Lane was scared. They had tied her to a wooden cross. Not in the usual way, but bent
forward at the waist with her arms tied behind, up high, and her ankles strapped tight to
its sides. Her crotch rested on a thick block of wood shaped like a penis.
This was the most extreme position The Dungeon offered. No question about that, she
decided. But it's is what I wanted, right? ...genuine pain and a real loss of control.
Lane knew she was submissive, that she was turned on by bondage, by the idea of being
dominated and helpless, forced to serve. She understood that hers was more than a youthful
experiment. She needed this. She needed to quiet her inner voice.
Turning fantasy into reality though had been a lot harder than she'd originally thought.
The college men she'd dated were always too shy, too silly, too rough in the wrong way...
And the older Manhattan wolf pack had been even sillier, sometimes even dangerously so. It
was frustrating. She had started to think that she was alone, that her longing was
perverse. Even worse, with each failure, she became more of a bitch lashing out at the men
with vicious put-downs and rejection. She had called her last beau a pansy and made a
convincing argument against his manhood. She-bitch, that's what everyone in school called
her now...She-bitch.
It wasn't fair, she thought, stretching painfully. The failing was theirs not mine. All
I want to do is submit to someone, to have an experience, to know what it is like... But
it's got to be real, not some stupid sex game or freak-play.
That's why she was here, in ‘The Dungeon’. The ad promised an authentic BDSM experience,
"a taste of the forbidden fruit." She pulled hard on her straps...and so far, so good, her
fear was genuine, her pain was real, her cunt was throbbing with anticipation... Maybe it
was too real, the pain was excruciating. Then again, she'd insisted on realism. She pulled
once more on her arms and pushed up with her legs trying to ease the agony in her
shoulders...nothing. There was no relief from this except perhaps in the smooth oily
surface of the penis crushing her cunt. The penis was clever, she admitted. The only
relief available to me from this torture is between my legs. The symbolism is perhaps a
little too obvious, but I'm in no position to criticize.
She lifted her head and blew the hair out of her face. Breathing was getting difficult
now and her neck and shoulder muscles were burning.
So this is what real pain was all about, she thought. What will it be like in five
minutes, ten? Her stomach knotted and more sweat trickled down the side of her face. It
was terrifying to think about more seconds like this, let alone minutes. Someone was using
a drill on her shoulders, poking holes in her muscles, her bones. It was humbling to have
no control over the situation. Still, there was something intense about it, something
exciting...
NOT OKAY! I've tried it, her mind screamed; now I want out. NOW! It was true that she
had insisted, INSISTED that she not be shown any mercy for thirty minutes, but she hadn't
realized what it would be like. THIRTY MINUTES!
Was she crazy? This was nuts! I've only been here for a few minutes and the pain
is...just unbearable! The tears were flowing out of her eyes in a steady stream. This
isn't producing the rush I'd thought it would. I just can't imagine staying here for
thirty minutes.
"Ah, excuse me," she called into the dark.
Her words echoed back from the cell's stone walls.
"Hello. EXCUSE ME! I've changed my mind. I'd like to get out now." The edge in her voice
was sharp and the tone more frantic.
Silence. No acknowledgement of any kind. She waited and tried again...nothing.
The pain was coming in huge waves now, tsunami-like waves, making her shake and sweat
like a pig. She could feel drops of sweat falling from her pointed nipples and hear them
hitting the ground. Her body was involuntarily grinding on the phoney penis.
"GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" she screamed, jerking frantically on the bindings.
"PLEASE!" The echoes of her pleas continued for a long time.
Nothing...no sound at all, no one rushing in to release her, no crowd of sycophants
jostling each other to obey, just the frantic pumping of her lungs, the blood pounding in
her ears.
I've...I've...I've got to get out of here! she thought in a sudden panic. I...I...can't
take ANY MORE... She knew she was hyperventilating, but was powerless to stop. The agony
was turning her vision into a tunnel then a pinprick of a sight hole. She felt herself
breathing even harder.
In seconds, there was no light, no thought. She was unconscious. Her breathing slowed
and her luscious body began to move on its own. It was a kind of full-length convulsion
combined with dozens of muscle spasms. After a time she awoke and was aware that her body
was moving of its own volition. She couldn't control it.
More importantly, somehow she felt different in her head. She fought off another wave of
panic. The pain was still there, but she pushed it to the side. What's happened to me? she
asked herself. What's different? The question gnawed at her as she squeezed the penis with
her bare wet thighs.
It's me, she thought. I'm adapting to what's happening here, changing. The pain is still
intense, but the mind-numbing fear that caused the panic is gone. I'm thinking about it
now, controlling it to some degree. I can feel the control, it's intense.
Is that all? What more do I feel? she asked. This is it, the opportunity to find out.
THINK; think about what you feel behind the pain.
