There was no time. No past or future. No memory nor thought. Nothing existed. Nothing beyond the sensation of leather cracking into her skin.
The relentless and excruciating sting slapped down far deeper than the skin of her bare feet, deeper even than the muscles and bones. Every lash thrashing into her feet was a zap of raw electricity to every cell in her body. Vicious streaks of lightning struck in sync with each ear-splitting crack of the flogger against her soles, but even through such a storm of pain she could see the truth of the situation. She was being twisted from the inside out, beaten down to nothing, scrambled and destroyed against her very best efforts to stop it.
The pain was transforming her into something Other, something she could barely stand to look at when seeing the reflection of it rippling in a bowl of water, or warped and stretched across the gloss of her captor's stiletto heels. Donna still felt pain, still screamed as energetically as she had on the night of day one, but as she was bèaten to the edge of consciousness a presence shimmered in the darkness bracketing her vision. It had no discernible form, but she knew it to be there, appearing only in her most frenzied moments. It whispered in her ear, goading, taunting, poking at her. The whispers punctuated each blow to her naked soles, telling her that she deserved what was happening right now, that she needed what was happening right now. That she needn't worry about notions like the stress of her job or quarrels at home anymore. That here in the cellar was the only place in the entire world where she could experience true freedom.
Sometimes the presence made itself known during the night while she swung in suspension bondage, drifting in and out of something not quite like sleep, bringing with it visions as vivid as any artistic rendition of her life could possibly be. She would see her parents, Dad mowing the lawn and Mom reading on the lounger beneath a parasol positioned just so to allow only her blonde hair exposure to sunlight. Birds sang in the moments Dad shut the mower off to empty the grass box. Mom sipped a glass of iced tea and waved hello at the man next door as he and Dad chatted about all the boring stuff Dad's love. Inside the house everything was still, clean, organised, and as Donna floated through it and up the stairs and across the landing to her bedroom tendrils of nausea swirled in her stomach as she noted a treadmill where her bed once stood and white and slate gray paint on walls which she and Dad had papered together the week before her twenty third birthday. It was the same deal at work, with meetings being conducted as if she'd never existed, a computer screen flickering as AI took the notes in her place. Everything was gone.
Perhaps it was some twisted coping mechanism, the action of a mind shattered by the desperate search for comfort in an inescapable hell, but whenever she sensed the presence arriving through the fog of tÅrture or the abyssal darkness of the cellar, a familiar heat lit up every nerve in her belly like the kiss of an old love. It radiated outward in every direction until even her ears and toes were flushed and tingling so fiercely as to be unbearable. It whispered into her left ear, detailing things which part of her knew she should be horrified by, disgusted by. But as it talked, she clutched onto the chains holding her wrists high. She rolled her hips, and with the words pouring into her ear she couldn't help but grin and giggle and gasp and curl her toes as they morphed from mere words into bolts of scalding pleasure, purging the taint of nausea from her body and leaving her bathed with such a rash of sweat a forgiveness could be made for believing she'd been tied up beneath a stormy sky. She bit her tongue as it told her that nobody cared. Her feet were trembling, dancing in the air, while it made explicitly detailed work of describing how nobody even remembered her name. And by the time it was through with the painting of all possible scenarios for her future life in the cellar, Donna was utterly, inexplicably beside herself with the need to orgasm.
Encouraged by the whispers, she had screamed. Cursed. Punched and kicked the air, thráshing against the chains keeping her held so helplessly in the air, yanking at them to make them jangle as loudly as possible, knowing it would pìss her captor off to be woken in the middle of the night, knowing they would burst through the door with their tool in hand, it's evil, braided handle bending against the fòrce of their fist and the leather tails dangling, dancing, ready to taste her naked skin once more. The pain would be legendary, it always was, but it would be so… Fucking… Worth it.
Into the pitch dark she howled her rage until finally she caught the scent of spices and flowers with honey tying the notes together and she sucked the fragrance through her nostrils and wept as the tingling overwhelmed her senses. The whispers had tied such a knot of desire in her belly she felt it pounding with every beat of her heart. One touch is all it would take to unravel her, to send her screaming into oblivion, and not understanding such notions as light and dark her cùnt made its needs known anyway, flushing and swelling a wicked pink bloom. A hand rested on her inner thigh, the edge of a finger nestled against the sticky, stubbly skin at the crease with her hip. So close. So painfully close. Donna lurched towards it, screaming for that one touch to finish her off, to allow her the orgasm that would surely end her very existence, but the chains held and the hand stayed clasped to her skin, pitiless and unmoving.
You know, every time I laid eyes on you I would wonder the same thing, the voice purred, I'd watch you serving people, flashing that little smile, thanking them so sweetly, and I wondered…
The hand disappeared from her thigh and as Donna mourned the passing of that touch both of her breasts were seized and mashed together and as she squealed with shock she felt the heat of her captor's breath on her face. I wondered… What would happen to that delightful, freckled little redhead, if I spent a full month edging the life out of her?
Donna barely heard the words over the pulse thundering through her ears and she didn't care to hear them anyway. She needed to be touched, down there, right now, one touch, literally just one, now! She needed it more than her next breath. To spit the gag right into that face and rip the chains from the ceiling and use them to tie the bitch in knots and ride her face until the weeks and weeks of pent-up frustration exploded forth and drowned her was all she could think of. But still the voice talked. And talked. And talked. The fingers keeping a careful distance from her nipples while the voice… TALKED.
I didn't know if it'd be possible to edge somebody for that long. Maybe I'd push them a little hard one time. Or maybe their body would be unable to cope anymore and let it all out while they slept. Not you, though. It's your age. So young, so fresh and responsive, so much energy and stamina. I had a lady down here once, forty four she was. We'd barely been together for three days when she fell apart on me.
