Poor Carly	Back to S	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
update march 26 - 2010

FM/f, D/s, bnd, BDsm, humil, reluc, slavery

Poor Carly

Hello dear readers. My name is Carly. If you would indulge me for a spell I will tell you the sad and painful story of my life so far.

Just now, I am sitting in a small maid's room in a large and elegant apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side. I have, sigh, finished my chores for the day and my mistresses are away, leaving a rare oasis of time for myself. If you could see me, you would observe my maid's outfit, one of many my mistresses provide, this one no more and no less strict and humiliating than the others. This particular outfit features a stiff black crinoline dress with a wide pleated skirt, a white crinoline hat, a moderately tight white corset worn under the dress, with garters attached to sheer black hose. Over the hose and garters, I am wearing sheer red silk panties. Impossibly (for normal people) high patent leather black heels enclose my feet, kept in place with little padlocked straps. A shiny black patent leather collar tightly encircles my neck. Under my panties is a titanium chastity belt whose strength and fiendish intricacy would, I dare say, defeat the efforts of even the most accomplished locksmith -- that is if I ever gathered the courage to try to get it removed. The belt has made any sexual satisfaction, without the express intervention of my mistress's, utterly impossible. It has been two weeks since they have allowed me any relief, and my young loins burn with frustrated desire.

My long auburn hair is plaited in a braid. A leather thong is woven into the braid and attached to my leather collar in the back, in a manner that forces my head up and my neck to be tilted about five degrees back of vertical. It improves my posture, as my mistresses would say. This is most uncomfortable though I daren't try to relieve my position. Also, my head being pulled back in this manner, makes writing a bit of a chore.

My head has been held like this for almost three days, punishment for a slight slouch that one of my mistresses detected while I was vacuuming her room. My neck and shoulders are killing me but I would gladly have my present state go on into the indefinite future. If only I could. For, you see, in just a few short hours, I will be subject to considerably greater degrees of pain and humiliation.

Please, dear reader, believe that I am neither a masochist nor someone who enjoys being in a submissive position. I am merely a frightenned, powerless, and hopelessly weak willed young woman, caught up among evil people, without a friend or ally in the whole wide world.

....................................

I was born nineteen and one half years ago in a non-descript suburb of New York City. My parents might have seemed perfectly ordinary to the outside world, but my father was quite the monster in his own little academic way. No, he didn't sexually abuse me or even beat me. He simply belittled me at every turn, telling me what a worthless girl I was, making me feel small and inadequate in the most petty and horrid way. He was some kind of bigdome asshole and couldn't stand the fact that I, his first and only child, wasn't some way off the scale little genius. My mom, bless her heart, was in for mostly the same treatment.

Treatment which, I dare say, had its sadly predictable effect. The creation of a shy, immensly insecure and frightenned little girl. I couldn't make friends or get other kids on my side. I was constantly picked on, abused, singled out as the weakest member of the group for various childhood cruelties. I was the little girl the other kids ganged up on in a snowball fight. By the time I was seven or eight I was no stranger to pain and humiliation and frequent pathetic bouts of crying. By the time I was ten or so, I had built a bit of a defense, hiding off in some corner or other by myself, generally left to my own devices by all but the most persistently nasty of the other children.

After maybe a year and a half respite, things started to deteriorate with the onset of puberty. It sort of served my father right in a way. Rather than a Madam Curie for an offspring, he was cursed with a Marilyn Monroe. Or more accurately a Jane Mansfield. By the time I was 12 my young breasts had already grown to c-cup size, considerably larger than any of my contemporaries, in fact larger than most of the full-grown teachers at my school. The girls hated me and there was nothing I could do. Humiliations were piled on. The boys abused me. That is the only word for what those horrid little demons did to me. They grabbed me and felt me up and poked objects into my holes without a second of kindness or sensuality. Several times I was stripped naked by gangs of them. Once, your not going to believe this, I was stripped naked in the middle of winter and forced to take "A's up", a sadistic little game I knew quite well, where I had to bend over and endure a constant torrent of snow and ice balls pelted onto my freezing, naked ass. Then the fuckers buried me, naked, in the snow. I could have died. And they wouldn't, even then, give me back my clothes. I had to trudge home, a shivering, freezing, pathetic little girl with big tits and no clothes, to my horrified parents. Oh the things my kind father said to me that night. I never "told", on the kids, though. I don't know why. I still never tell.

If you know about the psychology of kids (or people in general, for that matter), "victim" is a stigmata almost impossible to erase. People, even in other situations nice people, just can't help being mean to the truly powerless. And if the truly powerless happens to have something they want. Well they just go and take it. It's human nature. I have no anger, or, if I do, no will to thrust it out into the world. I have no aggression or initiative. My upbringing has left me truly defenseless in a hostile world. You who are reading this, you who are equipped with the normal complement of fangs and claws, will find it hard to understand the plight of someone who has grown up without these things. Whose only defense amounts to begging for mercy in a world that has precious little of that commodity available.

Sometime around my fourteenth birthday things began to change. By this time, to my utter horror, I had these monstrous growths on my chest -- 38" D tits. Imagine what it would be like to be 14, shy weak and insecure by nature, and have these utterly huge tits. Let me tell you it was no fun. I guess the strongest and most confident of girls might have been able to turn her assets, so to speak, to her advantage. But certainly not I. The grab and fondle in the bushes was now replaced by a series of date rapes. Boys my own age or older would order me out on a date. No one ever said please or asked my permission. My reputation as a push-over, and a push-over with an incredible body, had spread. Oh no, they just said "meet me at so and so at so and so o'clock." And I better be there. I will not go into the humiliations brought upon me the one time I got the courage up to refuse.

At this stage dates usually consisted of me taking off my clothes and the boy sticking his cock in my pussy or, once or twice my asshole. A bit later I learned how to give blow-jobs. Occassionally there were several of the fuckers I had to satisfy at once. Sometimes the more imaginative boys would make me lick their toes or their asses before they would fuck me. I was Carly Tits, easiest lay around, and no one ever let me forget it.

This all went on for almost two years, between fourteen and sixteen, the time of life when other girls were cautiously learning the pleasures of sex. I must have fucked or sucked almost a hundred boys with not an ounce of pleasure for myself. Towards the end some of them started to beat up on me a bit. Just for fun. One time I was tied, spread eagled on a bed in some ratty hotel room. One boy used an electric cord to whip my tits while the other fucked me. After a bit they traded places. I cried and tried to scream through my panties that they had forced into my mouth. When they were done, my huge tits were covered with welts. I think it scared them for a moment, but don't you know they were back for more a few weeks later.

I suspect my mother knew some of what was happenning to me, but by this time it was just more water over the dam of her abject failure in life. It was amazing that I never got Aids or even Herpes.

Then a wonderful event came to pass. The one good thing that ever happenned to me. My father died. Abruptly. Of massive heart failure. Did my mother kill him? She never would say, and the police were satisfied that she did not. But I suspect/hope she did. The single act of courage in an otherwise craven life.

There followed a relatively happy, or at least relatively pain-free year. Encouraged by my mom, free of my father's belittling, I gradually was able to fend the boys off. Hardly popular or socially adept, I spent the remaining year of high school wearing huge sweaters that made me look fat instead of stacked, and studiously applying myself to schoolwork. I had no friends and certainly no dates. If one of my former "lovers" approached me I threatenned to go to the police if he persisted. Eventually, it was as if I had disappeared. By the time I graduated high-school, I had found at least a tiny germ of strength and self-respect. As had my mom. At least I thought so.

I had been admitted to a local college and was looking forward to starting a new life. The summer between high-school and college was, perhaps, the one normal time I was to know. I had met a group of young people who accepted me without many questions. It was cool that I did not want to be touched and wouldn't even think of sex. It was ok to just ride around and see a movie. I got high. I even, once or twice, actually laughed. The nightmarish past started to be confined to bad dreams.

Not to worry, it didn't last long at all. Unbenknownst to me, my mother had embarked on a career of "day trading", trying to ride the Internet crest to wealth and security. Alas. It was not to be. Loss piled onto loss and soon the money was gone. My college tuition along with the rest. One day I came home to find a tearful note and a dead mom. The police were more than a little curious about the second dead parent of this strange young woman, but soon were satisfied. And I, small hopes shatterred, bereft of the only source of security I was ever to know, was left penniless and alone, not quite eighteen years old, to make my way in the big wide world.

