MY NAME IS AMY. ~ Part Four
By C.A.B.
(Fiction. MF/F, Warning: adult themes. non-consensual, sex. violence, torture)
When Steve closes the door to the control room he has me sit at the console with him. I can't take my eyes off the woman on the other side of the glass, shaking and straining at her bonds. I am both sympathetic and sexually mesmerized by the sight. Steve turns me on my stool to face him.
"Go ahead. Ask." he says.
"Ask? What? Oh..." he can read me, "Why did you say we were going to torture her if she was ready to give up her bank accounts? She's scared enough, isn't she?"
"Yes. And no. She is scared, no doubt there, and that's exactly how we want her. However, she might or might not be scared enough to give us what we want. Ask her now, and she my give us bullshit for hours. Waist of time. And let me tell you, as scared as she is, we have no threat credibility other than the actual abduction. We want more than scared— we want dread. This way, she'll remain frightened for her life. She won't dare risk this happening again. Understand?"
"I think so," I paused, "So... what are we going to do?"
"When we go in, I will tell her over the mic how we are going to torture her, and then we will. Step by step. We will mix psychological and sexual torment, pain, and tickling. She won't know whether to scream, cum, or cry. We'll start with her nipples and breasts. Pay attention to the verbal play, not only will she feel violated but guilty for getting turned on against her will. We will slowly build her up with sexual tension, then dash it with a good flogging or more nipple torture," he smiles, "or both." My own nipples were hard just listening to Steve casually rattle off the methods of torture he would employ... no wait, WE would employ. I was unconsciously rocking on my stool. One ear on Steve, one eye on that delicious spoiled tart. The girl from my high school fantasies superimposed perfectly on this woman. I was so ready.
Steve cleared his throat and I came back to the room.
"It is important that you have a care for your enthusiasm. Never rush. Torturing is an art form and we take our cues from the guest. We must maintain the illusion that she does not matter. In truth, it is her every reaction that dictates the path we take. You must me mindful of her body's reaction but ignore her mouth. Never hesitate or stop based on what she tries to say, even when she's gagged, "Steve chuckles, "There are no safe-words here."
I nod. Enthralled.
"Whatever I ask you to do, do it slow and deliberate. Be merciless. In the end, its all worth it. If we fuck around and get sloppy, we won't see dime one... and we're fucked." Steve said 'we're fucked' but his eyes hinted I was fucked. He continued.
"The idea is to bring her to the edge of endurance and then make her endure more, and then, more beyond that. Guests never think they can deal with it and they die a thousand times every-time you push them a little more. It's called torture for a reason." then he looked at me funny, "Are you ticklish?"
"What?" I swallowed, off guard.
"I said, are you ticklish?"
"No!... Yes. Actually I hate it. I can't stand it."
"That's my point. You absolutely can't stand it, that's why its such an effective torture. When you can not stand one more bit of it, you have no choice and must endure more. The laughter is forced. The guest does not want to laugh but is forced to. Its humiliating and agonizing at the same time. Some get sexually excited involuntarily and that humiliates them more. Absolute loss of control. Slow agony. The sexual torture works the same way; forced to the edge, then denied. Or inversely, forced to cum multiple times against their will."
I had never thought of tickling or sex that way, but now I could see it. A wicked and delightful torment. That woman, crazed and suffering under my deftest touch. My fantasy was fleshing out before my eyes.
"The other side of that coin is it does not stop. There is nothing they can say or do to stop it. They come to realize that they are..."
"Totally dominated!" I blurted out. Then blushed.
"Right. Are you almost ready to go back in?"
"Oh, yes!"
"I'll show you how to torture breasts. Its a good warm up." Steve tugged down his mask and then adjusted mine and we went in. I dove in.
* * *
In the room Steve motioned me closer and I stood opposite him over our guest. She felt our presence more than she actually knew we were there. In her head-space there was only her breathing and pounding heart. She was pearled with perspiration and wound like a spring ready to explode. Steve clicks on his mic.
