On Boxing Day, Richard and I received an email from Alex and Nicole
inviting us to a New Years Eve party. The invitation said “An Unforgettable Opportunity
to Scream the New Year in”.
The invitation was ambiguous to say the least but it was clear that in
accepting, I would be committing to some sort of torment at their home. They are an elegant couple who like us are
members of a torture club. It took only
moments for me to decide to send back an RSVP.
I discussed the forthcoming party with my husband, Richard, and we
speculated on what format the party might take.
There was no hint to be gained from the dress requirements which simply
said formal.
The fear of what lay in store kept me in a state of deliciously erotic
excitement for the five days until we both made the short trip to their house
on New Year’s Eve.
It was an intimate dinner party, with just one other couple
invited. David and Janelle were also
friends from the club. I guess there is no point having an intimate dinner if
we ladies don’t use the occasion to dress up a bit and wear outfits that are
both elegant and outrageous. I
certainly felt very special in my gold silk gown with a halter top that
displayed my assets very proudly.
Janelle wore a red strapless prom style dress, while our hostess wore an
elegant green one shoulder full length dress.
Dinner was magnificent and Nicole had even hired a waitress to manage
the final preparations of the meal and to serve it so as to allow her to
participate in the party without needing to worry about the meal. By about 11pm, the meal had wound up and the
waitress had gone home. We were
finishing off our liqueurs and coffee when Nicole seemed to give over
responsibility for the evening to Alex who invited us outside to what he
referred to as the games area.
The area was open and consisted of a large covered veranda between their
house and the building next door from which Alex conducted his business. Hanging from the centremost exposed roof
beam was a contraption that looked like a giant decorative mobile. It was based on a centre section made of
three wooden rods all joined and suspended from one end to form a kind of three
pointed star. Each of the three rods was
positioned at 120 degrees to the other.
Hanging from the outer ends of the rods was a short length of rope which
was tied to the centre of a short wooden rod about one foot long. To each end of these shorter rods were
attached short lengths of rope each with a nasty looking clover clamp
attached. The whole assembly was
suspended from a long rope that ran over a pulley to a winch clamped to one of
the vertical pillars that held up the roof.
We women were not much interested in the mechanics of the apparatus,
clever though it was. What we became fixated upon were the three pairs of
clover clamps dangling in obvious preparation for attachment to our
nipples. Of course, we were all familiar
with clover clamps, and we certainly knew that these devilishly clever Japanese
devices clamped on more and more tightly as the tension on the rope attached to
them was increased.
We did not need to be asked to remove our clothing and soon there were
three beautiful gowns hanging on thoughtfully provided clothes hangers with our
lovely shoes sitting on the floor beneath them.
Since none of us were wearing underwear we were naked.
We were then asked to reach behind our backs and to hold each elbow with
the opposite hand. Then some of tape was
bound around our forearms resulting in our arms being locked behind our
backs. Being bound this way is not a
problem (at least not at first) because standing with ones shoulders back and
with breasts proudly thrust forward is actually quite nice. But it is amazing how one’s nose, eyes, pussy
and other places begin to itch immediately one is unable to scratch
oneself. Of course the wonderful nervous
excitement that I was experiencing caused my pussy to itch from the juice that
was building up inside and leaking down over my labia.
The “mobile” was lowered and soon we ladies were gasping, squealing and
grunting according to each other’s preference as six turgid nipples each made
the painful acquaintance of the nasty little clamps. Then the winch made a sustained noise as Alex
raised the apparatus until we each began to feel the clamps pulling on our
nipples. I noticed, then, that the
apparatus balanced the degree of pull on each nipple such that each lady suffered
equally regardless of her height or whether her breasts were firm or soft.
Then Alex announced that he would slowly increase the tension from here
on (that didn’t come as a surprise) until one of us called “stop”. However, just to discourage us from being the
first one to call, he had decided to give the lady who called “stop” three cane
strokes on the butt. After that, we
would continue to hang until midnight.
And so it began. “Click”,
“click”, click went the ratchet of the winch and my poor nipples were pulled
higher and higher. At first we started
saying things like “Oh Shit!” or “You bastard” directed at Alex or simply just
“Oh, Oh!” However, as the tension got
worse we began to wail and squeal not only from the current pain but from the
realisation of how bad it was going to become.
Eventually the pain had become agony.
We were each standing on tip toes in an effort to ease the relentless
pull on our suffering tits and howling and often screaming with each
“click”. I knew that if I was to call
“stop”, not only would I have to suffer the additional pain of the cane strokes
on my bum, but I would inevitably move about and this would exacerbate the
tension on my nipples.
Finally, just as I was feeling that I couldn’t endure it any longer, I
heard Nicole scream “Stop!” Alex handed
Nicole’s 3/8inch cane to Richard who flexed it and stood behind the trembling
hostess. Not only were the three
sizzling strokes that he whipped into her buttocks cause her to scream, but of
course she flinched and jumped as well.
This not only added to the pain in her nipples but her violent movements
were transferred to Janelle’s and my nipples as well. Because we were already suffering terribly as
it was, this added shaking caused us to howl almost as loudly as she did.
When it was done and Nicole stood whimpering and Janelle and I were
moaning with the pain, Alex announced that it was 11:50 pm and that he would
leave us to hang with no further change in tension until midnight. We all groaned and resigned ourselves to
tough it out for another ten minutes.