But life must go on. It didn't take long to find a job in the city. The man who gave me my very first interview was practically drooling at my tits, even in my modest, overly large suit. And drooling at the victim sign visible to all with eyes to see. I knew I should look elsewhere, but when he offerred me the job on the spot, for a fairly nice salary, I was powerless to refuse.

Commuting was exhausting. Apartments in the city a fortune. Even roomates hard to find. One day, about three months into my stint as a working girl, I interviewed for an apartment on the Upper East Side. It was beautiful. High ceilings, expensive furniture, graciously proportioned rooms and a view of the park. The two young women who shared the place, Sandra and Tami, were stockbrokers, a bit older than myself, though not so old as to be out of my generation. They seemed nice enough. My share would be almost fifteen hundred dollars a month with utilities, really quite a bargain, but out of my price range. But they would let me live for only half that amount if I would agree to do a bit of extra cleaning and cooking. Being a moderately accomplished cook, they were happy to have me under this arrangement. I imagined a bit of extra cooking and cleaning to be far less arduous than the daily grind of commuting. I was to move in the next week.

Meanwhile things had started to deteriorate at work. Boss, becoming ever more confident that his original classification of me as a victim was correct, began ordering me about with fewer and fewer attentions to the social niceties. The more I didn't protest, the nastier he got. It didn't take long for even the most emotionally blind of my co-workers to realize who I was. I knew I should look for another job but I never seemed to have the time or the initiative. It was sort of like high school, though not so overt, at least at this stage. The women despised me, both for my tits and for my weakness. I didn't know how to make it all right with them. The men harrassed me with increasingly diminished restraint. I was "forced" to work late. The third time, two days after my interview with Sandra and Tami, but before I had moved in to my new home, Boss asked me into his office and ordered me to strip. No preamble at all. Just like that. People tended to treat me that way. At first I acted shocked, even though I had seen it coming a mile off. And refused. He then took off his belt and said that if I wasn't naked in two minutes he would tie my hands and beat me with that belt. Quickly I stripped naked. So much for my one year stint of confidence building. He gasped when he saw the full extent of my previously hidden charms. I begged him to let me be. But I didn't threaten or assert myself. He had me get down on all fours and proceeded to fuck me doggy style. And then clean the cum off his disgusting member with my tongue. Raped again. For the first time in over a year. It felt just as awful as I remembered. I got dressed and left. The next day not a word was said.

I think I may have neglected to describe how I look. It is not in my nature, as you might have guessed, to put myself forward. But I was/am truly amazing. Full grown at 18, my chest measured 44 inches and my cup size was at least DDD. Now most of you have probably seen women with tits this big in magazines or maybe even in person. But those tits are plastic not flesh. And they belong to women, mostly in their twenties and early thirties whose bodies, despite fanatic exercise, have already begun to thicken slightly. My tits, the curse of my life, were all mine. And they were part of an otherwise fat-free teenage body. You could almost see my ribs below them. And despite their hugeness, they didn't sag at all. Am I pretty? I never thought so, but then I wouldn't, would I. Others have, occassionally, told me that I am beautiful, so who is to say.

Anyway, Monday rolled around, and with it my stuff into my new apartment. I had a nice room with my own private bath and a view of Central Park. I resolved to find a new job. Monday evening I managed to get off work on time and cooked my two new roomates a delicious meal. They seemed happy. We chatted. I felt like things would be fine. Later that evening Tami came into my room while I was getting undressed for a bath. I was in bra and panties. She hadn't knocked. I could see the look of astonishment in her eyes as she caught sight of my charms, but she was Manhattan cool. "Great job, they look almost natural." she said. "They are natural" I said. "No way -- I've never seen anything like that" Yes, just a freak, but the words were free of the malice I was so used to.

A rather pleasant week passed and a routine was established. Every day I would come home from work and cook a meal for Tami and Sandra. The other chores were divided up evenly and the cooking seemed like a reasonable exchange for the $750 in rent I wasn't paying. The apartment was beautiful, luxurious. The girls were quite nice to me if a bit distant and aloof. That was certainly ok. I was a strange egg and the less they pried into my past, the better I would feel. Somehow I put off looking for another job. That Sunday my roomates and I went out to the movies and had dinner at a nice restaurant together. Life didn't seem so bad.

Monday some papers got misplaced at work. I was ordered to stay late and felt an additional anxiety over the meal I wasn't cooking for my roomates. After everyone else had gone home Boss called me into his office and began berating me for the lost papers. It wasn't my fault but I just stood there and took it. It was a man, after all, telling me what a piece of shit I was. I had been listenning to that all my life. Submissively I complied when he ordered me to strip. This time he did handcuff my hands behind my back and beat me with his belt. I cried and begged him to have mercy but to no avail. It excited him to have me so powerless, and the wonderful denuement was a brutal "dry asshole" sodomizing. Fortunately, the creep was so excited from beating me that he came almost at once. Crying, I got dressed and made my way home.

There to find two very angry roommates. "Where the fuck have you been." Began Tami. "Out screwing, it looks like." Continued Sandra. "Don't you know that we are STARVING" said Tami. And more and more and more of the same. It was so unfair. But, as usual, I stood, quaking a bit, the picture of fear and submission, and taking the angry lecture my roomates dished out. Just like all the rest -- they saw my weakness and were ready to take advantage. The upshot was that I was to be "punished". I was not allowed to partake of the sumptuous feast I now prepared and, in addition, was to do all the dishes every day til Saturday.

What a great day, sodomized and beaten by my boss, lectured and "punished" by my roommates. Life seemed getting quite back to how I remembered it when my father was alive.

Tuesday and Weds and Thurs were ok though. Tami and Sandra acted as if nothing had happened. They had a bit more leisure time, I had a bit less. Boss didn't make me stay late or try to fuck or beat me. My sore ass seemed to heal ok. There were various titters and stares and pauses in conversation when I went by that let me know that my "relationship" to Boss wasn't any big secret. Friday a co-worker cornered me in the mailroom and made me suck his cock -- saying that he would tell Boss I had screwed up in some way if I didn't do a good job. Needless to say I gave him my best.

Friday nite was relaxed and cozy at home. After dinner and cleanup, I got to laze in front of the fire. And watch Tami and Sandra begin to make out. I was fascinated. The idea of having sex with a woman appealed to me. Damn it, despite a lot of fucking and sucking I had never really had what a normal person would call sex. It looked like fun. But I was too shy to make the first move. Soon they were naked. Young, beautiful, healthy, well exercised bodies. They looked at me and laughed. "Carly, would you like to join us?" asked Tami. I nodded, a lump in my throat, feeling an awakening of a true desire. Sandra said "You know you will have to pay an initiation?" I knew it was too good to be true, Carly allowed some good honest pleasure.

"What do you mean", I stuttered in an all of a sudden husky voice. "Well" continued Tami without missing a beat, "I think that you should be our little sex slave for a week, and then you can be just one of the gang. What do you say?"

Looking back on this moment I see quite clearly that neither Tami, nor Sandra were yet monsters of any sort. They were normal healthy girls who enjoyed sex and had experimented a bit with the edges of power play -- of domination and submission -- always all in good fun. But I was a temptation. My body and my pathetically weak will combined to make me a target for almost anyone with the desire to inflict pain and humiliation. Think about it, all you perverted readers out there. Maybe you've done a bit of B&D, S&M with a consensual partner. Ever think about doing it with someone who had no choice? Of course you have. And how many of you believe you could resist someone like me? All of 18, with an incredible body, so weak willed that you merely had to speak sharply to me and I would do what you say. Would you abuse me, hurt me, torture me? keep me against my will? Of course you would. You wouldn't be able to resist. And don't you go around believing otherwise.

............................

Woops, my owners have returned. Time to go have some fun. Be back when I can.

...........................................................................

Yes, its almost a week later, and I again have an hour or two to myself. I am just beginning to recover from the ordeal of the "event" I alluded to that took place the evening of this epistle's first installment. Be patient. We will get to that in a bit.