"We're going to torture you now. I want you to watch as we do it." Off goes the mic. Steve peels off her taped blindfold, which was easy because of her sweating. Her eyes were beautiful to me, all flashing and defiant, full of terror. Deep blue and nary a crease of laugh lines. She babbles something into her gag. Steve instructs me to play with her nipples, to make them very hard. I touch her and begin doing to her what I know makes mine hard; caressing and pinching, squeezing and pulling all over her breasts. Circling slowly to tease the tip. I make them each wet with the tip of my tongue, blowing on them to watch the flesh tighten. I loose myself in the process until Steve asks, "Are they really hard? Back away."
Without warning Steve begins to whip the whole of her breasts with a leather flogger. Beating them each in measured, practiced strikes. Fast enough to seem violent, yet spaced enough for her to appreciate every welling sting. Steve is smiling behind his mask, "They are no doubt hard now... check this out." He dips the very tips of the leather thongs into a bucket of water, "This really stings." He is sadistic, licking each erect nipple with a snap of pain, and rounds out the beating with her belly and mound. The woman is in fits and she cannot help but squint at every strike. Steve stops and adjusts his mask. "Now soothe her, caress her... finger her a little. See how red and tender she is. She's wet as well."
This cycle of flogging and teasing goes on for a while. Then Steve flicks at her nipples and pinches and pulls them, filling them with her hot pounding pulse as he fastens clamps on each one, turning the adjustment wheels slowly until she cries out. His mic on, "Do you feel that? Good. Wait until we remove them... its worse."
I am in the presence of a true sadist, but as I watch, I realize he was right. He is locked onto this woman with his entire being. Her every wince. Every twitch. Reading her for clues. He devours her agony like sustenance, this is more than just a job to him, it's a dance macabre; torturer and sufferer. I decide I want to fuck Steve. Definitely.
The guest is glistening with sweat and tears and she is absolutely stunning that way. Steve instructs me to play with her lips and masturbate her lightly, "Just a little. Maddening circles, break it up, keep her edgy." I oblige and use my lightest touch to play around her pubic bone, inner thighs and puffy lips. Steve's mic clicks again.
"You think you're a classy bitch but your just a cum slut aren't you? You want to gush all over my table don't you? Doesn't take much to get your pussy wet does it, ****?" He clicks off. She whimpers and screams haplessly into the gag.
Steve raises a finger to me as if to say, "Watch this!" He throws a lever below the table and something heavy releases. The table has some tricks built in. Steve turns a crank and the table splits under her ass, her legs spread out with each pinion notched. He does not stop until she is wide and fully exposed. Her pussy is red and puffy. Her wetness glistening over her asshole. I know I am exactly the same under my jeans. Steve then hands me a a small stiff feather. He spreads her lips with his hands, her pink button poking out from under its hood, throbbing and sensitive. "Okay. Now paint around that little clit, Deft strokes. You know what to do. Not enough to make her cum, just torture."
I lower myself between her legs like a black widow considering its prey and watch her squirm and thrash as I torture her most sensitive flesh. A woman knows a woman. Not as clumsy or reckless as a man. A woman knows how to draw it out until it's excruciating. I realized this is why Steve wanted me. As good a torturer as he could ever become... he'll never understand a pussy the way woman does. It took a while but I made her cry for release. There was none.
Steve pulls me away. She is left oozing and frustrated. "Now we switch gears."
He clicks on his mic, "Are you ticklish?" The woman has no answer, she is not prepared. Her eyes suddenly widen. Steve looms over her and begins to tickle her ribs. She instantly screams into her gag. "Are you ticklish? Answer me." He continues to dig. The woman is obviously off the scale ticklish and cannot answer, let alone breathe. He gleefully continues as she thrashes. I watch in amazement at her suffering... laughing a little myself with her forced laughter. She hated it. He would pause as he worked up and down her tanned sides, and she would scream hatred at him through her gag, she was absolutely livid and cursed till her face was red. But then the most satisfying thing; Steve would start tickling her ribs and underarms and belly and her mask of hate was forced to transform into a tearful mirth. And she laughed and laughed and laughed and had no control that she was. That was erotic. Force the bitch to do what he wanted. Now I wanted to do it. Bad.
Steve stopped and parted her lips again. This time handing me a vibrator with a knobby clit stimulator. "Do it. Bring her this close. Then stop." I did as I was told. She pulsed and strained and seeped all over the leather table. She did not want to, but she was being forced to the edge... and there I made her stay. This close. Denied. I wanted to turn the vibe on myself. But Steve had other plans.
