming many times, which made it all the more worthwhile.
I used the old wood clamps with the glass and metal still stuck to the jaws and crushed my breasts between them. Then I hung myself by my wrists from the hooks in the joists, no slip knots or releases. I had to pull myself up off the hooks to escape. I challenged myself to hang for thirty minutes.
It was so hard to carry out. The tinglings helped me prevail. Tiny streams of blood trailed down my stomach and legs from my wounded breasts. I could even feel it dripping to the floor from my right foot. But when it was through, and I was finished, my breasts were battered and bruised, covered in cuts and angry red puncture wounds, which would not disappear before Thursday night. Carmelita would not be able to avoid seeing them, and I would be forced to explain myself to her. To out myself, expose to her that I was a pain slut.
Thursday evening came, Grandma Jo left for bingo, and I showered, shaved and got ready, the tinglings already driving me crazy. I looked myself over in the mirror, studying the many cuts and red marks covering my still sore breasts. I smiled at the reflection, pleased with myself, with what I saw, with what I was about to do. I promised myself right then, in the mirror, out loud, that if I was successful, I would reward myself with multiple cums tonight, in front of Carmelita. But, if it was a failure, if I chased Carmelita away, then I would be forced to punish myself very severely, even permanently marking myself in some not yet determined fashion. That mark serving the purpose of forever reminding me of my abject failure.
The doorbell rang a few minutes before 7:00, which I interpreted as indicative of her eagerness to come over, be with me, even in my nakedness. The front door was open, just the screen door was closed. I waved to her from the living room just my hand visible, and called out, “C’mon in, Carmelita. I’m in my room.”
“Okay,” she said. I heard the screen door close.
I heard the screen door close, as I waited nervously, seated on my bed, my palms sweaty. My heart racing.
Carmelita came into my room with a big smile across her face, which instantly vanished when her eyes beheld the condition of my breasts. “Jesus e Maria,” she exclaimed, “Wh.....what happened, Sandy? Did you get in an accident? Are you alright?”
She didn’t come any closer to me, however fear gripping her, keeping her immobile in my doorway, eyes wide.
“No, Carmelita. I wasn’t in an accident. I..........” I trailed off, suddenly realizing it was a huge mistake to have done this. What in God’s name was I thinking? She’s going to run right out and tell her Aunt, who would then in turn tell my Grandmother.
“What happened,” she pressed me, making my mind focus a little, slowly coming into my tiny room.
She set her backpack down on the floor, and sat next to me on my bed. She took my hand and held it in both of hers. “Tell me what happened. We’re friends, you can tell me. That’s what friends are for, Sandy.”
“Okay,” I whispered, my stomach doing flip flops. “I didn’t have an.......an.... ac....accident,” I stuttered. “I..........I .......I did this to myself.”
“Wh.....what?” she said, squeezing my hand in hers, obviously startled, dumbfounded, confused. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not easy to explain. I’ve.....I’ve never told anyone, before. No one. I sometimes get these urges, these tinglings I call them, deep down inside of me, I’ve had them for years, an......and I, I..............the only way I,....I c....can s.......satisfy them.....is.. t........d.......do ....... things to myself.”
She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she didn’t understand what I was trying to say to her.
“Let me show you,” I said. Getting up off the bed. I hit a few keys on my computer and brought up a bdsm video I had all ready cued up. It was not the most intense one I have, for sure, but it wasn’t a mild vanilla faked one either, no California crap. This was German. It was real. The women was tied with her arms stretched out between two poles set firmly in the ground. It was a bright sunny day and she was outdoors. She was naked, and her skin indicated that she had been left in the broiling sun for quite some length of time. After a few minutes, a man appeared next to her. He fondled her all over, roughly, slapping her face, ass, and breasts repeatedly, and quite hard. Then he used a cane on her, concentrating on her thighs, belly and breasts. Her screams were real, the welts and cuts on her sunburned skin were real. The blood was real.
We watched for about ten minutes, Carmelita never taking her eyes away from the screen the entire time.
When it was over, she got up and stood right in front of me, looking up into my eyes, she said, “You like this? These things they do on the film? You like this things,” her accent had suddenly gotten thicker.