Now where was I? Oh yes, that wonderful moment when I first became their slave. So Tami and Sandra were willing to share real sex with me, the kind I had never previously known, if only I would be their "sex slave" for a week. I knew it wouldn't be that simple. "Ok, but please, don't hurt me, all right?" I said like the miserable wimp that I am. And you know, I think that until I said that, they never intended to hurt me, not really. But just the way I said it let them both know that they could, if they wanted to, that they had me in their power. As I said above, it was a temptation few could resist. And give them credit. They did resist for quite some time.

Right then they had me undress. Tami had seen my body, Sandra had only heard about it. Now in the heat of passion they just oohed and ahhed. It was kind of nice. They had me turn about and then dance for them. I could see it was getting them hot just to watch me.

I had never given head to a woman, but I imagined the principle was the same. I got on my knees and licked both Tami and Sandra to orgasm. Being a "sex slave" to them, at that moment in time, simply meant that I wouldn't get any pleasure for myself. That was, surprisingly, not so ok with me. I was turned on as never before. My pussy was soaking wet. I wanted it real bad, but they were adamant. I was sent to my room with the admonition to "not touch myself or I would be sorry."

The next day was Saturday. I had to go to each of the girls rooms in turn and attend to them. Licking their feet and their pussies and their assholes. Oh did they love it. I was quite practiced at giving pleasure. They moaned and squirmed under my tongue. And I loved doing it to them. They were so beautiful.

As part of my initiation my chores were increased. I had to keep doing all the dishes, and now I became solely responsible for keeping all three bathrooms in the apartment spotless. I also had to remain in bra and panties at all times I was inside the apartment. Sunday was much the same. The girls made me clean the bathrooms in my underwear while they watched and offered encouragement. Tami found fault with my cleaning of her bathroom and I got a little spanking. The girls took turns slapping my ass. After the things I had endured in my life, this was sensual, rather than painful. In fact I practically had an orgasm while over Sandra's knee. I went to sleep with my head swimming and, for the very first time in my life, despite the orders of Tami and Sandra, masturbated myself to orgasm. Oh what a delicious feeling. I had never known. That was what everyone was so hot about. My oh my.

Monday it was back to work. A real nightmarish day and, what turned out to be my last. You would think that if some guy found out that he could order me to suck his cock and that I would obey, he would just keep me to himself for awhile. But somehow that never happened. I elicited an irresistible desire to hurt and humiliate. At 5:00, as I was leaving, my tormentor of the previous Friday beckoned me to come into his office. I almost found the strength, thinking of Tami and Sandra, to refuse, but at the last gave in and followed him. There was the entire male staff of the little company. Maybe twelve guys. Crammed into the little room which gave off the rank and ugly scent of the male in heat. I started crying even before the door was closed. At that moment I would have run for it, but I was not allowed the choice. I was made to get up on the desk and do a striptease. Next my hands were cuffed painfully behind my back. I was forced to my knees and made to begin sucking some guys cock. Another guy started to sodomize me. I was already getting hysterical. The smells and sounds and feelings were unbelievably gross and disgusting. Boys were bad enough. Grown men, with their grosser bodies and sharper consciousness of what they were doing, were infinitely worse. For what seemed like hours I sucked and was fucked. For a little variation I was tied to a chair and beaten around the breasts with various implements, mostly belts, that were at hand. Nobody took my side or offered any gentleness. They just laughed and fucked and hurt me. After about three hours of this, after every guy had come at least twice, After my voice was hoarse from crying and screaming and begging, I was allowed to dress and leave, with a stern warning about what would happen if I ever went to the police.

I arrived at home and one look at my abused self and all games were called off. Nothing but sympathy from the still relatively innocent roommates. They bathed me and rubbed salve in my hurts, made me supper and put me to bed. I was not to think of going back to that horrid place. Tuesday, I slept in. How delicious. The girls had extracted some of what had happened, but I minimized the number and nastiness and would name no names. Tami took it upon herself to call my workplace and announce my resignation. I don't think anyone was surprised.

Weds, I resolved to look for a job, but I was still too weak. Weds nite the girls had a better idea. Suppose I just let my present status linger on. They had plenty of money, doing professionally what my poor dead mom had tried to do as an amateur -- riding the crest of the Internet wave to fortune. I could cook and do the dishes and clean the bathrooms. The other chores would remain split. I would also continue to walk around in my underwear. The girls just loved watching me work in that state. And I would be available to give them pleasure whenever they required. In return they would take care of the rent and the utilities and the shopping. And maybe leave me a little something extra on the side.

I knew I should refuse this and find a job, but somehow it seemed so easy (and sexy) that I just agreed. As for Tami and Sandra, they certainly would not have admitted it to you at the time, but the sight of my abused body on Monday evening had given them darker ideas. The deal was sealed with a three-way love fest. The best four hours of my life. I came and came and came again under the tongues of first Sandra and then Tami. They did all the things to me I had done to them and it felt wonderful, magic, phenomenal. I moaned and groaned and twisted and squirmed and begged for more. And gave as good as I got. We, all three, fell asleep in a heap on the living room rug.

The next night the girls arrived home to me in my underwear and a sumptuous supper prepared. I had to suck their tired feet while they ate, but afterwards was allowed to partake of the feast. After I cleaned up we retired to the living room for some fun and games. The girls had me exercise for them wearing only panties, with my huge tits bouncing up and down. Oh how they loved to watch what my tits did when they made me do jumping jacks, run in place, do sit-ups and pushups, hop about the room on one leg and so forth. It was so much fun. Tami would try to maintain a stern, dominatrix demeanor. "Faster Carly, faster, get your knees up or you will be punished." Which lasted maybe ten seconds till Sandra couldn't take it any more, watching my HUGE tits bounce up and down, and started rolling around on the carpet laughing hysterically. Then I would fall on top of her and start to tickle her and Tami would start to tickle me and we would all be hysterical till Tami got control of herself and started to order me about once again. After an hour or two of this I undressed the girls and began to pleasure them in earnest. Near the end of the evening Tami went between my legs and tasted the juices from my sopping wet, oh so frustrated pussy. She teased me near to orgasm but wouldn't let me over the edge. I begged and begged for relief. They made me crawl about the room and bark for them, but then, seemingly at the last moment, decided to leave me in frustration. I was told to go to bed and warned about touching myself. Of course I couldn't help myself and masturbated over and over, the moment the door was closed behind me.

And so it went on. For perhaps three or four months. I was Tami and Sandra's little sex slave, but in a most innocent and fun sort of way. When we weren't playing sex and my chores were done and they weren't working or out on dates, we hung together and listened to music or just chatted. I learned about their exciting lives and all the money they were making. A few times we even got dressed up and went out to some lez club together. Needless to say I was quite the hit, dressed in the tight and revealing outfits that my roommates had bought for me.

Usually, after slave sex play, they left me frustrated and I masturbated when I was alone. But sometimes they allowed me orgasms while we played. Sometimes we three simply made glorious love together.

I do believe that these times were very good, not only for me but for Sandra and Tami as well They were happy. In the first blush of getting wealthy. Young and beautiful. With an incredible slave girl to play with. Later on, when they had given in to the darker aspects of their personality, the games became more erotic for them, their pleasure, perhaps increased, but I don't think they were quite happy in the way they were during this first, mostly innocent period.



Anyway, as you might guess, the sex slave games slowly grew in intensity. What was fun and sexy for all of us, step by small step became fun mostly for them. A few times they teased me and left me bound in a way that I could not touch myself until they returned home from work the following day. I then had to engage in sexplay with them in the utmost state of burning frustration. Once they did this for three days running and I thought I would begin to scream. <Hah -- look at me now -- wait till I tell you how this, their favorite game, has evolved in eighteen months> A couple of times they beat me for various transgressions. Never as cruelly as I had been beaten in the past, but certainly a bit over the edge of "love bondage". One day they had me parade about with clothespins on my nipples. That hurt quite a bit, but the sight of me doing jumping jacks, with my huge breasts bouncing around with those clothespins on the nipples, aroused them as nothing had before. I had to make them both cum several times before they would take the clothespins off. But it was actually kind of fun, seeing how aroused Tami and Sandra could get just from watching me. And that was the worst of it, and all in all I remember many months as, if not exactly happy, at least as pretty ok. I was a slave. I did the chores. I licked their pussies. But they were far nicer about it than the various men I had known. Actually they were far nicer than anyone, other than my poor dead mom, had ever been to me. I knew this was sick and not helping my long term prospects in life. But I was so weak-willed that I never as much as got out the want ads to look for a job.