The relentless and excruciating sting slapped down far deeper than the skin of her bare feet, deeper even than the muscles and bones. Every lash thrashing into her feet was a zap of raw electricity to every cell in her body. Vicious streaks of lightning struck in sync with each ear-splitting crack of the flogger against her soles, but even through such a storm of pain she could see the truth of the situation. She was being twisted from the inside out, beaten down to nothing, scrambled and destroyed against her very best efforts to stop it.
The pain was transforming her into something Other, something she could barely stand to look at when seeing the reflection of it rippling in a bowl of water, or warped and stretched across the gloss of her captor's stiletto heels. Donna still felt pain, still screamed as energetically as she had on the night of day one, but as she was bèaten to the edge of consciousness a presence shimmered in the darkness bracketing her vision. It had no discernible form, but she knew it to be there, appearing only in her most frenzied moments. It whispered in her ear, goading, taunting, poking at her. The whispers punctuated each blow to her naked soles, telling her that she deserved what was happening right now, that she needed what was happening right now. That she needn't worry about notions like the stress of her job or quarrels at home anymore. That here in the cellar was the only place in the entire world where she could experience true freedom.
Sometimes the presence made itself known during the night while she swung in suspension bondage, drifting in and out of something not quite like sleep, bringing with it visions as vivid as any artistic rendition of her life could possibly be. She would see her parents, Dad mowing the lawn and Mom reading on the lounger beneath a parasol positioned just so to allow only her blonde hair exposure to sunlight. Birds sang in the moments Dad shut the mower off to empty the grass box. Mom sipped a glass of iced tea and waved hello at the man next door as he and Dad chatted about all the boring stuff Dad's love. Inside the house everything was still, clean, organised, and as Donna floated through it and up the stairs and across the landing to her bedroom tendrils of nausea swirled in her stomach as she noted a treadmill where her bed once stood and white and slate gray paint on walls which she and Dad had papered together the week before her twenty third birthday. It was the same deal at work, with meetings being conducted as if she'd never existed, a computer screen flickering as AI took the notes in her place. Everything was gone.
Perhaps it was some twisted coping mechanism, the action of a mind shattered by the desperate search for comfort in an inescapable hell, but whenever she sensed the presence arriving through the fog of tÅrture or the abyssal darkness of the cellar, a familiar heat lit up every nerve in her belly like the kiss of an old love. It radiated outward in every direction until even her ears and toes were flushed and tingling so fiercely as to be unbearable. It whispered into her left ear, detailing things which part of her knew she should be horrified by, disgusted by. But as it talked, she clutched onto the chains holding her wrists high. She rolled her hips, and with the words pouring into her ear she couldn't help but grin and giggle and gasp and curl her toes as they morphed from mere words into bolts of scalding pleasure, purging the taint of nausea from her body and leaving her bathed with such a rash of sweat a forgiveness could be made for believing she'd been tied up beneath a stormy sky. She bit her tongue as it told her that nobody cared. Her feet were trembling, dancing in the air, while it made explicitly detailed work of describing how nobody even remembered her name. And by the time it was through with the painting of all possible scenarios for her future life in the cellar, Donna was utterly, inexplicably beside herself with the need to orgasm.
Encouraged by the whispers, she had screamed. Cursed. Punched and kicked the air, thráshing against the chains keeping her held so helplessly in the air, yanking at them to make them jangle as loudly as possible, knowing it would pìss her captor off to be woken in the middle of the night, knowing they would burst through the door with their tool in hand, it's evil, braided handle bending against the fòrce of their fist and the leather tails dangling, dancing, ready to taste her naked skin once more. The pain would be legendary, it always was, but it would be so… Fucking… Worth it.
Into the pitch dark she howled her rage until finally she caught the scent of spices and flowers with honey tying the notes together and she sucked the fragrance through her nostrils and wept as the tingling overwhelmed her senses. The whispers had tied such a knot of desire in her belly she felt it pounding with every beat of her heart. One touch is all it would take to unravel her, to send her screaming into oblivion, and not understanding such notions as light and dark her cùnt made its needs known anyway, flushing and swelling a wicked pink bloom. A hand rested on her inner thigh, the edge of a finger nestled against the sticky, stubbly skin at the crease with her hip. So close. So painfully close. Donna lurched towards it, screaming for that one touch to finish her off, to allow her the orgasm that would surely end her very existence, but the chains held and the hand stayed clasped to her skin, pitiless and unmoving.
You know, every time I laid eyes on you I would wonder the same thing, the voice purred, I'd watch you serving people, flashing that little smile, thanking them so sweetly, and I wondered…
The hand disappeared from her thigh and as Donna mourned the passing of that touch both of her breasts were seized and mashed together and as she squealed with shock she felt the heat of her captor's breath on her face. I wondered… What would happen to that delightful, freckled little redhead, if I spent a full month edging the life out of her?
Donna barely heard the words over the pulse thundering through her ears and she didn't care to hear them anyway. She needed to be touched, down there, right now, one touch, literally just one, now! She needed it more than her next breath. To spit the gag right into that face and rip the chains from the ceiling and use them to tie the bitch in knots and ride her face until the weeks and weeks of pent-up frustration exploded forth and drowned her was all she could think of. But still the voice talked. And talked. And talked. The fingers keeping a careful distance from her nipples while the voice… TALKED.
I didn't know if it'd be possible to edge somebody for that long. Maybe I'd push them a little hard one time. Or maybe their body would be unable to cope anymore and let it all out while they slept. Not you, though. It's your age. So young, so fresh and responsive, so much energy and stamina. I had a lady down here once, forty four she was. We'd barely been together for three days when she fell apart on me.
