Occupational Hazzards

Occupational Hazzards

Bruce Boxer 

Occupational Hazzards
Chapter One

My name is Travis James, a retired U.S. Air Force
officer. My namesake was the first James who landed in
Virginia from Ireland in 1801 following his mustering
out from King George's army. He was given a plot of
land and farmed it until his death in 1828. I imagine
my ancestor would be a bit puzzled about what I now do
for a living. Upon my retirement as a warrior, I began
a new career; it's quite a drastic departure from my
former vocation. Initially, it was to be just a job
that I'd conduct with willing participants. Over the
years, I've honed my skills. It's turned out to be a
very a good thing I became proficient at my duties.
I've been able to keep my employers happy, and except
for a couple of instances, their clients satisfied.
For the most part, I've avoided being on the receiving
end of the techniques I've perfected. My position with
the Cooper Organization calls for me to induce pain. 

Most of these techniques work equally as well on men
as well as women; however, females seem to need less
physical punishment. I've found that women have more
respect for their bodies. This is most likely because
they fear that extensive damage will hinder the
ability to bear and nurture children. As an aside,
women have a higher capacity for pain. I suppose this
too has to do with bearing children.

Two constants underlying any application of pain are
terror and stress that must be administered from the
beginning and gradually increased. Stress takes two
forms: mental and physical. Any other punishment
simply builds on these two constants. For example, I
normally begin by inducing physical stress through
bondage. The most efficient method is the trite but
proven spread-eagle position as this gives access to
the entire body.

Tonight, my subject is Lorrie Millard. Her husband, an
Organization board member, and her lesbian lover are
sitting placidly nearby on tall stools to observe and
assist if needed. This will be Lorrie's first session
conducted by a professional. Lorrie is tiny, just a
hair over five feet tall and weighing considerably
less than 100 pounds. However, she is quite shapely
with a milky complexion and short, cropped blond hair.
She has attractive dimples in her cheeks and in her
hips in the small of her back. We've jointly stripped
Lorrie and I easily lift her to attach her to a
modified wooden rack with a pivot bolt at the boards'
intersection. Adjustable rods are affixed on each side
of the cross forming an "X" within a rectangle. This
allows unlimited stress adjustment. Wood also allows
the easy application of nails/pegs/notches for
leverage and for securing bindings. An added bonus is
a rough texture that stimulates the nerves. It's
important to keep in mind that when applying any
technique, I need to stimulate Lorrie's nerves. This
means keeping the blood flowing, keeping the air
moving, keeping the moans constant and the screams
coming; my customers like this.

I tie Lorrie facing up on the cross. Her arms are
extended overhead by cuffing the wrists and pulling
the attached ropes to the rear both through
pre-notched slots in the cross. Taut suffices
initially. This is repeated with the legs. Wide
leather wrist and ankle cuffs are preferred as they
gradually give over time allowing further adjustments.
I prefer hemp rope for the same reason. The aromas
these materials emit are another nerve stimulating
bonus. When heat and sweat is later added, the aromas
are enhanced.

While completing the initial binding, I omit any gags
as the customers will enjoy Lorrie's mock, futile
pleadings. I watch for increased respiration,
perspiration and, of course, listen for any cartilage
snapping. Popping sounds are fine to induce. I stop
when these signs are all apparent; adjustment can be
done later.

My job of tormentor (called Lead Disciplinarian on my
contract and pain boss by my clientele and coworkers)
calls for me to be an actor as well. I exaggerate the
difficulty in securing the bindings by breathing hard
and salivating. My sweat drips on Lorrie and enhances
the presentation as well as increases her excitement
and that of the audience. Unconcerned body contact,
rough handling, fingernail scratches and stretching
Lorrie's body over the wood adds to the perfect
initial assault. Lorrie is now secure.

On to Chapter 2

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER TWO

With Lorrie firmly mounted, I begin slapping her body
vigorously with a leather strap. I strike hard enough
to redden the flesh but not to bruise, break the skin
or draw blood. I continue until the entire body has
been treated five times, face and genitals included. I
invite Lorrie's husband to treat the soles of the
feet. I then re-tighten the bindings and leave her in
the stress-induced position for 15 minutes while the
clients and I adjourn to another room so I can towel
off and we can all enjoy a cool drink. The punishment
room's temperature is at a constant 80-85 degrees F
which increases Lorrie's perspiration flow--as well as
mine. 

During the body "tenderizing" session, Lorry's nerves
are ignited and, as I flail, I'm able to gauge her
reactions to being struck. I take note of where pain
registers the highest (it's usually the face) and the
lowest (fleshy areas--chest, butt, thighs, calves). By
recognizing where the blows receive less reaction, I'm
able to concentrate further punishment without forcing
Lorrie to loose consciousness. In this business, it's
essential to keep her conscious as long as possible or
the customer leaves unsatisfied; something I surely
don't want to happen.

After the rest interval; Lorrie is blindfolded to
increase the terror factor. Next, a bucket of very
cold water is hurled onto her body. The effect is
amazing! Bound past the point of discomfort with pores
open from the heat and flogging, the cold water
induces wild thrashing and violent, short breaths
bordering on hyperventilation. With several of my
clients in the beginning of my career, the water
treatment suspended our sessions until they were again
fully conscious.

Following the water treatment, I instruct the Lorrie's
lady lover to apply clamps to Lorrie's nipples. Wooden
clothespins work fine but we have a wide assortment of
clamps from which to choose. Four clamps are applied,
two on each aureole to force the center of the nipple
up proud and allow easy access. We'll be applying heat
there soon. I do a lot of work on the nipples as they
are sensitive and very durable. They take a variety of
torment and heal quickly. I've seen a couple of
examples where a nipple has been obliterated and
returned to near normal in 6 months.

Again, I tighten the bindings. We've all had paper
cuts and know how much they sting. Using a new
box-cutter or utility knife, I extend the blade
infinitesimally and lock it. I begin lightly drawing
the edge of across Lorrie's fleshy body parts creating
etch marks. I'm always careful to minimize bloodshed.
Basically, I simply score the skin. It's important the
subject is stretched to maximum tautness so his/her
movements don't cause deeper cuts. Lastly, I notch the
protruding nipple ends with a single slice.

With Lorrie stretched taut and the skin scored, I
remove the clothespins from the breasts and apply
rubbing alcohol to the affected parts using a natural
sea sponge. The stinging modulates as the rough sponge
opens and closes the etch wounds. The alcohol also
stems the risk of infections. After about ten minutes,
I treat Lorrie to another water dowsing then loosen
the ropes.

That usually concludes the first session which
normally lasts about 2 hours. Unless the customer has
other plans, Lorrie will be allowed to recount the
day's events overnight, naked, in a considerable
cooler environment than the punishment room. The
ensuing time and lower temperature aggravates muscle
soreness brought on by the stress position. The cool
temperature will force Lorrie into the fetal position
to maintain some semblance of comfort as well as
enhance the effect of muscle constrictions.
Masturbation will be out of the question for Lorrie
and totally prevented as I ensure the genitals are
covered and her hands cuffed to the rear. The customer
provides Lorrie with plenty of water and high
carbohydrate foods to maintain energy. 

On to Chapter 3

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER THREE

Day 2 with Lorrie follows the initial session that
primarily consisted of inducing extreme muscular and
skeletal stress combined with skin duress caused by
lashing and scoring with a razor. Now we're ready to
apply real pain. Lorrie's lover asks me to
specifically target her breasts and vagina.

During this session, Lorrie is gagged--no blindfold.
She is brought back to the overly warm punishment room
by her husband and we suspend her by the ankles with
the inverted shoulders raised to my mid-thigh. Her
handcuffs worn overnight are replaced by ropes and
drawn to the rear of the body. Beginning at the
wrists, I wrap the rope around and up the arms
continually pulling to draw the arms together. I pull
the ropes as tight as possible (considering the amount
of pain Lorrie is to receive). The cords are wound up
the arms until it is very difficult to draw them
together; normally several turns to just below the
elbows.

The arms are secured to the floor to heighten the pain
and keep Lorrie stationary. With the arms bound to the
rear, the breast is forced out prominently and tight
much like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to be carved. I
then beat the chest and belly area repeatedly with
fists, straps, whips, etc. The two spectators are
allowed to join in. Belly punching is a real turn on
for most of my clients.

The beating action causes extreme burning to Lorrie's
shoulders as the movement strains the already
miserable muscles stressed by the ropes. Following the
trunk beating, I apply rubbing alcohol to clean the
wounds re-opened from the prior day's razor cuts. Pain
is an added benefit.

I untie the arms from behind and bring them around and
up to meet with the ankles and tie them off. Lorrie is
then suspended in a "U" shape with the wrists and
ankles drawn slightly together at the top of the "U".
The bottom of the "U" is about a foot off the floor.

I now we go to work on Lorrie's back. The "U" position
prominently displays the vagina and anus. A vicious
beating of the butt and back of the thighs is first.
The strap or leather/rubber whip is ideal. I really
lay on the arm here and need stop only when blood is
drawn. The back is easy to work on as it's packed with
nerves--minimum effort on the tormentor's part pays
big dividends. I now remove the gag as the potential
to exceed Lorrie's pain threshold will probably happen
during the next few torments. Lying on my back under
Lorrie, I wrap my left arm around her waist inserting
three fingers into the vagina and pull down to gain
leverage. I then begin a series of pinches to the back
using pliers--clamp and twist, clamp and twist. I'm
always maintaining downward pressure around Lorrie's
trunk while grinding the vagina and pulling the pubic
hair. Depending on hers pain capacity , or if the
customer desires, I heat the pliers first on a hot
plate keeping one pair on the plate as I use another.
This method keeps hot pliers at the ready. This
torment is applied to all exposed fleshy areas. Upon
completion, devices of varying girth and length are
insertion into the vagina and anus. 

Lorrie's legs are finally lowered leaving her
suspended by the wrists. I hobble the legs by binding
the big toes together. The toe binding stabilizes the
legs while allowing them some measure of freedom to
access the crotch. I attach a cord to the bound toes
and loop it up behind, drawing the legs up to the rear
with a bend at the knees. The cord is tied off with a
simple loop around the waist.

Now, the lesbian lover and I attack the breasts. They
were well tenderized and sliced during the previous
session and will be the center of our attention for
the next half an hour. If the breasts are ample
enough, I bind them independently where they meet the
chest drawing the loop tight to engorge the breasts. A
belt is looped around the upper chest just above the
breasts and another belt immediately below and drawn
tight. I re-adjust the cords around each breast to
maximize the constriction of each globe. If the
breasts are too small to be encircled by the cords
independently, the upper and lower belts alone will
achieve the desired effect.

Using heated pliers, we clamp and twist the entire
breast area repeatedly singling out the nipple for
preferred treatment. When the customer tires, I lash
the bound area vigorously with a thin switch to
minimally open the previously sliced skin then, using
a rough sponge, rub down with alcohol. 

.. Using an electric hair curling iron, I braise the
breasts, again focusing on the nipple. After each heat
application, I apply ice to minimize tissue damage.
Finally, using very fine (thin) needles approximately
2 inches long, each nipple is pierced at the base.
Upon completion, I remove the independent breast
bindings but leave the belts in place and tighten. I
apply nipple clamps to the nipples ends leaving the
needles inserted ( I like the alligator clips used in
electronic applications; the grasping teeth are small
but painful). 

When the customer directs, I lower Lorrie to the floor
but keep her arms suspended overhead. I give her some
time to recover and for the customer to revel in her
misery. She struggles for relief while slightly
suspended with implements inserted in the vagina and
anus and her breasts inflamed--comfort is
unobtainable.

I soon release Lorrie from the suspended ropes and
retie her to the "X" frame racking her viciously with
the full complement of restraints and inserted
apparatus. I her tie off at a high discomfort level.
Heat and ice are alternately applied to the nipples.
When the customer is satisfied, I slide a broom handle
under the small of Lorrie's back with ample portions
remaining at each side. I straddle her and jerk the
lever up towards my chest repeatedly. I then
re-tighten the racking ropes and repeat the nipple
heat/ice abuse and the groin/anal assault.

In future sessions, Lorrie will remain in racked agony
for several minutes while I gather an electric hand
drill and assorted drill bits and grinding disks. The
nipples be treated to a sanding followed by alcohol
application. I'll then replace the vaginal instrument
with the curling iron and set it at low heat and
recommence nipple torture with large drill bits that
abrade but will not puncture. I'll finish with an
all-over alcohol swabbing followed by a final bucket
of water. As this is her first time however, Lorrie
will be returned to her holding area unbound where
she'll be attended to by her lovers. For the services
I've just explained, I'll be paid $250,000 per year.

On to Chapter 4

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER FOUR 

I was recruited as the Cooper Organization's Lead
Disciplinarian following my retirement from the
military. Twenty years of service was enough for me;
especially considering the massive reductions in force
and a lack of a true mission following the collapse of
the Soviet Union--peace is hell. I conducted a
half-hearted, post-military job search routine but
found nothing in which I wished to re-career. After a
year of unemployment, I saw the following help wanted
ad in the business section of a Baltimore newspaper:

Former Military? Tired of the mundane? Ready to put
your

strong organizational and leadership skills back into

service? If you're loyal, intelligent, mentally and
physically

healthy; Reply to the Cooper Organization, P.O. Box
753,

Smythville, PA 19518 or FAX your resume to
1-800-323-9500,

attention Ms. Dana Simpson.

I realized the ad was sketchy but I certainly met the
stated qualifications so I faxed my particulars. I
received a phone call from Ms. Simpson the following
day. After the usual pleasantries, we discussed my
military experience and, at her request, I told Ms.
Simpson what I was looking for in a future career. In
turn, she described the Cooper Organization and it's
objectives. Ms. Simpson said that the Organization was
formed in 1975 by a group of investors to pool their
resources in establishing a group devoted to
maximizing the rewards of their leisure time. These
forward-thinking individuals saw the dawn of the
computer age as a golden opportunity to make large
profits while enjoying the finer things life had to
offer. The Cooper Organization was a private enclave
in the sparsely-populated hills of western Maryland.
The quality of life was outstanding. Ms. Simpson
stated the Organization was looking for a recruiter
and trainer for the members' personal assistants and
the club's staff at large. To get the right candidate,
the salary and benefits were completely negotiable
depending on what the candidate had to offer. Ms.
Simpson said she liked what she had read in my resume
and was encouraged by our brief phone conversation.
She invited me for an interview the following week.

The date was set for the first business day after
Labor Day, 1992. I arrived 15 minutes before the
appointed time of 0900 hours following a pleasant 2
hour drive west on Interstate 70.

The estate was impressive and rivaled any private, and
most public, facilities I'd ever seen. Although the
construction reflected classic architecture, the
immature landscaping revealed the facility was only
recently built. I wished my wife Shiela could have
seen the grounds. Shiela was essentially murdered by a
drunk driver in England in 1987. The estate looked
like the ones we used to explore on quiet weekends
while we waxed romantically about owning such opulent
property. We knew of course we'd never own anything so
expensive.

I parked my Chevy Berretta in one of three designated
visitor's slots at the apex of the gravel, circular
driveway. Upon entering the main door, a receptionist
named Jackie offered me a seat and coffee. She said
Ms. Simpson was aware of my arrival and would be right
with me. Within 15 minutes, Dana Simpson appeared. She
was tall with long, thick auburn hair and bright green
eyes. A hint of freckles ran from both her cheeks and
met at the bridge of her nose. While not a world-class
beauty, she was very striking and looked radiantly
healthy like a woman from some Irish soap television
commercials. She was dressed in a beige business suit
with tan high heels. She had lovely legs. She greeted
me warmly and invited me into her well-appointed
office immediately off of the reception area. We
exchanged niceties about the weather, my commute and
she listened to my too gushing comments concerning the
area and the facility.

As we sipped coffee, Ms. Simpson became more
business-like in her approach as she began the
interview in earnest.

Crossing her legs and looking into my eyes she said,
"Mr. James, I imagine that as a military officer, you
had ample opportunities to be a leader; however, how
are you at being a follower?"

I replied that my time was spent equally as a follower
as everyone has a boss and there are numerous
regulations and laws to which a military man must
adhere. Additionally, my survival training and
subsequent airborne experience taught me to function
well as a member of a team.

"That's good Mr. James. May I call you Travis?" she
asked.

"Of course," I replied. I remember thinking I'd gotten
off on a solid footing.

"Travis, as I told you on the phone, we're looking for
a recruiter and trainer for our members' staffs and
the Cooper Organization employees as a whole. As the
lead person, we would need you in residence here.
Suitable living accommodations are naturally provided.
The work is difficult in that it demands most of your
time and your complete loyalty to the Cooper
Organization. Give this loyalty and your efforts to
Cooper and your remuneration will be equivalent."

I was overwhelmed in that it seemed I was being
recruited to another vocation similar to the one I'd
just recently left. I was very curious as to the job
description as well as if Dana Simpson's skirt could
possible crawl up her thighs a bit more. I noticed her
knees were also freckled.

"Certainly a fair question Travis," she replied as she
tugged down on her hem, obviously reading my mind.
"Members of the Cooper Organization are wealthy
individuals who devote their lives to reaping the
benefits of capitalism. Additionally, they distribute
their financial gains to many philanthropic endeavors.
This enclave is the members' one place where they can
be themselves; an individual away from public scrutiny
and the demands of their commercial ventures."

"I'm afraid I still don't understand what my duties
would be," I asked.

"Our members, as do most powerful people, have certain
leisure activity needs that cannot be fulfilled in
normal society...discretion being an important
aspect..."

"Are you alluding to activity like a nudist camp?" I
queried implying for her to continue.

"Nudity, while a player, is not the prime activity.
The membership uses this facility to cater to their
sexual proclivities."

I was flummoxed and asked if I was applying for a job
in a bordello.

"Not at all," Ms. Simpson replied. "All activity that
occurs here is completely straightforward and no money
changes hands--except to pay our employees."

"What then would I be doing?" I again asked.

"Simply put, our members are primarily
Sado-masochists." Dana answered matter-of-factly.

"Geeze," I responded. "Ms. Simpson, again, where do I
fit in this organization? I don't know anything about
S&M!"

"Our members need somebody to take the lead in
training their partners and recruiting additional
willing individuals to participate--I assure you
Travis--nothing illegal occurs here. What does happen
here is discrete and in the best possible taste."

I told Ms. Simpson that I had about a thousand more
questions but needed some time to let what I'd already
been told sink in.

"I certainly understand. I had the same reaction
during my interview five years ago."

She invited me to follow her for a tour of the
facility. I saw expansive living rooms furnished with
expensive antiques. Bedrooms were lavishly furbished
in varied styles. Each bedroom had adjoining bathrooms
with large whirlpool tubs, towel heaters and bidets.
Billiard rooms, libraries, multi-media rooms and
gymnasiums rounded out the tour.

"Would you like to see our employees living
accommodations?" Dana asked.

I was dazzled to see the luxury condominium-style
employee quarters to the rear of the great house. The
living space was on par with that of the lieutenant
colonel military quarters I'd occupied. I noted
approximately 20 such sets of quarters with each villa
having near 2000 square feet of living space.
Following the tour of my potential digs, I asked Ms.
Simpson if I might speak with an employee with duties
similar to the ones I might be performing.

"Absolutely," she replied. "I think Jim is on break
this week."

"On break...for a week?" I asked.

"Yes, our operational people work three weeks then
have a week off...paid of course."

We found Jim Dubchek sitting on the deck behind his
villa. He was reading the newspaper and listening to
the classic music station out of Frederick, Maryland
on his oversized portable radio. Jim was tanned and
fit and looked to be a bit older than me judging by
the lines in his Slavic-featured face. He was stark
naked. Following introductions, Jim offered chairs and
poured Dana and I glasses of iced tea while he slipped
on a white cotton bathrobe.

"So, you could me my new boss soon, huh?" Jim stated.

"I'm certainly intrigued and was hoping you could fill
me in a bit on your daily regime," I replied. "I've
already explained to Ms. Simpson that I'm a total
square when it comes to S&M."

"The initial training was tough but well worth it. I'm
good at my job and, I believe, excel at customer
service." Jim said.

"I can certainly vouch for that," said Dana. "Jim has
been with us for eight years and works with some of
our most finicky members."

"Jim, would you please tell me exactly what you do," I
practically begged. "I must not be asking the question
right as I've yet to get a straight answer."

"I, and possibly we, help our members in the
successful pursuit of their leisure time,' said Jim.
"Specifically, we are the most highly trained and
specialized staff members here. Bottom line Travis: We
induce mutually agreed upon pain in the pursuit of
sexual satisfaction of the members of the Cooper
Organization."

Finally, I thought. They want me to lead a group of
torturers in an S&M establishment. I'd never thought
of myself, nor knew anybody, that society described as
kinky or perverted. I surely considered what I knew of
S&M to be both. I repeated my lack of what I assumed
were critical skills for this job to Dana and Jim.

"That's all right Travis, said Dana. "As the
Organization's disciplinarians, you are the ones to
administer the pain, not the ones to derive pleasure
from it. In fact, It's good that you aren't already
involved in standard S&M practices. It facilitates
professional distance and adds depth to our staff."

"As a matter of fact," added Jim, "I was into the
scene quite heavily in my younger days. But in the
last few years, its become just so much work for
me...kinda like the old gynecologist line: if you're
up to your elbows in it at work, you don't want to
mess with it at home."

Dana and Jim both chuckled at the analogy. I produced
a polite, confused smile. Dana stood and said she'd
leave Jim and I to talk for awhile and instructed Jim
to accompany me back to her office when were through.

Jim and I talked for nearly two hours. He explained
what he did and that his actions were okayed, even
welcomed, by his "victims". It was the proverbial
"different strokes for different folks." He told me
the pay and living conditions were fantastic as were
the benefits such as a retirement plan and medical
coverage. Jim was planning on retiring to Key West
within the year. The only drawback was the contractual
obligations which essentially placed a gag order on
the employee with stiff financial penalties should the
employee ever reveal anything concerning the nature of
his work or activities at the compound. In fact, you
could never say anything to anybody about any aspect
of the Cooper Organization in toto.

I was used to secrecy after 20 years in the military
so that contractual obligation wouldn't be a factor in
my deciding to take the job. What did bother me was
the knowledge that I'd be inflicting pain and, even
though the "victim" was agreeable, the notion was
abhorrent. However, I thought, maybe the idea of
inflicting pain was so foreign to me that I was just
unable to grasp how some people could enjoy it. But
Dana and Jim seemed absolutely normal. Besides, if the
situation got too creepy, I could haul ass and quit.

"Travis, tell you what," Jim said. "I'm conducting a
session in about an hour. Each "punishment room" as we
call them has an observation area. Why don't you watch
and then talk to the participants afterward. You'll
see there really is no problem. In fact, It's very
rewarding."

On to Chapter 5

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER FIVE 

Jim invited me into his villa while he changed in
preparation to conduct a session. I sat in an
expensive, leather easy chair watching a muted CNN on
a huge television while he dressed.