Sometime, perhaps fourteen months ago, things changed drastically for the worse. I had not been allowed an orgasm for two days. Tami had mercilessly teased my almost hysterical pussy. I was put to bed unrestrained but sternly ordered not to touch myself. Just as I had done many times in the past, I ignored this particular order and started to vigorously rub my clit the moment the door was closed. Door open, lights on, I was busted. "Why you ungrateful little slut" began Sandra with some real anger "After all we have done for you, we ask you just this one little thing and you disobey. I can't believe it. I'm so mad I could kill you." "Wow", continued Tami, "we enjoy playing with you when you are so hot we could fry eggs on your skin. Now you have gone and ruined it." I was a bit scared, but the worst of it was that I hadn't yet made myself cum. And they could tell. "Get out of bed at once and go to the living room" Of course I obeyed, every cell in my body burning with unfulfilled sexual need.

The handcuffs were immediately snapped on. I was put on the big couch and the cuffs pulled up to tie off on the stairwell overhead. Next they each took a leg and bound it to a couch leg with a steel handcuff. I was spread painfully wide and taught. Much more painfully taught then they had ever bound me before.

The lecture began. How they had helped me. How they had made me part of their gang. And so forth. And how I betrayed them. They were so intense about it that I actually believed them and felt ashamed of myself and my weakness. I was crying freely -- from pain, from fear, from humiliation and from frustration. No one got up to wipe the tears.

"There are going to be some changes around here" said Sandra, "we have been far too lenient with you. From now on you will really be our slave and do precisely as we want or you will suffer pain like you have never known before."

"First" said Tami, "your chores. From now on you are responsible for everything -- keeping the house spotless, doing the cooking, the dishes -- making sure that everything about this house is in perfect order. Do you understand?"

"Yes" I whispered, giving in immediately.

"And you will be our personal servant as well -- dressing us, attending us in our bath and so forth."

"Yes, OK," I agreed.

"And you will never, never, ever touch yourself without permission."

I hung my head and turned away.

"Right" said Tami sharply.

"Yes", I was forced to comply.

"Are you sure? Do you promise on your life?" said Sandra.

"Yes" I meekly agreed.

"Say it" ordered Tami.

"I will never touch myself without permission." I mumbled.

"Louder"

"I will never touch myself without permission."



"OK. Now that we have that settled" said Sandra with an evil grin I had never seen before, "on to your punishment".

They got out a bag of extremely tight "bondage" clothes pins. A few went on my tits. Then one on each nipple. The pins on my nipples had little strings. Obviously the girls had been preparing for this night for awhile. The strings were pulled upwards and outwards in a most painful and humiliating way and tied off to the staircase railing above my head. The tips of my nipples were about at the level of my nose. The weight of my tits was already pulling at the clothespins on my nipples and causing intense pain. Pain that was increased dramatically by even the smallest movement. We had now, already, exceeded the nasty level of anything that the girls had done to me previously.

Next a few pins went on my labia. Ooh did that hurt -- these pins also had strings which were pulled to the sides and tied off in a way that forced my pussy to be even more exposed than the stretching of my legs had made it. Finally the last pin. You can guess where it went. I had suffered a lot of pain, sexually induced, in my short life, but this was the topper. "Oh, please Tami, please not there. I'll do anything. Its so sore already. Please." I begged, knowing it would be bad. But it was even worse than I feared. I practically tore my arms off struggling when Tami released the clothespin to snap tight onto my swollen and frustrated clit. I screamed and begged and sweated and cried and squirmed and shook and sobbed and blubberred and screamed and begged some more. I could hardly squirm the way I was tied off, but I did my best to squirm out from under the horrid pain in my most sensitive spot.

"You will stay like this and suffer the rest of the night and all of tomorrow until we get home from work. From your suffering you will learn to NEVER, EVER, EVER disobey us. And then we will give you the rest of your punishment." said Tami sternly, pointing her finger at me, an evil look of sadism in her eyes.

Sandra took out a vicious looking short rubber whip that I had not seen before. In fact they had never used anything remotely as nasty on me before, being content with hands and, occasionally, a not too vigorously applied ping-pong paddle. "Oh Tami, couldn't we whip her now? Look at how helpless she is. Wouldn't it be something to lay this on the underside of her tits?"

"Lets wait" said Tami -- she is in plenty of pain -- tomorrow will be soon enough.

With that to look forward to, despite my desperate pleadings, the girls started to leave. At the last moment they turned back. In a trice they were naked and hungrily sixty-nining on the floor in front of me.

This was, perhaps, the scariest thing. How my pain and whimpering and pleading turned them on. They went at it for over an hour. Two beautiful young women at the height of ecstatic passion, coupling in front of my painfully bound body. While I cried and whimpered and begged for mercy. Told them how good I would be, how devoted. If only they would let me go. Or at least take the clothespin off my clit.

Finally they finished. Bidding me good nite they went off to bed.

What a nightmare of a night. I was in agony. I could barely move. My legs started to cramp up and I just had to wiggle a bit. But that caused my tits to try to bounce which sent white hot shooting pains through my torturously tied nipples. My clit? I couldn't believe the pain refused to dull. I cried and whimpered and, occasionally screamed. It was the worst. And I knew that the taste for torment had been indelibly burned into my roommates brains. They loved doing this to me. They would continue.

Morning brought Tami and Sandra, bleary eyed, holding cups of coffee to the living room. They warned me about peeing on the rug and made me beg to be allowed to pee in the pot they had bought. Oh did I want some coffee, or anything to drink. They allowed me some orange juice. I promised them things, unimaginable depths of degradation and slavery, if only they would give me some relief. No deal. I was given no relief at all, left in the same position -- tits pinned and pulled upward, legs stretched tightly, pussy lips splayed, clit pinned -- in growing agony and fear that some real harm would come to myself. They just got dressed and went off to work, telling me I better not be playing with myself, hah, hah, hah.

Agony is not even the word for what I experienced over the next nine hours. My body was a mass of cramped muscles. My "erogenous zones" -- my nipples and my clit -- were just burning centers of pain. There was no room in my brain for anything but the pain. Well, perhaps a little fear that I would tear off a nipple in my struggles. I couldn't pass out or escape it. I just endured it, desperately shifting weight in the small amount of space I had to squirm, trying to ease the cramps. Once in a while hopelessly trying to shake off the clothespin on my clit. Oh how piteously I cried and cursed my fates.

Five thirty and the girls came home. Quickly they released me. After eighteen hours in my cruel bondage it was a close thing that no permanent damage was done. My clit and nipples were red and swollen and sore, every muscle ached like you wouldn't believe. But eighteen is a tough age. I stretched and worked out the kinks and despite being screamingly sore everywhere, I knew I would live. They were kind of sweet too. They bathed me and fed me a healthy and sumptuous meal which I wolfed down. In a truly pathetic manner I began to hope that all was not lost and that my two "friends" would continue to treat me with some amount of kindness. But I didn't really have much in the way of illusions. Not after the life I had led, and the evil looks in their eyes when they were torturing me.

After I had some time to rest up from my ordeal, I was ordered to the playroom. I was loosely tied over an ottoman and Sandra took out the whip. I knew how much she had wanted to use it on me the night before when the devil was really in her, but the devil had been temporarily sated. Sandra whipped my ass while I licked Tami. After awhile they switched. But the whippings were modest, playful really, in the scheme of things. I could tell how much the very nasty rubber whip would hurt if they really laid it into me, but this night they were just goofing around. And horny. They were both on fire to my tongue, cumming over and over again.

