Synopsis - A middle-aged woman tours the museum, and is swept away to realize
her darkest fantasies.
Comments, encouragement, suggestions - histswitch00@yahoo.com
Note - this was inspired by an incomplete story on the Leather Rose BBS.
Joan at the Museum
==================
Gwen and Joan zipped through the small town in Gwen's car. One of the
storefronts displayed the sign for a Medieval/Renaissance Museum, and Joan said,
"wait, stop, I want to see that!"
Maybe this museum would have some exhibits pertaining to Joan's special tastes.
Gwen scowled but pulled over and said, "oh, okay, but be quick about it. I'll
wait for you in this cafe across the street. And remember, we have places to
be."
The two women had decided to vacation together. They got along well at work,
but it turned out their outside interests were not the same, and some friction
had developed on this trip. Joan would just as soon tour the museum without
Gwen anyway. She said, "it must be near closing time anyway, so don't worry,
I'll be quick."
Joan was a healthy and fit woman in her late thirties, with long brown hair and
brown eyes. Wearing a sun dress and sandals, one could see that Joan was a
little bit stocky, but her calves were sculpted and her upper arms were firm.
Joan's heavy breasts did sag a little bit, and there was always an inch-wide
strip of sweaty flesh underneath them in the summertime. Her tits were firm
enough to go without a bra, though, and Joan loved the feel of the fabric on her
large nipples. Joan's whole body was nice, and she was pretty, but her breasts
were really the focus of her sexuality, and the focus of most mens' interest in
her.
There was one other important aspect of Joan's sexuality, namely her interest in
BDSM and historical torture scenarios, especially those involving the rack.
This is what she hoped to find in the museum. Joan entertained quite vivid
fantasies of torture, and these produced her strongest orgasms when
masturbating. None of her lovers would push Joan hard enough in this area.
Maybe her body could not have kept pace with her fantasies anyway.
Joan paid the small admission fee and hurried through the museum. It was
actually bigger than it looked from the street, since it expanded behind the
adjoining stores. Joan rushed past the exhibits on costumes and religious art,
which Gwen would have been interested in.
Finally, in the back corner Joan found what she was looking for. A sign read
"Horrors of the Dungeon - Downstairs". Joan's heart jumped into her throat, and
she walked slowly down the steps. With dim lighting, and stonework on the walls
and steps, she could imagine herself descending apprehensively into a real
dungeon.
There was only one room downstairs, with just a few pieces of equipment. It
looked like the whole basement had been partitioned for exhibits, but most of
the rooms were unfinished.
Joan was a little disappointed. The one open room had some well-done pieces,
but Joan had seen it all before. There was a rack, an iron maiden, a chair
heated by hot coals, plus assorted whips, pincers, and thumbscrews. There were
fully-clothed wax figures, all men, on each piece. There was also a wax figure
of the torturer, clad in black pants, boots, and hood. He was operating the
rack.
Joan was alone in the room, since it was almost closing time. She ran her hands
over the rack and the ropes, and they felt very good.
Joan looked at the torturer figure and said, "Hey, big boy, wouldn't you rather
have me naked and stretched out on this rack, instead of these ugly men? Oh
well...", she sighed and turned to leave.
From behind her, the voice came, "not so fast, my dear. I have many more things
to show you, if you are willing."
Joan's hair stiffened on the back of her neck, and she felt the blood rush to
her head. She turned around quickly and saw the wax figure had moved. The
torturer was looking right at her! Joan decided he must be a museum employee,
playing a prank. If so, he was very good, and Joan decided she might play
along. Could be interesting. She forgot all about Gwen waiting for her.
"Well, sure, I'd love to see everything."
"Step this way, then. I'm sure you won't be disappointed."
The hooded man led her over to a doorway that Joan would swear had not been
there before. It was another set of steps leading downward, but this time, real
torches lit the way. The steps and walls appeared to be real stone, dripping
with moisture. The air was surprisingly warm.