“Yes, yes I do, I answered her softly, my head down.
“And you do some of these things to yourself?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t answer, she looked at my face, and then lowered her eyes to my battered breasts, studying them.
“I’d like.......I’d..............can, can I sh....show you,” I asked?
“You want me to watch you?”
“Yes. I need you to see me, to...............”
“To what?”
“To.......to help me do things.....that I can’t do alone.”
She looked at me again, and then gave me a hug. “I am your friend, and I will do what it is that you ask. Show me.”
I took her hand and lead her out the kitchen door to the garage.
“Aren’t you going to put on some clothes,” she asked, as we stepped out and headed across the sparse grass to the workshop door.
“No, I always do this naked. I have a set of rules that I make myself follow, and one of them is that I remain naked the whole time that Grandma Jo is out, no matter what. No clothes.”
“What other rules do you have?” she asked, just as we reached the door.
I stopped and turned to face her, and said, “The lights have to stay on in the house, and....and I set a time when I allow myself to cum. If I cum before that time, I.....I.......I have to punish myself.”
I opened the door and we walked in.
I showed her the wooden pony, explaining how it works it’s devilish agony. I showed her the clamps I had used to mark my breasts. I showed her the hooks in the beams where I have hung myself by my wrists. She looked at these things, and listened to my explanations, never asking a question or passing a judgement.
We had both lapsed into silence. I was standing near the pony, my hands folded in front of my bald pussy, watching Carmelita. She picked up one of the wood clamps, felt it’s weight, tried the screw handles to see how they worked, felt the rough glass and metal I had stuck in it’s wide wooden jaws.
She set it on the workbench, and then she approached the pony. She ran her hand across the sharp edge I had planed into the top. She looked at me, and said nothing.
I could feel beads of sweat beginning to trickle down from under my arms as she stared at my exposed naked body, my bruised and cut breasts rising and falling as I fought to control my rapid heart beat with deeper slower breaths. My hands were folded in front of my pussy.
“Why do you cover yourself, puta,” she said, in a stern voice? “That little pussy should be on display. That’s what you want isn’t it? You want for people to know what a whore you are. What a slut you are. Put your hands behind your head!”
Shocked, without thinking, I did as she said, and watched in horror as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket, lined it up, and took two quick pictures of me from the front.
“Wh....what are you doing,” I asked, suddenly mortified, and once again trying to cover my now seemingly ridiculous nudity.
“I’m taking pictures of my bitch, why? What does it have to do with you, eh? If I want some pictures of you, I’ll take them. You have some sort of prollem ( her accent was more crude and guttural now) with that, puta?”
My mind was racing with thousands of different scenarios of what she could do with the pictures, but at the same time, the tinglings were really overwhelming me. My pussy was soaked. Steeling myself, I stood up straight and tall, legs apart, put my hands behind my head, and looked right into her camera.
“Ah, that’s more like eet,” she mocked me, snapping a few more pictures. “The leetle tramp likes to pose for the camera. Theese is good, because we will be taking lots of pictures of you, movies too. You and I can watch you being a whore slut anytime we want.”
Having collected enough pictures, Carmelita told me to follow her back to the house. In the kitchen, she picked up the phone and ordered a pizza for delivery. She told me it would arrive in twenty-five minutes and that I would be paying for it. She also told me that I would be the one to answer the door when it arrived. She laughed at me when she saw the fear that registered on my face at that revelation. “You tol’ me you wanted me to help you with these things you do, didn’t you?”
“Y....yes,” I replied softly.
“And I tol’ you I would. I wan’ to see what you do, I wan’ to watch you. Then later we’ll plan the things that you wan’ me to do.”
“Now, go get the money for the pizza, and I want you to get as much of it as you can in singles.”
While we waited for the delivery boy, Carmelita made me pull up another bdsm video on my computer. While we watched it, she had me playing with myself with both hands, and wiping my juices on my face and chest. She told me that since I act like a whore, I should smell like one as well.
The pizza boy was prompt. Before she sent me to the door, she admonished me, “Take your time, don’ rush. Count out the money for heem. Give heem a good show, puta!”