After a time they stopped whipping and started teasing. This form of sadism was turning all of us on. I was practically hysterical to cum, still having had no relief. "Oh please. Just once. Please. You know I hadn't cum when you caught me last night. I neeeeeeed to cum. Pleeeeeessssssss." I begged and begged, what I wouldn't have done for one tiny orgasm. But now they were getting into it. They must have brought me to the peak before orgasm a dozen times before they untied me and let me go to bed. Unrestrained. It was a test. I daren't touch myself. I had learned my lesson. But it was agony. For the second night in a row I found sleep impossible to come by -- images of Sandra and Tami and what had happened to me the past two days swimming in repeating cycles through my fevered brain and torturously hot pussy.

The next day was Saturday. I had finally managed to fall asleep around 4:00am and the girls had graciously let me sleep till almost noon. When I awoke, refreshed but unbearably horny, I noticed some clothes draped over a stuffed chair in my room. The girls had gone shopping. I dressed myself in the pink silk corset, the pink sheer nylons, the pink 6" heels, the pink push-up under bra (a garment for large breasted woman that pushed the tits up from underneath, covering only the bottom half of the breast, leaving the nipples and the top totally exposed). I attached the stays from the corset to the nylons. I tightened the front strings of the corset as much as I could, narrowing my already narrow waist even further, accentuating, if that was possible, my huge tits. I put on the pink leather collar. It felt cool and sexy around my neck. I looked in the mirror. Wow. I was the hottest babe on the planet. With the hottest pussy, screaming for some relief. At that moment I would gladly have had any one of my many male rapists stick their cocks in me.

A list of chores lay beneath the outfit. I started on the vacuuming and worked my way up to the cleaning of the bathrooms. Don't you wish you could have been a fly on the wall watching? The beautiful sweat of intense sexual arousal glistening from my magnificent body as I went about my duties in this very sexy outfit. The house was empty. The temptation to relieve my screaming sexual need was enormous. I resisted.

The girls were expecting company. Two other woman from the club. I made a huge and scrumptious brunch. I was allowed to have some for myself. I left a majorly marvelous spread on the dining room table. I began to scrub the kitchen floor on my hands and knees as I had been instructed, careful not to soil my stockings. It was 2:00pm. The front door burst open and in came four young woman. Tami and Sandra and two girls from the club, Nicki and Lillian. They immediately saw the food and began to help themselves. Joking and laughing. A joint was lit and passed around. The sweat smell hung in the air. I continued scrubbing.

Soon Tami called to me. I got up and went to the dining room. Everyone complimented me on how hot I looked. Soon I was waiting on the four girls. Fetching them various things, slightly awkward in my six inch heels. Satisfying their every whim. "Oh get me some water, would you, oh not in that glass, could you get it for me in the tall blue glass" etc. Sandra had me prance about. I had to walk with my knees up high while I was serving the girls. In my outfit, as hot as I was, this would have been exciting in front of my roommates, but doing it in front of Nicki and Lillian, women who had known me only as an equal at the club, made me feel deeply embarrassed. I was blushing with shame by the time brunch was finished and I began cleaning up. I could tell that the new girls, especially Nicki, were getting very turned on. I wondered what fun and games were in store for me.

Soon we all retired to the playroom. There was a new piece of furniture. A sawhorse like contraption. I wondered what it was for.

Now I was humiliated in earnest. The theme of the afternoon seemed to be horsy. First they had me prance around. Trying out various horsy gaits. The playroom was huge -- almost forty feet long -- and there was room for trotting and cantering and other horsy things. The girls clapped and applauded. I did not like this one bit -- being this deeply shamed in front of people that were pretty much strangers. I got Tami's attention for a few seconds during a bathroom break and begged her not to do this in front of Nicki and Lillian. That I would do anything for her and Sandra. Tami only laughed and said this was part of my punishment, and that if I had obeyed her and not been such a slut about masturbating, this wouldn't have been necessary. Of course that was a crock. This whole scene of the past few days had obviously been planned for weeks. But I was in no position to argue.

Soon the girls tired of ordering me about and watching my tits bounce as I trotted and pranced. They got out a flat metal bit with leather "reins" attached. This was locked in place, most painfully, inside of my mouth. The girls took turns riding me while I crawled about on all fours. They pulled on the bit with their reins to make me go this way and that. I was really being a horse for them and it was terribly humiliating. And exhausting. And painful. That cruel whip which had been playfully applied to my butt the previous evening was now applied in all seriousness by my riders. "Giddyap" called Nicki, riding on my back, me desperately trying to crawl fast enough to avoid the burning lashes Nicki would gleefully dish out whenever I failed to move quickly enough to satisfy her. She was a real sadist, aiming her slashes to catch my still very sore nipples if she could. I had never felt such a sharp burning pain from any of the beatings I had previously endured. She kept me at it for almost fifteen minutes till I was panting for breath and begging, as best as I could, with that bit in my mouth, for some relief. But there was no relief. When Nicki dismounted, Lillian got up. She rode high on my back and pulled the bit tight. Lillian was a strong girl and used that rubber whip on me till I almost fainted from the pain. Speed crawling in a pathetic attempt to try to satisfy her and avoid more pain. And it went on. And on. And on. For almost two hours. The four girls rode and whipped me mercilessly, exhausting me utterly, covering my body with painful welts and bruises.

And the fun had just begun.

The bit was removed. I was given some water and food and allowed to rest for a awhile. I was crying and must have looked so pathetic, dressed as I was, with little welts from the rubber whip all over my body. But this bare-back riding was just a softening up for the main event.

After I had recovered a little I was placed on the sawhorse-like device. It had a long, smooth, wooden triangular shaped bar that was balanced between two metal sawhorses. The point of the triangle faced up and the bar could be raised or lowered with a crank. My ankles were bound to leg irons, spread fairly widely on either side of the bar. The smooth skin of my upper thighs rubbed against the smooth wood of the bars triangular sides. The crank was turned until the wooden point was forced into my pussy. "Yieoooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww" I screamed as my weight crushed my already swollen and frustrated pussy into the bar. The pain was unbelievable. A primal pain in my most sensitive parts -- a pain I would do most anything to escape. Fortunately they had left me just barely enough room to raise my crotch off the bar. By standing on my tippiest of tippy-tip toes I could avoid the pain.

Nicki took pleasure in binding my hands behind me, wrist to opposite elbow. She began caressing my breasts and kissing me. The other girls looked on. Apparently this was Nicki's show, the fiendish device her idea. I could imagine how sexy I looked to them, bound and bruised as I was, wearing pink pantyhose, a pink corset and a pink push-up under bra. And of course my 44" triple D, all natural tits, covered with bruises, shown off to perfection. Oh yes. I could just imagine how aroused the girls were getting and how this was going to increase their need to hurt me. I knew I was in for a bad time.

The girls then began to undress each other. Orgy time. But not for Carly. Who had been teased and tormented and allowed no sexual relief for days and was now to "ride the horse" for the girls amusement. My legs began to ache. Especially my calves. Standing on tippy-tippy-tip toe, with your legs spread, is not easy after awhile. In perhaps twenty minutes I couldn't bear it, I had to give my calves some relief. I relaxed my posture just a bit. "Aiiiiiiiiiiii"... even a little weight pushing my pussy into the pointed wood was excruciating. Quickly I raised myself up on weak legs. Which soon began to shake. I couldn't hold my position much longer, but I had to. The alternative was too awful even to contemplate. I started to sweat. "PLEASE, get me off this thing, I cried. PLEASE, I'll do anything. PLEASE." but it was too late. I couldn't hold myself any longer, my calves had turned to jello. I "sat" on the horse to relieve my calves, putting my full weight down. The agony was beyond hot, breath stealing, awful. My poor tortured pussy was mercilessly crushed against the point of the bar. I screamed, a long pain filled wail. The orgy on the carpet increased in intensity. After a minute or so of sheer hell, my legs seemed strong enough to hold me. Gratefully I raised myself up on my tippy-tippy-tip toes again.

Nicki disengaged herself and came over to me and gave me a big wet kiss. She told me how beautiful and hot I was and how much she was enjoying torturing me. While she was doing this she supported some of my weight. I was pathetically grateful and thanked her profusely. I looked at her and asked if she couldn't please release me. I didn't think I could take it anymore. "Oh Carly, you make my pussy throb -- beg some more and maybe I will let you go." "PLease, oh please Niki, Ill do anything if you let me go. Please, I beg you -- please have mercy on my poor tortured body. It is wracked with pain. Please." Niki looked at me with great seriousness. She held me up by my tits, giving me some relief. We kissed. I tried to keep her interested in kissing. Oh how I tried. But pain was her game. She let me go, to support my weight up on my tipiest of tippy toes once again.