~ To be continued.
By C.A.B.
(Fiction. MF/F, Warning: adult themes. non-consensual, sex. violence, torture)
When Steve closes the door to the control room he has me sit at the console with him. I can't take my eyes off the woman on the other side of the glass, shaking and straining at her bonds. I am both sympathetic and sexually mesmerized by the sight. Steve turns me on my stool to face him.
"Go ahead. Ask." he says.
"Ask? What? Oh..." he can read me, "Why did you say we were going to torture her if she was ready to give up her bank accounts? She's scared enough, isn't she?"
"Yes. And no. She is scared, no doubt there, and that's exactly how we want her. However, she might or might not be scared enough to give us what we want. Ask her now, and she my give us bullshit for hours. Waist of time. And let me tell you, as scared as she is, we have no threat credibility other than the actual abduction. We want more than scared— we want dread. This way, she'll remain frightened for her life. She won't dare risk this happening again. Understand?"
"I think so," I paused, "So... what are we going to do?"
"When we go in, I will tell her over the mic how we are going to torture her, and then we will. Step by step. We will mix psychological and sexual torment, pain, and tickling. She won't know whether to scream, cum, or cry. We'll start with her nipples and breasts. Pay attention to the verbal play, not only will she feel violated but guilty for getting turned on against her will. We will slowly build her up with sexual tension, then dash it with a good flogging or more nipple torture," he smiles, "or both." My own nipples were hard just listening to Steve casually rattle off the methods of torture he would employ... no wait, WE would employ. I was unconsciously rocking on my stool. One ear on Steve, one eye on that delicious spoiled tart. The girl from my high school fantasies superimposed perfectly on this woman. I was so ready.
Steve cleared his throat and I came back to the room.
"It is important that you have a care for your enthusiasm. Never rush. Torturing is an art form and we take our cues from the guest. We must maintain the illusion that she does not matter. In truth, it is her every reaction that dictates the path we take. You must me mindful of her body's reaction but ignore her mouth. Never hesitate or stop based on what she tries to say, even when she's gagged, "Steve chuckles, "There are no safe-words here."
I nod. Enthralled.
"Whatever I ask you to do, do it slow and deliberate. Be merciless. In the end, its all worth it. If we fuck around and get sloppy, we won't see dime one... and we're fucked." Steve said 'we're fucked' but his eyes hinted I was fucked. He continued.
"The idea is to bring her to the edge of endurance and then make her endure more, and then, more beyond that. Guests never think they can deal with it and they die a thousand times every-time you push them a little more. It's called torture for a reason." then he looked at me funny, "Are you ticklish?"
"What?" I swallowed, off guard.
"I said, are you ticklish?"
"No!... Yes. Actually I hate it. I can't stand it."
"That's my point. You absolutely can't stand it, that's why its such an effective torture. When you can not stand one more bit of it, you have no choice and must endure more. The laughter is forced. The guest does not want to laugh but is forced to. Its humiliating and agonizing at the same time. Some get sexually excited involuntarily and that humiliates them more. Absolute loss of control. Slow agony. The sexual torture works the same way; forced to the edge, then denied. Or inversely, forced to cum multiple times against their will."
I had never thought of tickling or sex that way, but now I could see it. A wicked and delightful torment. That woman, crazed and suffering under my deftest touch. My fantasy was fleshing out before my eyes.
"The other side of that coin is it does not stop. There is nothing they can say or do to stop it. They come to realize that they are..."
"Totally dominated!" I blurted out. Then blushed.
"Right. Are you almost ready to go back in?"
"Oh, yes!"
"I'll show you how to torture breasts. Its a good warm up." Steve tugged down his mask and then adjusted mine and we went in. I dove in.
* * *
In the room Steve motioned me closer and I stood opposite him over our guest. She felt our presence more than she actually knew we were there. In her head-space there was only her breathing and pounding heart. She was pearled with perspiration and wound like a spring ready to explode. Steve clicks on his mic.
"We're going to torture you now. I want you to watch as we do it." Off goes the mic. Steve peels off her taped blindfold, which was easy because of her sweating. Her eyes were beautiful to me, all flashing and defiant, full of terror. Deep blue and nary a crease of laugh lines. She babbles something into her gag. Steve instructs me to play with her nipples, to make them very hard. I touch her and begin doing to her what I know makes mine hard; caressing and pinching, squeezing and pulling all over her breasts. Circling slowly to tease the tip. I make them each wet with the tip of my tongue, blowing on them to watch the flesh tighten. I loose myself in the process until Steve asks, "Are they really hard? Back away."