I had never been so afraid before. I had fears of being caught, found out, but this time I was confronting it, intentionally exposing myself to an absolute stranger, or even worse, maybe someone from school!
When I opened the door, the boy was looking at the receipt, and he said, “That’s $16.” When he raised his head and saw me, his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open.
Acting like there was nothing at all amiss, I said, “Okay, here,” and I started to count out the money, “One....two....three......,” placing each bill in his hand one at a time. When I reached sixteen, I counted out four more dollars, and said, “This is for you, thank you.”
“Y....yeah. S....ure,” he stuttered as I closed the door and left him there.
The rest of the night I showed Carmelita a lot of different videos, and we talked about things I wanted to try. She made me cum many times, always with my legs wide apart and my open pussy facing her, so she could see both my face and my sex as I did it for her. She said that next week we would begin, and that she would have some ideas for me to try as well, but that they would always be surprises, she wasn’t going to tell me in advance what she had planned.
(I wish I could remember all of our the times we spent together, but I can’t, and it’s really not important. I do remember a few of the most memorable times, the ones that really stand out in my memory, and those are the ones I will tell you about.)
One of the first evenings Carmelita and I spent together in the garage really pushed my limits. She made me make some modifications to my wooden pon before we began. I screwed eye bolts into two of the legs on the saw horse on opposite sides of each other, high, about six inches from the top. Using a staple gun, she had me wrap a full sheet of coarse sandpaper around the bar so it covered the top and the sides of the 2x4. She told me to move the pony under one of the roof joists.
Modifications complete, I mounted the pony, the rough sandpaper instantly chaffing the soft tender skin on my upper thighs and sex. Using a rope, Carmelita bound my hands behind my back, and tied short lengths to my ankles, which she tied to the new eye bolts. She next tossed the rope which bound my hands over the joist and pulled up, raising my arms high behind me, forcing me up on tip toes to keep my balance, and making me put more body weight on my pussy, and the sand paper. Then she took the rope on my right ankle and tied it to the eye bolt in the leg of the pony. She repeated this with my left leg.
When she was finished, I was riding the pony, with most of my body weight concentrated on my pussy and the sandpaper. The tinglings outweighed the pain and discomfort, and I came.
“I thought you had a rule about cumming, puta bitch,” she sneered watching me come down from the high. “We will have to punish you for that, won’t we?”
“Y....yes,” I answered her, still trembling from the intensity deep within me. “I must be punished. I cannot cum unless you tell me to me cum for you.”
“We will see to that later. First I want to make sure you have a nice ‘leetle’ ride on your pony.”
She started slowly, tickling my upturned feet, making me twist and turn and grind the fragile skin between my labia into the sand paper. She would tickle one foot, pause for a bit, and then move to the other, When she began to tire of this game, she knelt behind the horse and tickled both feet at the same time. My pussy was stinging from the searing pain of the sand paper, the tinglings had not subsided at all, in fact they had grown even stronger, and I came again, crying out loud.
She stopped my torment and waited until I had gained some control over my rampant breathing. “That’s twice the slut has pleasured herself without permission”, she said sternly. I was too weak to answer. “I am going to leave you here for a while alone,” she said. “When I come back we will decide how best to punish you for being such a whore.”
She left me, walking out of the garage and closing the door behind her. I don’t remember how long I was alone, I was facing away from the clock. It seemed an eternity, what with the cramping in my arms and back from the precarious position I was in, and the constant chaffing from the sand paper. I do remember that when she returned, she had cooked up a demonic punishment for me. She had espied a pair of small “C” clamps on the work bench, and she clamped one on to each of my nipples, very tightly. Then she tied a long piece of string to each one and tossed the strings over the joist. A few tugs on the strings brought my breasts up and away from my chest. Satisfied the clamps were tight enough, she tied the strings to the vise on the bench.
“Now it is time for your punishment, puta,” she hissed at me. She picked up a staple gun from the bench and stood in front of me, letting me see the tool, before pressing it against my breast and squeezing the trigger, driving a steel staple into my chest. I yelped in pain. The tinglings roaring now. “I’ll bet you like that, slut. How many would you like, eh? How many?”