In just a few short minutes my legs began to weaken again. The little respite hadn't really helped very much. I would have to get some relief for my calves. But I couldn't face crushing my abused pussy again. I was caught between a rock and a hard place, so to speak, and eventually, despite all my efforts, my legs gave way and I eased down off my tip toes. I screamed in agony as my cunt was crushed, by my own weight, against the cruel point of the wooden bar. This time it took almost five minutes to recover enough strength to lift myself up. By the time I did, i felt like a permanent dent had been made in my crotch by the evil triangular wooden bar. And this time I could only hold myself up for a minute or two, my legs had weakened that much already. When I was forced back down again, Nicki came close to listen to my screaming. No support now, only evil in her eyes as she drank in my pathetic cries for mercy and her complete power over me.

Perhaps thirty minutes had passed.

How long do you think those sadists kept me "riding the horse", with increasingly diminishing periods of tip-toes, and increasingly longer periods of pussy crushing? Four fucking hours. Can you believe that. Four fucking hours on that infernal device in unbelievable agony. Several times I resolved to spoil their show. To stop riding. To just stay with my pussy crushed. But as soon as my legs recovered enough to bear my weight, there I was, riding, up on tippy-tippy tip toes, desperately trying to avoid the inevitable pain. While they were having a high old time getting each other off. They took to laughing at me in my pain, taunting me, teasing me, making believe that I only had a few more minutes to go. They were vicious as a group, far more vicious than Tami and Sandra had ever been. I can't describe it. They just loved hurting me. Loved it so much that they couldn't/wouldn't stop. Until that afternoon I hadn't understood how much crueler woman really are. Compared to this, all the rapes and beatings I had suffered under the hands of boys and men were child’s play, passing bits of discomfort. What did they know. The more they hurt you the quicker they came and then it was over. Women knew just were and how to hurt you, and they could keep you in agony for hours for their infinite sexual pleasure.

Finally Sandra called a halt. I was let go. I collapsed on the floor and don't remember anything until I woke up a few hours later in my bed.....

To the knowledge that things had really changed. I had just undergone forty eight hours of what could only be called torture. To the rapturous pleasure of Tami and Sandra. Would that be the end of it. I knew it would not be.



Very quickly a new regime was established. I was tortured, perhaps twice a week. Yes, I know that is a harsh word, torture, but that is the reality of what Tami and Sandra did to me. And my slavery had become far more severe. Driven, on my side, more now by my fear of pain than my desire for pleasure. And on their side by an increasing willingness to accommodate their darker natures. Why not? Who was to stop them? How were they to be held accountable? They could do what they wanted with me. They had me under total control and used that control to force me to strictly obey an increasingly harsh set of demands. Somehow the two day torture-a-thon, partly engaged in with the active participation of their friends, had thrown off their restraints. They allowed themselves to do what they most wanted to do, but which their "morality" had previously kept them from doing -- hurt me. Severely. Repeatedly. With no regard for what I wanted. For nothing but their own amusement. And I just took it, my only form of protest being pathetic begging and blubbering.

Tami and Sandra were also growing increasingly wealthy and increasingly connected to the world of high-end S&M equipment. All sorts of clothes and toys appeared. Corsets and heels and butt plugs and collars. Whips and bondage devices. Ticklers (shockers), canes, gags. Oh, I hated gags. Tami went through a phase of enjoying watching me with ever more severe gags, left on for ever longer periods. She especially enjoyed watching me exercise while gagged. I of course tired much more rapidly when forced to breathe only through my nose. I just couldn't stand the feeling of having my mouth stuffed with some immense plastic penis, my jaws held achingly far apart, and the contraption locked in place so no amount of shaking or spitting would dislodge it. Minute by minute my mouth would grow more dry. The gagging feeling, the reflex to gag, more intense. And I couldn't even scream or beg. I just hated those gags. And, of course, the more I hated them, the more tempted the girls were to torment me with them.

Then there were the butt plugs. Electrified and otherwise. Sandra's favorite game, for a while, was to stuff my butt with this radio controlled plug. She would then watch me go about my chores. Just for fun she would deliver a little shock. I was not allowed to hesitate or acknowledge it. If I did a much sharper shock would ensue. Or she could inflate the awful thing -- just by the touch of a button. Making my insides swell and cramp. And then she would say "Carly, stop what you are doing, turn around and look me right in the eye." Of course I would obey. And then she would press the red button and a vicious jolt of current would course through my anal passageway and I would start twitching and screaming and usually fall to the floor. And she would laugh and laugh. Sometimes she used the thing to hurt me while I was pleasuring her. Oh what fun we all had.





Sometimes Niki and Lillian, or other girls showed up. Sometimes I was given to Niki for a brutal evening or weekend. Niki liked tippy-tip-toes. But no gags. She had a soundproof playroom and loved to hear me scream and cry and beg. One Saturday afternoon Sandra drove me to Niki's large house in the country. I had already spent a weekend there, and, to say that I did not want to go was putting it mildly. By the time we arrived I was already crying, begging hopelessly for Sandra to relent and take me home. It was the middle of winter. Sandra stopped the car at the top of Niki's 200 foot driveway. I was forced to strip naked. No clothes for me, anywhere on Niki's property. Despite all my pleading and crying Sandra forced me out of the car. The sound of the car door slamming was terrifyingly final.

It was freezing. I ran, naked and barefoot to the imposing front door of Niki’s home, crying and shivering and feeling about as lost and hopeless and pathetic as one young woman could possibly feel. Outside, here in the elements, awaited a freezing death. Inside awaited terrible pain and suffering.

With shaking hand I rang the bell. After a few minutes Niki answered, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. "Well hello, Carly, you are certainly a sight. I bet you would like to come in and rest by the fire." Niki was always polite and respectful towards me in her words and gestures. Until she started to hurt me, you could never have figured out that she was such a total sadist. In addition Niki was truly beautiful. At three or four years older than my nineteen, she was about 5'3" tall, with long, streaming red hair and green eyes. She had delicate porcelain skin and a wiry, athletic body. And she had the glow of success and absurd, fabulous wealth that was accumulating to her very own, publicly traded Internet company. Beautiful, successful, young, polite, outwardly so nice, Niki was a creative and brutal torturess and she had absolute, complete control over me when I was with her. Before she hurt me, on this particular day, we had a comfortable little luncheon in front of a roaring fire. I was supposed to engage in idle chit-chat. We talked, mostly about girl things – clothes and make-up and such – what else would I, a closeted slavegirl, have to say to someone like Niki who roamed the wide world with confidence and power.

Next we engaged in intense, passionate lovemaking. I licked her pussy, she licked mine. She called my name over and over and told me how she reveled in me. I think she would have gladly made me cum but that was the one thing that Tami and Sandra insisted upon. Even though I hated and feared Niki, she, really more than my roommates even, turned me on. She was so passionate. She actually apologized for leaving me frustrated. I said I was quite used to it.

After several hours of sex, real mutually pleasurable sex(except for my ultimate denial of relief), Niki got out a simple pair of handcuffs. She cuffed my hands behind my back and led me, without a word, but with many caresses, to her playroom. She attached tight clamps to the tips of my very aroused nipples. She then ratcheted the chains attached to the clamps up, til I was forced to stand on the very tippy tips of my toes. Not an easy position. The pressure on my tightly clamped nipples was immense and very painful. I guess Niki had a thing for tip toes though she wasn't one for elaborate outfits. I was completely naked. except for my handcuffs and nipple clamps. Already the sensuous mood was leaving me and I was starting to feel fear. Niki got out a thin wooden cane. She started to use it on my butt. First gently. Then with increasing force. Talking to me all the time, telling me how much she loved having me around, how hurting me was the greatest pleasure in her life and so forth. "Oh Carly, you are just the best – so beautiful, so helpless, so frightened" A real piece of work, this Niki. That cane was agony. After eight or ten strokes I started to beg. Just a little. But I couldn't help it. "Please Niki, please stop -- give me a few minutes, huh -- it really hurts -- Aioooooooow -- Please, stop -- for just a little? Aiooooooowwww, come on, I'll lick your pussy so nice. Please? " "Oh Carly, my dear, dear Carly, it really is agony for you isn't it? But it makes me feel so terrific doing it -- you do understand, don't you?"