"You'll meet all kinds of folks here Travis," Jim
began. "They're into S&M, light bondage, domination,
mutilation, bestiality...the list goes on. The staff
has people to cater to all these tastes. We're the S&M
staff and, if all goes well, you'll be heading of a
cadre of at least 10 disciplinarians as our lead--the
pain boss. Right now there are six of us, two being
women. Sally just switched over from the mutilation
branch."

As Jim talked, he dressed in a pair of baggy black
canvas pants that he bloused over heavy, black lace-up
boots. He ran a thick leather belt through the
trousers loops and cinched it through a large brass
buckle. He remained shirtless and excused himself to
go to the bathroom.

"I need to shave my chest," he explained. Some of us
with very little chest hair stay slick-chested while
others with lots of "boob fuzz" go natural. What's
your status?"

I opened my shirt, pulled my tie to the side, and
displayed thick, gray-streaked blond chest hair that
converged to a point just below my naval.

"Christ," Jim exclaimed. "Don't let Dana see that or
she'll be all over you! She loves lots of chest
hair...I hear though that you have to remove any back
hair for her!"

I rebuttoned my shirt while Jim applied a dry oil to
his upper torso with a spray bottle. He then fitted a
black leather half-hood that covered his head down to
his nose.

"Pretty scary, huh?" Jim asked. "It's our standard
uniform although we have several variations. Okay,
let's go!"

We left Jim's villa by a side door that opened into a
well-lit enclosed hallway. We walked several hundred
feet on a downward slope and stopped when we came to a
door that Jim identified as the observation room for
punishment room five.

"Make yourself comfortable," Jim directed. "I'll be
working on one of our regulars and it usually takes
awhile for this lady--she's an old pro. Now remember,
you'll be able to observe without being seen thanks to
the one-way mirror. You'll also be able to hear
everything. You may be joined by my victim's "master"
who is actually her husband. If he wants to talk, by
all means speak with him. However, it's only polite
here to let the members control the conversation.
Finally, keep in mind that the lady enjoys what I'll
be doing to her. After the session, we can probably
meet them in the lounge and you can talk with her if
you want."

"I'll see how I handle the session Jim," I replied.
"Thanks for all your help."

"No problem, Hell, gotta be good to my new boss!" Jim
said.

I settled into one of the observation area's four
theater-like seats. Amid the soft blacklight glow, I
noted a small bar with ice, spring water and silver
hot pots labeled coffee and tea. A discrete sign was
posted over the bar stating smoking was permitted. I
saw nothing but pitch black looking out from my seat
through the large one-way glass. Suddenly intense
lights bathed the area and Jim entered through a door
directly opposite my seat.

"Okay buddy, our lady should be in any second..." Jim
explained.

Through the same door from which Jim emerged, a mature
large black man appeared holding the handcuffed wrists
of a younger looking black woman. She wore normal
street clothes but was blindfolded. In spite of the
eye covering, the woman's expression was haughty and
she carried herself with dignity. 

"Master of pain," the black man rumbled. "I've brought
the transgressing wench to you again as she continues
to disobey me. I ask you to punish her severely so
she'll understand that she must totally submit to me."

"Leave her in my hands great one," Jim replied. "She
will soon realize you are her salvation. Do you wish
to aid in bringing about her misery?"

The man answered, "I will not touch the undeserving
bitch until she learns the ways of my pleasures."

"Bitch!" Jim bellowed. "Do you know what must happen
here?"

"Yes Pain Master," the woman answered. "I must atone
for my negligences to my master."

"Those are the last words you will utter until I'm
through with you cunt!" Jim yelled.

As the black man held the woman's cuffed wrists, Jim
inserted a large, rubbery ball into her mouth and tied
the attached straps behind her head.

During the gagging, I was able to briefly survey the
punishment room and was alarmed to see so many hanging
ropes and chains as well as a kettle of glowing embers
from which various tools were protruding. Two separate
medieval-looking racks were also displayed; one
horizontal, the other vertical.

Jim took the woman to the center of the room and
removed her handcuffs and blindfold. Her wrists were
then reconnected in front of her by wide leather
cuffs. The two cuffs were connected together by a
short chain. Reaching overhead, Jim drew down a cable
and attached it to the cuffs connecting link. He then
began pulling the rope which ran through a pulley
attached to the ceiling; this raised the woman's arms
up over her head. When fully extended, Jim knelt and
removed the woman's shoes. He looped ropes attached to
rings in the floor around both ankles. The woman's
legs were held apart about shoulder width. When
secure, Jim returned to the rope holding the woman's
arms and began pulling, stretching her in opposition
to her bound ankles. The woman's eyes widened as the
discomfort mounted. Jim, satisfied with the her body's
tension, tied off the stretching rope.

"Master, would you care to cut off her clothing to
allow me to apply her punishment properly?" Jim asked
the black man.

The master chose a large combat-type serrated knife
and began slowly slicing the woman's clothing. When
she was naked, the man took a seat on a stool near the
hot embers and directed Jim to proceed.

Jim was certainly correct about the woman being a pro
at this type of treatment. Her dark skin showed the
marks of many previous sessions. Her pubic area was
completely shaved but, curiously, she sported a
healthy growth of underarm and leg hair. Her breasts
were rather small and all but flattened out completely
due to her body being extremely stretched. Her nipples
were huge and protruded at least 3/4 of an inch;
however they were nearly white and contrasted
dramatically with her coffee-colored breast tissue.
Jim explained to me later that her nipples carried a
lot of scar tissue which accounted for the lack of
pigmentation.

Jim began the woman's assault by choosing a
short-cropped, multi-fringed leather whip. He flogged
the woman from top to toe. She uttered not a sound and
barely reacted otherwise save for a slight tearing of
the eyes.

Jim knelt and untied the woman's feet. He heaved on
the rope working the overhead pulley and lifted her
off her feet suspending her in the wrist cuffs. Jim
then took her by the hips and slowly spun her around
in a lazy circle. I admired the extensive network of
stripes across her back as well as the whip-induced
grid pattern on her chest.

"How does this feel on your tits ?" Jim asked as nine
strips of leather violently struck the woman's chest.
By defensive reflex, the woman jerked her legs up.
Jim's cat-o-nine tails then came slashing up from
below and caught the back of her raised legs. This
continued for several minutes, with the woman's body
involuntarily responding to shield the last part
struck, exposing a new target in the process. The
woman was spinning and jumping in the air. Jim
replaced the smooth leather lash with one with knots
tied randomly in the nine lashes. The new whip was
applied to patches of unmarked brown skin. In her
mounting rage and agony, the woman tried to evade the
whip, swinging herself about. Jim was laughing as he
used the woman's own momentum to make the whip strike
with even more intensity into her soft flesh.

Jim stopped the whipping and produced a black rubber
hood that he quickly stretched over the woman's sweat
glistened head before her swaying body came to a full
stop. She was overheated due to the room's high
temperature and her body temperature raised from the
adrenaline response to the thorough flogging. Drenched
in perspiration, the woman found it hard to breath
under the hood and thrashed desperately to draw a
breath. The ball gag in her mouth prevented her from
sucking air. The condensation inside the rubber hood
filled her nostrils as she tried valiantly to inhale.
She danced vigorously at the end of her rope
struggling for air.

After several minutes, Jim stopped her aerial
acrobatics with a close-fisted quick jab to her belly
and removed the hood. As she slumped gasping rapidly
for air only through flaring nostrils, Jim lowered the
woman until her feet touched the floor. He installed a
leather harness shaped like an inverted "A" that
passed over her shoulders, were there were large eye
bolts to be used to suspend her. A vertical strap was
adjusted just below her breasts so she wouldn't slip
out the sides. Her wrists were removed from the
overhead cuffs and reattached by straps to her thighs.
Her legs were secured, spread a foot apart, by chains
attached to the floor to cuffs attached to her ankles.
Jim adjusted the leg restraints to allow a bit of
slack in the chains to allow her to reach the floor
just barely with the tips of her toes. Jim them
attached the overhead suspension rope to the snare's
eyebolts and lifted the woman just slightly off the
floor. The snare gave just enough so that the floor
could again just be grazed by her toes. She was
permitted then to catch her breath and to discover how
it felt to have her crotch support her full weight on
the thin strap of the harness.

Jim snarled, "In case you thought your tits had been
punished plenty in previous sessions and I'd ignore
them now--you're wrong--in fact, during this session,
they may explode!" At that remark, a look of terror
spread over the woman's face. Jim approached the vat
of hot embers and removed some items with a gloved
hand. He then approached the woman holding several hot
needles before her immense eyes.

"You'll now learn that your master must be obeyed."
Jim blared. " These needles will be used unmercifully
on your puny tits."

Jim squeezed the woman's right breast hard and pulled
it forward. Then, beginning next to her collarbone at
the breast's base, slowly inserted a single, long
needle. The woman's head jerked back, eyes cinched
tight, her face twisted in pain, but she didn't make a
sound. As the needle made its slow progress through
the breast, the woman began jerking in the harness.
She thrashed her head in the air and clenched her
fists till her hands turned white and the sweat poured
down her contorted and ashen face. Eventually, the
needle's point appeared at the bottom of the breast.
Jim stopped the assault when the needle met the top
rib. He gave the breast an open-handed slap that
caused the woman's eyes to reopen.

"That's one, bitch. Time for the other one," Jim
threatened. He then squeezed the left breast, and a
needle was inserted into it and pushed through. The
microphones in the room were not sensitive enough to
pick up the sounds of the needle being pushed through
the flesh. I wondered what it sounded like. The woman
was totally rigid during the second needle treatment.
She kept her eyes and hands tightly clenched,
appearing to steal every muscle against the agony as
the needle penetrated. This was one tough woman! As
the needle made it's way through however, the tears
began to force their way under her tightly closed
eyelids and mingle with the sweat already stinking her
eyes. When finished, Jim applied a final slap and left
her suspended in stony shock. From a nearby shelf, Jim
produced four shorter needles, about 3 inches long,
that he heated before the woman over a hand-held
candle. Grasping a nipple, he rammed a needle through
the nipple's base followed by another in the opposite
direction eventually forming an "X". He repeated this
procedure with the other nipple. The woman slumped in
her harness.

Jim asked the black man if this was enough.

"Make her alert one more time," the man answered as he
rubbed his crotch.

Jim picked up the smooth-fringed cat-'o-nine tails and
covered her body with blows less violent than those
administered earlier.

The woman jerked her head upright and Jim removed her
gag. A pitiful rush of contained up agony exploded
from the woman followed immediately by loud sobs.
Finally, a string of curses flew at Jim.

"You motherfucken goddamn cocksucken sonofabitch...my
fucken tits are on fire and you...".

Her words turned to screams as Jim used his thumb and
index finger in a flicking motion on her impaled
nipples. After several taps, be began to extricate the
long needles imbedded in her breasts. The intensity of
the screams increased and reached a crescendo when the
short needles through the nipples were withdrawn. As
the acute pain subsided, the screams returned to
pitiful moans and sobs as Jim released her from the
leather harness. Her hands were again cuffed in front
of her and she was presented to her master.

"She is broken master," Jim said.

"You did well Master of Pain," replied the black
Organization member. "Follow me woman," he added and
proceeded for the punishment room's exit. The woman,
unsteady on her feet and head bowed, shuffled behind
him and out of the room. As the door closed, Jim
looked toward me behind the window and said,

"I thought she'd need a lot of attention--this took
nearly three hours. Let me get cleaned up and we'll
head to the lounge."

I was speechless and struggled to come to grips with
what I'd just witnessed and wondering how I could
possibly consider being a part of it. 

On to Chapter 6

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER SIX 

Jim and I entered a lounge already populated by two
dozen people; most dressed in a style indicative of
their sexual preference. Several were clad totally in
bright, neon-colored leather with jewelry attached
through a lot of exposed body parts. Two people were
completely naked, the woman stroking her man's leg
while they chatted with another couple dressed in
opera attire. One plump, fairly young man was on all
fours being used as a bench by a naked, obese older
man who was sipping white wine. A pair of very
attractive women sat on a small couch hungrily kissing
each other. A tuxedo-clad male bartender was mixing a
batch of frozen fruit drinks at the polished teak bar
at the far side of the room. Suspended directly over
him was Dana Simpson, my interviewer! Dana was held
aloft by a wide leather belt around her waist just
above her minuscule red satin panties--her only
clothing. Thick chains ran from the sides of the belt
at a 45 degree angle to the ceiling. Her wrists were
attached to her neck by a jeweled collar that
encircled her throat. Her freckled hands were
elegantly splayed over her ears framing her face. The
waist belt connections must have been a ball-bearing
contraption as she spun leisurely around, top to
bottom, depending how she moved her legs. She made a
graceful, animated room decoration with her luxurious
hair fanning through the air as she rotated. I didn't
yet see the man or woman whose session I recently
witnessed.

Jim had wiped himself down but remained in his costume
complete with hood. He explained that the members
liked the staff to stay in character. I was still
dressed in my best business suit.

Jim and I approached the bar and he ordered bourbon
and water for us both. We sipped the drinks while
watching Dana revolve above us.

"What do you think of our Organization Travis," she
asked as her head rotated within a foot of mine.

"I'm afraid I'm still speechless, Ms. Simpson," I
answered. "Even more so now," I added not knowing
where to look while addressing her.

"Oh please, call me Dana," she insisted as her voice
trailed off during her body's upstroke.

"Of course," I replied to the soles of her feet.

Jim nudged me and directed my attention to the door.
His clients from the recent session had arrived. They
had both changed into bright white linen garments that
gave them the appearance of being Arab chieftains.
They flowed across the room toward the bar hand in
hand. The woman embraced Jim stroking his re-oiled
chest while whispering in his ear. Subsequently, the
man clasped him by the shoulders and praised his
earlier performance.

Jim introduced me to the couple as a promising
candidate for the Lead Disciplinarian position. The
woman shook my hand and said,

"My pleasure Travis, once you're officially aboard,
you'll learn our names as well. Jim here is going to
be a tough act for you to follow. He's my husband's,
and my, first choice for our encounters...he gives us
pleasure like nobody else."

"I certainly second that," added the husband. "It's
got to be physically and emotionally draining to apply
enough pressure to my wife to bring her to orgasm; but
Jim's always up to the challenge."

"I was worried this time," Jim interjected. "Your
nipples are becoming like tanned leather. Next time,
I'm thinking about skipping them completely and
working on your lower abdomen. I think you'll enjoy
the attention focused on a new, single region...it'll
concentrate the agony, and, naturally, your pleasure."
He closed with a slight bow at the waist.

"We'll certainly look forward to it," the woman
replied. "However, I do hope you can come up with a
technique that will stimulate my nipples
further--nipple torture stimulates me to my core."

"Well," Jim added while clasping my shoulder, "Perhaps
Travis will bring some new methods to our mutual
madness."

"I'm sure you will Travis," the woman breathed. Taking
my right hand, she placed it on her chest between her
breasts and asked, "and just what would you do with my
nipples, Travis?"

I simply stared into the woman's dark, moist eyes.
Where my reply came from I haven't a clue.

"I believe in modern technology, ma'am; electricity
would stimulate the nerves ignored by heat and
needles; especially with the electrodes' teeth
imbedded deep in the tissue."

I felt her chest quiver and noted her lips part at the
prospect of reaching another plateau of the pain she
loved so much.

"I believe we have a new staff member," Dana said as
her head arced towards us.

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER SEVEN 

The next morning, I met with Dana to officially become
a part of the Cooper Organization. I was rather
surprised she said nothing to me about her high-flying
act. I certainly didn't want to bring it up by saying
I hardly recognized her with her clothes on. We went
over all the typical pre-employment items such as pay
and benefits. We then went over the unique Cooper
contract. Written is non-technical, user-friendly
language, the contract specified that a Cooper
Organization employee would be bound to never reveal
anything regarding the Organization, its members and
employees or any circumstances involving the
aforementioned. Failure to adhere to this obligation
would result in recuperation of all sums paid for
services rendered and attachment of all investments
made with such funds. It seemed like a straightforward
contract and I signed. 

During the ensuing several months, I watched Jim and
others from my new staff go about their duties.
Sometimes I observed through the one-way mirror and
other times as an active participant in a punishment
room. Three months into my new career, I assisted Jim
and another staffer, Susan, in administering to my
original black couple whom I learned were named Philip
and Yvette Johnson. Jim applied the punishment to
Yvette. As promised in the lounge, he stretched her
tight on a horizontal rack and attended singularly to
her belly. Initially, he used molten artist's
sculpting wax that he ripped free after it cooled. Her
abdomen was then caned, whipped, and stood upon by Jim
in his jack boots. Concurrently, Phil was mounted to a
vertical rack in full view of his wife. Susan treated
his soft, middle-aged body to a devastating series of
beatings. When finished, his swollen trunk and head
were covered with a rapid lashing with a thin
fiberglass rod. The rod drew rivulets of blood
wherever it landed.

I assisted Susan in releasing Phil and binding his
arms behind him. We moved him to Yvette's racking
station where we stood him on the rack straddling his
wife's mid-section. Susan made a quick, experienced
estimate of Phil's inseam and chose a 40 inch pole
that resembled an overly long broom handle. While she
prepped the pole, I placed a choking noose around
Phil's neck and ran the end of the rope through an
overhead pulley. Susan had lubricated the blunt end of
the pole and told me to pull the choking rope. I
lifted Phil several inches off his wife's rack while
Susan inserted the pole quickly into Phil's anus; she
positioning the poles sharp end into Yvette's naval.
Phil's choking noises were mixed with gasps of pain
from the anal intrusion; Yvette only stared at me as I
strained to hold Phil in the air. Susan jumped off the
rack and fetched two large plastic bags of crushed ice
and placed them on either side of Yvette's torso.
Yvette gave me a hand signal to lower Phil so his feet
rested on the ice bags. I kept tension on Phil's neck
loop as the ice initially settled then tied the rope
off securing him in position. Over the next few
minutes, the ice would slowly melt gradually lowering
Phil, and the sharp end of the pole, into Yvette's
belly. Concurrently, the blunt end would be worked up
Phil's butt. 

Phil's erection became rigid as the pole slowly inched
up his rectum. Yvette began moaning as the pole gnawed
into her belly. Susan slowly stroked Phil's penis as
Jim ran several fingers into Yvette's vagina. I
applied duct tape to the couple's mouths and operated
between them both pinching their nostrils closed. The
resultant struggle for air intensified the effects of
the pole for both victims. The ice continued to melt
increasing Phil's misery and drawing blood from
Yvette's belly. Yvette gasped and shuddered. Her eyes
were pinched shut and she panted for air. Susan
twisted the pole in a counter clockwise screwing
action to force it further up Phil and out of Yvette.
With Yvette temporarily out of danger of being
impaled, Jim and I went to work on her belly with hot
pliers. This caused her to orgasm. Her screams of
pleasure induced a similar reaction from Phil which
signaled an end to the session. Jim and I lifted Phil
off the ice while Susan extracted the pole. Yvette was
still in post-orgasmic rapture and hardly noticed when
we released the pressure of her racking ropes. Phil
collapsed to the floor rubbing his neck while Yvette
just smiled with her eyes peacefully closed.

"Travis, you promised me some exciting treatment for
my breasts," Yvette mumbled.

"Perhaps next time," I replied.

"I'm ready now," Yvette demanded. "Phil will not be up
to anything for quite awhile--I was looking forward to
some quality time with you...alone."

"The customer's always right," Susan reminded me.

On to Chapter 8

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER EIGHT

I knew I'd have to solo sometime and Yvette was the
perfect subject--an experienced pro. As I was
releasing her from the horizontal rack she was bound
to for the past three hours she reached up and stroked
my sweaty, oiled chest.

"I'm going to love having you work me over in private,
think you'll be able to make me come again so soon
after this session?" she cooed.

I certainly had my doubts. I helped her to her feet
and led her from the room by guiding her with a simple
arm around her waist. Her sweat-soaked flesh slid
against mine and made the job of holding her steady
precarious. I practically carried her down the
corridor to punishment room ten. The center piece of
this room was a large metal chair mounted to the
floor. Yvette had never been subjected to the "Agony
Chair"; she was about to become very well acquainted
with the full extent of its capabilities. The seat was
flat black metal with its seat, back, and arms densely
covered with sharpened steel nubs that were rose out
of the metal; sharp enough to be extremely
uncomfortable but not raised high enough to break the
skin.

I placed Yvette easily in the seat and she sounded a
gasp. I installed metal bands tightly across her
wrists, calves, thighs, waist, and around her arms and
abdomen just below the breasts, holding her firmly in
the chair while pressing her flesh firmly into the
chair's myriad spikes. Her bare feet rested on a
similarly spiked metal plate. As an introduction to
the chair, and to gauge Yvette's tolerance, I set off
the first electrical charge at 120 volts using my boot
on the floor switch. The painful electric shock shot
through the metal into Yvette causing her to emit
gurgling sounds while she squirmed in the chair which
intensified the effects of the chair's spikes. Halting
the electricity, I pulled two long flexible cables
from the back of the chair and applied one to Yvette's
left nipple and triggered the clamp mechanism causing
it to close with violent force. I repeated this with
the right nipple then waited to let Yvette feel the
pain of the biting clamps into her callused nipples.
Yvette slowly squirmed forcing the spikes further into
her flesh. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from
screaming as the clamps sharp teeth worked into her
nipples.

As I waited, I noticed a point of light in the
observation window and realized we had observers in
the adjoining room. Probably Philip watching his wife
undergo this new abuse. After about five minutes, I
pressed the floor button again, sending a charge
through the cables that made Yvette's breasts bounce
and her entire body quiver in her bondage. I increased
the current and watched as Yvette's glistening body
arched full force against the metal bands and a long,
high-pitched squeal emerged from deep within her. I
began modulating the current via a hand-help rectifier
that caused Yvette to buck and pitch within her
restrictive bindings. Her eyes opened and closed in
concert with the intensity of her howls. Traces of
blood appeared at the back of her arms and under her
feet as she involuntarily pressed these areas into the
chair. I reduced the current to a level that kept her
writhing and, donning insulated gloves, manually
tightened her nipple clamps. The clamp's teeth,
spurred on by Yvette's jostling, chewed through the
scar tissue and awakened nerves in Yvette's breasts
that had been immune to stimulation for some time. I
removed a glove and braced myself for the current as I
checked Yvette's pulse to insure she was bearing up as
well as could be expected. Stepping back, I again
began modulating the voltage and sent Yvette into a
rapid successions of organisms and screams that
continued for several minutes. I cut the power to the
chair and Yvette instantly collapsed into her bindings
emitting only shallow, rapid breaths.

"Fucking fantastic," she muttered before loosing
consciousness.

On to Chapter 9

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER NINE

A week after accepting employment with the Cooper
Organization, I began my initial training. Dana
Simpson briefed me that I'd receive the same education
that many before me had undertaken and that she was
certain I'd come through the rigors of the controlled
abuse in fine condition. Jim concurred. The training
was to be held at the Cooper Organization's Training
Center outside Wheeling, West Virginia. The course
lasted two months.