Joan followed the man down into the next level.
*********************************************************************
This room was much larger, and crowded with all manner of machines and tools
from the middle ages. Joan shivered with delicious anticipation.
Her escort took Joan's elbow and guided her to a wooden wheel nearby. It looked
almost like a steamboat wheel, except the slats were only about 18 inches long.
The wheel was mounted on a horizontal capstan so that it cleared the floor.
Joan could see chains and manacles laying on the slats at the top of the wheel.
Her escort pointed out another set of manacles mounted in the floor, under the
wheel's hub and spaced several feet apart.
"You see, the victim's feet were chained here, to the floor, and then her wrists
were chained to the wheel. Then, when the crank is turned, she would be
stretched most painfully."
Indeed. And her legs would be splayed wide as well. With her back arched
severely and her breasts lifted. Joan reached out to touch the wheel's rim, and
gently rocked it back and forth.
Joan said, "it looks like this is in working order. I mean, the chains are not
rusted, the leather cuffs are supple and thickly padded, the wheel seems
well-balanced and lubricated. Do you actually use it?"
The man said "yes, of course it works. I'm very proud of all my toys."
At that, Joan slipped off her sandals, and pulled the sun dress over her head.
She was dressed now only in her panties. She asked, "will you show me how it
works?"
The hooded man rolled the wheel forward a little and pushed Joan back against
it. Lifting her arms high, he buckled and padlocked the cuffs around her
wrists. Then, he cranked the wheel backward and locked the ratchet. Joan drew
a big breath as the wheel pulled her arms up and back, stretching her into a
sexy arched position. Joan's butt was in contact with the wheel, but her legs
dangled straight down with her toes clear of the floor. The man grabbed her
right ankle, pulling it out and back, then chained it to the floor. He did the
same to her left ankle on the other side. Rolling the wheel forward slightly,
he tightened the ankle chains again, so that Joan's legs made a 90-degree angle.
Then he rotated the wheel back again, to take up all the slack. Joan was
tightly stretched. She could move only her head, fingers, and toes.
Then, he tightened the ratchet two more clicks, and Joan groaned at the onset of
real pain. But God, it felt so good! She could feel her vertebra pull apart
slightly, as her back was arched. Her joints began to burn. Joan could hardly
bear to move her head, so she just lay back on the slats and looked at the
ceiling. Her hips and thighs ached, as she felt her pussy must be sticking way
out on display. Her breasts stood straight out from her arched torso. Joan
thought that maybe she should have taken off her panties, too. She kept moaning
softly as her pussy began to lubricate.
He said "one more, my darling," and then tightened the ratchet again.
Joan heard someone shriek "oh .. oh .. oh YES!". It was her, but the voice
seemed to come from another place. Joan squeezed her eyes tightly shut to stop
the room from spinning. She imagined herself to be a heretic in the hands of
the inquisition. The scene seemed so intense and realistic.
Suddenly, a line of fire erupted across Joan's belly, and her eyes snapped open.
Her torturer had retrieved a single-tail whip, and was lashing her racked body
with it. Again and again, he lashed her across the belly and thighs, while Joan
grunted with each stroke. Then, a stroke landed on her breasts and she
screamed. Several more lashes followed. Between screams, the words tumbled
out.
"Oh, oh God help me ... yes ... oh yes ... please .. fuck me ... oh Lord
..."
Joan was still panting and moaning after the lashing stopped. She didn't want
it to stop, but the man loosened the wheel and unchained her. She asked, "why?
Why are you setting me loose? I loved that!"
He carried her gently to where a rope hung from the ceiling, and set her feet on
the floor. "Patience, my darling. We have so many pleasures to explore. This
is MY domain."
The man pulled Joan's arms behind her back and placed the palms facing each
other, with her fingers twined. Then he looped the hanging rope tightly around
her wrists several times, finishing with two cinching loops between her arms and
a knot.
