Extreme Pleasures

The woman was helpless and immobile suspended so that the tormentors had access to the back and front of her naked self. So now she was to be properly punished for the naked lust which she had shown in her response to the self imposed rape. She knew that this was just and right, her Daddy had taught her what happens to bad girls and she knew that she had no defence. It was for her to take her medicine. Only by taking her punishment could she win approval and above all she needed approval. It was only to win approval that she had passed all those exams and that she worked all those hours in the Dealing Room. It was vital that every target was met because if just one fell short she knew that everyone would know her secret; everyone would see her for the failure which she was.

She saw that there was only one tormentor now walking slowly around her as he surveyed his victim. In his hand he held a black whip with three long heavy tails and the worst part was when he was behind her so that she could not see him. That was when every nerve tensed and she found that she was not even breathing as she waited for the first lash to land.

When the whip did strike her it was with great force and it wrung a terrible scream from her as the top of her buttocks and her lower back seemed to catch fire. There was a second's pause before the second stroke higher up her back and then another and another. Her instinctive struggling to avoid the pain of the lash made her try to wriggle free of her bonds and made the stretched muscles in her arms ache. Of course she could not see her back but her imagination conjured a (false) picture of the skin being stripped from her body leaving a mass of blood. After what was actually quite a short time the tormentor came around to the front of his helpless victim and carefully examined the front of her body running his hands over her breasts, her belly and her pubis. His hand stroked through her dark, sweat soaked pubic bush and then went down and groped her opening pushing his fingers into her compliant moistness as she twisted in her bonds and moaned.

The man took from his pocket a black leather ballgag which he pushed between her lips and secured in place with a harness which strapped under her chin and over the top of her head. He stood back and looked at her as he spoke quite quietly.

"So now we begin to treat the front of the target. Are you looking forward to the whip landing over your tits and in here?"

His hand delivered quite a light slap up between her legs and he enjoyed the look of terror in her eyes at the thought of having the skin stripped from her breasts. For any woman an attack on her breasts involves much more than physical pain. It is something which no man can comprehend but every woman understands. Perhaps the fear is something akin to that engendered in a man by the feel of a razor sharp blade against his scrotum.

The tormentor moved towards her holding his whip with the bulbous leather handle uppermost and he forced it into her pussy ramming its whole length into her intimate depths.

"Now you keep this in place Bitch. If it falls out the consequences will be very painful."

He went behind her and returned with a thin cane which he flexed in front of her eyes then he brought it down across the top of her left breast causing her to scream into her gag. She squeezed her muscles around the handle of the whip determined to grip it in place. The next cane stroke was administered with all his strength along the crease in her belly where her navel sat and then the pain just went on and on as he caned the front of her thighs and brought the cane up under her breasts and down over the top of them. Some strokes actually caught the unprotected nipples making her sob deeply and he also lashed the cane across the pubic mound but she kept the intruder secured in her vagina. She knew that she had to win his approval; she had to make him impressed that she had succeeded in the task he had set her.

When he had reddened her whole body and left vivid red lines intersecting across her flesh he stood back to admire his work and to take in the tears flooding down her cheeks. Before he walked away he squeezed her face between his fingers and made it clear that she had to keep the whip in place if she wished to avoid agonising retribution.

She had endured the beating but simply standing there with her calves cramping and her arms aching as they were held above her head was far worse and all the more so because she had no idea how long they would keep her in this position. In the area behind the wall she could hear men shouting and the occasional wail presumably from their victim. And still she stood there moving her captive limbs as much as she could which was very little. Of course she had long ago lost all sense of time but she sighed with relief when the realisation filtered through her consciousness that a woman was standing before her looking her naked and chained body up and down.

The woman wore the black cowl of a tormentor and she had long shiny hair coming out of the back of her cowl and flowing down her back. She wore a black satin gown tied at the waist and on her feet were red high heeled sandals. The captive shuddered; there was an extra level of fear in a female tormentor. A woman would not rely upon physical force but she could use more insidious methods and she would know so many creative ways of hurting and humiliating her own sex.

The new tormentor ran her hands over her captive's breasts and then her questing hands were at her face feeling around the gag in the same way as a horse dealer inspects a possible purchase. While one hand roamed over the victim's belly the other gripped the whip and withdrew it from its moist and fleshy sheath causing the prisoner to shout loudly into her gag as her intimate muscles went into painful spasm.