While aboard the van en route to Wheeling, I read the
training directives. It would be as realistic as
possible the materials explained. Once departing the
van, I was to submit myself totally to the
instructors. We arrived at the training compound at
dusk. The big Ford rolled to an automatic gate
inserted in a 10 foot high, barb-wired topped mesh
fence. Several people stood outside the gate in gray
long-sleeved shirts and pants. From the van, I
couldn't determine any of the instructors' sex. I was
alone in the van and disembarked as soon as it
stopped: the sooner I got going, the sooner this thing
would be over with. I was hooded and handcuffed
immediately as I left the van. I spent a very long
time this way as I sat in a circle of unknown people
while they calmly explained what was to happen. It
didn't sound pretty; however, one particularly
kind-voiced instructor wrapped-up the whole situation
for me:

"Colonel James, you are an experienced military
professional who has undoubtedly undergone some sever
training. What you'll be going through here will make
your Air Force training look like Cub Scout activity.
However, I ask you to remember that your personal
financial awards will be greater than you probably
ever imagined. Additionally, although you will under
go extreme physical and mental duress, other people
have endured much worse; your comrades detained as
POWs in Vietnam for example. We will monitor you to
ensure you leave this training on schedule and in
decent shape. Steal your will and have courage."

Following that speech, I was stripped and would not be
allowed clothing for the remainder of my stay in West
Virginia. Overnight, I subjected to compression
bondage by having my knees drawn up and tied tightly
against my chest with my hands tied behind me. I was
left in this position for what seemed like hours. An
after-action critique revealed it was a total of 4.5
hours. The initial dull ache increased rapidly to
burning agony that was amplified by the inability to
draw a full breath as my chest expansion was
restricted. This gave me my first taste at what
tremendous, unfamiliar pain can do: instill knowledge
that any individual can be completely broken. Over the
next three nights, I built up a tolerance to the pain
and learned tricks to endure it; however, my
instructors seemed to be too eager to apply new
methods. Exposure to temperature extremes caused me
permanent damage. Cold weather still makes me
nauseous.

Humiliation is a terrible thing to endure when it's
heaped on a single individual. In each class, one
trainee is singled out for dehumanizing. The
unfortunate man or woman is kept naked and leashed. He
is forced to eat excrement, serve as a vessel for
other trainees urine and semen, be a sex toy for
instructors and serve as an ashtray. If the
mortification were equally distributed, the shame
would be tolerable. After all, misery loves company.
As we were taught to induce pain through various
methods, we needed to serve as recipients of each
technique to gauge for ourselves the effectiveness of
the application. We became proficient in best
placement of bare-handed body blows. We learned the
body's nerve "wiring diagram". We studied the
cumulative effects of pain and the formulas to match
damage to recuperation. We learned to design and use
torture devices. Eventually, we were ready for our
"final". We were divided up in two man teams and each
person given a sealed envelope. The contents of the
envelope were cards that read either "prisoner" or
"interrogator". Both cards also were annotated with a
safeword. I drew a "prisoner" card and my safeword was
"pieplate". Each prisoner also was given a paragraph
describing facts they were not to reveal. This was the
information the tormentor would attempt to get from
the prisoner; conversely, this was information I would
not reveal. Each two man team was to be monitored by
an instructor who would grade each person and pass or
fail them based on certain criteria. If you failed you
would not be hired. I discovered later that nobody
failed. If you didn't score high enough, you were
simply used as the victim in subsequent "finals" until
you were tortured to death--nobody left the Cooper
Organization,

The final exam criteria was revealed to us later that
night. The exercise could last a maximum of 72 hours.
The victim could not reveal all the pertinent facts in
his objective. The objective contained seven facts.
The tormentor would be required to get five of the
seven facts from the prisoner. 

That night, the prisoners were herded together in a
large, comfortable room. The interrogators were
sequestered in a separate facility. There were ten of
us prisoners and we were reluctant to discuss what we
had learned during our previous weeks of training.
However, to a man we knew we could not be broken. We
also knew we needed to sleep but the anxiety of
wondering how we would conduct ourselves kept us
hyperactive. In the morning, our assigned
interrogators met us outside the room as we were
individually called out. My interrogator had the
number 7 stenciled on his biceps. He was about my
height but heavier. He wore canvas shorts, heavy
lace-up boots and big dark sunglasses. He was
shirtless and a nipple ring adorned his left breast.

He bound my wrists to the rear and lead me to a small
punishment room. I was ready for any tricks number 7
had. He was hesitant and nervous as he began the
session. His verbal grilling went on for several
minutes and his impatience grew as he gained no ground
with me. As I felt I was "winning", his frustration
became anger and he began slapping the furniture and
me as well. His rage intensified and open hand
irritations became closed fisted blows to my belly.
The blows intensified continually and were applied to
my entire body. I managed to fend off most to the
sensitive areas. He suddenly stopped and left the
room. A clock in the room showed we been at our
initial sparring for two hours.

With my first round completed, I was feeling proud of
my resistance and was getting cocky. Tiredness was
also seeping in. After 15 minutes, number 7 was back
with a ball bat. My courage left suddenly and my knees
shook. The knees were number 7's first target. As the
bat arced toward my legs, I shifted enough that my
right thigh absorbed the blow but I hit the floor
instantly as the pain shot through my leg. I went into
a defensive fetal curl as blows were laid on over my
back and legs. The instructor stopped the beating soon
after I lost count of the blows and began wailing.
Number 7 grabbed my shirt collar and hauled me to an
adjacent, heated room where he applied a noose to my
ankles. He hoisted me off the ground with my hands
still bound behind me. Using his large survival knife,
he began cutting at my clothing nicking me on several
occasions. My fear factor was increasing rapidly as my
mind raced to figure how to cope with the situation.
When I was completely stripped, number 7 demanded I
supply him the information. I refused. Seven picked up
a long switch and began lashing my body. I danced on
the end of the rope attempting to minimize the lash
but I lost to exhaustion before number 7 tired. My
body stung completely but I refused to relinquish
anything.

Seven disappeared behind me and began wrapping my arms
together in the coils of a rope. The cord began
circling up my arms with each loop pulled tighter. As
the coils and pain increased, sweat wept from every
pore filling my nostrils, ears and eyes and eventually
accumulating beneath my head. Finishing the bindings
just above my elbows, Seven looped the cord through a
hook on the floor and drew me taught. 

The pain in my shoulders and chest was excruciating.
Seven circled me and again offered me the opportunity
to agree to his demands for information. I begged for
him to release my arms and I would talk. The pain had
broken me. Seven quickly untied my arms. The pain from
the returned blood flow hurt as much as the initial
torment. Next, Seven lowered me to the floor and gave
me much needed water. I was then assisted to a table
and chair configuration and told to write the
information. Free from my entrapment I hesitated. I
looked at the wall clock and saw only eight hours of
my "final" had passed. It was too early to
surrender--surely nobody else had and I wasn't going
to be the first! I told Seven I had nothing to write.
Seven glared at me and ordered me to write I refused
again. Seven was stunned. I had made a mistake.

Seven smashed the side of my head with his fist. The
blow staggered me and sent me to the brink of
unconsciousness. When I regained my senses, I was
stretched tight, suspended from a ceiling hook and a
rope from my ankles attached to a lever and fulcrum
assemble on the floor. Seven doused me with icy water
to shock me into reality. He then began pumping the
lever and racking my body taut. Trembling began in my
extremities and soon was quivering like a plucked
guitar string with agony streaming through my body. I
couldn't get enough air in my lungs to howl to release
the pain and I fought not to utter the safeword. I
could only quiver and attempt to keep from crying.
This effort failed and I felt myself blubbering and
begging for release. Seven released the torque a bit
and I felt the strain on my limbs and chest lesson
slightly. Seven demanded I talk. After several deep
breaths I refused. The terrible tension was again
administered and I screamed.

A woman I had never seen before entered my torture
chamber and demanded that Seven "...finish with the
whore soon." Seven said I had as yet revealed nothing.
The woman said she would assist Seven. She circled my
quaking form and commented that I had the most
pitiful, ridiculous cock she'd ever seen. She said my
"so-called dick" would never please any woman...ever
again.

Panic ceased me and I would have spilled my guts if
the pain in my chest would have allowed me to breathe.
I quickly realized that there was no way I'd be maimed
as this was a training scenario. The woman began
twisting my penis and testicles with a leather-clad
hand. My penis had virtually retracted into my body
due to the racking stress and pain. However, due to
the heat, my testicles hung low and vulnerable. I
glanced at the clock and noted with despair that I was
only 16 hours into my session. I was loosing my
resolve quickly. When the woman began pulling at my
nipples with heated pliers, I lost control of my
bowls. This action was punished my a vicious chest
beating with a leather strap by both Seven and the
woman. The instructor stopped the session as I lost
consciousness.

I regained my senses when Seven sprayed me with cold
water from a thick black hose. I was unbound in small
cement block cell. The cell door closed and I was
alone in near total darkness save for the sliver of
light entering at the bottom of the door. Every part
of my body ached yet I was pleased I'd said nothing. I
felt around the cell and discovered a tin of water
that I practically inhaled. I tried to rest my beaten
bones but it was not to be. The cell door opened and
the woman entered with Seven remaining at the opening.
The woman, carrying a riding crop, stood over me and
commanded me to disclose my information. I refused and
braced for blows from the crop realizing I would soon
talk. Instead she folded her arms across her chest,
leaned against the cell wall and ordered me to
masturbate. I naturally refused. She gave me a choice:
masturbate or my genitals would be pounded by her
crop. I let loose of any remaining shame, and began
stroking my penis. Unfortunately, my anguished body
wouldn't respond. However, her ruse had worked in that
I'd attempted to commit self-abuse at her direction.
She and Seven now knew I was close to breaking.

The cell door closed and I was again alone. After an
undetermined time, I was taken back to the punishment
room and ordered to reveal my information. I glanced
at the clock and was surprised to see that I'd held
out until early in the third day of my test--nearly 55
hours.

I began writing incoherent sentences and altered my
assigned facts considerably. When I'd finished, the
woman took my "confession" and left the room leaving
Seven to guard me. I put my head on the table and
relaxed knowing I'd beaten my torment and retained by
pride.

Soon the woman and an instructor were shaking me
awake. The instructor explained in a soothing voice,
"Unfortunately, you can't lie. In an actual scenario,
your captures will be able to verify the truth. When
it's discovered you've lied, they'll apply intensified
techniques and continue past your breaking point as
they won't trust your further confessions." I could
only stare at the group before me as the instructor
announced, "Resume the scenario."

Both interrogators grabbed me and dragged me to an
adjoining room where I was fastened, face up, to a
long wooden table. My wrists were bound and pulled
toward one end of the table while my ankles were drawn
toward the opposite end. The woman and Seven working
opposite each other. They pulled the ropes until I was
racked taut. The women wrapped a thin cord noose
around my genitals and pulled the noose tight.
Simultaneously, Seven attached large electrical clamps
to each of my nipples. The woman ran the cord from my
genitals to the clamps and tied the together in a
tight triangle. They racked me again to ensure all
bindings were as taut as possible. The woman got up on
the table and, sitting on my thighs, attached more
line to the triangles sides and began pulling in
opposite directions. The pain in my already racked
chest was directly connected to the awful burning
pressure in my groin. Seven began braising my
sensitive skin along my sides and underarms with a hot
implement I couldn't identify. But upon each touch of
the burning metal, I shrieked. The clamp on my left
nipple ripped free. The instructor shouted "Break!"
and approached to examine the damage. As the tissue
was mostly intact , he stated simply, "Resume".

The woman dismounted and began soaking two towels in a
bucket of water. After wringing them partially out,
she folded each one lengthwise then in half. She
handed one to Seven. Seven removed my remaining nipple
clamp but left my genitals cruelly bound. Using the
soaked towels, both interrogators began brutally
slapping me. Seven concentrated on my face while the
woman attacked my swollen privates. After only a few
whacks, I was unable to open my eyes due to swelling
and my genitals were on fire. I uttered my
safeword--pieplate--and the beatings stopped. I'd
lost. 

I was freed of my confinements and provided a
bathrobe. The instructor simply stated, "Sixty-two
hours. Hot wash at noon tomorrow. Report to the
infirmary." I'd taken over two days of torment and
collapsed with only 10 hours to go. En route to the
infirmary Seven introduced himself by his real name
and apologized for abusing me. I assured him that I
knew it was nothing personal and congratulated him for
passing the final. My wounds were tended to and I was
offered a narcotic pain killer which I gratefully
accepted--better living through chemistry. I collapsed
in clean white hospital sheets.

The after-action "hot wash" was basically to review
our strong and weak points. The instructor praised me
for lasting as long as I did. He bolstered my
self-confidence when he told me very few made it past
24 hours. In fact, he'd only known two men lasting the
duration. He chided me however, for not giving out
pieces of information rather than completely
stonewalling the interrogators completely. In an
actual scene, you need to feed their sense of
accomplishment. Giving them nothing can result in
death very easily. We discussed many of the activities
of my 62 hours and were able to review each session as
we had been videotaped. I winced when I saw how
pitiful I was and rubbed my sore shoulders and
black-and-blue face reliving the facial pummeling.

Following our wrap-up, the instructor shook my hand as
well as the man I knew as Seven. He reminded us that
he'd see us on Monday--when our roles would be
reversed. It would be my turn to administer the
punishment.

On to Chapter 10

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER 10

It was my turn to try to obtain the information from
my captive. I'd been on the receiving end of an
interrogation for 62 hours and still had the aches and
scarred skin and psyche to remind me. In the back of
my mind, I thought of revenge; however, my prisoner
would not be "Seven" or his female partner who'd
beaten me into submission. In fact, for the second
part of my training course final, my designator would
also be "Number Seven." I found out later that all
interrogators were assigned that number. No reason
really. I suppose just some sick humor from the
faculty--lucky seven.

In the preparatory session with other students
assuming the interrogator role, we discussed
strategies and were introduced to female assistants.
The ladies were staff members and available if we
needed them or the instructors sent them in to help
(or contain) our interrogation techniques. Julie was
assigned to me. She was about my age and also about my
size. In 1992 I was 73 inches tall and 220 lb.. (I'm
still the same height and weigh less but not nearly in
as good as shape!). Julie was in very good shape.
Flaming red hair that was tied back displaying her
classy widow's peak. We talked philosophy for breaking
our subject. I was concerned about sparing my fellow
classmate's dignity by being too violent and having
him cave quickly. Also, I told Julie I was really
mortified when I was forced to (attempt to) masturbate
in front of my female interrogator. I mentioned that
I'd rather concentrate on physical abuse than the
mental humiliation. She laughed as she understood
perfectly. However, she told me I needed to apply all
I'd learn so the faculty could certify me as fully
trained. We ended our discussions and called it a
night. Again, I couldn't get the rest I needed that
night as I laid out my plan to win the following day.

The next morning, I donned dark blue pants bloused
over the 16 inch high combat boots, no shirt, wide web
belt and tight deerskin gloves. Headware was optional
and included a black silk headsock with slits for the
eyes. I chose the mask because frankly, it looked
intimidating. The number seven was embroidered on the
mask.

I went to the corridor next to the "prisoner" holding
area and awaited my captive. My man was a big boy. He
was at least 6 foot 6 and close to 300 pounds. He
looked bit flabby and had a kind face. I cuffed his
hands behind him and led him to our interrogation
room. I put him in the chair in the middle of the room
then crossed to the table where I'd pre-positioned my
tools in a staging area. For the next two hours I
didn't do much as glance at my prisoner. Rather I
casually busied myself readying my implements. I put
oiled pliers, screwdrivers and knives on hot plates
and let the aroma of hot, greasy metal fill the
chamber. I knotted ropes into loops and fastened them
over various hooks and bars in the room. I displayed
all varieties of clamps, whips and clubs on the table;
I even took practice swings against the wall and
through the air.

At the conclusion of the "warm-up", I approached my
man and in as a threatening voice as I could muster
asked him to reveal his information or the
interrogation was ready to begin. My intimidation plan
was obviously effective as panic was wild in his eyes
and he began to beg for me not to hurt him. He babbled
endlessly; a proven technique we'd been taught.

Unfortunately, it looked like I would have to abuse
the lad to by-pass his baloney and get this over with.
My session was still vivid in my memory and I recalled
that the wet towel flogging had broken me. I decided
to apply that to my prisoner.

Pressing the buzzer on the wall, I summoned Julie to
help me secure my victim. Julie entered the room and
we took our man to the big horizontal table. We bound
him spread-eagle and began cutting off his clothing.
He pleaded and begged the whole time and I was getting
tired of the whimpering. Once he was naked, I
tightened his bindings putting my full weight behind
the ropes to stretch him out. He bellowed incessantly.
When fully racked, Julie and I began beating him with
the sopping towels. I concentrated on the face and
Julie on his sex organ. 

What had broken me had little affect on my victim. His
face was much fuller than mine which insulated him
from the blows. Julie had similar problems impacting
his groin. I was disappointed for him as well as
myself; we were going to have to continue for awhile.

I tightened the ropes and got the heated pliers from
the hot plate. I got them close to his face and let
him smell the hot oil. He only closed his eyes and
braced himself. I used the hot implement on his right
nipple--squeezing and twisting. He unleashed a
horrible cry that startled me. I continued tormenting
his nipples changing pliers as they cooled. He
continued to shriek on each application; however, he
refused to yield.

His nipples became a red, oozing mess when the
instructor ordered I stop and try another technique. I
punched my prisoner hard in the belly and cursed him.
I wasn't sure what to do next so I tightened his ropes
and left the room with Julie in tow. Julie suggested
compression because extension wasn't producing
results.

I went back to my victim and released his leg
bindings. Wrapping a long nylon strap behind his
knees, I drew his legs up and pulled them as far as
possible to his chest. Using a broom handle, I began
applying torque to the strap to compress his legs into
his upper body. In this position, his butt was fully
exposed and the strain spread his gluts wide exposing
his anus. The compression prevented my victim from
drawing much air as he attempted to breath. Each time
he exhaled. I increased the pressure. He was
suffocating. Combined with the pain of the
excruciating position, the inability to breathe fully
was terrifying him. I began flailing his exposed
buttocks with a thin fiberglass rod. The beating
pushed him over the top and he rasped out his
safeword: "zebra."

My victim lasted 18 hours. I felt little pride in
getting him to break so relatively soon. He was a
sobbing mess. But, we both graduated.

The morning after servicing Yvette, I encountered Dana
at a gas station convenience store a couple of miles
down the lane from the Organization's enclave.

She was second in line at the cashier trying to
balance a liter of diet grape soda, non-fat chocolate
donuts and a carton of menthol cigarettes.

"Hi Travis," she bubbled when she saw me.

"I'm here for the same things," I replied. "Accept not
the gape drink or donuts...and I think I'll stick to
generic smokes."

She chuckled and left the line to approach me. I took
her plastic bottle and donuts to help lighten her
load.
"So how are you doing...getting used to the place."
she asked. "I really enjoy it...the folks and the
job."

"I'm doing fine," I replied. "Let's pay for this
culinary delight."

We paid our applicable bills and put hers in her black
BMW 325. Dana spoke first.

"Well, I'm glad you're doing well. Jim and Susan speak
well of you personally; they both really like working
with you as well And Yvette! She always seems so
disappointed when her schedule doesn't match yours."

"Thanks so much," I said. "You've hired a first class
group of folks. I've got a third session, and final
for awhile, with Yvette tonight. We'll get started at
midnight. I hear she and Phil will be leaving for
Europe next week."

"Yep, they're always on the go someplace," Dana said.
"I may watch you in action tonight Travis."

I winked and asked, "will you be watching for
professional or personal interest?"

A brief spark appeared in Dana's eyes before she
reclaimed her normal demeanor.

"Mostly professional," she hinted. "I confess though,
I'm amazed at how some of these people take all that
abuse and actually enjoy it...I'm not into pain."

"This from a lady who does a naked helicopter routine
in the lounge," I said.

"That's not painful. My apparatus is well padded; and
I'm not naked either! I'm wearing

panties."

"So what is it about that that you enjoy," I queried.

"Even though I'm technically captive in my rigging, I
feel so free," Dana replied. "The slow rotations look
so dreamlike and elegant. I'm unobtainable when I'm
suspended, those below can only look. Guess it's kind
of like humans have looked at the moon since time
began."

"I think mankind would have landed on the moon way
before '69 if it always looked like your rump," I
teased and gave a glancing pat to her bottom..

"There hasn't been a single small step on this lunar
surface for quite awhile," she laughed as she snared
my hand swing away from her rear. She held my fingers
for just a moment longer than necessary to mockingly
chastise me for my touching her. She dropped my hand
and blushed while opening her car door.

"See you at midnight Travis," she called. I smiled
widely at her.

At 2300 hours, I checked on Yvette and Phil in the
dressing room next to punishment room seven After two
days, Vvette was miserable--stretched, cut, beaten,
bruised, burned, sliced, pinched, bound, penetrated
and violated--I was an efficient and effective
torturer.

.. On this evening of the third day I take Yvette from
the staging area and became her friend. I didn't speak
to her during the initial two sessions other than in
grunts and groans. I didn't acknowledge her as human
other than as a receptacle for my drool, spit and
pain.

In my new role as friend, she didn't recognize me as
my head was hooded during her torture. Now I'm
unhooded and am fully clothed in normal civilian
attire and have provided her the opportunity to rest
and take nourishment. I supplement her intake with
aspirin equivalents. I place her easily on her back
bind her lightly spread-eagled to the warm wood floor
of punishment room 7; she is still a prisoner and must
not be allowed to escape or, as I tell her, the
commandant will have my hide! 

Burn-soothing ointment is liberally and tenderly
applied to all her affected areas. The burns are very
light, so I follow with skin-softening agents. Wounds
were dressed with neosporin equivalent and covered
with sterile bandages. I delicately massaged soreness
from limbs and joints. I discussed the previous
sessions sympathizing with her agony and praised her
courage in taking so much horrible punishment. I ask
her name.

"Yvette," she softly replies thinking perhaps I can be
trusted and will help her.

I promise to speak with her tormentor to convince him
she is properly trained ready to obey her master
willingly. I help her with her personal hygiene--wash
her hair and brush her teeth--she needs my help. I get
her some night clothing and tell her I'll spend the
night to protect her from vermin in the cell. That
way, she'll get much needed rest to recuperate from
her ghastly ordeal. She drifts off to sleep comforted
by my watchfulness--the pain is subsiding...she is at
ease.

She awakes and is startled to see that I'm gone. She
finds a note that I've gone to get her some food. She
is grateful and calm. Soon, the sound of rattling
metal utensils and the smell of hot food wafts into
the cell. She is thrilled I'm back! The cell door
opens and her hooded cretin tormentor enters bearing
the god-forsaken ropes, strap and an ice pick in his
belt--she's back in hell!

The tormentor, who of course is me back in costume,
rips-off Yvette's scant clothing and attaches a broad
leather belt around her waist cinching it brutally
tight. The belt is peppered with random small holes,
swiveling eye bolts mounted through the leather
protruding out at each side and with attached wrist
cuffs. Her wrists are affixed to the belt's cuffs. She
is forced to an adjoining punishment room. The room is
again stiflingly hot and she babbles for mercy. The
belt's eyebolts are attached to cables running from a
pulley overhead. Yvette is raised off the floor and
allowed to slowly spin and bob. She struggles
fruitlessly to stop the gyrations. Beneath her
spinning form, a grating is churning out hot air that
makes it difficult for her to breath and irritates her
already sensitive, abused body. I begin a warm-up
session by caning her various parts as they rotate
into harm's way. The heat, dizziness and beating go on
for a long time. I warn Yvette to surrender all hope
of mercy and she gasps as each blow lands; she begins
to realize that the session will intensify rapidly.