She waited for me to answer. “Fi....five?”
“You came twice, pig, two times. So.........I think two times five is fair. Five in each of your ‘leetle’ titties.”
The pain was powerful, but what followed next sent me over the top. When she had finished shooting five staples into each of my breasts she said, “Now it is time for my pig whore to cum for me, and I’m going to be nice and help her.”
She knelt along side the sawhorse and reached over to my crotch, taking hold of one of my lower lips between her fingers. “You’re going to love this, puta,” she laughed, just as a stabbing pain registered in my addled brain. She stapled my labia to the wooden pony! After having done the same on the other side she said, “Now take your nice ‘leetle’ pony for a ride and cum for me like the slut you are!”
I started rocking and swaying on the 2x4, grinding my abraded sex into the sand paper, the tinglings overriding any sense of self preservation. I came multiple times, Carmelita’s verbal abuse spurring me on, the tinglings driving me to new heights.
Another night spent with Carmelita introduced me to something I had never experienced before. She arrived at my door as usual, only this time she had a white plastic kitchen trash bag in her hand. I couldn’t see the contents, and she wasn’t about to tell me what it was, but she was excited by what she had brought with her, and my anticipation grew quickly when she said, “I think this will be a night you’ll long remember, puta!”
In the garage, she tied my hands together and had me stand on a old milk crate. She lobbed the rope over the joist and pulled on it until my arms were way up over my head, then she tied the rope off to the workbench. Unceremoniously she kicked the crate out from underneath me, letting me fall and hang by my arms. Nothing new here, I thought, suspension had long one of my favorite pastimes. She proceeded to tie a length of rope to each of my ankles, and then tie off those ropes pulling my legs wide apart, a variation neither of us had thought of before.
“I have a ‘leetle” surprise for you, slut,” she said, smiling at me. “Do you know what nettles are?”
“No,” I replied, the tinglings already building in sweet anticipation of some new experience.
“Then I will show you,” she said.
I watched as she picked up a pair of heavy leacher work gloves from the bench and put them on. Reaching into her plastic kitchen bag, she pulled out branch from some bush. Very green leaves all over the branch.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Lovely to look at, but not so nice to touch.” She waved it slowly in front of me, studying my face for some recognition or fear of what was about to take place. Seeing none, she touched the leaves to the inside of my leg, at the knee, and slowly dragged it up my leg to my pussy before pulling it away. Burning fire instantly trailed behind the leaves, and looking down, I saw that the inside of my leg was covered in a multitude of raised pink bumps. It was a strange mixture of itching, pain, fiery hot and ice all at the same time.
Carmelita watched my face for some reaction, unsure about whether or not to proceed. I gave her a little nod and she dragged the branch up the inside of my other leg. My moans didn’t dissuade her from her task, and she started to rhythmically flog my breasts with the leaves. She didn’t do it hard, there was no need. The slightest contact of the leaves against the skin brought almost instantaneous pain and welts.
She didn’t stopped until my entire body from my elbows to my ankles, front and back, was bright pink and covered in raised bumps. I was twitching in my bondage, but it was the tinglings making me twitch as much as the nettles.
“I’m hungry,” she declared. “I’m going to get something to eat. I might watch a little tv as well.” Before leaving me, she tore off a few of the nettle leaves, and shoved them inside my pussy. I came in a torrent, violently squirting copious amounts of fluid for the first time in my life, screaming as the waves of release rippled through me.
One evening, when Carmelita wasn’t at my house, I stumbled on an add for a place called “The Backroom.” Curiosity getting the better of me, I clicked on the picture, and was rewarded with an on line catalogue of fetish wear and page after page of BDSM equipment. They had harnesses, gags, chastity devices, (male and female), hoods, blindfolds, whips, canes floggers .......anything you could possibly imagine and more.