Joan looked over her shoulder fearfully as the man unwrapped the free end of the
rope from a stanchion on the wall. As he pulled on the rope, Joan's wrists and
arms rose behind her. She was forced to bend forward and look down at the
floor.
As he continued to pull, Joan's arms extended back beyond a right angle, and her
shoulders began to raise. Joan groaned "oh-h-h" as her shoulders creaked and
strained.
The man continued to pull the rope. Joan's arms lifted into almost a straight
line, and her heels left the floor. He pulled a little more, and then tied off
the rope.
Joan's head hung down, but the rest of her body was in almost a straight line
and her feet were at full stretch. She rocked between the balls of her feet and
her very tip-toes, trying to minimize the strain in her creaking shoulders.
She felt him slide her panties down to the floor. Suddenly, her ass exploded in
pain as the torturer beat her with a thick leather strap. "Unh-h-h." She
twisted under the rope and her toes left the floor, but she quickly found her
equilibrium again. She heard a crack from her shoulders with that movement.
The second stroke fell with a loud "whap" and her legs quivered, but she fought
to keep her toes on the floor.
Joan sweated and strained as the torturer reddened her ass and the backs of her
thighs with the strap. He waited several seconds between each stroke, until
Joan was still again. This beating went on for about half an hour. Joan's ass
and thighs were welted and bruised, and she was crying freely.
The heat was also building up in her pussy, and she felt an unbearable tingling
down there. When the torturer laid down the strap, she begged him for relief.
"Please, oh, ... please,.. fuck me ... please."
"Of course, my dear, I am almost ready. You see, I draw my energy and
inspiration from your beautiful suffering."
First, there must be a little more pain. The man approached her with a handful
of long pins, and began pushing them into Joan's breasts. Joan's breath hissed
in and out through her teeth, but she did not cry out. Soon there were about
six pins in each breast, including one through each aureole behind the nipple.
Little rivulets of blood flowed down onto Joan's belly.
At last, the torturer moved behind Joan and dropped his trousers. She could not
force herself to turn around and look at his cock, but she was already impressed
with what she had seen of his bare upper body. The man grabbed her hips, and
lifted them about a foot. Joan wailed in pain at the movement, but her shoulder
joints were relieved a little bit and the man was now supporting some of her
weight.
He then stepped under Joan and pulled her down onto his stiff cock. Now Joan
could see that it was about six inches fully erect, rather thick, and
uncircumcised. He slid right into her slick pussy with no trouble, and began
working his pelvic and abdominal muscles to fuck her. Joan's orgasm came very
quickly, but the man thrust for about fifteen minutes more, and then groaned as
he released his seed into her.
Joan was oh-so-close to a second orgasm, but the man just pulled out anyway.
Joan wailed, "oh, God, please...don't stop".
The torturer told her, "but we must rest, my dear, there are so many other
things to explore in my realm."
With that, he untied Joan's wrists and let her down. He pulled the pins from
her breasts, and swabbed them with water and an ointment. The bleeding soon
stopped. Then he led her over to a corner of the dungeon, where some chains
hung on the wall above a straw mattress. Joan thought she would be chained here
for the night, to await further pleasures in the morning.
But no. There was a 3x3 foot iron grate in the floor, which the man lifted to
reveal a small chamber under the floor. Straw and a porcelain bowl lay on the
floor. He forced Joan down into this oubliette, then he replaced the grate and
locked it.
Joan already knew what happened to prisoners kept in the oubliette. So she was
not surprised when he pissed on her through the grate, and then walked away. At
least he had not defecated on her.
Joan had a cold, restless, fitful, hungry, haunted, and thirsty night. But she
slept for many hours because she was totally exhausted.
************************************************************************
Sometime later, the torturer came back to open the grate and drag her out for
more torture and rape. Joan devoured the bread and water that he gave her. She
assumed it was the next day, Saturday, but there was no way of knowing that in
the dungeon.