Without warning Steve begins to whip the whole of her breasts with a leather flogger. Beating them each in measured, practiced strikes. Fast enough to seem violent, yet spaced enough for her to appreciate every welling sting. Steve is smiling behind his mask, "They are no doubt hard now... check this out." He dips the very tips of the leather thongs into a bucket of water, "This really stings." He is sadistic, licking each erect nipple with a snap of pain, and rounds out the beating with her belly and mound. The woman is in fits and she cannot help but squint at every strike. Steve stops and adjusts his mask. "Now soothe her, caress her... finger her a little. See how red and tender she is. She's wet as well."
This cycle of flogging and teasing goes on for a while. Then Steve flicks at her nipples and pinches and pulls them, filling them with her hot pounding pulse as he fastens clamps on each one, turning the adjustment wheels slowly until she cries out. His mic on, "Do you feel that? Good. Wait until we remove them... its worse."
I am in the presence of a true sadist, but as I watch, I realize he was right. He is locked onto this woman with his entire being. Her every wince. Every twitch. Reading her for clues. He devours her agony like sustenance, this is more than just a job to him, it's a dance macabre; torturer and sufferer. I decide I want to fuck Steve. Definitely.
The guest is glistening with sweat and tears and she is absolutely stunning that way. Steve instructs me to play with her lips and masturbate her lightly, "Just a little. Maddening circles, break it up, keep her edgy." I oblige and use my lightest touch to play around her pubic bone, inner thighs and puffy lips. Steve's mic clicks again.
"You think you're a classy bitch but your just a cum slut aren't you? You want to gush all over my table don't you? Doesn't take much to get your pussy wet does it, ****?" He clicks off. She whimpers and screams haplessly into the gag.
Steve raises a finger to me as if to say, "Watch this!" He throws a lever below the table and something heavy releases. The table has some tricks built in. Steve turns a crank and the table splits under her ass, her legs spread out with each pinion notched. He does not stop until she is wide and fully exposed. Her pussy is red and puffy. Her wetness glistening over her asshole. I know I am exactly the same under my jeans. Steve then hands me a a small stiff feather. He spreads her lips with his hands, her pink button poking out from under its hood, throbbing and sensitive. "Okay. Now paint around that little clit, Deft strokes. You know what to do. Not enough to make her cum, just torture."
I lower myself between her legs like a black widow considering its prey and watch her squirm and thrash as I torture her most sensitive flesh. A woman knows a woman. Not as clumsy or reckless as a man. A woman knows how to draw it out until it's excruciating. I realized this is why Steve wanted me. As good a torturer as he could ever become... he'll never understand a pussy the way woman does. It took a while but I made her cry for release. There was none.
Steve pulls me away. She is left oozing and frustrated. "Now we switch gears."
He clicks on his mic, "Are you ticklish?" The woman has no answer, she is not prepared. Her eyes suddenly widen. Steve looms over her and begins to tickle her ribs. She instantly screams into her gag. "Are you ticklish? Answer me." He continues to dig. The woman is obviously off the scale ticklish and cannot answer, let alone breathe. He gleefully continues as she thrashes. I watch in amazement at her suffering... laughing a little myself with her forced laughter. She hated it. He would pause as he worked up and down her tanned sides, and she would scream hatred at him through her gag, she was absolutely livid and cursed till her face was red. But then the most satisfying thing; Steve would start tickling her ribs and underarms and belly and her mask of hate was forced to transform into a tearful mirth. And she laughed and laughed and laughed and had no control that she was. That was erotic. Force the bitch to do what he wanted. Now I wanted to do it. Bad.
Steve stopped and parted her lips again. This time handing me a vibrator with a knobby clit stimulator. "Do it. Bring her this close. Then stop." I did as I was told. She pulsed and strained and seeped all over the leather table. She did not want to, but she was being forced to the edge... and there I made her stay. This close. Denied. I wanted to turn the vibe on myself. But Steve had other plans.
~ To be continued.