I was lured in by a set of wrist and ankle cuffs that bragged of being “Perfect for suspension”, “able to withstand weights in excess of 275 pounds.” They were black leather, about three inches wide, and 3/8" thick with a steel hasp bolted into them. The inside was coarse, not padded in soft lamb’s wool like some of the styles they had. These were not for posing and picture taking, these were the real deal. The genuine item, and I absolutely had to have them. But how? How could I get them delivered without Grandma Jo finding out?
While trying to figure out a way around my problem, I was reading the order form, and in the address box, it mentioned a P.O Box. Problem solved. I printed the order form, and the next morning, I walked down the street to a small pack and ship store that also rented postal boxes, and rented one. Next was a visit to the Post Office for a money order, and my order was off. Ten days later my package arrived.
The quality of the cuffs was amazing, (I still have them to this day. One of my fondest possessions. Well oiled and properly maintained). I was so happy with the craftsmanship, that I immediately ordered a slew of other items, including steel alligator jaw nipple clamps, various size butt plugs, (I was intent on remaining a vaginal virgin), some canes, paddles and whips, and a beautiful black cowhide corset. I spent over four hundred dollars on that second order!
My time spent with Carmelita took off in a whole new direction with all the authentic accouterments I had collected. Her favorite was the alligator clamps. In fact, she made me order several more pairs of them, all of them the adjustable ones, where the jaw tension could be set from mild to severe. On the severe setting, they always broke the skin no matter where they were placed on me, in multiple pinpricks, drawing blood. My nipples, labia and clit were her favorite targets for the clamps. Sometimes, she would attach them on the rim of my anus, with one jaw of the clamp inside the fragile hole. That was the most difficult to endure, and she knew it, often making me keep it on for hours.
One of my personnel favorites was the cowhide corset. I loved the way it would constrict my waist and make my breasts seem to pop out of my chest. Carmelita would lace it up on me very tightly, making the simple act of breathing difficult.
Towards the end of the summer, Carmelita’s aunt threw a big party for her large extended family, and I was invited. As she had been doing all summer, she slept over at my house the Thursday night before the party, which was taking place that Saturday afternoon. After our session in the garage, while we were in bed, not yet asleep, I asked her, “What should I wear to your party?”
“A light sun dress would be good, Sandy. Eet’s supposed to be very hot this weekend.”
“I don’t have one, but I could pick one up tomorrow.”
“Make eet a loose fitting one, in red if you can, Sandy,” she paused for a few moments, then she continued with an authoritarian tone in her voice, “I expect that you will be naked under your dress, puta. No bra or panties.”
“Y.....yes. Okay, Ma’am,” (I had taken to addressing her with the title Ma’am a few weeks earlier whenever we were engaged in the garage).
“I also expect for you to have your theeckest plug up your dirty ass, and a pair of our special clamps on your preety leetle neeples too.”
“As you wish, Ma’am.” The tinglings were starting up again, and my pussy was soaked.
“And make yourself up to look really nice. Lipstick, eyeliner, perfume, blush. I want my leetle whore to look preety for my family.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Are you wet, puta?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Leetle slut. Cum for me!”
She turned on the bedside light, and watched as spread my legs apart and I fingered myself to release, three times!
Friday I took the bus to the mall and found a short bright red and white billowy sun dress. The shoulder straps were very thin, and the hem broke about six inches above my knees. The material was dense enough to not be actually see through, but light enough to expose the fact that I was bare underneath it.
I was expected at the party around three in the afternoon, so I began my preparations at two. A long hot shower, full body shave from my arm pits to my feet, copious amounts of body lotion, combing out my hair, and applying make-up. I chose a dark pink lipstick with a lip liner a few shades darker. I applied perfume to the area between my breasts, the small of my back, the insides of my elbows, and the backs of my knees. I did this three times, allowing the perfume to dry completely before the next application.
Greasing up my thickest butt plug, I slowly eased it inside me, concentrating on relaxing as the pressure from the stretching increased. I had no fear about it falling out, it’s shape made that an impossibility. I played with my nipples, pinching and pulling on them to get them nice and firm before putting on the alligator clamps. Ever so slowly, I eased the clamps closed, my tinglings becoming more intense as the sharp teeth bore into the tender nubs. I felt my pussy getting wet.