A silvery laugh came from the tormentor who began to unfasten the gag which caused more pain as it was pulled free and the narrow leather straps came away from where they had become embedded in the soft skin of the wearer's face. Next the tormentor crouched down and released the metal clips anchoring the ankle straps to the rings in the floor but any freedom was short-lived as she immediately clipped the straps together with a silver chain of about six inches length.

Anxious and increasingly fearful of what was to come the captive watched as her tormentor went to one side and wound down the pulley which kept the bar high above her head so that she was standing weakly on her feet with her wrists still attached to the bar which was now down to shoulder height. Leaving the woman standing there helplessly the tormentor moved an armchair from against the wall so that it stood some feet in front of the captive. Next she took handcuffs from the pocket of her gown and expertly removed the wrist straps and handcuffed her plaything's hands behind her back.

Without the support of the straps above her head and with her hands behind her making balance difficult the weakened woman feared that she would crash to the floor but she kept watching as the tormentor slid off the black robe leaving herself nude and then settled into the armchair crossing her curvaceous legs.

"On your belly whore and crawl to your mistress. We don't want me to have to hurt you do we?"

It was impossible for her to lower herself gradually to the floor with her head swimming as it was so as soon as she began to get down she fell forward and crashed painfully to the concrete. It took an effort of will to move into position on her belly and she found that trying to lie flat caused the cramps in her lower belly to worsen so she settled into a position with her sore, beaten breasts pressing into the cold floor and her knees against the concrete with her buttocks in the air. In this position she painfully moved forward like a pink caterpillar.

The woman in the chair laughed in delight as she beheld the pathetic sight and kicked off one shoe pointing her toes towards her victim's face. The unspoken order was plain and, feeling hot tears in her eyes, the crawling defeated woman took the tormentor's great toe into her mouth and began to lick and suck. A constant stream of instructions began to come from the tormentor to suck each toe in turn and then lick around the whole foot and begin to move up the sinuous leg. The instructions were laced with criticism and statements of how worthless the slave was. Still the captive strove for approval just as she had lived for those times when her Daddy had praised her and his words had given her a warm tingly feeling across the top of her head.

It took some time to lick to the thighs of the tormentor and then she was made to get back down and begin with the toes of the other foot, "And this time make a decent job of it."

The tormentor was sitting with her legs wide apart and her thick black hair contrasting the moist pinkness at the centre as she pulled herself open. When the lickslave had once again reached the top of a leg her hair was suddenly grabbed and her face was forced into her mistress's open vagina with instructions to lick her to orgasm in the hope that she just might avoid another beating.

What was left of Tara could barely breathe with her face being forced deep within the tormentor but her soul ached for approval. She so desperately needed this woman to say that she had never had a better orgasm and yet somehow the knowledge that such an outcome was almost certain to be denied her seemed the fitting punishment for such a dirty little pervert.

Eventually the tormentor tired of her game and, using her slave's hair as a handle, she dragged her away from her task and dropped her once again onto the floor. One hand took up the whip which had been resting in the side of the chair and the other pointed towards the barred cell where Tara had been previously.

"Get in your cell you little useless maggot."

The whip hissed down to land across Tara's upper back causing her to bump her chin on the hard floor and bite her tongue. She shuffled on her belly towards the cell as fast as she could with the whip constantly thrashing her back, buttocks and legs so that she was unable to suppress the screams or the heartfelt and humiliating cries for the tormentor to stop hurting her. As soon as her head entered the cell she folded up her body so that she was completely in the cage as fast as possible and then the tormentor slammed the door shut with an ear splitting clang. The nude tormentor turned her back and strutted away but that was not the end because in a moment she was back trailing the hose behind her. Tara instinctively curled up in a defensive position but there was nowhere to hide and the tormentor opened the valve on the nozzle of the hose releasing that high pressure jet which was like being pummelled by a hundred fists. The two sides of the cell being composed of bars meant that the tormentor could move around and always find the most effective target for her freezing dousing. Even when she is curled in a tight ball a naked woman is still exposing those puffy and sensitive areas which peep out between her buttocks.

And then it stopped. She remained in her foetal position with her ankles shackled and her hands cuffed behind her as she lay on the cell floor which was one huge puddle. The neon lights in this part of the building suddenly went out although she was not in darkness as light spilled over from the neighbouring areas.