Niki did stop, then, for almost ten minutes, rubbing my ass and clit and legs. Getting on her knees and licking my pussy. Telling me how fantastic I looked.

Then the fun really began. "Carly, my sweetheart dear, why don't you lift, hmmm, lets say your nicely shaped left leg up, so the sole of your foot is pointed back, and, if you could possibly manage it, upwards, just a bit, OK?"

Thats how she talked to me. Like I had a choice. Like this was some fun fucking game we were playing. I had no choice. If I disobeyed her, even in the smallest way, my pain would be even worse. She had made that perfectly clear to me.

So I complied, standing on my right tip toed foot, my tits yanked straight up by sharply biting clamps, my left foot bent backwards so the sole is perfectly horizontal and upward facing. Niki warns me not to jerk my foot away. I have learned from painful experience to heed these warnings. She then began to cane my oh so tender, sensitive and pain averse sole. Red, red agony. Absolutely not fun and not sexy. If you have ever had, say a belt laid on the bottom of your feet, you know about a twentieth of it. By the third stroke I am crying and whimpering and begging pathetically. "Please -- Please Niki, please don't do any more. Please Oh noooo. Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii -- I'm begging you as one human to another. Please?" Maybe the begging saved me a stroke or two. Niki was always sure to let me know that I could save just a bit of pain by begging really hard. She liked to hear it. And she hurt me so badly that I would beg, and beg and beg, just to get a little of it reduced.

But begging didn’t stop the pain at this particular point. Oh no. Whist, whist the evil cane whistled through the air and landed on the sole of my foot, breaking the skin, causing a scream to escape my lips. Perhaps the most horrible part was that I had to control the reflex to jerk my foot away and protect it. I had to hold it there and wait for more pain. Four and five and six and seven and I am screaming like a banshee, pain sweat is dripping down my body, I am close to passing out, but my fear of Niki is such that I am holding my position.

Finally it is twelve. She is done with my left foot. A little break. She hugs me, gets up on a chair and kisses me. I must kiss back. I want to vomit. I want to die. I want to be far away from this evil place of pain. But I am helpless.

Break over. It is time for the right foot. The left foot is cut and bleeding and throbbing with pain. I can’t believe that I have to go through it all again with my right foot. I plead, oh how I plead and plead. Niki must have like the truly desperate sound of my voice because she graciously agrees to reduce my burden to a mere ten strokes. It is, if anything worse. My small reservoir of strength and the few little tricks I know to put the pain aside are depleted. It is nothing but pain. I cannot stand it. But I have no choice. Ten strokes to the bottom of my right foot. Ten very hard strokes. Ten very, very hard and vicious strokes. I stop begging. I just scream.

Finally it is done.

Niki removes my nipple clamps and I collapse to the floor. She allows this breach of discipline, at least for a few moments. Niki knows how to play me, how to squeeze the last drops of agony from me. If I am too exhausted the pain will be less. After a bit she brings in a pair of red, high heeled shoes. The heels are about 5" high, the box quite narrow and a bit small for my rather large feet. Gently and carefully she puts them on, like I am Cinderalla and she, the prince. Still handcuffed, she bades me to rise. "Yeowwwwwwwwwwwwww" All the throbbing pain in my tortured feet explodes in white sparkles behind my eyes. "Wow" says Nike, the first words she has uttered in awhile, "Wow, do you look great in those heels with your little look of fear and pain. Lets see you walk a bit – that’s good – raise your knees just a bit and come down on your heels, not your toes. That’s a good girl, you wouldn’t want me to have to take those shoes off and do some more caning to your soles, now would you."

Absolutely not – anything but that, though the agony of walking about in these shoes is nothing to sneeze at. She parades me about for awhile, a long while actually, while she tells me about her latest corporate conquests, about how much money she is making, about the control she is gaining in the Internet world. For some reason I am silent. Enduring the pain and humiliation stoically for a change. I guess I sense that Niki doesn’t want to be interrupted.

Sometime later she chains my ankles together, with perhaps 18 inches of play. She gets out another one of those canes. This one a bit heavier and longer than the one she used on my feet. I now have to stand in front of her while she lashes that cane over the tops, and then the bottoms of my breasts. She makes me get my huge tits swinging so she can have fun aiming at a moving target. Then the intense concentration on my nipples. With that fucking cane. Slowly. Maybe one stroke every minute, while I twist and beg in between. Sometimes, if I beg really hard, she lets me rest for a few minutes. After maybe twenty strokes she has me get down on my knees to lick her pussy. Desperately I tried to interest her in pleasure – the longer I keep her interested the longer it will be until she starts to torture me again. But all too soon she is sated with pleasure. So back to the cane.

This scene lasts for hours. In addition to my tits being cut to ribbons with that cane, my beaten, cut and bleeding feet are screaming inside the red high heels that are just a little too small for them. The sweat pouring from my feet does not help this sensation at all. A few hours feels like forever. In a hell of pain and humiliation for Carly. And wonderful pleasure for Niki. I must have gotten a hundred and fifty strokes with that cane, across my tits. Niki must have had half a dozen orgasms. Haze swam through my mind. It was unbearable. But bear it I had to. I didn't have any choice at all. I was completely in the power of this merciless woman.

Finally she let me go. Cleaned me up. Fed me a great supper and then took me to bed. More Sex for more hours – no more pain, but lots of frustration. Despite my brutal torture my pussy was burning with unfulfilled desire. I needed to cum in the worst way. But of course that was not allowed. Eventually we both fell asleep exhausted.

The next day it was a swim, a bath, a big breakfast and then more torture. I couldn't believe she was going to do my feet again. I could barely walk they were so fucked up. Now I would have to endure more caning to them. She had me crawl around for about an hour begging her not to. I was terrified of the pain. My feet hurt so already. "Please Niki" I begged, over and over and over, crying, sobbing, shaking with fear, on the verge of hysteria, "Please not my feet again, please -- anything else -- I cant take it please, I'll do anything" and so forth.

No way. "Carly, I know I shouldn’t, I know its too extreme, really, but I can’t help myself. Its so exciting to have you so deeply in my power. To do to you this thing that you so much want me not to do. It is the greatest feeling there is. I must."

Again, oh god no, again I am led to the torture room. This time my feet are placed in stocks which force them upward in the proper position with me lying on my stomach. My hands are cuffed and then chained to the stocks, pulling my prone body slightly upward and off the floor. Niki chooses a slightly heavier cane. There is silence. Utter silence. All that needs to be said has been said. There is nothing left between us but power. Her power. Which she will exercise by torturing me. I cannot stand it. The first stroke of the cane to my totally fucked up feet breaks the silence, along with the skin, with a sharp crack. It is pain like I have never experienced. Deep, frightenning biological pain. I scream, further eroding the silence. I gasp for air. Another crack, another scream. The pain is impossible, inescapable. It goes on, and on, and on and on and on, one stroke merging into the next. Later, much much later, much later than you, who have never been tortured, might think, after many, many strokes of the cane, I mercifully pass to oblivion, my brain finally shutting down the system. I remember no more.







When I awake, perhaps half a day later, I am back home in New York with Sandra and Tami who, at this point, seem like the mother's milk of kindness in comparison with Niki. The girls let me recuperate. It takes weeks for my feet to heal, during which time I am relieved of my slave duties and actually treated like a human being.

After I am healed the slave duties and the pain resume, but there seems to be a bit more room for kindness for me. Once in awhile Tami, and especially Sandra, just make love with me. I am allowed to cum freely in these times and boy is that nice. There is also, occasionally, some relaxed off time where I am just one of the girls. This is much less than in the pre-torture-a-thon period, but it is bliss when it occurs. Occasionally we just go out to dinner or to a movie or a play. How, you might ask, could I be "just one of the girls" with two woman who have so viciously tortured me? Who will torture me tomorrow? Well, I might say, what were my alternatives?