Abruptly, I stop the spinning by viciously pulling her
hair. The big toes are then tied together. A long
eyebolt is screwed into a hole in the waist belt so it
burrows painfully into the navel. Yvette grimaces. An
electric heating iron is clamped to the bolt and heat
begins to penetrate into her belly. As the bolt heats,
she'll feel the ache throughout her entire abdomen.
Yvette is rotated until her head is her lowest point.
She is held in that position by my fingers in the
vagina and anus.

I begin the "Torture of Fives". Using a crop, I lay on
sharp, repeated blows over the body--five each on the
same spot. Yvette is then slowly lowered until her
head is submerged into a bucket of hot water. She
furiously fights the urge to scream for fear of
inhaling the fiery water. Her head remains underwater
for a slow count of five. A succession of dunkings
follows---head submerged on each occasion for a five
count-- with recurring, same spot, five-count lashes
from the crop.

The hot water is replaced with a bucket of
ice-encrusted, frigid water. Five-count dunkings
commence again but this time, an ice pick (very
short--a bodkin actually) is used simultaneously to
prick the body through the random holes in the waist
belt corresponding to the count of the head
underwater. Yvette responds well to punctures in her
tender trunk and cannot contain her screams and sucks
water into her lungs. Panic-induced, convulsive
coughing ensues and she fears she'll drown.

After this modified water torture, Yvette's form is
righted, the heating iron removed and the naval bolt
is imbedded by five turns. The agony in her gut is so
great she can only emit a shallow moan for fear of
imbedding the bolt deeper. Additional pointed screws
are added through the belt's holes and torqued into
the flesh opened by earlier prickings. The toe
bindings are checked with each foot's five toes
individually clamped snugly then tourqued down five
times. The water bucket is replaced by a dildo and
Yvette is lowered until her vagina swallows the
shaft--agony races through her groin and she bellows.

I stand behind Yvette, placing my heavy boots on her
calves sending pain through her knees as they're
mashed into the floor. Ensuring she remains firmly
impaled on the dildo and with her arms still tightly
restrained overhead from the pulley, I reach around
her with hot needle-nose pliers to abuse her breasts
and nipples alternating five pinches per breast. The
sharp pain draws more screams. Yvette's body is
hoisted up freeing her sore vagina then sharply
lowered so that her anus is filled. Again, 5 count
breast torture is administered. All body screws are
tightened and the hot iron liberally punishes the body
amid the cacophony of Yvette's shrieks.

I end the Torture of Fives and Yvette is freed from
all bindings and screw insertions; however, the belt
remains. She begins to relax and reveal in the
aftermath thinking her torment is over.

She's wrong. Yvette is returned to the rack, facing
up, and stretched tight. I straddle her supine form
then sit on her aching, perforated mid-section placing
nearly my full weight on her belly to force short,
rapid upper-chest breathing. I begin pouring melted
molding wax over her neck, chest and sides to include
the arm pits. I leave her in this position for several
minutes to allow the wax to cool and harden. This
period allows me to make a break to the observation
area and confer with Phil.

Dana met me outside the door of the observation room
with a large bottle of cold water and a towel. She
toweled by back with brisk, rubbing motions while I
took long swigs of the cool liquid.

"My whole body aches watching this, Travis," she
began. "How does she take that much abuse?"

"She's sure tough isn't she?" I replied. "Once I catch
my breath, I'm going to let Phil know it's time for
the needles in case he hasn't figured it out from the
wax application."

"Oh he's aware; he's had the camera rolling for quite
awhile," Dana explained. "Once you're through here,
why don't you stop in my place...I make a mean
omelet."

"Sounds great," I answered. ""Let's go light her up,"
I said handing Dana the nearly finished bottle and
accepting her toweling of my chest.

I re-entered Yvette's punishment room and her eyes
opened to watch my approach.

"You can't make me come scumbag," she said evenly.

With that being said, I began easing various sized
needles through the hardened wax covering Yvetted
racked form--the wax keeping the needles from loosing
their depth of insertion. I then repositioned myself
of Yvette's waist and commenced a
bouncing-on-the-belly tactic to increase the needles
stimulation as they sway and tremble embedded in the
flesh. This is entirely new pain to Yvette--the
initial piercings are amplified by the fiery misery of
the quaking needles. After several minutes of
screaming, the needles are removed and I step off her
body. 

Yvette's feet are then subjected to a lashing until
thoroughly reddened then melted wax is poured over
them followed by needle insertions. Her shins are then
caned to make the needles tremble. This procedure is
repeated on the hands. More wax is poured over her
public area and, naturally, needles pierce the region.
I pinch each of Yvette's tough nipples with
needle-nose pliers then pierce each nipple completely
through with a long, thick needle. Stepping off and
back, I viciously lash her distressed belly inducing
total body vibration and sending the needles
trembling. Yvette is driven past sane words and
screeches unintelligibly until she exhausts her
reserve will to fight. Her taut form bucks as she
climaxes three times; she then looses consciousness. 

Yvette is awakened by a dowsing of cold water. She is
removed from all implements and racking ropes. She is
told to leave the room and report to her master in the
lounge.

"Out of my sight you Nubian cunt!" I rant as Yvette
worms away along the floor to the door. "You are not
worthy of the Pain Boss's attention you piece of
maggot shit!"

I approach Yvette from behind as she pulls her limp
form up with aching arms holding the exit's latch. I
take hold of her sweat-soaked hair with one hand and,
with my right hand, reach between her equally as wet
thighs and pull her up erect. While inserting a finger
into her vagina, I push my larger, sweating body
firmly into her abused, drenched back and whisper,
"and have a great vacation...you Mandika whore."
Yvette reaches around and silently strokes my cheek,
smiles weakly then departs.

On to Chapter 11

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER 11

Three years following my training, I'm firmly
entrenched as the Lead Disciplinarian--the Pain
Boss--in title and by virtue of my talents. Jim had
retired which allowed Susan to become my second in
command. Together we managed a total cadre of 13
disciplinarians. They included four other women, two
white and two black. The seven remaining men equaled
four white and three black. Our customers rarely
expressed a desire for a disciplinarian based on sex
or color; technique application was normally the
discerning factor. We were all accomplished with tying
the gamut of knots and applying whips as well as
thoroughly schooled on the duration of allowable
suspension and application of heat. Susan was
absolutely straight and preferred to work on
well-built men. Another woman, Julie, was admittedly
gay and often helped me torture women. Our two black
ladies, Jana and Sadie, were twins and always worked
together. They had no preferences as to whom they
abused. I'd hate to have been their victim as their
techniques were devastating which I'll soon describe.
Our women were all fairly tall and well muscled.
Susan, being the oldest, had recently had her breasts
reduced as they were beginning to sag. She had a lot
of pride and wanted to look good when stripped to the
waist and oiled up to conduct a session.

Our men ranged in size from a hair under six feet,
Carl, to Jason who stood at six foot eight inches and
weighed 425 pounds. He looked like a monster; however,
as is so often the case, Jason was one of the nicest
people I'd ever met--as well as the most powerful. He
met his match though during his initial training when
he was worked on by the twins. They reduced him to a
crying mass in 52 hours. He was in the infirmary for
six days and still limps to this day. Our lone male
homosexual was Buddy. He was in his late thirties and
loosing his hair. He kept his head shaved to hide that
fact. Buddy often assisted Jason when a member would
contract for a particularly long session. Buddy would
be the good cop to Jason's bad. Buddy enjoyed
nurturing the tortured victim and was an accomplished
healer. His therapeutic massage allowed Jason to apply
pain for days on end. I often got Buddy to rub me down
following an intense session.

We were all certainly professional acquaintances but
not what you'd call good friends. Dana Simpson, my
recruiter and boss, and I enjoyed each other's
platonic company when I was on break but we barely saw
each other except at occasional gathers in the lounge.
I was really enjoying my new life and my retirement
fund was growing rapidly. I was investing nearly all
my pay and had assets valued at nearly four million
dollars in the Cooper Organization's financial
headquarters in the Cayman Islands. I had free room
and board and access to the infirmary. What little
spending money I needed came out of my military
retirement check that was directly deposited to a
local bank in Frederick. My free time was spent
roaming the countryside on a black Harley-Davidson
Electraglide.

I'd just returned from such a two-wheeled excursion
and found Julie, our gay lady, waiting in my villa.
Julie ran to hug me.

"Glad to see you missed me," I said.

"I did but that's not why I need to hug you," she
replied and began sobbing. "Travis, I had a victim die
on me..."

I eased Julie to the couch and urged her to tell me
what happened. She explained that she was working on
one of my regulars and was unable to bring the woman
to orgasm. Julie explained that she took the woman to
the Agony Chair and followed the proper procedures but
the woman's heart stopped anyway. She tried for a long
time to revive her including injecting adrenaline
directly into the heart but nothing worked. I asked
Julie who the woman was.

"Yvette Johnson," she answered. "It just happened,
she's still strapped in the chair."

I paged Dana to meet us in room ten and Julie and I
hustled for the punishment room that held the dead
Yvette. When we entered, Phil was kneeling holding his
dead wife's hand as she sat rigid in the black metal
chair. Phil bellowed at Julie when he looked up.

"That queer cunt killed my wife!"

He lunged towards us until I stopped him clutching him
close while he continued to rant and blubber. Julie
shrank back out the door and had to be pushed aside as
Dana entered.

"Oh Christ Phil," Dana said. "I'm so sorry, What
happened Travis?"

"It was an accident," I explained to both Dana and
Phil. "Julie is one of our best and Yvette liked it
rough. I'm sure her heart just gave out."

"She didn't monitor her," Phil yelled. "She just kept
pumping the volts to her and never checked her once!"

"That's not true," Julie retorted. "I watched her eyes
Travis and listened hard to her breathing..."

Dana appealed to Phil, "Please, let's go to my office.
This is a terrible tragedy Phil. We all loved
Yvette...and you as well. We need to get out of this
room and let our orderlies help Yvette."

"What can they fucking do for her now?" hollered Phil
to nobody in particular. He allowed Dana and I to
escort him from the area and away from his beloved
Yvette.

Several hours later, Dana and I sat alone in her
office sharing a bottle of brandy. Dana explained that
the orderlies would clean Yvette up and get her home.
A designated Cooper Organization board member would
escort Phil home as well. Once there, Yvette would be
put in bed and Phil would be instructed to call 911
and report that he was unable to wake his wife. The
police and rescue squad would respond and Yvette
rushed to the Frederick Hospital where she would be
pronounced dead on arrival with an annotated cause of
heart failure. 

Dana said Julie would be put on extended leave of
absence with scheduled appointment with the
Organization's shrink to help her deal with the events
of the day. Dana was worried about Phil in that he
blamed Julie totally for Yvette's death and not his
wife's high tolerance for pain.

"The board will work with him Travis," Dana explained.
"He'll be okay with the event eventually and accept it
as an accident."

I felt sorry for Phil and Julie. I felt worse for
myself; I'd miss Yvette.

On to Chapter 12

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER 12 

Several week after Yvette's death, I was on the deck
of my villa at dusk sipping a draught Guinness. The
phone rang and it was Buddy.

"Yo boss," he began. "Julie's replacement, Sara, is
gonna observe the twins at work tonight--you gonna sit
in with her and explain things?"

"Sure," I replied. "The twins sometimes get carried
away and I better be there so Sara doesn't run
scared."

I picked up Sara at her villa at 2000 hours. She had
just completed her training less than 48 hours before
and was still a little stiff.

"You ought to have Buddy massage those aches and pains
away," I told her.

"Good idea. Coupled with the percodan, I ought to be
cured," she replied.

Sara and I arrived at the observation area of
punishment room number four. Phil Johnson was already
seated and drinking coffee. I introduced him to Sara
and vice versa then poured coffee for Sara and me.
Taking seats next to Phil, we noted the twins were
already at work.

Jana and Sadie were flogging a tall, thin white woman.
The victim was bound at the ankles and suspended
upside down. Her arms were stretched below her head
and secured to the floor. Her body was long and lean
and the tension on it made her ribs a prominent
feature. Jana was using a knotted whip along these
ribs while Sadie used the similar implement on the
unfortunate woman's legs. The victim wore a red metal
face plate with only an opening at the mouth; it was
too small to allow conversation but sufficient to
monitor screams. The room's microphones picked up her
lament in first-class stereo. The whipping momentarily
stopped so Sadie could click on an electric razor an
shave the subject's pubic hair. When the area was
denuded, Jana lubed a wide plastic phallus and worked
into the vagina. While the huge dildo was being
inserted, Sadie had procured a fist-size piece of
pink, fiberglass insulation and was treating the
whipped skin surfaces to a brisk swiping. She paid
particular attention to the freshly shorn pubic
region. The knotted whips were then reapplied. 

"Is the woman your friend Phil?" I asked.

"No, I just heard the twins put on quite a show," he
replied.

"That they do Philip," I said and added to Sara,
"Watch and learn," but wondering who the twin's victim
was.

The flogging lasted for half an hour until the woman's
bellowing evolved to unending shrieks. Phil pushed the
intercom button and ordered the twins to move on. I
guess he was getting bored. The screams from the
punishment room stopped abruptly replaced by the
woman's trembling moans. The victim's body rested
motionless and here reddened, lacerated ribs expanded
and contracted rapidly. Jana and Sadie stowed the
whips and began a rope torture they'd recently devised
through experimentation on each other during their
off-duty time. A rope was wrapped tightly for several
revolutions around the woman's chest, five turns above
and five right below the breasts, restricting her
breathing and compacting the her bust vertically. Five
more loops were made diagonally between the breasts in
an "X" pattern. The result was a terrible constriction
on the rib cage and maximum swelling of the individual
breasts. Jana wrapped the rope the tested 15 times
around the woman with Sadie insuring the loops
snugness and roughly slapping a breast or tweaking a
nipple following each wrap. Jana placed her booted
heel into the woman's belly for leverage and pulled
with all her strength on the free end of the rope. As
the victim's chest constricted, her breasts swelled
and reddened from the pressure.

Jana strained at the rope with all her might while
Sadie watched the victim's eyes and listened to her
breathing to monitor the stress level. Jana removed
her foot from the woman's belly to allow the victim a
breath then reapplied torque with the rope. Jana's
grunts and gasps, due to her exertion, were beginning
to equal those of her victim.

Still kneeling to observe the victim's reactions,
Sadie began working heated needle's into each bright
crimson and exaggerated breast. Each six inch needle
was rapidly spun between Sadie's thumb and first two
fingers against the skin until it penetrated the
surface. Sadie then eased the needle in no more than
an inch. The woman was racked so taut between the
floor and ceiling that she could only quiver causing
the growing numbers of needles to vibrate. Her chest
was squeezed so tight that she couldn't inhale enough
air to force a scream. Sadie installed nearly four
dozen needles into the now dark purple breasts before
jamming several more into the soles of the woman's
feet. Finally, she went to work on the exposed nipples
with her gloved hands. A rough grip and vigorous shake
on the nipple sent the needles vibrating faster. Jana
loosened the woman's chest bindings enough to allow
her to screech which she did to the utmost of her
ability. Sadie caned the stretched, constricted and
pricked body with a riding crop to send the imbedded
needles vibrating even faster. The twin's victim's
wails of anguish somehow got stronger.

Sara stared straight ahead as did Phil; the difference
being Phil was smiling while Sara's jaw was slack. I
could see that the twins were working themselves into
a frenzy. They were sweating profusely and a blank
expression was on both their faces. I was about to
order that they stop and release their captive but
Phil beat me to it by pushing the intercom button near
his hand and telling the girls that was enough for
today. The twins were obviously disheartened and
hesitated in releasing the woman. I pushed the
intercom and barked that they better move and move
quick. Jana slapped the woman hard on the rump before
releasing her grip on the rope. Sara's jaw remained on
her chest. As the needles were removed, narrow streams
of blood, propelled by the engorged breasts, shot out
from each puncture wound. The victim was lowered from
her suspended position and the twin's applied
antibacterial salve to the unmoving form lying on the
floor.

I took Sara back to my villa and called Susan to
invite her to join us. When Susan arrived, I mentioned
to her that we needed to observe the twins more
frequently and asked her to talk with them about
keeping their zeal for their job under control. I
explained to Sara that she had witnessed a very
extreme session and, as she had just heard, we'd
control better in the future. Sara seemed to relax as
the evening progressed and she and Susan seemed to get
along fine.

The next morning, I checked the schedule and saw the
twins had their next joint session slated for the
following night in punishment room three--the electric
Agony Chair. I took a mental note to speak with them
prior to the session and be there early to observe. As
an added precaution, I'd ask Susan to suit up and be
in the room.

The following day, I had a long talk with Jana and
Sadie as they lifted weights in the gym. Both girls
admitted they occasionally got carried away but vowed
to control themselves. They took no umbrage at my
suggestion to have Susan present.

The following evening, I arrived at room three's
observation area and saw only the twins preparing the
chair. Susan would be escorting the evening's victim
into the room. The door to the observation room opened
and Phil entered looking a bit surprised to see me.

"Evening Phil, here to see the twins go to war?" I
asked.

"Yeah Travis, they're a joy to watch work...I think I
could really go for them," Phil replied. Then he
added, "Looks like they're ready to begin."

The punishment room's door opened and Susan lead a
woman into the room. The woman was naked but wore a
black rubber hood with openings only for the eyes and
mouth. I recognized the newly scarred body as
belonging to the same woman the twins had worked on
two days earlier. Susan turned her charge over to Jana
who pulled the woman's arms behind her locking them
among hers and placing her into a full-nelson brace.
Sadie threw a strong right hook into the woman's face
followed by a left to her gut then a barrage of short
jabs over her torso. The victim doubled over moaning
when the blows ceased. Jana jostled the woman to the
Agony Chair and pushed her roughly into the seat. She
held her captive in place while Sadie connected the
bands and biting nipple clips. Susan took control of
applying the electric charge while Jana sat on the
woman's feet pushing the soles into the spikes. Sadie
commenced whipping the woman's torso with a limber
fiberglass lash. The woman began bucking against her
bonds and Sadie increased the severity of the lash.
The woman's screams intensified. After several
minutes, Susan lowered the charge and checked the
woman's pulse and other vitals. Her pulse was strong
but her pupils were extremely dilated. Susan walked to
the nearest microphone and informed me. 

"Cut the power, now," I ordered.

Susan threw the switch that electrified the chair but
rather than stopping the electricity, the action
seemed to step up the current. The smell of burning
skin and smoldering wires rose in the room while smoke
began rolling out from under the chair. The woman
emitted a howl and pulled wildly against the metal
bands throwing Jana off her feet. 

"Kill the power!" I yelled. "Hit the master switch!"

Jana ran to the switch by the door and threw the
lever. Every light in the room went out leaving us all
in total darkness. The emergency lights came on
flooding us all in a deathly red glow. I ran from my
seat while telling the girls to call the infirmary and
to get the woman out of that goddamn chair. I entered
the punishment room and ran to the chair just as Susan
loosened the last metal band. The woman nearly fell to
the floor as I stepped forward and broke her hall. I
laid her gently on the floor and worked the rubber
mask off her head. It took a few seconds in the red
emergency lights to recognize that the woman was
Julie. I heard laughing from the observation area. It
was Phil who yelled through the intercom:

"Goddamn queer bitch killed my wife--screw her!" 

Julie's eyes opened for the last time. A fleeting gaze
of hopelessness was mirrored by my own. Now Julie was
dead.

On to Chapter 13

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER 13 

Dana appeared behind me along with Jason. Jana had
called her and Jason was summoned to control me; Dana
knew I'd at best be enraged at Julie's death and at
worst, want to kill her and Phil. Both had to have
known that Julie was the subject of the twin's
assault.

Dana was absolutely right. I grabbed his shirt collar
and screamed into her face.

"What the fuck have you done--Julie's dead! You told
me she was on leave!"

Jason locked me in a bear hug from the rear as Dana
tore herself out of my grasp.

"Sadie," Dana ordered, "Use the tranquilizer." 

Seconds later, I blacked out coming to what must have
been the next morning. I was on the couch in Dana's
office. Dana dozed in the wing back chair next to me
with the reading light on and a magazine opened in her
lap. I struggled to focus my eyes and sit up but the
tranquilizer still had a strong hold on me. My
rustling on the leather sofa alerted Dana. She stirred
and the magazine rolled off her legs to the floor.

"Good morning," she began. "I'm sorry we had to shoot
you up but I knew you'd have to be sedated once you
found out Julie had died...I needed to be able to
explain."

I could only raise a hand in a pitiful motion for her
to continue. Dana poured me some water from a carafe
next to her chair and helped my trembling arms raise
the glass to my mouth.

She continued her story.

"Julie came to me the day after Yvette died. She was
miserable and blamed herself totally. I explained
that's why we were putting her at a nearby facility
and would have her working with a mental health
advisor. She clamed down a bit and we sent her to our
facility in Wheeling. Two weeks later she called and
asked to meet with me and Phil so she could advance
the healing process. The meeting went pretty bad. Phil
was still too angry and wouldn't accept Julie's
apology or accept that Yvette's death was an accident.
Julie was desperate to prove to Phil that she wouldn't
have hurt Yvette intentionally so she offered to let
Phil observe her in a session. Phil continued ranting
and raving about Julie being a dirty fag who simply
enjoyed torturing his wife to death. I pulled Julie
aside and recommended she reconsider being subjected
to punishment in an effort to set things right with
Phil. She assured me Phil wasn't the only reason she
would offer herself up. She needed to cleanse herself
of the guilt. We spoke some more of the value of the
suggestion and Julie begged, I mean she really begged
me Travis, to get Phil to agree. Well, eventually he
did. Phil insisted she subject herself to three,
two-hour sessions with the twins in atonement. Julie
readily agreed. She convinced me she could bear up and
brought up her training where she did so well. She
insisted that you not know about it as you'd try to
stop her. That's why she was kept hooded or masked.
The twins didn't know who she was either. The Agony
Chair was her second session. I don't know what went
wrong with the chair's master switch but our
electrician is checking it out now."

My foggy mind tried to process the information and
slowly I was able to grasp that indeed, this is
something Julie would do. However, I still couldn't
believe that that bastard Phil Johnson would have
agreed to Julie's scheme nor that Dana would have
concurred and told her so.

"Travis, I didn't care if Julie ever came back to work
here," Dana began. "But she was adamant that she had
to do this for her own sanity. She'd undergone
counseling for two weeks and was driven to end her
guilt. Let me help you to you're place and will go
over this some more when the tranquilizer wears off."

