Posted by hisdinner on April 03, 2007 at 12:48:39:
No Story, Just Spectacle
She thought she would explode. Her breathing was ragged behind the leather mask. He'd made sure the strap around her neck was tight. It had been two hours. Sweat ran down her face, stung her eyes and beaded into rivulets that tickled her upper lip unmercifully. She laughed at herself, and that hurt a lot. She tried to shake her head and oh, big mistake. With the blinders on, her tenuous balance on the 6 inch heels was lost again and down she went, scrambling for her footing as the noose pulled tight.
He sipped his drink and watched her struggle. Her shoulders made two lovely, bare orbs above the strappado. Her arms, of course, disappeared behind her. If she listed any further to the left, he'd have a better view of her predicaments. He hoped she would, but he wouldn't interfere with her at all. Not for the time being. Her mindfucking must be thorough, complete. He enjoyed his Bushmills, swirled it around with his tongue as he watched his girl twist and scrabble her feet to find her footing on the four-inch-wide board. There. She had a foot on top of it again and yes, another. Standing, her body canted forward, the strapado attached to a ropeline that extended up into the darker reaches of the gymnasium ceiling. Two ropes tethered her, the one around her neck and the one that pulled her arms up at such an awkward angle.
He toyed with the controller in his hand. The remote had two white buttons and a variety of small, colored ones, too. In the center of the controller was a knob with a pointer, and it could be twisted from the zero mark up to red zone any time he felt the urge to hear her squeal again. Electrostimulation, they called it. Hilarious was a better word. He could hardly stand it, each time he hit one of the buttons and then twisted the knob up and down, up and down, or just up, and up and up. Her body was incredibly responsive, even after three hours of this. Three hours he'd had her bound, arms tightly pressed with elbows together, laced and pulled up and back toward heaven. Three hours now, she'd minced her way back and forth on the narrow beam, suspended precious inches above the floor. If she lost her footing and did not regain it, the noose and strappdo ropes would hold her a scant three inches off the floor. It was enough.
When he gave her a fresh jolt of electricity this time, he decided to start with the anal plug and rev it to the max. Her squealing was almost contagious. He heard himself whimpering along with her under his breath. Her body, mmm, those breasts dangling, quivering, nipples taut, her belly obscured beneath the punishing cincher, and her chest heaving, trying desperately to draw a breath. Her long legs skittered on the narrow rail and clattered in syncopation with her yelps and moans. He kept his fingers on the knob and counted to twenty…thirty…forty, finally easing off.
Funny, it was the easing off part that seemed to get her every time. Her body began to jerk more violently…could it be that the metal probe rammed so deep inside her throbbed at a more punishing pitch? He wasn't sure. He'd let her fight for balance again before he touched the button that brought her cuntful of metal to life. He tapped on the little red button and listened. Buzzing emanated from the little clip at her clit. She howled and moaned and squirmed, nearly losing her footing again.
As much fun as this was, he wanted to feel her superheated skin. Those beads of sweat running from her mask and down between her breasts attracted him. He stood and stretched, leaving his armchair and drink behind. He paused a moment and picked up a crop and scalpel-sharp knife. His boots thumped in the cavernous room as he crossed toward her.
Her pulse quickened as she heard him approach. The sounds were so distorted inside the hateful mask, and her own breathing, sobbing, snuffling sounds obscured her hearing. She longed to see him. His eyes—what did they promise? She'd tried to explain to him how powerful it was to see the glint in his eyes and know he was about to do something terrible, something terrifying, and be unable to escape it. Those eyes. He'd laughed and told her that this was his world, and she was welcome to it. Something like that. Up on ankles that throbbed and toes that were nearly numb from standing so long, she strained to still herself. If she couldn't see him, at least she might hear what he was about to do.