Before donning my dress, I checked myself out in the full length mirror mounted on the back of my bedroom door. I could see moisture starting to run from my pussy down the inside of my thigh. “Carmelita is right,” I thought. “I really am a puta.”
Pulling the dress over my head, I said goodbye to Grandma Jo and walked up the street to Carmelita’s house.
The street was lined with cars, and there were lots of people walking towards the house. Her yard was decorated with balloons, and the sweet smells and delicious aromas of barbeque filled the air. I scanned the throng, but didn’t see Carmelita anywhere. Her Aunt spotted me and called out, “Carmelita’s up in her room, Sandy. She said you should go right up.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Ramirez,” I called back, waving.
The front door of the house was open and I walked right in. The living room was a sea of humanity, with lots of older people sitting on the furniture. I headed straight for the stairs and the small back bedroom I had been in many times before.
The door was closed, so I knocked softly. “It’s me, Carmelita. Sandy.”
“Come in,” she called through the door.
I opened it and walked in, expecting to see her getting dressed. Instead, I was greeted by the sight of Carmelita and four other girls, all older then me, seventeen or eighteen at least, sitting on her bed, at her desk, and leaning on the windowsill. As I stepped into the room, I was startled when the door suddenly shut. A fifth girl had been standing behind it, hidden to me, as I entered. Once it was shut, she locked it and stood in front of it, guarding it, arms akimbo, staring at me.
No one spoke, all eyes were glued on me. I was frightened for a second, and then I felt the distinct and ever familiar beginnings of the tinglings ruminating from deep inside.
“So, this is your Gringa puta, eh, Carmelita?” one of them said. I looked at her when she spoke. She was stunning, sitting there in the middle of Carmelita’s bed. A rich dark tone to her skin, beautiful flawless complexion, striking sharp facial features, silky smooth shining raven black hair cascading over her bare shoulders. Enormous gold hoop earrings, at least three inches in diameter hung from her ear lobes, and she wore gold rings on every finger of both hands. She stood up on high heeled sandals, her very tight very short shorts revealing perfect legs. Her scoop neck tank top was stretched to it’s limit over her massive breasts and exposed tremendous cleavage spilling from the top. She stood before me, “So this little fulana does whatever you want, Carmelita? Is that what you tell me?”
“Si, Rosa. She is my bitch. She will do anything I tell her, except her pussy, that is off limits. She wants to stay a virgin there. But anything else, she will do for me.”
“Prove it to me then. Show me what she will do for you.”
Rosa sat back on Carmelita’s bed and awaited that she had obviously been promised. My tinglings were out of control, I was so wet in anticipation that I thought I could smell myself. I feared I might cum just standing there in front of them all.
“Have you prepared yourself they way I instructed you, puta,” Carmelita asked me?
“Yes, Ma’am. Just as you wished.”
“Then please be so kind as to tell my cousins what I told you to do.”
“As you wish, Ma’am,” I replied, looking down at the floor, averting their stares.
“I showered, shaved myself everywhere, made up my face, applied perfume, put the alligator clamps on my nipples, and put my thickest butt plug up my ass, and I bought this sun dress, as you requested of me, Ma’am.”
“Then you should show them. Take off your dress, puta, bitch.” Carmelita ordered me. “Show my friends what a leetle peeg slut you are for me.”
I was instantly overcome with a sense of shame and embarrassment. I had reached a crossroads, a point of no return. If I did as Carmelita demanded, there would be no turning back. I would be outed. My eyes searched out Carmelita’s for some sign if reassurance. Some indication of support for this self defining leap of faith I was being told to make. Her eyes met mine, and she read my face. A slight smile, that only I recognized, an all but imperceptible nod, and a quick wink told me she understood. That she knew what was running through my head, and that it was alright. That what I was about to do, I had to do.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered. I could feel the wetness dribbling down the insides of both legs now. In a few second, all these strange girls would know what a whore slut I really was. Instead of just my brother and Carmelita knowing my secret, five other girls would know as well. Steeling myself as best as I could, I reached down and gathered up the hem of the sun dress in both hands, and in one fluid motion, I lifted it up and over my head and tossed it to the floor like a useless rag, exposing my nudity to them all.