Dana helped me to my feet and propped me as we walked
to my villa. She put me to bed and promised to be
available when I awoke. I drifted in and out of sleep
with visions of Jana and Sadie torturing Julie before
my eyes. My semi-conscious dreams included a panorama
of the twins with sweat dripping from their hooded
faces and bare chests; their biceps and stomach
muscles glistening and bulging as they torqued ropes
into Julie's flesh and hacked at her most sensitive
body parts with hot tools and needles. Julie's screams
in my dreams were not as loud, or as desperate, as
they had been during the sessions I witnessed. But,
the ones I heard in my head, now knowing they foretold
her death, were more horrible.

On to Chapter 14

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER 14

The following day, I told Dana I wanted the twins sent
down to the training center in Wheeling for three
months to serve as practice victims for the trainees.
Hopefully, by being on the receiving end of
maltreatment, they'd learn to control themselves.
Susan was another story. I told Dana that Susan really
didn't feel responsible for Julie's death as the cause
was obviously equipment malfunction. Besides, with
Jana and Sadie temporarily out of commission, I needed
her here to work with Sara. Dana agreed and the twins
were shipped out immediately. Dana issued another
apology to me for her agreeing to Julie's atonement
suggestion. I really didn't blame her as she was
caught in the middle trying to help Julie and placate
Philip Johnson, an apparent top-ranking member of the
Cooper Organization. I, however, solely blamed Phil
and wondered how I'd react the next time I saw him.

I didn't have to wait long. Phil was in the lounge the
next weekend speaking with some of his comrades. I had
just finished a relatively easy session with a new
member and her boyfriend and was entering the lounge
to meet my clients. They were already sitting at a
round table comparing marks on their wrists from the
suspension cuffs. They had been hung, back-to-back,
and no more than tickled by a single-strand leather
whip. The session was over in 20 minutes. I picked by
a scotch and soda from the bar and joined my people at
the table. We discussed various scenes we could move
into later and I instructed them on after-action skin
care to eliminate any scarring. Phil yelled out from
the bar,

"Travis, I hear you have some job openings...do you
have a blank on the application reading male, female,
dyke?"

I ignored him basically because I was too shocked at
his remark.

Phil added, "I can't believe you got rid of the black
bitches too...they were your best people!"

Several of Phil's acquaintance moved close to him
hoping to distract him and keep from making a fool out
of himself.

I stood and approached Phil. He pushed his way through
two men to meet me.

"Look Phil," I began. "Julie was certainly gay but
always had the utmost respect for
everybody--especially the members. Yvette was one of
her favorite people as she was to all of us. It was an
accident Phil. Yvette is gone. Did you think agreeing
to torturing Julie to death would bring her back?"

I was getting madder by the second as Phil stood
before me with no expression.

"Are you so damn stupid did you think killing Julie
would make a damn bit of difference," I shouted.

"You can't talk to me like that you fucking house
boy!" Phil yelled. "That damn queer cunt asked to be
hurt...she practically begged me! She loved the pain
that's why she kept it up on Yvette...wanted to see
her roast in that fucking chair! I'm glad the bitch is
dead...too bad it happened so quick...she owed me
another session...I'd have conducted it myself..."

I cut Phil off with an uppercut to the mouth and
followed it with a flurry of blows that rammed him
backwards into, and then over, the bar.

Phil came up from the bar screaming,

"Look at that! That goddamn servant hit a member...he
hit me, I'm bleeding...I want that sonofabitch...Give
me his ass..."

"Nobody's holding you back Phil," I stated. "C'mon you
goddamn murderer."

Several members were quick to grab us both. I was
harder to hold as my body oil enabled me to shrug
restraining hands off. But my rage had ebbed watching
Phil bleed over his expensive suit.

"Dana," Phil bellowed. "I want this sonofabitch or I'm
leaving this organization! I'll withdraw all finances
and this place will be closed in a month."

Several members tried to calm Phil down but his rage
only grew.

"Give him to me...I want him on the cross...he'll
never hit me or another member again. Is that what you
people want here? Servants hitting you? We can't be
free from violence in our own club?"

I decided I'd better apologize for hitting Phil.
Kissing his butt publicly really wouldn't hurt.
Anyway, the little humiliation I'd suffer wouldn't
negate the pleasure I got from smashing his mouth.

"Phil, I'm sorry," I offered. " Julie was my friend as
well as my responsibility as her boss--you know I
share the burden of her death as well as Yvette's."

"Bullshit," Phil yelled back. "Don't patronize me...I
want your ass!"

I saw it would be impossible to reason with Phil at
that point so I decided to make a full-scale retreat.

"Phil, ladies and gentlemen," I began. "I apologize to
you all for striking a member. It will never happen
again. At the board's recommendation, I will take a
leave of absence or quit as you desire."

"No good," yelled Phil. We won't let you quit--you
signed the contract. You quit and our lawyers will tie
you up knots! You'll never get another job other than
hauling shit in stables. Our people will make sure of
that...I want your ass on the Cross..right fucking
now!"

The cross was the centerpiece of punishment room ten.
Very few people wanted to spend anytime mounted to it.
In fact, I'd only been in the room twice in five years
and then just to check the mechanisms.

"Phil, Didn't you learn from Julie's death?" I asked.
My fury was completely gone and replaced by fear as I
realized where Phil was going with this.

Dana touched my shoulder and looked me hard in the
face.

"Travis, we have to go along with Johnson on this. You
embarrassed him in front of his peers. He's enraged.
He's right also about the money. Pulling his stake out
of here would close us down. You and I would never
find another decent job. The membership has its hands
in so many companies, law firms and civil
organizations...we'd be broke. We live well Travis.
Other than this mess with Phil, we have a sweet deal.
Get on that Cross and shove it up Phil's ass. I've
been on it and came out of it with no damage. You can
do it. The members will see Phil is a complete shit.
Maybe I can convince them to throw him out. Don't
worry, I'll take care of you."

My pride was on the line. I wasn't going to let this
slime win--simple as that. I had been wrong to hit
Phil; however, a rational person would have understood
and accepted my apology. Phil was truly an asshole.

"Very well Phil," I said. "If this is what it takes to
make this whole screwed-up situation right, I'll
agree."

"Agree shit, you have no choice," growled Phil. "Get
him on the Cross! I want him on that Cross for two
hours!"

On to Chapter 15

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The walk was a long one to punishment room 10. Buddy
escorted me. In an effort to lighten things up, he
said,

"I was always hoping you'd let me do you...but not
like this."

I chuckled a bit so Buddy's comment had done its job.
Phil had told Dana to get that queer Buddy to help him
administer to me. He wanted Buddy to do the
preparation work while he ordered up my training
films. He wanted to review what type of punishment I
was most vulnerable to. What ever he gleaned from the
tapes, being mounted to the Cross would only make it
worse.

We entered room 10 and surveyed the Cross. It was
named after it's body attachment style but had
capabilities far beyond simple crucifixion. The Cross
was massive; 15 feet in height and over 7 feet across
one side. It had a footprint of nearly 50 square feet
and weighed nearly three tons. All it's structural
members were matte black. Buddy suggested I go ahead
and remove my clothing and drink some water as I'd
probably need it.

As I sat on the room's lone stool slowly unlacing my
boots, Buddy prepared the Cross. He pushed controls
that actuated hydraulic pistons to open the Cross's
massive frame. He checked the tension controls on the
numerous winches and the temperature gauge of the
steam generator. He then swabbed down the various
posts, hooks and pincers with an antiseptic solution.
He unrolled several roles of gleaming chrome chains
and attached them to various locations. Buddy tested
the large iron piston at the back of the apparatus for
free play as well as the multitude of pointed shafts
that could soon be imbedded in my flesh or body
cavities. Heating cables were turned on and began to
hum their way to operating temperature. The horizontal
and vertical pressure plates were tested and were
found to be working well. Buddy spent an inordinate
long time checking everything.

"I'm sorry Travis, guess we better get you hooked up,
" Buddy said.

I swallowed my remaining water and approached the
machine, wishing I'd killed Phil Johnson instead of
just chipping some teeth. Buddy gently guided me into
the heart of the Cross and began attaching the prime
body brace. He pushed a metal bar against the back of
my shoulders and asked me to lift my arms straight out
from my sides and parallel to the floor. The bar was
over 8 feet log and held aloft by chains at both ends.
Buddy slid metal cuffs from the end of the bar and
snapped them around my wrists. He then installed inch
wide metal bands around the bar and my forearms and at
the point where my arms met my shoulders. He tightened
the six bands into my flesh. A knuckle pivot joint in
the middle of the bar burrowed between my shoulder
blades.

"These will have to be tight, Travis," he said, "or
you could slip."

Buddy guided the ends of the bar into slots in
floor-to-ceiling pistons that formed the sides of the
Cross's mainframe. He then removed the bar's chains
and pushed a lever that activated the pistons. I began
my journey up the Cross suspended only by the bar
cinched against my shoulder blades. I was about six
feet off the floor when the ascent stopped. Buddy
attached leather cuffs to my ankles never looking up
at my face. Phil's voice came over the intercom:

"Is the servant hooked up?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Buddy replied gloomily. "He's suspended and
ready."

"I'm still reviewing tapes and may have a drink so
attach some leg weights then come here...oh yeah, go
for the fifty pounders. He looks like a real tough guy
from what I've seen on these tapes. Oh yeah, before
you weight him down, clamp his 'nads and tits together
with number 3s and set them on low."

Buddy looked at me briefly then collected four number
three clamps with attached nylon lanyards. He ascended
the ladder mounted inside to the front of the Cross to
reach my chest hovering nearly 10 feet in the air.
Number 3 clamps were actually 2 inch metal vises with
serrated jaws that had receptacles for heating wires.
Buddy gingerly placed the clamps on my nipples then
descended a step and clamped both testicles. He
tightened the lanyard between just enough to barely
pull my testicles up and nipples down. He pulled the
heating wires from their resting place in the frame
and attached them to each clamp. The metal warmed
quickly. 

Buddy climbed down the ladder and went to the weight
storage area. He selected the poundage prescribed and
attached the weights to the ankle cuffs releasing them
gently. The increased pressure was astounding. The
total 100 pounds pulled down on every muscle in my
torso. With my arms bound to the side, I had no
leverage to counteract the ballast. I hear that
suffocation was what killed crucifixion victims. Sweat
instantly formed on my face as I struggled to ease the
tension. The slack in the clamps' lanyard disappeared
and steel teeth tore at my skin as by body was
extended. 

"I have to go Travis, hang in there pal...Make him eat
shit," Buddy said as he saluted me.

Once Buddy left, I let out a loud gasp in deference to
the pain. I held out as to not upset him. The leg
weights were putting tremendous fatigue on my
abdominal muscles; if I relaxed them, the weight made
it difficult to breath. Additionally, if I relaxed, my
body stretched more and the clamps ripped deeper into
my flesh. How long would Phil keep me like this? Of
course, once he showed up, things would only get
worse. I tried to think back to my training and
searched for the mental trick I'd used to cope with
prolonged, ever-heightening pain. I began singing
Beatle songs in my mind focusing on the "Revolver"
album. The heat and teeth of the clamps got to me
during "Eleanor Rigby" and I began moaning. I upped
the musical ante and pictured Carol Channing belting
out "Hello Dolly" and finally Ethyl Merman performing
"There's No Business like Show Business." Phil finally
entered the room with Buddy in tow.

"For Christ sakes...get these weights off...I can
barely breathe," I whispered.

"Can't have that tough guy," he retorted and
instructed Buddy to remove the weights.

Buddy ran to the ladder, skipped two rungs and dropped
the iron disks to the floor. I gasped in relief as the
mass disappeared. The intense pull on my testicles and
nipples eased as well. Phil walked to the a set of
controls at the base of the Cross and turned the
heating elements rheostat up top the top of the dial.
My skin instantly began burning where the clamps dug
in. At first, I was determined not to give Phil any
satisfaction from my agony but soon realized he'd
increase the torment until I surrendered. I began
contorting and screaming, begging for him to stop. My
plan worked and he reduced the heat.

"Remove the clamps," Phil ordered Buddy. 

Again Buddy flew up the ladder and quickly removed the
four clamps. The relief was welcomed and I sagged in
my bindings. Phil approached my legs and attached
chains to each cuff. He pushed a button on a winch
which slowly began pulling my legs apart while
weighting them down. The awful tension on my trunk
returned coupled with the strain of my legs spread far
beyond comfort. I grimaced as the winch jerked to a
halt. The chains pulled my legs taut while spaying
them at a most painful 90-plus degree angle. My body
was stretched tight. Phil pushed another button that
caused a metal bar to rise from the floor. The 2-inch
diameter blunt pole was making a slow progression
toward my anus. Phil halted the shaft's movement as it
pushed into the base of my scrotum. He climbed the
ladder and pulled me forward by my flaccid penis until
the pole slid into my rectum. He jumped down from the
ladder and gave the button two quick shots to imbed
the rod several inches up my anus--it felt as if it
stopped in my chest. Held taut, immobile and impaled,
Phil went to another set of levers and activate a
piston propelled 2 foot square metal plate sliding
toward my chest. The face of the plate was textured
with raised studs. The plate came to rest against my
chest and belly. Another lever activated a narrow
piston behind me that drove a blunt 12-inch wide post
into the small of my back. Working in opposition to
the plate pressing against my chest, Phil increased
the post pressure until the ache in my kidney's caused
me to scream. He then threw the switch that sent
intense heat instantly through all the metal elements
touching, or inside, my body. 

I fainted after the burning caused me to scream with
all the strength I could muster. I rallied to
consciousness when Buddy splashed cold water on my
face. The heated pressure plates and anal pike were
removed but the misery of the searing permeated my
body. I remained affixed in the Cross.

"He's got to be about done boss, hang in there, oops,
sorry," Buddy said.

I caught the irony of his comment and hopefully smiled
at him with my eyes.

Phil scaled a ladder behind me and began to adjust the
pivot joint in the middle of the bar. Loosening it
just a fraction, Phil pulled back on the ends of the
bar causing the bar to arch into my back and bowing my
arms to the rear. The stress was tremendous as the
pressure against my upper back forced my chest out and
my strained arms back. Phil pulled hard and my joints
snapped allowing him to pull further. He clamped down
the pivot joint when he could pull no further. My
shoulders and chest were inflamed and I could only
clench my teeth as I was incapable of screaming to
mitigate the agony. Phil descended the rear steps and
hoisted himself to a midway platform he'd positioned
midway up the front ladder. He settled down
cross-legged on the platform directly in front of me
about a foot away.

"You have 10 minutes left Mr. Johnson," Buddy
announced.

"That'll be plenty of time," Phil said 

Phil slapped my face hard and ordered me to open my
eyes. He was twirling a six inch needle before my
eyes.

"Stick out your tongue houseboy," he ordered. I
ignored him.

"Get that tongue shithead or I'll stick this somewhere
else," he threatened.

I held fast not from courage but the pain in my upper
body prevented me from getting my teeth far enough
apart to expose my tongue. Phil mistook my inability
to comply with defiance and ran the needle through my
right nipple deep into my pectoral. My eyes shot open
and I found the strength to howl.

"Now where's that tongue," Phil asked.

With tears clouding my vision, I worked my tongue out
of my mouth and Phil snared it with pliers. The
additional pain of the pliers pinch was nothing
compared with the burn and gagging I endured as Phil
tugged my tongue to its maximum extent. He forced a
needle through the top of my tongue as close to my
lips as possible then released the grip on the pliers.
The needle's length pressed into my lips and held my
tongue last in the grotesque extended position. I was
impossible for me to utter anything other than
ridiculous gurgles. Phil jammed another needle into my
left breast and peppered the rest of my torso with the
so many needles that I lost count from the misery.
Grabbing my hair for balance, Phil leaned over me and
drove a needle into the top of my right shoulder. The
needle broke as it hit bone. I summoned a last
anguished cry from deep within.

"Guess I have just enough time to clean you up," Phil
said as he pushed off my head and climbed down to the
floor. Once directly under me, he hopped up to grab my
ankle cuffs and apply his 250 pounds to my suspended
weight. The pain that inflicted caused me to inhale so
sharply that the needle through my tongue broke where
it met my mouth. However, that allowed me to retract
my tongue back into position. Dropping to the floor,
Phil hit the switch that initialized team from nozzles
position 360 degrees around me. The scalding steam
pounded my entire body below my neck sending me into
frantic aerial gyrations that were fruitless in
escaping the searing heat. I was being boiled alive.

"Stop it Mr. Johnson! Stop it now! You're killing
him!" Buddy yelled.

"Fuck him...I'll roast his ass," Phil answered.

With that answer, Buddy executed a flying roundhouse
kick that dropped Phil full force to the ground. His
head bounced twice, face first, into the cement floor.
Buddy killed the steam and the room went silent. I
parted my eyes, thankful to still be alive and saw
Phil directly beneath me motionless.

A woman's voice came over the intercom, "Guess you'd
better finish him Buddy."

Buddy looked up at my bleeding, contorted form
motionless over his head.

"I will not kill him," Buddy responded to the
disembodied voice.

"Not Travis...Philip. Finish him...he's caused us
enough trouble," the voice responded.

Phil's managed to roll on to his back, and he looked
straight at me. As his eyes focused, Buddy's boot
crashed down into his windpipe crushing it. Phil
stopped moving and died staring at my form floating
above him like his angel of death.

On to Chapter 16

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I awoke at some unknown time after I heard Dana order
Phil's death. I was on the cold, cement floor of a
dark, small room. Amid the excruciating pain I felt, I
struggled to my feet. Still naked, but thankfully
numb, with blisters covering me caused by the steam, I
stumbled to the door and peered through a thin opening
between the slats and looked into a somewhat lighter
room. I pray out loud that I'm dreaming. I should be
in the infirmary, not some dark, cement cage. I ask
God to give me the strength to get out of this
wretched hell hole without dying if indeed I'm not
asleep.

I can barely hear two men's voices to my right. In the
dark, I can barely discern the men; they are bent over
an figure in the hall--I'm not dreaming--they have a
new victim. A woman is being simultaneously raped
orally and anally. The woman's hands are held behind
her and the anal rapist is pushing the bound arms up
towards her head. When the face fucker has had his
orgasm, he quickly withdrawals and returns his puny
penis to his pants. I want to help the victim somehow
but I'm powerless in the pitiful condition following
my torture on the Cross. I hear the victim moan,
"Mother of God....". The voice behind the cry sounds
familiar. I squint my eyes and am horrified to
discover the latest victim of the unholy torment is to
be Dana.

Rage rushes through me giving strength to shout at
Dana's captures. Shaking the cloudiness from my eyes
and the intense ache in my limbs, I lift myself
slightly to look through the barred window in the
cell's door. My gaze focuses across the room where
Dana is now beginning the Torture of Fives. Dana was
being lowered onto the upright post that would rip her
anus. I scream for the men to stop the abuse but my
pleading was eclipsed by Dana's as her breasts were
being minced by hot pliers.

Dana is suddenly hoisted off the post and dragged to
an upright, rectangular piece of wood that appeared to
be a normal sheet of plywood. Three circles were cut
in the wood at various locations. Dana was pressed,
face first, into the wood and clamps affixed around
her neck. waist and knees. Through the cutouts, Dana's
breasts and belly protruded through the openings. The
upright wood sheet was pushed so it fell, flinging
Dana on her back with the weight of the contraption
bearing on her face, hips and knees. One of the men
stepped on the box and viciously trampled the surface
as well as Dana beneath it. He then began smearing a
thick substance on Dana's breasts prominent through
the wood's openings. The can holding the material is
labeled "Gel Paint Stripper". Dana wails as the
chemical eats at her sliced chest flesh. The tormentor
stood on Dana's exposed belly and began hopping. The
wooden enclosure rattled against the floor from the
abuser's bouncing and Dana's writhing in agony.

I can do no more than rant and pray for Dana to have
the strength to survive her ordeal. The tormentors
stop working on Dana and shuffle out of the torture
chamber. The area is completely silent and I strain to
listen. Muffled moans come from the inverted box and
I'm relieved to know Dana is alive. I call out to her
but receive no response other than muffled moans. Soon
the two re-enter and, using a hose, spray the
corrosive chemical off Dana's exposed flesh. The
smaller interrogator walks towards my cell as the
large tormentor raises Dana's enclosure and removes
her from the clamping devices.

I'm taken to the middle of the room and tied to a tall
post. Dana, barely conscious, is dragged to the same
post where our wrists are bound together; she doesn't
even open her eyes to look at me in spite of my
barking her name. Dana's left wrist is tied to my
right and vice versa for the other pair of wrists. We
are opposite each other, face to face, with the pole
between us. Both tormentors take positions behind us
and begin lashing our backs. We're free to move around
the post but doing so only brings our backs under the
pelting of the other tormentor. In Dana's hazy mental
condition, she doesn't realize she cannot escape the
blows and begins a pitiful, harried half-crawl
encircling the pole. The blows rain down continually
with the tormentors brandishing limber fiberglass
switches that slice our backs and scalps. When the
maltreatment finally ceases, we are belted with our
wrists secured to the belt, and we are hoisted by the
waist to hooks mounted higher up the pole. Our
bindings are draped over the hooks and we dangle by
our waists off the ground. Dana is now unconscious.
The tall man flips me around securing my ankles to the
pole.

"You should have died on the Cross when you were
able," he tells me with fowl breath. The large
interrogator attaches clamps to my nipples. The clamps
re-ignite my earlier breast agony and is multiplied
when a string of lead weights connected by thin
filament is attached to the clamps. I bellow feeling
my nipples will be pulled off.

"When she wakes up", motioning towards Dana, "tell her
what she's in for," the small interrogator says as
they both leave the room.

In my pain, I hope that Dana never wakes up. My breast
pain will not ebb. The weights and the clamps'
minuscule teeth seem to find every nerve and wring out
every bit of possible anguish. My wailing becomes a
continual sob of agony that doesn't stop. The clamps
suddenly come free with their teeth taking tissue from
the nipples. A wave of relief washes over me and I
sags into my belt bindings grateful the acute
suffering is over. Shaking the tears from my eyes, I
works up the courage to glance down and notes the
bleeding from where my nipples used to be is not too
severe.

Behind me, Dana moans and begins to awaken. She feels
the lack of footing and strain at her waist due to her
suspension from the pole. Dana begins to
uncontrollably babble. The noise alerts our tormentors
that their subjects are alert and ready for another
session. We both flail wildly at our bindings as the
tormentors enter the chamber. Dana is released from
her belt and dragged to an tall, upright "T" bar. Dana
is lifted up by one tormentor while the other pulls
her arms over the bar behind her. He then ties her
ankles to her wrists and lets her sag on the bar.
Dana's breasts are scourged and burnt from earlier
abuse and she vomits at the prospect of further
treatment. I protest loudly in Dana's defense but am
quickly gagged and the weighted, fallen clamps are
reapplied to the bloody remnants of my nipples.

Both tormentors lash Dana's body with straps. Her
sobbing protests only spur the beatings to a frenzy.
Dana's agony wrenches my heart, eclipsing my own pain.

"Bring in the third one," a voice orders over the
room's intercom.