Then the man said, "we must now massage other parts of your body, my darling.
But I believe you will appreciate my attentions."
He turned Joan around and bent her elbows so that he could tie her forearms
together behind her back, wrists to elbows. This position was much more
comfortable than yesterday's strappado. Then he led Joan over to a round wooden
block on the floor, which looked almost like a tree stump. He made Joan kneel
with her back against the block, and then he gently lowered her upper body to
the floor.
The block had leather straps on each side, which the torturer used to strap her
knees, calves, and ankles to opposite sides of the block. This left Joan's bare
feet exposed, just above the block, with her soles turned upward. Her knees
were slightly off the floor, which left her pelvis and nipples pressed into the
floor. There was a moderate straining arch in her back, a feeling that she
liked. Joan thought this was the perfect bastinado position.
The man began to whip her feet with a thin cane. Each stroke was more like a
quick flick, compared to the heavy beatings she had endured yesterday. But the
pain built up inexorably to a white hot level. Soon Joan was crying, grunting,
and begging him again. "Oh my God .... this is awful ... oh God help me ...
I can't help it ... oh please ... you must fuck me."
At some length, the man stopped and untied Joan's legs. He pulled her away from
the block, and then lifted her hips so that she was kneeling, but with her face
and shoulders on the floor. Joan did not want to get up, and certainly not
stand on her feet.
The torturer dropped his pants and then fucked her from behind, doggy style.
Looking back through her legs, it seemed to Joan that his erection was a little
bigger than yesterday. He thrust for several minutes before releasing into her.
When he pulled out, his cock was still stiff, and he plunged it into her ass.
Joan squealed as he entered.
"Oh, yes, my sweetheart, you give me so much energy. It is your pain and
suffering that gives me the strength. You must also learn to take your pleasure
from pain and suffering."
Joan thought she was doing pretty well so far. She'd had one orgasm during the
bastinado, from grinding her clit on the rough stone floor. And she had come a
second time from his vaginal fucking. The anal fucking, however, was just pure
pain up to this point. She would need more time to get used to it. Finally the
man released a second time, and withdrew from her ass.
"You have taken full pleasure only from your pussy, and you have not fully
embraced my domain yet. For this, your pussy musty be punished severely. Come
this way."
Joan crawled after him to where a horizontal beam with rounded edges stood
between two upright posts. The man lifted Joan up high, and lowered her onto
the beam in a straddle position. Her arms were still tied behind her. The man
tied Joan's ankles to rings set in the floor, so that her legs were spread wide.
Then he tied a ceiling rope around her neck, and tightened the slack at a
stanchion on the wall.
Joan was left with all her weight on her pubic area. Her face contorted into a
grimace of pain. The man left her on the horse for two hours.
When he came back to remove Joan from the horse, she was crying freely. She
threw her arms around his neck as he carried her to a hanging cage in another
corner of the dungeon, and put her inside. He gave her a bowl of water but no
food, and locked the cage door.
He did not fuck Joan again, but she could hardly stand the thought of anyone or
anything touching her pussy after that ride on the horse. It burned when she
had to relieve herself in the cage. She spent another restless night, haunted
by strange dreams and feelings.
************************************************************************
In the morning, her torturer carried Joan out of the cage and over to another
piece of dungeon furniture. Joan's feet were still too sore to walk on, and she
wasn't sure her pussy would ever feel good again. But it was almost tender, the
way her torturer/lover carried her around the dungeon, instead of dragging her.
The rack. Mother of God .... he was going to stretch her on the rack. This
was the culmination of Joan's darkest and most intense fantasies. She murmured
"oh yes ... oh .. thank you."
The man laid her down onto the rough wood of the rack, and placed her arms above
her head. He fastened her ankles and wrists into large steel manacles, that
were lined on the inside with hard foam rubber. They gripped her wrists and
ankles tightly, but not so tightly to cut off circulation.