He was close enough now to see the tiny hairs on her skin. Taking the blade of his knife and laying it flat against the rounded globe of her ass, he whispered, "Careful, little girl. Watch your step. He dragged the blade slowly up the curve of her buttocks, a three-inch wide stripe appearing in its wake—reddish pink and weeping. She hissed beneath the mask as sweat ran across her freshly bleeding buttocks. He smacked her hard, his palm cupping the curve of her as he watched her try to counter-balance. She lost it.
Time expanded into precious seconds, her neck twisting, head bound, the black hood covering her panicked eyes, her body twisting as her legs bicycled and pistoned, searching frantically for her perch. The noose was tight again. The strappado rope allowed her to thrash but not turn completely around. He felt it was a small mercy, keeping her roughly centered above the beam, giving her a chance to find her way back by touch, if only she kept her head.
One of her impossible heels slipped, touched the board, caught it, and then slipped off. She cried out, garbled, breathless anguish as her other foot found its way back to the post, and the noose loosened, and she could breathe again. Her body convulsed and she tried to still her panic, calm the jerkiness. With her head forced down so low, the blood pounded so terribly loud in her ears, she couldn't hear him marvel at her tenacity. And then she lost a shoe.
It fell from her right foot and tumbled onto its side on the floor below. She tried stabbing at the air with her toe until the muscles in her calf stood out like knots of iron and wire, until her toes cramped into a curved claw. She teetered there, finally drawing up the foot and holding it upraised behind her. Was she mewling? Her breathing sounded clogged with tears. Her color was very high. He wondered what she'd make of his last gift.
He walked to the side of the room where the noose had been tied off. He watched and listened to the girl as he loosened the tension on the rope. Still breathing a little raggedly. Hm. He shook his head and then he pulled hard, and up she went, four more inches. He tied off the rope quickly and returned to her. She thrashed and undulated, and he thought he heard the soft pop of her shoulder sockets as they dislocated. He wasn't sure. He couldn't take his eyes off her breasts, the way they heaved.
He raised his knife to her and flashed it down the centerline of her body, leaving a red stripe between her breasts and cutting the waist cincher free. Her belly heaved with the effort to breathe, but the noose stopped air very effectively. No matter how her lungs strained to work, how her muscles spasmed, no breath would enter his little one.
Her struggles lessened. He ran his hands over her breasts, cupping them, tugging at her nipples. He ran a hand down her backside, marveling at the tension in her muscles as they twitched beneath his touch. Beneath the lowest portion of the mask, her skin was nearly purple. He leaned in close, licked the runnel of sweat and blood from her breastbone.
He saw that her heart still beat. Reaching up, he hacked and slashed at the rope until she fell hard at his feet, her knees hitting the floor with sickening force. She didn't scream as her arms were wrenched impossibly high behind her. He cut that rope, too, and watched its remnants coil onto the floor beside her. She sank onto the floor, face down, the hood making squelching sounds as it hit the hardwood. He pulled the strappado off her arms and they splayed apart at unnatural angles. She didn't move.
He pressed the flat of his palm against her chest and felt her heart. Yes. The thin red line he'd cut wept blood each time he pressed again.
He loosened the strap around her neck that held her hood in place. A rush of heat escaped. He turned her head slightly so that her cheek rested on the floor. He heard a small sound escape her lips, a snuffle or a sigh. The mask obscured the sound somewhat, even loosened.
She lay, her head resting on the floor inside the hood, thighs parted, exposing the plugs she wore. He got a grip on either side of her and pulled her backward and toward him, making her bend, her ass present to him. There. He pulled the plug free and plunged himself inside her, deep, having stretched her so very thoroughly.
She spasmed and coughed. She coughed again. He plowed her hard, gripping her flanks and bruising them. He found the knife where it lay next to her and picked it up as he fucked her. She shuddered, choking, coughing. He began to flag. He lay down on top of her. He could see a few stray tendrils of her hair as they escaped the hood. He worked his hands beneath her, found her belly, ran his fingers down it, either hand locating the center of her. And then he held her belly taut as he ran the knife from breastbone to navel. He came inside her hard as she unraveled.
The blood wouldn't matter. It was an abandoned school.