Dana's beating stops and she sobs uncontrollably.
After several minutes, the small tormentor reappears
wheeling Buddy who is stretched on a vertical metal
frame. His torso is a bloody pulp and his penis is
strapped to a metal rod running from his crotch to the
base of the frame. Buddy is positioned on the side of
the room and our tormentors assume a parade rest
position near the "T" bar that holds Dana's slumping
frame.

"Bring in the others," the voice commands.

Jason, Carl, the twin's and the rest of our staff
enters dressed in normal street clothing.

"Jason to Travis, Carl to Ms. Simpson and Jana and
Sadie to Buddy," the voice directs. Once the staff is
in position, the voice orders them to begin. The twins
jumped on Buddy with Jana whipping his entrapped penis
and Sadie beating his already bloody trunk with a
truncheon. Buddy's anguish is appropriately vocalized.
Carl begins punching Dana in her soft abdomen while
Jason performs the same on me. The punches rain down
on our mid sections with full force. Dana screamed and
cried as did I. I wretched clear bile as the beating
continued then mercifully, I lost consciousness with
Dana's and Buddy's screams fading in my head. 

On to Chapter 17

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

From a fog I heard a kind voice struggling to get my
attention.

"Travis, can you hear me? C'mon, I need to see you
eyes...everything's all right...Travis...Travis?
You're OK...we're taking care of you...Buddy wants
know how you're doing...Travis?"

I tried to focus and finally succeeded in making out
the face mouthing my name. When the picture sharpened,
I was treated to a toothy grin from a homely lady
dressed in white.

"Welcome back! I'm Frieda. I'm your nurse. You've bee
resting here in the infirmary for several days...are
you following me?"

I nodded an affirmative at Frieda.

"Great! Your friends are here and doing fine...can you
see?"

I attempted to swivel my head in the direction Frieda
indicated but my muscles wouldn't respond.

"Yo boss," I heard from Buddy to my left. "Sounds like
you're back with us...I'm over here...can ya see?
Dana's here too but she's not talking yet."

I tried to vocalize but when I moved my tongue, pain
erupted in my mouth...the needle...

"You should get your faculties back before long...the
first step was waking up," Frieda said.

Freida continued talking but I quit listening as my
world again faded to black. I awoke later to the same
room but it was obviously night. A light glowed in the
hallway through the half opened door. I heard snoring
to my left. I began taking an assessment of my
surroundings. I was in a clean-smelling bed, and
according to Frieda, in the infirmary. I was obviously
not alone as I heard snoring and I thought I recalled
hearing Buddy's voice before. He said Dana was OK. Why
wouldn't she be OK? And I began sorting through my
mental filing cabinet. It didn't take long to
reassemble the prior set of events that apparently
resulted in me lying in the infirmary. I recalled best
the events leading to Philip Johnson's justifiable
murder. The subsequent treatment of Dana, Buddy and me
by...by...our own people left me totally confused. I
mulled those events over while inventorying my
physical condition.

I was immobile, not specifically because I lacked the
capacity to move, but more so due to being weighted by
arm splints, intravenous tubes and traction bars. Able
to move only my eyes, I glanced down at my torso to
discover that whatever wasn't bandaged or supported
was smeared with a shiny, greasy ointment...burn
dressing...over so much of my totally hairless skin .

I shifted my gaze to the left and saw the bed emitting
the snoring sounds. Must be Buddy, I surmised. I could
see no further due to the limits of my peripheral
vision and the lack of light. My eyes closed again
until I was rousted later again by Frieda.

"Somebody hear to see you," Frieda chirped.

My bed was adjusted so I was sitting up and opposite
me, arranged in a pinwheel configuration, was Buddy
and Dana, also raised in their respective beds. I was
overjoyed to see that Dana's eyes were opened--shocked
as well to see her bandage-encased form. Buddy looked
pretty near to be his old self save for the
multi-colored solutions entering both his arms and
groin from the overhead IV bottles.

Frieda stood at the center of our three-bed radius
circle with a tray of orange juice cartons.

"Anybody ready for some Florida sunshine?" she asked.
"Mister Lemming is stopping in as soon as I let him
know your alert," she added as she poured the juice.

I attempted to ask who was Lemming as well as greet my
wounded friends but my rigid tongue prevented me
saying anything other than,

"Ooo itsh Lemmig? Anna, Buuie! R ooo OKaaa?"

Buddy threw his head back and howled with laughter
while Dana greeted by vocalization with a sympathetic
smile and positive nod.

Dana said, "Looks like we'll all recover fully
according to Nurse Frieda and the doctors. By the way,
Lemming is Cooper's CEO. You ought to be able to talk
plain once your tongue loosens up...I imagine it's
pretty stiff; Frieda says the more you use it, the
quicker it'll become functional."

I think Dana blushed a bit at that comment. Buddy was
about to comment when a very well dressed, dark haired
man entered our room--had to be Lemming.

"Good morning Ms. Simpson, gentlemen," Lemming greeted
us.

"Mr. Lemming," Dana responded almost reverently.

"This entire incident was a tragedy from the start,"
Lemming began. "Philip Johnson was always the wild
hair within our organization; he began to become
totally irrational in the past several months. Mr.
James, I want to personally thank you for your loyalty
in the abortive attempt to placate Johnson. I was a
courageous thing to do and something I won't forget.
And Buddy, you were placed in an unenviable
position--your loyalty to the organization was forced
into an opposite position as per your loyalty to Mr.
James. Finally gentlemen, Ms. Simpson arguably is this
unfortunate situation's unsung hero. She authorized
Mr. Johnson's expulsion with the full understanding of
the consequences,"

Lemming could easily see that I was totally befuddled.
His audience had undergone terrible physical abuse and
one of his compatriots had been killed. Yet here he
stood, praising us and intoning rewards. Lemming
speech continued.

"Puzzled I see Mr. James. You must understand that we
cannot condone the removal of any of our members by an
employee. Dana realized she and Buddy would have to
serve as an example. She also knew that the other
employees would be administering the punishment least
they be tempted to reveal any details of our recent
misadventures. Bottom line: Ms. Simpson saved your
life and helped our group by relieving us all of Mr.
Johnson. She made this decision knowing she would have
to pay a dear price. Johnson will be buried tomorrow.
His estate, as would any Cooper member's, will be
bequeathed to the organization."

I looked at Dana with an obvious expression of awe.
She managed a weak smile.

"Tank ooo." I mouthed to her while sending Buddy back
into convulsions. Dana nodded in return.

"I must be going," Lemming said. "Your caregiver
Frieda says you're all progressing well and should be
up and around in short order. Let her know if you need
anything; she has my personal authorization to get it
for you. I thank and commend you all. I'm proud you're
a part of the Cooper Organization."

Lemming did a slow about face and left us.

"What a nice man," Frieda said. "He's right, he told
me, 'anything they want Frieda.' So, what'll it be?"

"Sleep...but first a cigarette," I said with an actual
bit of tongue movement.

"Oh no! He's starting to talk right," Buddy said to my
raised middle finger which got Dana laughing.

Dana and I were wheeled to a screened porch connected
to the infirmary. Frieda had procured our respective
brands of cigarettes as well as some diluted white
wine.

Dana spoke first following our savoring of the first
toke on our smokes.

"I don't want to whine but there is no part of me that
doesn't hurt."

"I empathize totally and the great state of confusion
seconds the motion," I replied. "What the hell is this
all about?"

"Tough few days, wasn't it?" Dana began rapidly
exhaling a large lungful of smoke. "Looks like we came
out of it OK though...with M. Lemming I mean. I've
only met him twice and then only got to shake his
hand. I'm totally relieved he seems OK with all this."

Dana's green eyes bore into me and her speech sped up,
transforming into a stream of consciousness flow.

"I knew I was going to die when Carl was punching me
in the stomach. I thought you were already dead
because when I was able to open my eyes I could only
see you hanging unmoving and bleeding and your chest
oozing from the burns and my God Travis! your nipples
were gone! And Buddy was screaming and my shoulders
felt they were going to rip off after every fist in my
belly and Carl just kept beating me and..." Dana
erupted into a hyperventilated, sobbing fit.

"Whoa!" I cautioned. "It's over and we're safe now.
Having a cigarette and enjoying life."

I took Dana's empty glass with my splinted left arm
and, with total lack of grace, refilled it with my
other splinted arm.

"Sip this slowly and catch your breath," I advised. As
she sipped and sniffed, I rubbed her right
forearm--her only visible unbandaged skin and the only
part I could reach.

"I know I have you to thank for saving my life." I
can't say I'm proud that you had to endure what you
did as punishment; however, I certainly am
grateful--Phil would have killed me. For you and Buddy
to finish him off...I'm just speechless. You knew the
organization would punish you like this?"

"Kind of...I knew that something would be done to me
as an example for others. I didn't know it was going
to be as intense though...after this, I don't think
I'd ever have the guts to do it again. If we ever got
in the same predicament, I afraid I'd be too scared to
do it again."

With as much strength as I could muster I told her,
"This will never happen again."

I continued stroking Dana's arm wishing I could wrap
myself around her and assure her that she was safe.

"Thank you again, Dana," I said to the still sobbing
woman who endured too much pain. "I owe you so much."

"No," she sniffled, "I don't want you to be
beholding--You'd have done the same for me. No, you'd
have never let it happen to me. You'd have killed Phil
where he stood the moment he suggested subjecting me
to the Cross. You'd have had no concern for the
goddamn organization or your career if our roles had
been reversed...Travis, I'm so ashamed..."

She was absolutely right. I have killed the person
who'd have hurt her and told her so. Then added in one
of history's worst Bogart impersonations: "Ya know, I
thing this is the beginning of a beautiful
relationship...".

Dana smiled while her tears flowed.

On to Chapter 18

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Three weeks passed and we were all three recovering
nicely. The enclave was shutdown for a month to allow
us and the rest of the employees and members some time
to alleviate the emotional and physical impact of the
events surrounding yet another death.

Buddy went home to his mother's house in Cleveland.
Dana and I were alone in the compound except for a
skeleton crew of cooks, maintenance folks and, of
course, Frieda. We were mobile enough to return to our
respective Villa's. But with the pretext of making in
easier on Frieda to look after us, I altruistically
offered to stay at Dana's in her guest room. No
problem, I told Fieda, just the kind of guy I am. Mr.
Lemming called us weekly to check on our health and
continued to express words of encouragement and
appreciation. I was getting kind of use to this life
of leisure and really getting use to being around
Dana. Miraculously, we incurred no broken bones or
internal damage during our abuse. Freida said me just
needed somebody work. Her liberal dispensing of
narcotics eliminated my pain from torn ligaments and
the burns. Hair that the steam and healing process had
removed was reappearing on my chest and pubic region.
I'd have scarring no doubt, but most of the new skin
just had a healthy pink glow. I wished for quicker
healing however, so I could wear some clothing and be
able to out and about a bit. I could really only
tolerate a light linen handkerchief on my groin as a
concession to modesty. Frieda upped my narcotic dosage
when I mentioned this and I didn't care if I was naked
at a presidential inauguration! Dana and I took
strolls around the compound--her in pajamas and a robe
and me in only my deck shoes. Dana never reacted; I
could have had a tuxedo on as far as she let on.

During the last week of our recuperation, Dana and I
set on her patio in the perfect evening weather of
late September in western Maryland. I was off Frieda's
drugs for the most part--only antibiotics to curb
infection remained a regular part of my regime. We
sipped light beer while discussing any and every
topic. I began to get cold as the sun set and Dana
suggested adjourning to her cozy den to see what the
new television season had to offer. She situated me on
the big, soft couch and brought a white, light cotton
blanket from an oak chest next to the TV.

"I know you're self-conscious about being 'naked man'
so I'll join you." she announced. "Turn your head."

I did as I was told until her warm hip touched mine on
the couch and the blanket nestled over us both.

"This feels good," she said as the remote secured us a
new situation comedy.

"Ooo!" she exclaimed. "I read this show is a
guaranteed hit."

I watched her freckled face glow like a prism in the
multi--colored reflection of the TV. My healing skin
picked up the warmth of her body as more and more of
us collapsed into each other under the blanket. Dana
felt my gaze and turned to look at me.

"What, did you want to see something else?" she asked.

I kissed her lightly on the bridge of her spotted
nose. 

"That was so sweet," she said. "Do it again."

I did as I was told and followed with several others
to her eyelids, cheeks, corners of her mouth, and nape
of her neck. As I lingered on her earlobes, I told
Dana I loved her.

"I know," she said. "I've always loved you."

"Gee," I murmured in her ear. "You don't suppose it's
my drug residue making me say that do you?"

Dana gave me a pout followed by a bite on my ear.

"There's one thing I just have to know," I said while
lifting the blanket and staring at her legs. "Where do
those freckles stop?"

Dana giggled while we embraced and kissed each other
lightly. Our hands and lips explored our partner
gingerly. We stroked, licked and kissed parts tenderly
to avoid causing pain to our abused bodies. We left
very little discomfort as we made love with passion
enhanced by sharing death-defying trauma. We missed
the rest of the new television premiers and took a
well-deserved rest when the news came on at 2300
hours. The programs opening scene announced the date:
September 12.

"Dana," I voiced louder than I intended with her head
nestled at my side. "Everybody comes back tomorrow and
I'm not sure how to handle that. And there are other
things about the Organization that bother me." 

Dana got up without making any effort to cover
herself.

"I'll put on the coffee--I think we both need to talk
about a lot of things." 

On to Chapter 19

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER NINETEEN

During the course of the consumption of two,
twelve-cup pots of Colombian coffee--enhanced with a
variety of liqueurs--we covered the gamut of things on
our mutual minds. As dawn commenced around 0600, we
were to the topic that really bothered us the most:
what the future held for us in the Cooper
Organization.

I pretty much bared my soul to Dana. I confessed by
personal turmoil over being the Organization's Pain
Boss. I understood that our clients enjoyed being the
recipients of the application of pain. However, I
really had a problem thinking that providing sexual
gratification to these people was now my life's
calling. I'd rationalized that a masseuse provided
people physical pleasure; unfortunately, a prostitute
did the same thing. But that's legal in Nevada and
many other parts of the world. It's that Puritan ethic
underlying our American upbringing, I told myself,
that causes this consternation. It'd be a different
case if it was between just my lover and me; the old
"between consenting adults" thing. Of course, what I
did was between consenting adults; or was it? I seemed
to be the only one not totally consenting and I was
the one laying on the lash!

Dana listened and interjected when she could. I
finally yielded the floor to her and got a different
story. She loved being a part of the Cooper
Organization. In spite of her recent physical
admonishment, Cooper had provided her opportunities
and financial rewards far beyond what she could have
expected in the normal business world. She didn't
think of her job as primarily catering to sexual
peculiarities. She oversaw a customer-service
organization that provided unique services safely and
discreetly. These services were ordered by a
respectable customer base and were unobtainable
elsewhere. She too had difficulties adjusting to the
perceived "dark" side of our job. However, she
explained, it was our sense of compassion and morality
that made us so good at our jobs. Cooper could hire
any thug to wok it's members over. However, our sense
of right and wrong kept us from permanently hurting
people and running our organization professionally.

Dana made sense. By 0700, we were out of words and
sipped bloody Marys as the sun streamed in her kitchen
window.

Let's go to bed," Dana said.

"Are you kidding?" I exclaimed. "With all this coffee
and booze--how can you sleep?"

Dana smiled, "Didn't want to sleep...".

On to Chapter 20

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER TWENTY

At 1900 hours that evening, Dana and I left her villa
dressed in casual street clothes that were baggy than
normal to eliminate irritating our new skin. We
strolled to the employee preparation lounge to check
on our returning comrades. We entered the room and
were met by boisterous greetings, hugs and handshakes.
The last to take my hand was big Jason. He pumped my
arm only once and with downcast eyes, apologized for
his part in my abuse over a month ago. I consoled him
and told him he was without blame and nearly entirely
mended. He shuffled off feeling a bit better, I
believed. The twins, Jana and Sadie, were just the
opposite in their greeting to Dana. Sadie rubbed
Dana's belly rather roughly and told her she should be
proud of taking as many of Sadie's punches as she had.

"Girl, ain't many that have lasted long as you when
Sadie goes to work on 'em!"

Dana whispered to me, "I don't think sending them to
the training center had the desired effect."

I could only role my eyes and make a mental note to
not let them work together for awhile.

We shot the breeze and answered a myriad of questions
about our recuperation as well as asked a similar
number about the events in the staff's past four
weeks. Before leaving for the member's lounge, I told
Jana and Sadie to take it easy tonight and that I'd be
watching. It was their turn to role their eyes.

We bade farewell and headed for the member's lounge.
It was fairly deserted when we entered; only four
couples and several loners drinking and watching
television. Dana was not yet well enough to assume her
aerial show so a couple of ladies took turns hovering
over the bar. Tonight's lofty entertainer was our new
girl Pam. Pam who had watched the Twins with me do
Yvette sometime ago. Pam had every other inch of the
outside of her legs pierced and studded by a pearl.
The pearls gave the illusion of a stocking seam that
ran from her hip to her ankle. Of course, she had
piercings in many other locations as well.

"Hi Mr. James," she called. "Welcome back!"

I thanked her and said it was good to be back. I asked
her what she was doing performing in the lounge
instead of in a punishment room.

"I had a hard time doing that," she said. "The
screaming would get to me and I'd just freak."

"Well, better you're here then," I replied. "You sure
look nice all studded up."

On the downstroke she whispered, "They're fake, I
don't take pain any better than I could give it."

Dana and I made the rounds of our membership while we
drank coffee to fortify our caffeine level. Buddy
entered and ran to hug both Dana and I as he announced
his return. We were all back in our places with
everybody acting as if noting had happened. No mention
of Yvette, Phil and Julie's deaths. No acknowledgment
of the abuse three of us had suffered at the hands of
the Organization. No, all was well and it's back to
business as usual.

I told Dana I'd be back in a bit as I wanted to see
what the evening held for our members. I began my
rounds in punishment room one's observation area.
Jason was whipping an overweight Asian gentleman and
his wife. Carl was in room two with an obese woman
well past fifty years of age. Her hands and head were
locked into a wooden contraption that forced her huge
bare rump in the air. Carl was administering a
spanking with a riding crop. The woman's husband
stared through the one-way glass transfixed. Room
three starred the twins working on a beautiful male
and female couple. The couple was straddling a metal
beam and were tied back-to-back. Their legs were bound
so their feet couldn't tough the floor and their arms
tied over their heads. Jana and Sadie were pricking
the soles of the couple's feet with needles causing
them to grind their crotches into the beam. Room four
had Susan beating the breasts of a fine female body
stretched on a horizontal rack. The woman's face was
covered with a wet towel to restrict her breathing.
Susan would occasionally stop her pummeling to add
water to the cloth and induce choking. When the
convulsions subsided, Susan would commence the breast
abuse. Room five was highlighted by two women
suspended upside down with their breasts bound so
tight that they were grossly misshapen and beet red.
Issac oversaw the activity as the women's spouses
performed oral sex on their tormented mates.
Punishment room six contained four small, slim men on
their knees, their heads being ducked in buckets of
water and poles being inserted in their rectums. Their
male lovers manned the poles while our staff members
controlled the duckings. Room seven held a woman
suspended only by her breasts with but one supporting
cord looped around her back. Our staff member, Jack,
stood under her supporting the small of her back with
one hand while checking his watch and listening to her
screams. Room eight hosted an albino man having his
groin waxed and needled while an equally white, but
emaciated woman knelt over him, her crotch in his
face, chewing his left nipple. Room nine was empty.

As I strolled to room ten, I wondered who'd be in the
Agony Chair tonight. I breather a sigh of relief when
I discovered room ten was also empty. I took the
opportunity to check out the chair. The wires from the
service box electrifying the apparatus had been
removed. Instead two large deep sump marine batteries
were attached on the floor to the rear of the chair. I
open the associated panel to the switch gear an
studied the parameters of the system. Amperage was
negligible thank God. A dial restricted the voltage as
well. Nobody should ever die here again. I placed my
hand on the chairs back and threw the switch at its
lowest setting. I felt but a ticking. Running it up to
its highest mark produced a hot sharp sizzle but not
excruciating. The door opened behind me and Dana
entered.

"I figured you got held up here," she said. "Kinda
scary isn't it?"

I told here the chair had been rewired so it was no
longer a death trap. In fact, I added, I was thinking
of using it for a soothing back massage.

"I think that's my job now," Dana insisted as she
embraced me kneading the small of my back.

On to Chapter 21

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next several months went without incident. Dana,
Buddy and I were back to work at 100 percent. I did
have to separate the twins as they got too vicious
again. Luckily, it was on each other. They had a
gorgeous lesbian client one evening who wanted to
torture Jana while Sadie performed sex acts on the
client. However, Jana wanted to do the client and
Sadie refused. I'd have thought they'd had the
presence of mind to compromise but instead it came to
blows. The girls did a thorough job on each other and
if there had to be a declared winner, it was Jana as
Sadie hit her head on a piece of equipment and
suffered a fairly debilitating concussion. She had
blurred vision for nearly three days. Also, we had a
client and nobody to service her. She sat on a
vertical rack and enjoyed watching the twins beat each
other senseless. However, when we wheeled them both
out, she was pretty upset she wouldn't be taken care
of.

I checked to see who was available; unfortunately, it
would be several hours until I could free up two
people our client would agree with. I called Dana.
When I told her what had happened and that we had a
naked lesbian pissed-off; she volunteered to help if
she could.

"Bit of a problem there," I told Dana. This woman
wants to torture a victim while one of us has sex with
her."

"Shit," Dana breathed in the phone. "I've never done a
woman and I sure don't want to be the victim."

"Well," I responded. "I think I could lay out some
procedures that I could endure if you could take care
of having the sex part. You could probably get by with
just using your hands and some implements--I don't
think you'd have to do any oral duties."

"Jesus," Dana answered. "I really don't think I could
perform oral sex."

"The good news is that the lady is beautiful; long,
fine blond hair, equally long and fine legs; firm
breasts and huge nipples! You know, maybe I'll call
somebody else...".

"No way," Dana ordered. "I'll be right there!"

While we waited for Dana, I explained the situation to
the client.

"I was really hoping to work on a woman...but you've
really tried to help. You gotta promise me though that
I'll get a chance at those black twins!"

"Done deal," I said. "Soon as there fixed up and I'm
done kicking their ass. Now before our partner gets
here, how should we address you and what would you
like to do?"

"Mistress is suitable I believe," she answered. I want
to hear you scream while I'm being...well, screwed is
the politest term I know."

"Please, don't be embarrassed here or with us," I
advised. "Our pleasure is to serve you Mistress.
Please tell me what you want."

Over the next several minutes, I worked with my
mistress to set the stage for her. She wanted us both
naked except I' be decorated in a variety of chains. I
removed my clothes and obediently helped her off with
hers. I aided her in choosing chains and connecting
them around various parts of my body. I, thinking of
my own comfort, suggested I be tied to the vertical
rack but told her that that way she'd have comfortable
access to me and Dana to her. As she bound me to the
rack, I guided her through the connections so I
wouldn't be strained too much. Before I could take her
to the next step, she began to tongue my chest and
biting at random. Dana entered and Mistress stopped in
mid-lick.