Joan started to pant as she heard the ratchets click, when the torturer turned
the wheel at the head of the rack. The ropes tightened to take up the slack.
Her ankles and wrists were only spread apart about one foot. Joan thought this
instrument was only designed for straight stretching and pain. It did not
spread the victim open for convenient rape or sexual torment, as did the wheel
rack.
As the chains tightened, Joan's body was pulled up off the wood, so that only
the very tips of her ass cheeks made contact with the rack. Joan held her head
up for a while, looking down at the exciting view of her stretched body. But
soon, she let her head fall back onto the rack and relied on the sensations.
Joan grunted and groaned as the rack tightened, and she could feel/hear cracking
sounds from her joints. The pain in her joints and muscles burned. And her
pussy started to tingle.
One more clink of the ratchet, and Joan felt something give in her shoulders.
She screamed, a full-throated scream. And then she felt the contractions of an
orgasm in her pelvis and abdomen. Joan was panting and moaning through the
orgasm. But an observer might not have known. Her expression and voice was the
same as when she was simply stretched. She could not move the way she normally
did during sexual intercourse.
But the torturer knew, and he smiled at her.
Then he picked up a set of long metal pincers. With this he grabbed a nipple,
and began to squeeze and twist it roughly. Joan was afraid that he would twist
it right off, but he did not. Instead, he worked on the other nipple.
Lightning bolts of pain shot from her nipples all through Joan's body.
Including her clit and pussy. Joan had another orgasm.
The man set the pincers aside, and picked up a long metal claw with sharp teeth.
He ran this over Joan's taut belly, ribs, breasts, and armpits. He only scored
the skin slightly, but little driblets of blood began to flow from the cuts down
onto the rack. Joan forced her head up again, to view the damage to her body.
She found the sight incredibly erotic and exhilarating, just like her dreams.
She felt the sexual tension building again in her loins.
Joan thought, "this is what he really wants. This is what he means, for me to
embrace the pain."
And with that she had another strong orgasm, and passed out.
************************************************************************
Joan woke up fully clothed, huddled in the corner of the medieval exhibit room.
The wax figure was in his original place, but nobody else was in the room. Wow,
I must have fainted, but what a sexy dream, she thought.
There was nobody in the main gallery or at the reception desk, either, so Joan
let herself out the emergency exit. Gwen must be wondering where she was. Or
maybe not. The cafe across the street looked empty, and Gwen's car was nowhere
to be seen. Well, that was pretty rotten.
Joan walked to a police station in the next block. Most of the shops seemed to
be closed. Joan finally checked her watch, and it read about 6:30. Wow, I must
have been out for nearly 2 hours. How come Gwen didn't come looking for me?
That bitch...
In a snippy mood, Joan told the police desk sergeant that she was looking for
her friend, and then started to describe Gwen and her car.
The officer interrupted, "Well, you must be Joan Hanson. Your friend was in
here Friday evening, all frantic because she couldn't find you. She had the
museum staff search every inch of the place. We told her that she must wait at
least three days before filing a missing person report. Now I think she's gone
back to the city. Tomorrow's a work day for most people, you know."
Joan almost blurted out, "Oh my God - is it Sunday already?". But she caught
herself. That would probably have led to some difficult questions.
Instead, she said "well, we split up with some different guys we met, and we
were supposed to meet back here today. I don't know how there could have been a
misunderstanding - unless her date didn't work out and she got pissed at me.
I'll bet that's what happened - Can you believe that bitch?"
The officer's disbelief and disdain was written all over his face, but he let
Joan leave the station.
Joan could have taken a bus back in time for work the next morning, but her
dream had been so vivid and so very much on target. She just had to find out
more about that museum, so she took a room for one night in a hotel.
**********************************************************************
On Monday morning at 10, Joan went to the museum and asked to see the curator.
He stepped out of his office to ask, "yes, may I help you?"