Apart from the tension torturing the tits, our ankles were feeling the
pain from having to stand on tiptoes.
Eventually midnight came and Richard’s phone chimed the hour. Each man stood with his lover and
simultaneously cut the ropes to each clamp and quickly removed them from the
nipple. I knew what to expect but that
didn’t make it any better as my blood surged back into the nipple after being
released from the prolonged compression.
The hundreds of little nerves in that most sensitive of female parts
sent messages of agony to my brain.
The other two women were enduring the same surge of pain and each in the
loving embrace of our partners, we all screamed the New Year in.
It has been twelve months since my husband Richard suggested that we
answer an advertisement for couples wishing to join a bondage and discipline
club. This club which came to be known
by its members as “The Torture Club” has come to make a huge difference to my
life and to my relationship with this man that I love.
As we soon found out, the club requires one (and sometimes more) of the
female members of the club to “put on a show” each month. This show always involves one of the lady
members enduring some type of torture.
When each lady joins the club she must write her name on 3 wooden
marbles which are placed in a jar along with the marbles of all the other
ladies. At most meetings the lady who is
to be tortured will be selected by randomly selecting a marble from the
jar. Sometimes other methods such as a
game or competition will be used to select the lady (or sometimes the ladies)
who would be chosen to provide the entertainment for the night.
Whenever a lady provides a show, her marble is then placed in an envelope
with the date written on it and the marble is kept out of the jar for 12
months. I have only one marble left in
the jar because I have been selected twice during the last year. Once was in May when I was tied to a table
and bitten on my most sensitive places by some very nasty ants. The second occasion was at the November
meeting when I was made to kneel on a devilish invention which was simply a
very high step on which the lady had to kneel and place her hands on the floor
in front of her. The effect is to make
her bend sharply at the hips and thereby cause her labia to protrude behind her
and in doing so, would offer her most sensitive place as a target for the
cane. If the girl has large labia (as I
do) this can be a very painful punishment and mine certainly was. I was in great pain after each of these
“shows” but the effect was to make me as “horny as hell” and my bruised or
stung sexual bits were all the more in need of my husband’s loving touch.
I have also taken other punishments at private social meetings with club
members during the year for various reasons.
Why do I do this? It seems
mad! Why indeed do the other ladies keep
turning up month after month to offer their bodies for such tortures? Speaking for myself, I need the excitement. I love fear – even as a little girl, I would
go on the rides in the amusement parks and scream with fear yet when the ride
was over, I couldn’t wait to get back on.
As a teenager I would read of stories where the heroine was captured and
tortured and fantasise that it was me in that situation. I began to realise that these scenes were
causing me to become very sexually aroused.
For many years I tried to avoid these situations because I felt that I
was evil or mad for feeling this way.
Later when my marriage to Richard was on the verge of failing we
mutually discovered the way stimulus like this can invigorate one’s sexual
relationship.
So - why the club? Why not just
keep our “deviant behaviour” to ourselves?
The answer is simple. One needs
the torture to be pretty scary to have the desired effect but no woman
(certainly not me) can endure whippings, canings and other tortures frequently
without suffering serious physical damage.
Maybe she might even become resigned to it and the effect might even
wear off. But, by being in the club
where a lady is randomly selected, the fear is still there and the likelihood
is still strong that it will be you who is selected but most time you and your
partner will be the spectators to another lady’s show. There is also a delightfully exhibitionist
aspect in having to display one’s body to all the members of the club while
twisting, weaving and screaming as various types of pain are inflicted upon
you.
In this liberated world, one may ask, “Why don’t the men get selected to
put on a show?” I can’t answer this
except to say that Richard has no feelings in that regard and I have no
interest in watching him endure a torture even though I know that he would do
it if I asked him to. I am sure that
there must be couples who would enjoy watching the males enduring torture and
all I can say is that they should form their own club.
One important rule of our club has been that the lady must not suffer
any permanent injury or even any injury that will not fade away in a few
weeks. However an event took place last
year that has changed the attitude of members of the club in that regard.
Jenny had expressed a desire to be branded with her husband’s initials
and she had asked the club members to do it for her. This caused quite a lot of discussion because
not only did it break the club’s permanent injury rule but also because nobody
knew how to do it. Eventually we agreed
that this was a special occasion where the rule should be broken and as for
finding out how to do it, that job fell to me.
Eventually it was agreed that Jenny would be branded in November and she
was phoned one week before the meeting and told that it would be her night.
The more that I investigated the idea of branding a woman, the more I
became aroused at the thought until it became an obsession. When I had the irons made for Jenny, I
secretly had a pair made for me. I
presented these to Richard the night that we branded Jenny.
The next day, before I could chicken out, I wrote to the committee
members asking if they could arrange a branding for me at a later meeting.
The club has a rule that the management committee is re-elected every 6
months to arrange the clubs activities for the year. I was elected at the September meeting along
with our youngest member a 24 year old guy named John. Other members on the committee are Ross and
Anne, the married couple who started the club, and have been committee members
since the club began. Two other original
committee members are the beautiful Suzanne with whom I have become good
friends and Terry who is a big guy of southern European extraction who likes
wearing big gold rings and chains.