"Your slut servant has arrived mistress," I announced.
"She awaits your orders."

Dana bowed her head and extended her arms in a gesture
of submisiveness.

"What do I tell her?" mistress whispered.

"If it pleases you mistress, may I direct the wench?"
I asked.

"Would you please?" mistress pleaded.

"Bitch! Disrobe and attend your mistress!" I
commanded.

Without hesitation, Dana began removing her clothing.
When nude, she stood at attention for further
direction.

"Stupid cunt, your mistress needs your help! Oil her
immediately!" I demanded while winking at her.

Dana hurried to a nearby cabinet, rushed back to us at
the rack and poured oil on our mistress's back while
the lady chewed on me. I augmented her gnawing with
groans of discomfort. Dana soon had the woman's body
well lubricated and stood back awaiting further
instructions.

"Caress her breasts woman," I directed.

Dana immediately enveloped the mistress and began
massaging her breasts. The woman's biting increased in
its intensity. Dana was getting into her role playing
and increased her areas of vigorous caressing. Our
mistress pushed back off me and spread her legs to
allow Dana access. Dana looked at me with a bit of a
panicked expression. I mouthed for her to go ahead.
Dana ran one oiled hand down the woman's back, her
buttocks and around into her groin while continuing to
rub the woman's back. Our mistress sunk her nails into
my pectorals while I begged her to stop. Dana ran
several fingers into the woman's vagina and our
mistress went suddenly rigid. With wildcat ferocity,
her eyes popped open wide and her nails dug into my
flesh. She suddenly turned toward Dana, and with a
quick hop, leaped into Dana sending her sprawling to
the floor with the woman immediately landing on top of
her. The woman quickly positioned herself so that her
vagina was in Dana's face. Her knees pinned Dana's
shoulders to the floor. The woman arched her back
leaning back on her arms that were rammed into Dana's
belly.

"Eat me bitch," she screamed. "Eat me, make me come!"

I could only hear Dana's muffled voice making
unintelligible noises as she tried to escape from
under the instantly amorous woman. In a couple of
seconds, her struggles stopped and the mistress began
breathing rapidly and moaning softly. I guess Dana
decided to do as she was ordered. 

When Dana's tongue had calmed the woman a bit, she
managed enough leverage to flip her off her and gain a
superior position pinning the woman to the floor. Our
mistress tried to move but Dana stopped her with a
flurry of closed-fisted blows to the face then quickly
began to bind her. Within minutes, Dana had bound the
woman to overhead rafters and the floor by stout nylon
restraints. Her arms were secured together above her
head and her legs were pulled apart secured to floor
rings. Dana stood back and shook her head. Her auburn
hair swirled around her head as she did so, and then
cascaded to settle around her sweat-dampened
shoulders. The woman was silent as Dana circled her. I
was fascinated by my co-worker's control of the
situation.

Dana grabbed some clamps from a shelf behind the
woman. Our mistress's brow furrowed as Dana approached
her four wicked clips on a tray. Two had flat jaws,
the others had serrated teeth; they appeared to have
rather stout springs.

"Feel free to scream," Dana said as she reached up
over the woman's head and grabbed a bundle of bungee
cords which slid forward from a pulley above. "In
fact, if you don't scream, I won't be doing my job."
She attached the non-serrated clips to the cords that
now hung just below the woman's collarbone. The woman
had no doubt as to the clips purpose, and her body
stiffened. Dana pulled a cord down, stretching the
elastic until the clip was just below the right
nipple. She slowly squeezed the clip to open the jaws
and placed it in a position in which when released,
the jaws would clamp tightly on the nipple.

Dana released the clip slowly, and allowed the pain to
build. The woman tried to recoil from the spreading
fire of the compression of her right nipple, but to no
avail. When the spring was completely relaxed, The
woman released a pent-up, piercing scream. She threw
her head back as tears sprang from her eyes. Her
nipple was mashed almost flat. Then Dana released her
hold on the bungee cord. The cord pulled her nipple
toward the ceiling, stretching and pulling as the
elastic attempted to contract. The woman shook her
head violently from side to side and tried to shake
the clamp off, but was successful only in making her
nipple ache all the more.

Dana stepped back to watch the throes of agony as the
metal compressed the flesh between it's jaws, the
nipple trying to escape the sides of the vise-like
grip. She glanced at me with a wry smile.

Within a few minutes, The woman's screams had died
down as the blood flow to her nipple ebbed. Dana began
the torment anew with the left nipple. The woman let
out another ear- shattering scream as Dana allowed the
clamp to lift her left breast up and as it did, Dana
squeezed the clamp on the right nipple to heighten the
effect. The woman's nipples were stretched to twice
their normal length and her breasts were pulled into a
cone shape as the clamps strained to pull her breasts
away from her chest. The woman was screaming and
crying, tears now forming rivers down her cheeks. It
was obviously excoriating. Dana produced the second
set of clamps, the ones with the "teeth" and dangled
them close to the woman's face.

The woman arched her back to relieve the pressure but
only succeeded in losing her balance. As she regained
her footing, the Dana removed the flat clips. Now that
the restriction was removed, the blood coursed back
into the abused tissue and reintroduced her to the
pain.

The woman's hair was horribly matted by her sweat and
tears and mucous from crying covered her. Her nipples
were red and swollen, but otherwise undamaged. She
glistened with perspiration as she slowly moaned away
the ebbing pain.

"Ready for some more?" Dana asked as she allowed a
serrated clip to clamp

on the left nipple. A new, more intense pain radiated
from her breast. The woman emitted a new wail. The
clamp bit into her flesh and involuntarily she
recoiled again. This caused the clamp to

tighten it's grip. The other clip was applied. The
woman now sobbed openly as a minute drop of blood
formed where the clip bit savagely into her flesh.

Dana was really enjoying the whole scene. I thought
I'd better try to get her to untie me so I could get
some kind of control of the situation.

"Pssst, Dana," I whispered. "Let me go and we'll move
her to the table and get her off."

"By the size of your erection," Dana said, "I think
you're enjoying watching. I'll move her to the table
myself.

Dana released her victims nipple clamps and, her arms
still secured overhead, pulled her along the rafters
track to a large table. Above the table were a set of
eight high-intensity heat lamps as well as various
hanging cords. Laying the woman on her back, Dana
strapped her arms to the table at a 45 degree angle
from her sides with bands across the wrists and just
above the elbows. Her legs were similarly restricted
at her ankles and above the knees on separate
extensions of the table to allow easy access to the
groin. When firmly mounted, Dana walked towards me as
she toweled her head and neck and while her victim
softly moaned. I marveled at body. Her upper chest and
shoulders were pink from the heat and exertion.

"What should I do now?" she whispered.

"Would you please untie me and I'll help you," I
replied.

"Oh, you're a spoilsport," she retorted and tweaked my
penis as she began releasing me. 

When I was free, I approached our secured customer on
her table.

"Mistress, are you all right?" I asked.

"Make me come," was her breathless response as she
looked away and closed

her eyes.

I walked to the end of the table and centered myself
between her legs and opened a drawer beneath her feet.
A tear trickled from the corner of her eye as I took
hold of vaginal lips and spread them. I swapped the
area with an anesthetic and blew on it to speed the
drying. Then, using a sharpened, modified leather
punch, I squeezed on the tool to punch a hole in her
right vaginal lip. Even though somewhat numbed, pain
racked her body and she tried in vain to escape the
stabbing sensation in her crotch. Her eyes flooded
with tears as she tried to move away from the cause of
her torment but it was to no avail. Dana pushed down
on her shoulders while I took her other lip and placed
the tool on it and then two more times at the opposite
end of her vaginal slit. From the drawer, I then
retrieved a set of rings like the binder rings from a
notebook. I carefully inserted one through each hole,
and then closed it, locking it shut. I then clipped a
bungee cord to each ring and secured the cords
opposite ends to the table legs pulling her vaginal
lips out to obscene lengths. The woman's outer vagina
was now stretched in four different directions,
allowing the inner reaches to now be visible, her
clitoris prominent just below the carefully trimmed
brown thatch of hair. The pink entrance glistened with
a slight film of moisture.

Dana noted the woman's face. Her eyes were red and
puffy and her teeth were tightly clenched. 

"I'm sure that you'll enjoy what comes next," Dana
softly purred.

Using a light whip, I began treating the exposed pubic
area. The initial blow impacted the area just to the
left of her pubic hair. It immediately raised a red
welt and caused our mistress to emit a painful wail.
Another blow quickly followed on the right side of the
patch of hair. Another crack, this time just below her
naval. Two quick blows landed, one on each thigh. The
woman sucked air through her teeth as another two
blows landed around her reddening mound. The next blow
was precisely aimed at the right vaginal lip. When it
hit the sensitive, slightly moist flesh, it opened a
minute line which began to seep blood. Another strike
caught the left lip. Following this tenderizing, Dana
approached our victim's crotch with a gallon jug of
heated olive oil. At my direction, she began slowly
pouring it into the exposed, gaping vagina. Our
mistress stiffened then immediately relaxed as the
warm oil distributed its soothing benefit throughout
and within her body. Dana continued pouring even as
the vagina filled so that oil dribbled down to tickle
her anus. The woman's moans increased when I began
messaging her clitoris with my knuckles. An intense
orgasm racked her body while Dana continued pouring
oil as vaginal muscle contractions simultaneously
expelled the thick liquid. 

While our mistress relaxed, but still mounted and
oiled, following her orgasms, Dana and I adjourned to
the edge of the room to discuss our next moves. We
quickly formulated a plan and released our captive
from her bindings. Our mistress was completely spent
and unable to speak as we carried her down the hall to
another punishment room in a most unceremonious
fashion. Her hands were cuffed tightly behind her and
the cool damp basement air brushed her skin, a sharp
contrast to our warm hands that held her arms and
legs. We led her across the room and forced her into a
chair. Her arms and legs were fastened. Dana and I
then left the room.

As the woman glanced around the room, she noticed a
small raised platform in the room's center, directly
in front of her chair. Rising from the ground was a
type of pedestal

which had a ring at waist level and a cross member
with two rings at approximately shoulder height. There
was also a rough wooden framework bed which had rings
attached to the four vertical posts. Above the "stage"
were four flood lights which at the moment were dark.
On the floor under the bed was a footlocker which
contained punishment tools.

"I'll bet you're wondering where your tormentors are,
aren't you?" came a female voice from behind the
woman. "They'll be back later. I can't tell you how
glad I am to make your

acquaintance," she continued as she stepped out from
the shadows.

"My name is Jana," she said as she stepped over toward
the woman, "and this is my sister Sadie...we'll just
call you bitch." 

The rooms floodlights erupted and the twins were now
the woman's center of attention. Jana and Sadie wore
skin-tight red nylon panties that were cut to the
thigh. Their hair was heavily moussed and drawn back
into a fierce braid that resembled a thick knotted
rope that extended to their buttocks. Form-fitting
gold slave bracelets were worn on their upper arms and
a red leather minuscule halter tops help their
breasts. 

The twins approached their victim with their nostrils
flaring. Sadie produced a harness which she placed on
the woman's chest between her breasts and over her
shoulders. She tightened it behind the chair, forcing
the breasts outward and restraining any further
movement.

"I want to make sure that you pay attention to what is
going to happen," Jana said as she opened the
footlocker. With her right hand, she pulled out a
rather large fish hook on which a length of nylon
fishing line had already been attached. She moved
behind the woman and reached over her shoulder to grab
her left breast. Casually, Jana pulled outward on the
nipple, causing the woman to suck in a breath of air
through her teeth. They were obviously very tender.

Sadie stroked them softly until the nubs grew and
reddened.

"I am going to show you something, my little
mistress," Jana said. "A little trick I like to use to
get a woman's attention."

Jana laid the length of nylon over the woman's
shoulder. With a few rapid movements, she tied one end
into a tiny noose. Then she did the same to the other
end. As the woman stared transfixed, Jana looped one
of the tiny nooses over her right nipple and gently
tightened it until the woman gave a little gasp. She
repeated the process on the left nipple with the other
end of the almost invisible line. Holding the line,
each hand a few inches from the woman's now elongated
nipple, Jana pulled slowly, drawing the breasts
forward as the thin thread cut cruelly into the
sensitive nubs. Jana and Sadie toyed with the line,
jerking first one side and then the other to draw an
agonized response from the bound, moaning young woman.
The pain was sharp and intense.

"OHHH!...Pleasee don't.....it hurts so!.....pleasee,
I'll do what ever you want...AHHH!.. please!"

The twins stopped the tugging and wrapped the nylon
line repeatedly around the making the tips swell from
the blood trapped there. This produced a chronic dull
ache there rather than the needle-sharp pain caused by
rapid, intense constriction. The nipples were forced
into a distended into an hourglass shape by the line. 

Dana and I watched, with morbid fascination, from the
adjacent observation room. Now dressed in silk
dressing gowns, we both winced as Sadie touched a hook
under the woman's right nipple, half way back on the
aureole. A flash of pain caused her to try to move
away, but it was to no avail. Slowly the hook was
threaded through her aerial until it was sunk well
into the flesh. Jana went to the other side, and just
as coolly, just as casually, just as naturally
embedded the second hook into woman's right left
nipple. The twins pulled the lines tight and then
efficiently attached them to the woman's wrists. The
effect was to pull the breasts forward and away from
the body. The woman knew that if she moved, the hooks
would only become more embedded in her flesh.

With this accomplished, the twins turned and walked
away towards the brightly lit stage. Jana directed
Dana and I also to the stage. Our tormented mistress
stared wild-eyed as Jana roughly threw Sadie onto the
horizontal platform. Cuffs were attached to Sadie's
wrists and ankles and subsequently clamped to the
rings at the platform's four corners, making Sadie
spread-eagle face up on the bed.

Sadie's face was contorted from the pressure on her
limbs. Sadie's breasts and belly quivered from the
strain. Jana ripped Sadie's halter from her chest
exposing nipples that were small and flat with the
contour of the stretched breast tissue. Jana reached
down between Sadie's legs and under her nylon panties
and gathered some sweat on her fingers and walked over
to our mistress. She slipped the finger across the
space between woman's taut breasts, leaving a trail of
Sadie's perspiration between her breasts. Jana laughed
as she

roughly tugged on the nylon lines which pulled on the
hooks embedded in the woman's soft breasts then
strutted back to the platform.

"You wanted to see someone tortured, didn't you?" Jana
asked. "Sometimes I find that simple things work the
best." 

She twisted the knob on the end of a pair of lockable,
vise-grip pliers. With the jaws

opened just slightly, she released the catch, opening
the pliers' maw wide.

"Well, I guess that it is time to begin!" She returned
to the outstretched Sadie. Jana took her bare hand and
slapped at Sadie's taut right breast. There was an
ever so slight hardening of the nipple after the blow.
Jana massaged the nub as Sadie squirmed. The pliers in
Jana's hand lowered down until the jaws were
positioned to clamp down on the tender flesh. With an
easy finger flip, The pliers closed violently on the
nipple and Sadie's scream pierced the air. Sadie began
to thrash about, the pliers holding tight as tears
streamed down her cheeks. Her nipple was an ugly
reddish purple and bulging. A trickle of blood seeped
down her rib cage. After a minute or so, Jana released
the visegrip. Another scream was soon splitting the
air as she had re-applied the tool after twisting the
jaws closer together.

"I am sure that you will enjoy it when I get down to
her clit and start in on that!" yelled Jana over the
screams. "And this is just the beginning!"

I watched our bound mistress as her excitement in
witnessing Sadie being tortured grew. She fought to
get out of the chair but only succeeded in embedding
the hooks deeper into her breasts. Jana applied the
vise-grip pliers to Sadie's clitoris. The banshee-like
wail that echoed off the walls forced the woman into a
frenzy. She watched transfixed Sadie writhe and bleat
in the pain of three vise grip pliers.

I switched the microphone off in the observation room
while Dana and I watched the pliers being were removed
from Sadie. Her breasts were a vivid dark purple and
small trails of blood ran down her cleavage. Jana
removed the last pair of pliers and walked over to

our customer. Her final orgasm had left her spent and
her head drooped forward. Her breasts trembled under
the tension of the nylon fiber hooked into them. 

"With her looks and attitude, I think we could use her
here Travis," Dana said. " I'm sure that the twins
would employ her to gauge the effectiveness of any new
techniques."

On the stage, Sadie's breathing was slowly returning
to normal. The tears had dried and her crying had
stopped.

"You,,,you're a twisted cunt," spat the woman at Jana,
"torturing your own sister."

Jana threw her head back in a barking, mocking guffaw.

"I've been called brilliant at my craft by some of the
best in our business...including my sister" Jana
replied. Walking unsteadily, Sadie stood and walked
toward the other two women. 

"Please no more," the twins' victim pleaded. Jana was
well aware that the object of their attention wanted
more because she had not uttered her safe word that
would instantly end her abuse.

Jana did however snip the nylon string that still
stretched the woman's breasts. As they were cut, the
woman sunk back in relief. Jana applied a dab of
anesthetic ointment to the woman's impaled nipples and
snipped off the protruding barbs. Gently rubbing the
ointment into the pierced flesh, Jana smoothly worked
out the fishing hooks and then began releasing the
woman's bindings. Sadie pushed the intercom button and
whispered that they were ready for us now.

Dana and I removed our dressing gowns and I applied a
desensitizing creme to my penis while Dana suited up.
Once my penis was enlarged and coated, I added a
clear, ribbed condom and then again donned the robe.

As Dana and I re-entered the room, Jana was lifting
our former mistress from the chair. She motioned Dana
and Sadie to assist. Jana laid the woman on the floor
then, slipping her arms under the woman's armpits from
the rear and locked her wrists across the chest, she
raised her slightly off the floor. Jana directed Dana
and Sadie to spread and hold the woman's legs. When in
position, I took my place in the triangle formed by
the outstretched legs and doffed my robe. I inserted
my penis rapidly and to the hilt in the woman's
drenched pubic mound. She arched her back and moaned
deeply as I pumped vigorously until multiple orgasms
overcame her and she collapsed in a sweaty, breathless
pile. The girls released their grip on our mistress.

"I notice you didn't come," Dana whispered while
looking at my erect penis as I stripped off the soaked
condom.

"Thanks, I think, to the desensitizing creme," I
answered.

"Jana...Sadie, please escort our mistress to the
dressing area," Dana ordered and then added to me,
"let's take care of you now."

As the twins carried their latest, satiated victim
from the room, Dana dropped to her knees and took my
penis in her soft mouth. Her flicking tongue and
scraping action of her teeth soon overcame the
effectiveness of the desensitizing ointment as she
sucked and bit my still growing member. I wound my
fingers into her damp hair and pulled hard as her
fingers explored my inner thighs, buttocks and anus.
She soon grabbed my testicles and guided me to the
floor. Sensing that I was about to come, she quit her
oral stimulation and straddled my groin slowly
lowering herself on to my penis. She contracted her
vaginal muscles in a rhythmic motion that caused her
abdomen breasts to undulate in a wave-like motion.
Resting her hands behind her on my knees, she arched
her back and increased the intensity of her vaginal
contractions. The pace of the constriction rapidly
increased until I virtually exploded inside her as she
simultaneously climaxed. Dana toppled forward
collapsing on my chest. 

"I...I think that's a wrap," I gasped.

Dana narrowed her eyes and threatened, "I don't think
so...we ain't even started yet." 

On to Chapter 22

Occupational Hazzards
Chapter twenty-two

Our recuperation trip aboard the Harley was entering
its third week. We'd left Maryland on a cool, October
Monday morning and visited with relatives in Ohio,
Indiana and Kansas. We were now cruising down
California's Pacific Coast Highway heading for
Monterey. We'd left the office in Buddy's capable
hands.

We had reservations at a bed and breakfast near
Cannery Row in a quiet part of Pacific Grove. After
being on the motorcycle for ten days, we didn't want
to ride anywhere else so we intended to stroll about
Monterey on foot.

We arrived at Seaview Place at high noon and quickly
unpacked the ElectraGlide and hit the shower. While
Dana fixed her hair, I perused brochures describing
the local cultural highlights. Kalisa's Mid-Eastern
Restaurant looked like a nice dinner adventure for our
first night in town. Tomorrow, we'd take in the
aquarium and do some shopping.

At 7:30 p.m., we were sipping cold Olympia beers at
Kalisa's and taking in the second half of the
evening's first floor show. Four belly dancers were
plying their trade amid a flurry of diaphanous veils
and reverberating ankle bells. Like tiny tan
tornadoes, the girls whirled among the seated patrons
while muti-colored spotlights ricocheted off them and
the audience. Kalisa's native Turkish band increased
the musical pace (and volume) as the floor show
reached its climax and the dancers doffed their lame
tops. Bare-chested, they completed a frenzied final
circuit of the room and quickly exited to the wild,
appreciative applause and cheers.

Having switched to wine, Dana and I raised our glasses
of vino locale in a private toast to the now departed
dancers as Dana exclaimed, "Wow, I wish I knew how to
do that! I think it's soooo sexy...and it's gotta be
great exercise too!"

"I know I'm tired out just watching them," I
responded. "Perhaps we could add something like that
to our customer lounge."

We had some more wine then ordered dinner--hearty beef
dishes to refuel from watching the floor show.
Following dinner, we decided to tour the wharf area
and left Kalisa's about 2100 hours.

"Let's stop back later and see the second show," I
suggested and to which Dana agreed.

We strolled through the cool, waterfront evening
taking in the sights you see only on the coast--sea
otters chowing down while floating on their backs and
whales spouting off along the horizon. Seals barked
far off in the distance. We checked out the outdoor
displays by local artists and bought some corny, but
well executed, watercolors of Monterey's "Lone
Cypress."

We arrived back at Kalisa's just in time to order two
Golden Caddilac's before the lights dimmed, signifying
the start of the show. The band started off with a
slow, discordant riff punctuated by the rise and fall
of an obnoxious oboe. However, the first dancer to
appear erased all semblance of the woeful music. Her
manner was regal and her movements fluid as she
drifted along the first row of tables. Her entire
frame was veiled in white and translucent aqua flowing
fabric. Barefoot, she was extraordinarily tall, well
over six feet. Her fingers chimed bells in concert
with the music. The audience was hushed. Slowly, in
rhythm with the music, she removed several lengths of
fabric and trailed them elegantly behind her. As she
uncovered, she was joined by another dancer who was
equally cloaked but differentiated by shades of red in
her garb, Eventually, blue and green dancers joined
the ranks. The first dancer was stripped down to a
sequined halter and aqua harem pants with the required
naval jewel and minimal face veil. She began her hip
gyrations in a furious version of the belly-dance. The
remaining dancers soon followed until they all were
heavily into the belly-undulating movements that
tourists associate with native mid-East dancing.

For the finale, our aqua dancer positioned herself
near me for which I was thankful. I've always had a
thing for tall women and watching a semi-nude one up
close executing impressive muscle control was a real
treat. Aqua suddenly reached out, grabbed my elbows
and pulled me up. With a bit too much booze in me, I
just stood there as she reached into my sport coat and
pulled up on my shirt. I then realized that it was the
audience participation portion of the program and
quickly retrieved my seat--I have no rhythm.
Unfortunately for the rest of the audience, Aqua
wouldn't give up and I soon has coatless with my shirt
rolled to expose my midriff trying fruitlessly to
duplicate her moves. Luckily, others were subjected to
the same humiliation. Dana was eventually also chosen
and actually earned some applause from a nearby bald
gentlemen. He was rewarded by several rapid arm slaps
by his wife. 