She pushed her suffering even further back in her mind. Suddenly, she felt...free. It
was a moment of startling clarity and self-discovery. I feel...I'm free, free of
complication, free of worry, unburdened. All the things that have been hanging over me are
gone, irrelevant. The only thing that matters now is the pain and...and what I want.
What I want...? She thought about this for a long time. She was definitely feeling
something behind the pain and it was growing stronger every moment. Arousal...I'm sexually
aroused...no, no that wasn't right. This was more than mere arousal, more than a simple
itch. This is something I must have. It's something I need...to survive. She thought about
how she must look bound this way and the itch in her crotch intensified.
I'm getting off on my own bondage, she thought. My helplessness is turning me on. It's
as if the person I was is gone, replaced by...by what?
She began to move her crotch more forcefully on the wooden penis, working her fluids
deep into the wood like a thousand girls before her had done. The pain in her arms receded
and she shuddered with a deep, uncontrollable need.
I want a man, her mind screamed. I must have a man. NOW! A man who feels the same way,
who must have me, who must possess me. A man who wants to...
The thought of a man's cock in her mouth was too much and she climaxed, rubbing her clit
furiously back and forth on the wood. It wasn't exactly an orgasm; it was more like her
body was expressing some kind of primal need. The action left her shuddering with
anticipation. I must have him," she though. She had never felt such a compulsion before.
It scared and excited her like nothing else had ever done.
What's happening to me?
She pulled fiercely on the straps, her pain forgotten, amazed by her strength, by the
incredible want she felt. She twisted until it was too much then rubbed herself again on
the penis, amazed at how good it felt at the wonderful feeling of unyielding leather.
"WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME!" she moaned out loud. She'd experienced all kinds of sex, but
never felt anything like this. "What's happening..."
She closed her eyes, the longing was too intense. When she opened them, there was a man
standing in the cell. He was naked except for a thong that covered his oversized cock. He
held a riding crop in his right hand.
"Ready for me, Lane?" he asked.
She closed her eyes again, forcing her mind to focus. There was something about his
manner that she had never seen in a man, something threatening and dangerous, something
commanding. He was going to get what he wanted from her. There was not going to be any
discussion, no courtship, no pre-coital dance. Incredibly, this felt right to her. In this
situation, it felt right. He was the dominant member of their species, the aggressor...the
master. It felt natural for her to submit. Her brain injected more endorphins and she
nearly fainted from the sudden stimulation.
"Please," she groaned, unsure of what she was pleading for.
"Please?" he asked. "Please what?"
It was the most frustrating moment of her life.
He bent down and put his face inches from hers.
"Please what?"
She shook her head in one last moment of defiance.
He brought the crop down hard on her upturned ass and she felt a sudden jolt of burning
pain. He struck again in the same spot. The pain was worse and it lingered longer. She
screamed and shook her head again. He struck a third time then switched hands and cropped
her other cheek.
"Please what?" he growled menacingly.
She was intensely aware of everything now. The crop had brought everything back into
violently sharp focus. She suddenly realizing that she was no where near her physical
limit. This could get more painful than she'd ever imagined.
"Please what?" he asked again.
"Please fuck me, Master," she cried loudly. "Please, please fuck me!"
The urgency of her need was obvious. Every part of her was straining forward, trying to
reach him, to touch his body.
"I intend to," he said.
She blinked her eyes and felt deliriously, irrationally happy. This was totally out of
character for her. Something had happened, something that she wanted to... The thought
died in her mind. None of this matters, she realized suddenly. He is going to do what he
wants no matter what I say. The certainty of it, the inevitability was frightening and
exciting. Suddenly, she understood her submissiveness.
"...You know what's going to happen if you fail to please me?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, Master," she answered desperately, only half aware of what she was saying.
She knew exactly what was going to happen.
He moved in front of her face and pulled on the bow at his waist. His thong fell away
and she was staring at his prick. It was enormous. She strained to reach it with her
mouth, her tongue. There was nothing more important in the universe than having his warm
cock in her mouth.
It was astonishing. She had always resisted oral sex. It was too degrading, too
humiliating for someone as beautiful as her. Yet at this moment, nothing else mattered
than to wrap her full lips around his shaft. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her
face until they were looking at each other then he slowly pushed himself inside. She felt
an enormous wave of satisfaction and gratitude.
"Make me feel good," he ordered.
She moved her head in a gentle up and down motion, careful not to draw him so far inside
that she gagged. Three times the crop struck the inside of her right thigh then the sole
of her upturned right foot. He switched hands and repeated the pattern on her left side.
The pain delivered his message more fully than any command.
Her head began to pump wildly on his cock.
"Slow down," he ordered, "work your way up to a faster pace gradually, squeeze hard, use
your tongue, take it deep inside..."
He underscored each phrase with a painful stroke to the tender soles of her feet. His
words and the pain of the crop seemed to pair naturally. She listened and obeyed.
"Good, now take it all the way inside."
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