There followed a twilight time of neither waking nor sleeping when the world inside her head was probably more real than that outside. She certainly wept and many confused thoughts wafted in and out of her mind but she was too exhausted to hold any of them for more than a minute. She thought she heard the voices of her Daddy and of the nuns and the giggles of her schoolmates when the eighteen year old had endured her time of penance face down in the corridor trying to keep her hands from beneath her body.

When the two tormentors came for her she was undecided on whether they were real or not. Even when they carried her between them out of the cell she thought it was probably a dream. When the shackles and handcuffs came off the men held her up with their arms under hers and a third tormentor inspected her and held smelling salts under her nose and gave her a drink of water from a plastic beaker.

She began to revive and take more of her own weight although one man still supported her. The man facing her was telling her that it was time to be released; her sentence had been served for this time.

Now she was standing on her own and she saw that the tormentor had taken a spray can from his pocket.

"We just have to leave you a souvenir and then you can get dressed."

Her arms were by her sides, what was the point in modesty at this stage, so he had a clear shot with the red spray paint and he caught her pubic bush and the inside of her thighs. Now her hands moved to protect herself but the men behind her were ready and they gripped her wrists until the spraying was complete. They told her that it would come off -- eventually and then, as she felt the wetness of the paint on her skin, they indicated a small heap of clothing on the floor.

Dressing did not take long. All she had was a tracksuit made up of a top and trousers which did not match and a pair of red plastic "flip flop" beach shoes. The tracksuit top was faded maroon and the trousers were navy. Both were stained and had holes in places. She felt very uncomfortable between her legs as she had been made to pull on the trousers while the paint was still wet; she tried to see if there was a wet stain showing through the material.

A tormentor handed her the keys to her flat and a £10 note which he said was the due payment for the fucking which the whore had given earlier on. They had still not given up making her feel cheap. Then she saw the black hood and stood still for it to be pulled over head as if she were being led to the gallows.

Strong arms steered her out to the van and she was loaded into the back. This was not the camper; it was a plain van with a metal floor on which she lay for the trip rolling back and forth as the vehicle took corners. She did not know if a guard was watching her but she did not dare remove her hood.

Then the van stopped with the engine idling and the man who must have been there all the time pulled off her hood. As she blinked in the darkness of the van she beheld a vague human shape wearing a "hoody" and he quickly emptied a bottle over her head soaking her hair and the shoulders of her clothing. The smell of cheap whisky was everywhere.

"You can walk from here Miss."

The door was opened from outside by another hooded man and the two of them helped her down then she was alone as the van drove off. She looked around getting her bearings. It was night or the early hours of the morning and she was looking up at the statue of Eros in Piccadilly Circus. She decided it had to be some time after 3am as there was no other time when this place would be so quiet even though it was by no means deserted. Would that be Sunday morning or Monday morning? She gave up on that question.

As she rested against a railing she noticed a few people looking at her with disgust in their eyes before they pointedly looked away. Her face was probably streaked with grime and her tangled, filthy hair was sticking to her cheeks due to the whisky which would be smelt by anyone within a yard or so. The elastic at her waist was so old that it was not really doing its job and she had to keep pulling her trousers up but they would probably not fall all the way down as the now dry paint at her crotch had stuck to the fabric. She hoped this did not mean that the shape of her pussy was too obviously outlined in the cloth.

She stood up feeling weak and she swayed a little adding to the impression that she was just another stupid drunk. She did not see any cabs and she realised that any passing taxi was unlikely to stop for her. If she had hailed a cab she decided she would not be able to stand the disgust on the face of the cabbie who would certainly demand his fare in advance.

So she began the fairly short walk to her flat hoping that no-one would be awake at this hour to see her enter. Relief overwhelmed her when she reached the flat and, having shut the door behind her, she leaned against the door enjoying the sensation that she was finally home. She still did not know what day it was but that was a minor detail. She needed a bath but did not, at present have the energy to run a bath or even take a shower so she tottered to the bedroom, stripped off her second hand clothes, which left navy wool sticking to her red painted belly, and fell naked and filthy into bed.

Sleep did come but not before her hands went to her pussy and vigorously dealt with the crashing need which arose there.