When I was finally released, I slipped a ten dollar
bill into Aqua's waistband along with my card listing
me as a recruiter for the Cooper Organization. The
floor show ended and Dana and I began a quit walk to
our quarters through the still streets of Pacific
Grove.

The next day, we re-mounted the Harley and visited the
Army's Presidio where I had attended language training
nearly three decades earlier. Surpassingly, little had
changed. Many of the one-story, stilt supported,
gangrene-colored classrooms, nee barracks, still
dotted the steep hill of the Presidio. We followed up
with a trip to Carmel on a fruitless quest to find
Clint Eastwood. Finally, our day trip ended with a
tour to Pasa Robles and the site of James Dean's fatal
auto accident.

We returned to our quarters in Monterey the next
night. A message had been left at the front desk. In a
small envelope, Aqua had inserted a note with her
phone number and two cursive sentences. It read, "
Curious as to your job title. Please call me before
6:p.m."

"Hey, we've heard from Aqua and I've piqued her
interest," I told Dana. "Let's give her a call."

We arranged to me Aqua at a her friend's farm to the
east of Salinas at 1900 hours the next day.

On to Chapter 23

Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER Twenty-three 

Aqua slowly regained consciousness with the biting
pungency of wet hay filling her nostrils. Blinking the
gunk from her eyes, she looked around still partially
dazed and dimly aware of the acute ache in her
shoulders. Light, open-handed slaps accompanied a
voice that worked it's way into her senses.

"C'mon back...good... you're with us again. Feel how
you're restrained? Take some time to get used to the
position then we'll get going again." 

Opposite Aqua, a full-length mirror stood on its floor
stand where, after struggling to focus, she could see
that her breasts were marked with deep red welts and
her long black hair was damp and matted. Around her
waist was cinched a wide leather belt. Hooks
resembling small silver stirrups were affixed through
her pierced nipples. The hooks were connected by
delicate yet strong filaments and affixed to a beam
far above her head. Her arms were pulled together
behind her with her elbows touching secured by thick
rope. Her hands dangled limply. Her ankles were
secured to the floor about shoulder distance apart. A
metal pole rose from the floor between her open legs
and nestled inside her body. Another small pole ran
from the floor behind her and was fixed to the belt
around her waist supporting her weight. Tied to one
wrist was a small box that was warm and vibrating.

The voice, which Aqua could now see belonged to her
friend Juanita, once again addressed her:

"How do you feel? OK?" Aqua nodded an unconvincing
slow affirmative. 

"Good...just to fill you in, we're in my barn in
Salinas--you know that, right? OK. This is almost the
final part of what we discussed yesterday. The box in
your hand is for when you feel you have had enough.
You just press the button and it will stop, OK?" 

Again, Aqua nodded. 

"OK, let's get started," Juanita said as she turned
quickly and climbed a nearby ladder to the barn's
loft.

With that, Aqua heard a scrapping noise from the
overhead rafter and the slack in the wires leading
from her breasts to the rafter began to slowly
diminish. Fumbling behind her, Aqua found the switch
and pressed it. Immediately she

screamed as electricity poured down the wires into her
breasts and flooded

her insides from the metal buried deep in her groin.
She pressed the

button again and the current ceased. Gasping, she
slumped against her

bonds.

"Jesus Christ--I can't take that!" she bellowed.

The only sound in reply was a mechanical grinding
noise from somewhere in the room. Looking fearfully up
at the roof, she was relieved to see there was a

little more slack in the breast wires than there was
before she had pressed the button and, despite the
grinding sound, it didnšt appear to be lessening. It
was

then she felt something press on her insides, she
slowly felt herself being filled as the true horror of
her situation hit her. Inside her was an expanding
metal globe pressing outwards and stretching her
insides. She could only imagine the agony this would
cause if left unchecked, but knew the pain that
awaited her if she pressed the button again. 

"Please Juanita, I can't take this shock
again...,pleeeaaase!"

This time, she got a reply.

"But Aqua honey, as you told me, this is what you
want."

The dull ache in her groin was now becoming a
screaming pain. Gritting her teeth, Aqua felt behind
her for the button and once again went into spasm as
the metal inside her body flooded her nerves with
almost unbearable pain. She pressed the button until,
with an almost animal howl, let go. The ball inside
her was reduced to, what would have been in normal
circumstances, a comfortable fullness. However she had
not been able to endure electrocution for long enough
to reduce it to its original size. As the import of
this sank in, once again the slack in the wires to her
breasts began to shrink. Shaking her head, she saw her
reflection in the mirror as the attachments through
her breasts began to lift her mammarys. It was still
too soon after her last shock for Aqua to press the
button again and crying out in denial she watched as
her breasts were first lifted, then stretched with
increasing pain upwards. As the agony from her breasts
increased, Aqua was sure she would lose her mind, her
nipples were now distended beyond anything she thought
possible and a small trickle of blood had began to
roll down the taught and twisted underside of her left
breast. Once again there was no choice, she pressed
the button and was electrified into unconsciousness.

On to Chapter 24

Occupational Hazzards
Chapter twenty-four

Aqua could sense Juanita near her; but her blindfold
prevented her from seeing what was happening. Instead,
she was compelled to concentrate on the incredible
strain enveloping her body. She was obviously
suspended. Ropes had been run from the rafters to her
widely spread feet; then she had been hoisted into the
air. Her wrists and elbows were still tied tightly
together behind her back. Although she was not sure,
the strain on her torso indicated that a rope ran from
her wrists to another rafter, forcing her arms upward
and bending her so that her chest was the part of her
body closest to the floor. It was singularly her own
weight which was torturing her now--a constant,
steadily increasing strain on her shoulders, thighs
and small of her back.

Aqua had no idea how long she had been hanging here.
Her thighs burned from supporting her weight; it felt
as if they were being pulled away from the bone. Her
back ached from its unnatural arch.

Her stomach muscles were cramping as they were
stretched by the upward

curve of her body. Her shoulders were on fire as the
tendons struggled to hold the weight of her upper body
while being forced back and up into a cruelly
unnatural position. Even her neck hurt. A noose of
thick hemp had been put over her head and into her
mouth preventing speech while the other end was tied
to her bound elbows, bending her head upward at a very
painful angle. Aqua's

only contact with the world around her were her own
moans and

the sound of her labored breathing. She struggled to
endure her bondage.

From above in the barn's loft, Jaunita drank in the
picture of the tormented Aqua. She saw the figure of
her tall, muscular friend stretched taut with her body
shiny with its own sweat. Her heavy breasts moved
gently, seductively, with her

labored breathing; their large red nipples prominently
displayed as drops of sweat rolled off them and fell
to the dusty barn floor. Aqua's slim body quivered
from the strain of her suspension, the muscles of her
arms and thighs flexing as she fought to ease the pain
of the ropes. Her head, pulled up and back to expose
her face, allowed perspiration to pool in the crevices
of the nape of her neck. The sweat mixed with saliva
at the corner of the woman's mouth and ran down her
chin. An expression of gnawing strain on her face was
and Jaunita thought that it was the perfect indication
that Aqua was exquisitely bound to maximize the sweet
pain. The stress was evident even though Aqua's long,
dark hair and narrow blindfold partially cloaked her
face. As Jaunita sauntered around the loft, she could
see Aqua's shaven crotch was clearly exposed--she was
ready to receive company.

On to Chapter 25

Occupational Hazzards
Chapter twenty-five

Dana and I found the farm easily and arrived within 10
minutes of our pre-arranged time. The farm was a
well-kept truck farm with several acres devoted to
artichokes and melons. A note on the front screen door
directed us to the barn several hundred feet to the
rear of the house.

Juanita saw us arrive from the window of the loft.

"They're here, I'll meet them out front," she called
down to Aqua then scampered down the ladder.

I saw the barn door open and a pretty,
casually-dressed Hispanic woman emerged .

"Hi, I'm Juanita" she greeted us, "You're here to see
Aqua?"

"Right, I'm Travis and this is Dana--we met Aqua
during her show the other evening--want to see if we
could lure her away to work with us."

Juanita wiped her hands together as if to remove dried
dirt and said,

"I remember you, I dance with Aqua....my costume's
white...Aqua's inside."

Jaunita disappeared back into the barn and Dana and I
followed. We were greeted by the erotic sight of
Aqua's nude, glistening form dangling in the air. Her
voluptuous body, bound in the rope suspension,
glistened in the bright orange light of the impending
sunset. The sweat covering her body made it shine as
if she had been oiled. Her hair was soaked with sweat
and hugged to her scalp, giving us a clear view of her
fine features and delicate ears. 

"How beautiful," Dana breathed.

Aqua's body quivered and shook with the spasms of
muscles

strained to the limit when she heard Dana's voice.
Juanita reached out and touched Aqua's head. The woman
jumped when touched ; it was as if

she had been hit with an electrical shock. She ran her
fingers along Aqua's back and then traced her athletic
leg to the sweat pooling in the back of her knee.

"Would you care to feel?" Juanita asked us.

I ran his hand forward to Aqua's well rounded buttocks
and onto her smooth back. Kneeling, I traced my
fingertips over the trembling muscles of her stomach
to the breasts hanging beneath. I took one of the
pierced, elongated nipples in my fingers and rolled it
between them, marveling at it's size of it, not
knowing that its swollen condition was the result of
the earlier, prolonged abuse. I stood and asked
Juanita, "How long has she been hanging like this?"

"Nearly 2 hours, though I suppose that it must seem
longer to her," was the reply. 

"Let her down; we need to talk," I ordered.

As the rope holding her head back was slackened, the
ecstasy of relief precipitated Aqua's fade into a
mental state just slightly above unconsciousness. She
remembered her introduction to pain for the sake of
pleasure and recounted it in the recesses of her mind
while we removed her bindings and carried her limp
form back to the house.

On to Chapter 26

Occupational Hazzards
Chapter twenty-six

"What is your name dear?"

Aqua stated, "My name is Allison."

"Where were you born darling?"

Allison gave the name of a small town in the southern
Arizona. 

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

"When is your birthday?"

"It was last month. The fourteenth."

"Is that the natural color of your hair," a man asked.
Allison said that

it was. 

"How often do you masturbate?"

A pause followed before Allison understood and found
herself able form a reply. "I . . . don't remem . . .."
her voice trailed off.

All around, faces were peering at her, waiting for her
to continue. The question was repeated. Allison's
mouth went dry. She had known she would be
embarrassed, yet had been caught off guard. She
dropped her gaze to her lap and spoke softly.

"Once, sometimes twice, a month." Low conversations
broke out around her, but she was unable to make out
the words. She sat motionless during the hiatus,
keeping her gaze lowered, surrounded by a audience of
a dozen or more people, not wanting to see the faces
of these men and women who had gathered to watch her
be humiliated. Her thoughts turned to the events of
the past few weeks. The time she had spent in the
cell, attended to by a woman who had hurt her so
badly, was a memory. Her breasts no longer ached. But
she dreaded being returned to that place. In the days
that followed her torture, and before the agony in her
breasts had subsided, she resolved to acquiesce to any
and all abject demands placed upon her. This decision
was not an emergence of latent, masochism (she had
truthfully confessed to the man that she was unable to
bare the thought of pain), but a result of the torment
she remembered suffering.

Since that time, Allison had begun to learn the nature
of the place in which she was incarcerated. She understood
that her purpose for being there would soon be realized: 
that she would provide sexual services for those who were 
called Guests, but not until after she had been taught 
how to perform in a proper manner. Saddened beyond words 
at the prospect of being held against her will as an 
unpaid prostitute - a slave, in fact - she was, nevertheless,
sexually experienced and wondered what more there
could be to accommodating some unwelcome people beyond
opening her thighs. Her chagrin grew replete after she
had been told it was unlikely that sexual intercourse
would appear often on her agenda: day-by-day she
learned of new ways in which a beautiful young woman
could provide pleasure of a concupiscent nature.
Pleasure not only for men, but also for the cadre of
women who sought entertainment. The appetites Allison 
found so disgusting were indeed unnumbered and diverse. 

Exposing embarrassing facts about herself satiated
some appetites, and, although not physically painful, was a degrading
experience. She sat on a high, chrome stool, wearing
only a slim, velvet choker about her throat. One leg
was crossed demurely over the other and her hands were
clasped around her knee. Her hair, pulled back across
her temples, had been tied in a knot at the back of
her head and hung like a tail over her shoulder. Her
skin, which had been powdered, radiated softness, but
refused to shine in the strong light. On the other
hand, her nipples, which had been painted with the
same radiant red gloss that decorated her nails,
glittered.

The questioning continued with demands for details of
her fantasies while masturbating. She supplied hesitant 
answers, not bothering to lie, aware that only her reluctance and
obvious embarrassment bore witness to the truth of
what she said. She explained that a man she had once known
casually, but with no degree of intimacy, had impressed her sexually, and
featured in most of her current fantasies. She
divulged that, on an occasion, she had imagined
watching him ejaculate into one of her brassieres.

"And then?" a woman wanted to know.

"I . . . put it on," Allison confessed in a whisper.

"Speak louder. Answer the question again. And look up
when you reply," a voice demanded.

"I put it . . . I put the brassiere on," Allison said
in a voice that ensured everyone in the audience heard 
and understood. There were tears in her eyes by
then. Inwardly, she screamed. She prayed for this
mental torment to end.

"Why?"

Resigning herself to her fate, Allison spoke slowly,
admitting: "The idea excites me."

"Do you also use a dildo to arouse yourself?"

"No."

"Then, how do you stimulate your vagina?"

"W- with my fingers . . . only."

"Explain how you do that. No. No. We don't need to see
you do it. Describe it to us." 

"Your nipples are varnished."

"Yes."

"Does that excite you?"

"No. It stings." Allison added: "It's uncomfortable."

"You mean it's embarrassing?" a man asked. Allison
hesitated before answering.

"Yes," she said quietly. "That too...It's
embarrassing."

"Is your clitoris varnished, too?"

A pause; after which Allison said that was not.

"Show us dear."

The mood of the questioning turned to menstruation and
her feminine hygiene. Allison was obliged to take her audience
through the minutia of her period. The questions
became unbearably intimate, eventually bringing
Allison to tears when she was obliged to describe in
excruciating detail how she applied her
tampon. On several occasions after that she had to
overcome sobs before she could continue. 

She was asked if her breasts and nipples became sore
as that time of the month approached. She admitted 
they did and, when asked to explain what measures 
she took to relieve her discomfort, confessed that it 
was then that she masturbated.

Finally, the topic of sexual intercourse was broached.
A woman asked Allison to describe the entire coital 
sensation: of a penis entering her vagina; of
its motion against her vaginal wall; of her breasts
being fondled; of her nipples being suckled; and of
semen being discharged inside her. And, of course,
what she felt during orgasm. Time and time again,
Allison's description was deemed
unsatisfactory, and she would be made to expand on the
theme, to be more explicit. She was castigated for
using clinical terminology, and, when she resorted to
street lingo, found that to be even less acceptable
than medical jargon. She was urged to use nipple
rather than teat or tit. Vaginal canal and cunt were
unacceptable alternatives to vagina. Labia and lips
had to be replaced with the lengthy but more
expressive 'larger (or smaller) folds of flesh at the
entrance to my . . ."

The inquisition seemed interminable to her, yet, like
all trials, it eventually
concluded. It left Allison mentally dissected. She was
drained and ashamed. That night she cried herself to
sleep suffering emotional pain, knowing that she was
no longer a person, but a whore whose responses to any
carnal stimulus could be predicted. 

Her introduction to physical abuse was worse than she
had anticipated.

When she entered where she was ordered on that first
day, the long, quiet room was bathed in golden
sunshine and lit by flames from logs burning in the
grate. Light streamed in through the tall, lead-paned
windows and struck the floor at an oblique angle,
making the dark mahogany parquet appear on fire. At
the far end of the room, a man was beckoning her. She
made her way towards him, beneath the stained glass
windows, her heels clicking on the wooden floor and
betraying her presence. Turning her head slightly,
almost unnoticeable, Allison saw out over the grounds
of the estate. It was autumn. Beyond a cultivated
park, where deciduous trees were losing their leaves,
pine forest stretched to the horizon. There was no
clue to her whereabouts. 

It was early evening and the room was occupied by only
three groups of guests: one by the fireside, illuminated 
only by the burning logs; another near one of the gothic 
windows where the light of day still reigned; and the 
third, in dim shadow, where Allison was headed.

A girl several years younger than Allison stood with
her back to the fire, her arms outstretched and
fastened to the stone mantel piece. She wore nothing
other than a cotton thong. Allison noted the convex,
girlish curve of her belly. Her figure had not yet
matured. Slim hips, scarcely wider than the petite
body they gave support to, barely narrowed into long,
white and delicate. An elderly man, standing, facing
the girl, held a hand raised to one of her breasts.
Allison could not see what the man was doing, but the
girl sobbed audibly and fitfully. Close by, a younger 
man sat in an armchair with a woman upon his lap. Both 
were absorbed in the young girl's trial.

Allison had to pass close to the second group. Here,
three old women with creased faces, and dressed in black, stood in a
hunch-backed huddle - like the witches of Macbeth.
Beneath their gazes, a naked woman of Allison's age
lay on her back upon a chaise-lounge, her legs
straddled, holding herself open with trembling
fingers. One of the women prodded her with what
appeared to be a bodkin. The other two crones watched
and cackled each time the pin elicited a cry of
anguish. Slanting sunshine spilled onto the young
woman, causing the sun-kissed skin to glow gold,
setting it off from the black widow's-weeds and
creating a macabre scene.

The man who had beckoned Allison was not a guest, but
an usher. He directed her to a sofa where a middle-aged man and his
wife were sitting. Then he melted into the evening's
gathering shadows. Allison was invited to sit between
the couple. The sofa was well cushioned and she sank
into it. The back was low and the woman suggested that
Allison rest against it and place her arms upon its top. 
The middle-aged man slipped his hands
between Allison's knees and, smiling, drew them apart.

Allison wore a pleated wrap, fastened at the side of
her waist and barely concealing the tops of her stockings. A
buttonless bolero, open at the front, offered
effortless access to her breasts. The woman pulled one
half of the bolero aside and fondled Allison while her husband
investigated the region of bare thigh left uncovered
by Allison's hose.

Allison was allowed no underwear, a fact the man soon
discovered. He drew a gasp from Allison by
indelicately pushing his fingers into her vagina. Then
he ordered the young woman to begin copulating with
his fingers, and Allison acquiesced to his demand by 
moving her hips quickly back and forth.

"Close your eyes. Rest your head back." It was the
woman who spoke. 

Allison obeyed. A few moments later she felt lips
close around her left nipple. At the same time, the 
man's finger came into contact with her clitoris. After 
a short time she began to pant as the excitement rose 
within her. Without warning, the man withdrew his fingers, 
and the suckling at her breast stopped.

Allison had been close to her orgasm and winced at the
discomfort she experienced at being left hanging.
Perspiration glistened on her forehead. 

The couple quickly escorted Allison to the fireplace.
The long, stone mantle could accommodate two people:
one at either side of the cavernous hearth where the
hardwood oak logs roared. The young girl in the red
thong was still there, standing on the left of the
fire, still fastened by her outstretched wrists.

Allison, after being relieved of her bolero, was
secured in a likewise manner at the vacant side of the
hearth. The girl's quiet sobbing continued and Allison
turned her head to discover the cause. She saw the
cone-shaped coils of nearly transparent wire that had
been wound onto the girl's breasts. The girl was only
a few years into her puberty and still suffered the
natural discomfort of her changing shape: the wire
devices were intended to aggravate that condition as
well as painfully extrude her nipples. The highly
sensitive tips had turned an angry shade of dark red.

"I'm Allison," she whispered to the girl.

"Juanita," came the listless reply.

The strangely nostalgic ambiance of burning wood
mingled with the odor of other emotions pervading 
the room. Beneath the tobacco and perfume more
subliminal exhalations existed: anticipation - both
for excitement and fear - hung pregnant in the air; 
the flavor of arousal grew and faded throughout the 
room; and there was, of course, the ever-present essence 
of perspiration emanating from glistening, pain-wearied bodies.

The room was filling now. Three dozen guests were
present. Some occupied the lavish chairs and sofas
watching the entertainment; others stood in small
groups, talking; the rest participated in the various
events. There were women present as well as men; young
and elderly as well as those in their middle years. If
any common thing united them, it was the shared
nonchalance of what was going on around them, that
nonchalance that only the extremely wealthy manage to
learn well. And they were all so perfectly dressed
in their rich evening-gowns and expensive
smoking-jackets.

If any one thing differentiated the young women, it
was their lack of dress.

None wore as much clothing as had earlier covered
Allison: most were clad only in shoes, stockings and
the ubiquitous velvet choker. For every three guests,
one young woman was there to serve and entertain. They
appeared incongruous among the lavish attire. Each
young woman not engaged in some entertainment wore,
between the delicately rouged tips of her breasts, a
chain of fine gold. The chain tacitly announced that 
its bearer was available. Once removed by a guest,
however, it remained a symbolic link between the young
woman and its acquirer.

By mid-evening the majority of the guests had
exhausted their own imaginations and were impatient
for the more ingenious, staged attractions
arranged for them by their hosts. They eagerly awaited
the introduction of Allison and Juanita.

Apart from two adolescents, the guests began to
migrate to the vicinity of the fireplace. The two who
remained - a boy barely in his pubescence and a girl,
a couple of years older but not yet matured (her dress
lay flat across her chest) appeared to be engaged in
some kind of sibling affair. They knelt on opposite
sides of a low coffee-table. Between them, a young
woman, who might have been as old as their ages
combined, lay on her back, her knees raised, her
thighs parted. She held her breasts in her hands, as
if offering the luscious points. The boy fumbled with
the woman's genitals, his eyes staring at what they
and his fingers were encountering - possibly, for the
first time. The woman gasped as his fingers
disappeared. The boy's sister, more experienced yet
equally unsubtle, used her varnished fingernails and
small, white, childlike teeth on the woman's
nipples. They were absorbed in their ministrations and
unaware of what was about to happen at the fireside.

The firelight played upon and warmed Allison's
semi-naked body; shifting shadows followed the curves
of her side and back; her stockings shimmered. Her
pelvis ached; a result of the near orgasm she had been
denied earlier by the couple. Her nipples tingled,
each one tipped with a shiny, metal cap whose tiny
barbed pin was lodged in the sensitive tissue.

Juanita breast coils pressed into her flesh, and the
tiny organs complained, making her continually shift
her stance in an effort to alleviate the annoying
discomfort. The audience, who had gathered around to
watch these supremely attractive young women being
prepared for a painful ordeal, were offered an
appetizing view of hips and breasts moving constantly
in a seductive and tantalizing fashion.

The end--for now...

Review This Story || Email Author: Bruce Boxer

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