The Start Of Something Wonderfulbyo.h.slutwench©
You have me naked before I even enter your home. It is still light out and there are people walking by. They stop to watch me as I undress, and only when I am naked do you let me in.
You had told me before, when we met for coffee, that you were cruel and sadistic, but at the time I really didn’t believe you. Having seen what there is on the table, however, I do believe you now. A part of me wants to leave before you can inflict any pain on me, but another part wants, and needs, this pain, this torture… more than anything else in the world.
You order me to sit on the chair in front of the table and put my jugs, my tits, on the table. After some nervous hesitation I obey. You clamp the tip of the left nipple and stretch it and the tit as far as it will go - and then some. I want to beg you to stop, to pull my nipple away from under the clamp with my free hands, but something about you says that if I do you will do something to me that is even worse, far worse than you’re already planning to do.
When the nipple and tit are stretched as far as you want them, you order me to hold the nail in place. It is the worst torture of all to make the one being tortured take an active part in her own torture, I hold the nail as ordered, and watch as you strike it firmly with your hammer, nailing the tit to the table. You have warned me not to scream, or else another nail will follow this one. There is also still the second tit to be nailed down, and something about you tells me that however many nails go into one tit the same number will go into the other tit. Though I feel like screaming, I don’t. I don’t want any more nails in my tits than there have to be. Now the second tit has to be done. Again you order me to hold the nail, again you warn me against screaming, and again I am hissing the pain away from my tits as much as I can do without making a noise.
When I am well and truly nailed down you tell me to stand up, and you pull the chair from under me, forcing me to bend over, otherwise the pain in my tits would be more than I could bear, and I would surely scream. That would not be a good idea. You order me to spread my legs further, to bend my knees and to arch my back, and I obey, conscious of how exposed my cunt and arse are to your sadistic needs and whims.
Silent tears stream down my face as you sew my cunt lips to my inner thighs, exposing my naked pink vagina, and slowly begin inserting something into my pee hole, more tears. There is more pain, more pleasure until, finally, whatever-it-is is where you want it to be, deep in my bladder.
I sigh, thinking the worst is over, but then you grab my hair and hold my head as you force a tube into my nose and down into my stomach. I want to move, to fight, but cannot because of the nails in my tit. Now, to my shock and amazement, you join the tube going into my stomach to the one you say is in my pee hole, but I don’t really understand your intent until…
You force me to drink more than 3 litres of water, then push your cock into my mouth and make me to drink your pee. Then you face fuck me, and make sure that I swallow your copious ejaculations of cum. By now I desperately need to pee, but it goes into the tube and… oh no… up to my nose, down to my stomach in what is almost a constant stream.
While all this is going on you spread my arse cheeks and ram your fist into me, squeezing even more liquid into the tubing, into my stomach, into my bladder…
Hours crawl by, until you tell me I have been good, a good slut, and that you will remove the tubing from my nose and from my pee hole, when it is all done. I thank you, but guess you have not yet finished with me. You show me a knotted flail and tell me you will flog me till I cum, and that once that happens you and I would have words.
I have no time to think of what kind of words these might be before you begin a relentless flogging of my back, arse and thighs - and sometimes even my still-exposed cunt. I do not scream as I would like to, since your threat, or promise, of more nails is still in my mind, and more nails are not what I need at this moment.
For half and hour you flog me, and then you tell me I must cum and cum. I do, obeying as I know I must, I cum so much it flows in rivulets down both my legs to form puddles at my feet. You keep on flogging me until I stop cumming, but the continued flogging makes me start again, and I cum even more. So you flog me for another half hour, and for that half hour I am a continuous cum slut.
While the puddles at my feet are being licked up by your dogs you stop flogging me and order me to sit on the seat you place under me. My tits are still nailed to the table and, sitting next to me, you make sure you have my full attention by holding a nail and the hammer in your hands.
“I have need of a slut who will take the kind of pain you have taken - and more,” you say. “What will it take for you to agree to becoming my slut, exclusively for my pleasure?”
“I don’t know what you are offering, sir.” I reply, looking him in the eyes, averting my own eyes from the nail and hammer in his hands.
“What is your most pressing need, slut?” you ask, though you already know the answer to that question.
“Enough money to pay all my debts, and somewhere to live, sir.” Even though I know that you know, I still answer your question.
“And if I pay your debts and give you some place to live, you will become mine, to do with as I please?” (How I hate these rhetorical questions!).
“Yes sir, whatever you wanted, sir.” I had really burnt my bridges now, but what choice did I truly have? It was either the street, wondering where my next meal was going come from, or this house, where payment for food and lodgings consisted of allowing this man to use me to satisfy his sadistic needs.
“You will sign this contract to remain here until I let you go,” you say sternly. The contract is already typed up and ready to sign, as if you had anticipated my reply to your proposal.
“One more thing, slut,” you say, when I have finished signing my life away. “In the morning we will be married.” I am amazed. “Married?”…