Joan said, "I just wanted to let you know how special this place is, especially
the exhibits downstairs. I visited on Friday afternoon, and, well, I just lost
myself. Can you tell me a little bit about those exhibits? See, I took my
degree in history and I've always had a special interest in this period. These
exhibits are just so well done."
The curator replied, "Thank you. Yes, these exhibits are special and unique.
We had a director in charge of them for many years, but then she passed away
several months ago, and on top of that, we had a fire that damaged most of the
exhibits. We've been looking for someone to take over for her and rebuild them.
It will take someone with a special passion."
Joan smiled and said, "I'd like to apply for that position. Certainly I have
the special passion you alluded to. And while I'm new to the field, I believe
that Professor _____ trained me very well. How may I apply?"
The curator said "I'd be delighted to take your application. With Dr. _____ as
your reference, I'm sure there will be no trouble with our board approving your
hire on a probationary basis. All of our new hires require a six-month
probation. If that's acceptable, please step into my office and we can discuss
the details."
The job paid only a small salary, but it included board in an efficiency
apartment located over the museum. The museum had a small annual grant from the
government, for Joan to use in rebuilding and maintaining the downstairs
exhibits. This would cover some travel for research, tools, and materials to
construct the exhibits.
Joan would be expected to develop a museum of historical torture methods,
complete with documents, authentic period pieces, and working replicas. This
facility had been unique in the world, and it served a niche academic specialty.
The curator hoped Joan could restore this niche quickly. The position would
never confer widespread renown, but it should provide long-term security.
Joan said, "well, that's okay. I understand the prospects for advancement may
be small, but it's in my field and it's in my area of special interest. I can
start immediately!"
The curator beamed, "excellent! I just know you'll be pleased."
Then his face clouded a bit, "I must warn you, the work can become
all-consuming. Your predecessor spent all of her time here at the museum, and
made no time for a normal social life. But if you maintain a healthy balance,
I'm sure you'll do just fine."
Joan shook hands and walked away smiling, but suddenly her skin flushed and she
felt dizzy at the thought of her future. To be tortured every weekend for the
rest of her life, by every fiendish method that her historical research could
uncover. Touching all cultures and epochs. Eventually moving into the realm of
informed speculation, fueled by her own diabolical imagination.
She would explore many varieties of bondage, whipping, breast torture, foot
torture, and electro-torture. But for the finale, Joan would have herself taken
to the very brink of death each time on the rack, and then wake up safely to try
another variation the following weekend. Every possible body position and
angle, stretching, twisting, and bending her limbs and other body parts.
Keeping her muscles and joints in agony for hour upon hour. Trying it with all
manner of supplemental tools and toys for the rack. Trying it with constant
sexual stimulation, none at all, or intermittent teasing. Savoring the full
experience each time.
Where would it end? After many years, Joan thought she must surely die of some
natural cause. What if there truly is a God, or a Satan? Joan then expected to
spend her eternity screaming in hell, endlessly tortured and raped by demons, as
penance for her life of perversion. But Joan still didn't think she could ever
stop herself ...
*********************************************************************
Right after closing time four days later, Joan stood naked in front of the wax
torturer figure. A rectal pear dangled from her hand. Joan truly hoped she had
judged this right.
"Okay, big boy, time to wake up! I've brought a new toy for us to play with."
The man's head turned, and he regarded Joan. "Yes, I knew we would meet again.
We share the same spirit. I will show you pleasures that you cannot even
imagine. I will explore your limits completely. I will know you completely.
We will achieve such perfection and harmony that you can hardly bear it, and yet
you must bear it, as all of my partners have. Each time you visit me, it shall
be by your own choice. When the time comes to end it, when your body ages and
begins to fail outside our domain, then you may have a martyr's death. Either
on the cross, or at the stake, or broken on the wheel, it shall be your choice.
But we have so much time to pass before then."
Joan quailed at that little speech, but she knelt down before him and said,
"Yes. I'm yours. Make me pure."