During this period I resolved to break away. The brief periods of normalcy and kindness in no way made up for the increasingly brutal tortures the girls and their cohorts dreamed up. This wasn't a life. This was sick. I needed to get out. It should have been easy. Good to their word, Tami and Sandra had put away a bit of money for me on a weekly basis. The money went into my very own e-trading account. With their expert management this money had grown into a tidy little sum over the year I had been with them. I could leave anytime, get a place of my own, and look for work at my leisure. But somehow, I never found the strength. Subtly, without really trying, Sandra and Tami had bound me ever more tightly with strands of dependency more powerful than steel. They were the only humans that mattered to me, that I got anything resembling love from. So the love came bundled with a ton of cruelty. Love was love. Will and promise myself as I would, I just couldn't break free. Tomorrow, always tomorrow I would do it. I was caught.

And it kept getting worse. At some point I was driven to distraction by almost two weeks without an orgasm. I masturbated. It felt great. Pleasure, relief and a small act of rebellion. Several nights later I did it again. Tami and Sandra sensed there was something amiss. My torment at their teasing didn't seem as intense as it should have been. Sure enough the third time they caught me. A new, even stricter regime began. I was moved out of my room and into this little closet they called the maids room (where I am now writing this). Oh how that hurt. How I begged them not to do it. My room had been my little refuge. Luxurious. Mine. Sure they could walk in when they wanted to but they usually didn't. It gave me the illusion of living in the apartment and only being a slave where sex was concerned. But now that was over. No more view of the park. No more comfortable bed. I had a hard cot. A tiny window looking over an elevator shaft. No closet filled with my outfits. Practically no personal possessions.

And then came the chastity belts. The first version was a simple leather strap affair they got from a catalogue. Hardly effective to a determined masturbator. The one I have on now is the third custom made version, fitted precisely to my body. It is impossible to get relief. There are various little padlocked slides and buttons that allowed the girls to open me up for various torments. Over my year and a half with Tami and Sandra one thing always remained constant. Their desire to see me sexually frustrated. To get me hot and not let me cum. To have me beg for sexual favors. Being a sex slave meant giving but not getting. It was and still is their favorite game.

With my current chastity belt I am entirely at their mercy. Rarely do they let me have an orgasm and then only in some grossly humiliating way. Its been four months since I have "made love" with Tami or Sandra or had a decent relaxed orgasm.

And now we have finally come to the present, caught up, so to speak, with our story. Before I leave you, dear readers, I suppose I should tell you what happened, during the interlude of joy I alluded to above, when I had to stop writing in order to attend the event that Tami and Sandra had planned for me.

............

My last orgasm had been more than two weeks previously. For the three days preceding this "event" I had been mercilessly teased. The little padlock over the "clit slide" in my belt would be unlocked, the slide opened and the teasing would begin with me tightly bound and nastily gagged. A feather is used. The girls have become remarkably adept at bringing me close to orgasm with this feather and keeping me there for hours, never letting me get over that desperately longed for edge.

So after days of this, days preceded by weeks of denial, I am so frustrated that I am literally at the point of going permanently schizo. But I now have the opportunity, graciously granted, to get some relief.

Here is how it is:

My waist is cinched in a truly tight white silk corset, supported by thin steel stays, the laces twisted tight by a corset hook, my waist reduced to perhaps 17". I can barely breathe. To make breathing even more difficult, my head is encased in a white leather harness that gags my mouth with an inflatable ball and pulls my head way back so far that I am forced to look at the ceiling. Of course the ball is inflated to the max, and my cheeks are bulging. Between the corset and the gag I am forced to laboriously draw thin breaths through my nose and find it hard to get quite enough air.

My chastity belt has been removed, my pussy and asshole meticulously cleaned and plucked. Cruelly tight, miniature steel cuffs have been attached to each of my big toes and to each of my thumbs. My white lace stockinged legs are spread painfully apart and over opposite sides of a black lacquered box, perhaps seven feet wide. The toe cuffs are attached to steel rings at the bottom of the box, keeping my legs in place. The way my legs are spread on the box sides, my pussy is left about six inches above the flat top of the box. My arms are pulled tightly back and upwards by the steel thumb cuffs, each of which is attached to the opposite side of the head harness. Oh, and my tits. Yes, mustn't forget those two featured players in my life story. Nasty little clamps are attached to each nipple and then pulled way to the side by unforgiving steel chains. The chains are very, very taught, made so by a little motorized winch. If you can imagine this extreme bondage position, you can imagine that there is virtually no movement possible. It is quite painful just to start, but even the smallest of motions, in any direction, will cause excruciating pain, and possibly real damage.

Notice how the pain of the victim, me, is so beautifully balanced by the eroticism of the outfit the victim wears and the pleasure an onlooker may experience seeing the victim so artfully restrained.

On the flat top of the box is a little dildo, perhaps four inches tall. It is the box top. If I can just maneuver myself onto it, it will slide nicely into my pussy. If I can lean a bit forward and work myself up and down on it I could stimulate my clit a bit. It wouldn't take much. But unfortunately, to get the dildo into my pussy, even a little, requires me to push down hard -- in a position that will cause my thighs to practically crack, my hamstrings, perhaps to snap. And what about my tits -- pushing down and forward will pull horribly on the clamps -- pull where there is absolutely no give at all.

But there are times in the dildos slow rotation (I have to intuit it, since I can't see it, but motivation is everything, is it not?) where it is right below me and at those times it is just possible to touch my pussy to it. Maybe even my clit. By squeezing myself downwards and enduring unbelievable pain and maybe permanent injury. Just possible.

Now I have exactly thirty minutes to get myself off. I have been warned that my next opportunity will not come for a long time. These thirty minutes have been earned by pain and humiliation over the past eight hours, one minute at a time. Have I mentioned that there is an audience. Oh yes. Besides Sandra and Tami, there is that kind-hearted lady Nicki and her friend Lillian and several more young woman of wealth and power. Woman who have tortured and abused me all evening and into the night, in order that I could earn the "right" to my thirty minutes of "pleasure" time on this device. And yes I am grateful. At this point, the need for sexual release dominates all other considerations.

I am sweating profusely, trying to draw adequate breath through my nose. The game begins. The dildo comes round -- I squeeze myself down and yes, it just touches me sending a shudder of pleasure to mix with the pain and tension of my extended position. My nipples are on fire from the pressure on them the motion causes -- stretched to the extremity, an inch more and they will start to tear -- the dildo moves away. I manage to keep my body down a half inch closer to the surface, desperately stretching my spasming thigh muscles. Another pass another touch. This time I almost manage to grab the dildo in my pussy and get almost a full two seconds of touch as it slowly moves around. I need to cum, oh yes. I have been frustrated beyond human endurance. The audience, the hoots and catcalls, the laughter -- they all cease to exist as my entire world focuses down onto that dildo.

...... I have now been on the device for twenty-five minutes -- My body is drenched in sweat, my nipples are torn and bleeding. Twice, in the last few minutes, I have almost managed to go over the edge to blessed orgasm, only to be denied. Finally I ignore damage to my body. I MUST CUM. I squeeze myself down on the dildo and ride it in its circle. Who knows if my nipples are being torn off or my thighs broken. I begin to spasm with orgasm. Oh bless the lord, I cum in a wave of pleasure. And then again. And then the thirty minutes are up and the pleasure ceases.

The girls cheer. Someone removes the dildo. They leave me bound in this hellish position, bleeding from my nipples, at the least some tears in my thigh muscles, in danger of dying from oxygen deprivation, and go out to find some other source of amusement. The sun is threatening to awaken before someone thinks to come home and release me from my hell.





And this is my life. This is what my father's wonderful upbringing has brought to me. This is what happens to a helpless woman with a glorious body, who lacks the wherewithal to defend herself from a wicked world.

And I am not sure if it is still possible to walk away. If I went to Tami or Sandra and said I want out, what would they do? Would they hand me the keys and say its been fun? Or would they overpower me and make my life even worse. Perhaps this little maids room would be replaced by the tiny doggy cage they once made me spend two days inside of. As bad as it now is, I am sure it could get worse. And it probably will.



The end.

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