As I stood before the six fully clothed girls who were staring at me, open, exposed, nothing hidden or covered, arms at my sides, I became suddenly aware that a great burden had been lifted from me, like a heavy yoke taken from my shoulders. It was the same feeling I got the first time Tommy had staked me out in the sun naked and left me alone. It was the same feeling I had when I first discovered bondage sites on the internet, and learned that I wasn’t alone with my tinglings. It was the same feeling I got the first time I exposed my naked form to, Carmelita. And it all stemmed from having obeyed a directive from someone else. Submission. Complete and total submission to another of what I truly am.
After their initial shock, the girls all began conversing in animated Spanish, making me feel all the more isolated, objectified, and exposed. Hands touched me, fondled me, fiddled with the nipple clamps, spread my cheeks and felt the base of my butt plug, pinched me. I stood still, awaiting another order from Carmelita.
It was Rosa who finally addressed me. “You really are a little Gringa whore, aren’t you?”
“Yes Ma’am,” I answered her proudly, shoulders back, breasts thrust forward, head held high. “I am a whore.”
“Let me see those clamps you have on your titties.”
I looked at Carmelita, and she said, “Obey my cousins as you would me, esclava puta. Do as you are told.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I took two steps and stood in front of Rosa, who was still sitting on the bed.
“You are so white, bitch,” she said as she felt both of my breasts. “I think we should whip your little titties and make them pink. What do you say to that, eh?” She squeezed both breasts to punctuate her threat.
“If it would please you to whip my breasts, then I offer them to you.”
Rosa looked me in the eyes as she opened up one of the clamps on my nipples. The surge of blood running into the dark red bud caused me to moan. She held it open for a few seconds, and then let it snap shut. I yelped in pain as the sharp teeth cut into me, falling to one knee and crying.
“What kind of esclava are you, eh? You can’t take a little pain?”
Through tears in my eyes I looked at my nipple and saw blood trickling down from the fresh puncture wounds. The tinglings were too much to bear, and I came, without even touching myself.
“She came,” Rosa exclaimed. “The puta bitch came!”
I stood up, took a breath, and bent over, presenting both breasts to her. “Please do that again, Ma’am. Please, I beg you. I will try not to disappoint you again.”
“You’re bleeding, bitch, and you want more?”
“Yes. Please. Please, I beg you. Do it again, only this time, please do both clamps at once.”
I looked Rosa in the eyes and felt, rather than saw, her grasp hold of both clamps and slowly open them both, easing the pressure. She grinned wickedly at me as she held them open, feigning releasing them several times before finally snapping them shut on my battered nipples.
I yelped again, and staggered a step back, but just as quickly I caught myself and stepped back in front of Rosa, bent over, so she could see what she had done. I looked her straight in the eye, mustering all the courage and defiance I could, but I was keenly aware of warm liquid trickling done my breasts. The tinglings were too much, and again I came.
Rosa then proceeded to slap my breasts, hard, left, right, left, right, never taking her eyes from mine. A war of wills. The other cousins gathered round and watched as my chest meat jiggled and bounced obscenely with each assault. They were all making comments in Spanish, so I had no idea what they were saying.
“Play with your filthy pussy for me, puta,” Carmelita ordered. “Cum for me, but don’t stop when you do. Keep playing with yourself.”
“Ugh, yes, Ma’am,” I grunted as Rosa slapped me even harder.
The instant my finger found my clit, I exploded. Rosa laughed and spit in my face, “Gringa puta. Dirty pig.”
The other cousins started slapping my breasts too, and I came again, the tinglings so intense I thought I might pass out. I kept diddling myself, cumming over and over, until, weak-kneed, I fell forward into Rosa’s lap.
Carmelita grabbed the hair at the back of my head and pulled my head up to meet her face. She kissed me long and hard, her tongue almost making me gag it probed so deeply. (I had never kissed a boy before, let alone another girl). “I have an idea, Rosa,” she said, excitedly. “Don’t let her go yet, I’ll be right back.”
Rosa shoved me to the floor and put her bare foot in my face, “Lick my foot, esclava Gringa. Lick the foot of your Queen!”
I started licking her foot, the soles first, then between the toes, sucking them into my mouth one by one, when the door opened up, “Let’s use these,” Carmelita announced.
I didn’t dare look, but judging by the laughing and the excited Spanish comments, everyone agreed that what Carmelita had brought with her would be a great idea.
“Kneel before me, slut,” Rosa barked, kicking me to the floor.
I pushed myself up on me knees and folded my arms behind my back, presenting myself to her like I had seen on the real BDSM sites.
On the bed, next to her leg, were four wooden kitchen spoons and two spatulas, one plastic, the other metal. Rosa watched my face grow in recognition as their intended use registered in my head.
“You will beg each of us to whip your white slut titties, puta. You will plead with us to hit you as hard we can five times each. You will tell us why you need to be punished.”
The tinglings came back, hard and strong, and I shuddered as another orgasm ripped through my body.
“Your slave slut really loves this attention, Carmelita. She wants us to really hurt her, doesn’t she?”
“She cums at just the thought of being whipped., Rosa. She really is filthy a Gringa puta esclava. Let’s all mark her so she carries memories of this day for a long time, eh?”
All the girls chimed in, excited at the prospect of beating me.
“Well, puta,” Rosa said, reaching over to remove the alligator clamps and spitting in my face once again, “Beg us to beat you.”
“Please, I beg you. Beat me. Mark me. Make me feel your pain. I b.....(I came again), beg you. Make my ugly slut titties covered in bruises. I have to be punished for all the pleasure you have given me. I don’t deserve pleasure, only abuse, pain and humiliation. Please.....”
“Angela, you’re the youngest, you go first,” Rosa said. Then to me, “Face her, slut. Hands behind your head. Present those slut tits to her.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, turning to face Angela.
I watched her pick up one of the wooden spoons.
“Do you want to be gagged, puta,” Carmelita asked me before Angela began.
“N....no. Thank you, Ma’am. I need to learn to control myself.”
“Hit her, Angela,” Rosa ordered.
I looked up at Angela and saw the fear which was now in her eyes. “Please, Angela. Please hit me. Make it hurt.”
She raised the spoon and brought it down on my right breast. It hurt, a lot, but I knew she didn’t hit me as hard as she could.
“Don’t hold back, Angela, please, I beg you. Punish me. Try and break the spoon on my filthy tits.”
The next four strokes came in fast and hard, and I fell to the floor at Angela’s feet. I leaned over in a daze of pain, and kissed her foot, while I said, “Thank you, Angela. Thank you for punishing this worthless slut.”
I endured the beatings from the other five girls as well. When it was over, my breasts were swollen and covered in dark red and purple welts. Blood from where the clamps had been was running down my stomach. I bent forward and kissed Rosa’s feet again. “Thank you for punishing this worthless slut whore.”
She grabbed my hair and pulled me forward to her face. “I have some good news for you, cunt. When everyone else goes back home to Puerto Rico, I’ll be staying in New York for college. Carmelita tells me you two like to spend special nights together every week. I just want you to know that I will be joining you sometimes. How does that sound to you, fulana?”
“It would be an honor if you would join us, Ma’am. I hope I will be able to please you.”
“Count on it.”
“Let’s get back to the party, girls. This Gringa can clean herself up.”
“Oh, and puta, from now on when you see me, you will address me as Princess Rosa, do you understand?”
“Yes, Princess Rosa. Thank you, Princess Rosa.”
They left me there, alone, naked, battered, bruised, and bleeding in Carmelita’s bedroom. I was totally spent. Exhausted. Physically and mentally. Using facial tissue, I dabbed at my bleeding nipples until the blood stopped flowing. I pulled the plug out of my ass and wrapped it in some tissues along with the two alligator clamps. Pulling my dress over my head, I opened the door and headed down the stairs. Feigning an illness, I left the party and went right home to bed, where I napped for three hours, achy, stiff and sore, and at the same time, proud, happy and content. Just before falling asleep to the thought of Princess Rosa joining Carmelita and me, the tinglings rose in quick response to the fulfillment that could entail.
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