Message-ID: <414eli9703291136@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: "Steven S. Davis" Subject: Selected Images #5 (NC, torture) My "Images" (a term I stole from Suki) are short ideas, images, and sketches written for the amusement of and offered as tribute to my Liege and Lady. A few selections follow. They are generally cruel and nonconsensual and of interest only to sickphuxs, so please read no further if such doesn't appeal to you. The Images are impurely the products of a warped imagination, and should not be seen as a reflection of the scene, nor should they be imitated by anyone not interested in a protracted term as the ward of the state. Steven S. Davis --------------------------------------------------------- Release The woman is laying on her stomach on a bed, her wrists secured to the bedposts, her ankles in soft but snug and secure leather cuffs that at this time are connected by a short chain. The cloth gag in her mouth obscures her words but doesn't quiet her (the application of a cane to her ass and thighs whenever she attempts to speak accomplishes that). She's wearing only panties. Her head is at the bottom of the bed, and her long hair gathered and tied and fastened to a rope pulled taut across her crotch and tied tightly around her waist. This holds her head up so her captors have a view of her face. It also causes movements of her head to rub her through her panties, a pleasure that mingles with the pain in her scalp when her head dips a little, as fatigue requires. After a time, a captor sits alongside her and fingers her, slowly, gradually bringing her to the brink of orgasm, then stopping and leaving her to stew. Her need is so intense that she risks making pleading sounds as her wide eyes plead for relief, but her captors have no mercy. Desperate, she begins moving her head up and down and side to side as much as her bondage permits, trying to rub the rope against her clit and bring herself to orgasm, the pain in her scalp secondary to the ache in her loins. She's almost there, when one of her captors cuts the rope, depriving her of her stimulation, and the frustration overcomes her and she lays there squirming and crying. Her captors enjoy her discomfort until she quiets, then leave her alone for a few hours. When they return, they finger her to arousal again, then pull a chair up to the bed, and, her head squeezed between one captors legs while another fingers her just enough to keep her hot as she brings each of them to orgasm. And then, again, they leave her, again without relief. They return again, remove her crotch rope and panties, and fasten a collar around her neck. One end of the collar contains a ring, and a rope is run from that to her now raised feet. The chain between the ankle cuffs has been replaced by a single ring. Much of the collar is notched in a way that allows it to tighten easily, but not to loosen. After positioning video cameras in front off and on either side of her, to record all the scene and especially her face as it proceeds, her captors begin intermittently tickling her feet and continually fingering her clit. With each involuntary movement of her feet to evade the terrible tickling the collar tightens a notch, and even when she realizes this and tries desperately to be still, she can only slow the process, not stop it. Meanwhile, the constant, relentless stimulation of her clit is having it's effect, as the image of her flushed face on the videotape will attest. This time the stimulus doesn't stop, though it's carefully paced to prolong the process and matched to the tickling so that as she finds herself approaching orgasm the collar is starting to choke her. As the orgasm begins to hit, her captors step back to enjoy the spectacle, as her squirming and bucking cause the collar to tighten more, and the red of her face begins to shade to purple, and the collar tightens further as she spasms and jerks and then it's as tight as it will get and the woman's face is twisting even more violently than her bound body, and then she becomes still. She's obtained her release. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Death by Chocolate I'm presently having a pleasant vison of you entangled in a net; it's a pretty view, you naked - save for your blindfold and bonds - hanging trapped in a net made of wide coarse rope (with spaces large enough for an arm - among other things - to reach in or out of the net, but small enough that no person will get out; not that it does you any good, as your wrists are bound in front of you and your arms are tightly enwrapped in rope) while a pair of people with koosh floggers pound away at your helpless form, spinning the net and you inside it until it will go no further, then letting it spin back, so the process can begin again; when their arms finally tire, they lower the net and your bruised body into a large tub of *very* warm (but not scalding) oil to soak your sore muscles. And later, perhaps they might grap your legs and slide them through the holes in the net, carefully positioning you within the net so the ropes slide into interesting spots, then tie your knees together. Lowering the net so you can put your feet on the ground, you'll at last have some relief from the ropes pressing into your bare flesh. But not for long, since soon they start raising the net, bringing you to your tiptoes, and lowering it a little, only to raise it again, higher and harder. After letting you dangle a few times, your ankles will be tied together and fastened to an "O" ring, so the pressure won't lift you, the ropes will press some carefully chosen spots; this pressure will be aggravated when both tie ropes around the net and alternate raising and lowering you with rocking you back and forth. If you respond as expected to this, the movement will be stopped periodically to keep you from reacting too much. Eventually, your ankles and knees will be untied and spread wide as you are suspended by them. Of course, as you hang there squirming, your captors will continue to play with the ropes, and to finger your clit, and to lick you, while twisting and sometimes teasing your nipples, and rubbing you with ice and dripping you with hot wax and whipping you (and sometimes not doing anything to you), but you will not have any release, not even after the net's been lowered and you've pressed your face against the ropes to relieve their need, for your cries and pleas will never pierce the icy hearts of these true sadists. Then, when done with you they remove your blindfold, then position the net at a height over a vat of something fun - molten chocolate, perhaps (death by chocolate, indeed). After a while, they return, then put a small flame to the rope holding the net, so you could spend a nice long time alternately watching the bubbling chocolate and the burning rope, until at last it broke, and you plummet towards the hot chocolate - but just above the vat, a clear, thin cord hidden among the other ropes would stop you, because *you* do not get the mercy of dying screaming in boiling chocolate; much, much, worse awaits you. ----------------------------------------------------- Self-bondage can be dangerous. Especially when one has caught the eye of a pervert who has you under surveilance. Who might perhaps have your phone and residence bugged and your schedule recorded, and would from that have learned that you have some SOPs for your self-bondage, such as calling a friend to request a check-in at a certain time, and changing the message on your answering machine from "I can't come to the phone now" to "I'm all tied up now, but I should be free after " so friends who call know when you're indulging your kink, and when to come help (since you always change the message back after you get free). A very wise backup to a quite secure system, wrists together in padlocked leather cuffs, legs spread with leather-cuffed ankles padlocked to rings in the floor, the key which opens all of the padlocks on the floor between your legs. Shortly before the appointed time you lock the end of the abundence of chain to your wrist cuffs, fasten the harness with built-in blindfold on your head, and wait till the timer triggers the motor which raises your arms high, but not tautly above your head. Then you struggle for an hour, imagining unseen men watching your naked flesh rippling as you twist helplessly in your bonds, dreaming of the whip across your back, the cane across your ass, the clamps on your hard nipples and wet pussy. Not that you'd want any of that, of course, being actually rather shy and a thorough wimp when it comes to pain. But it's a fun fantasy for an hour, the end of which is always a slow in coming, as by then you're getting tired and uncomfortable and the high heels hurt your feet. You always wonder if the timer will go off, though you know that with a backup timer, backup motor, and a backup power supply if the house power should fail, there's no danger of such a failure, and none has ever occurred. And so you're happily squirming and struggling, lost in your reveleries, when the distant sound of a tape recording pierces your consciousness. "I'm sorry, I can't come to the phone now, please leave your name and number at the beep" you hear your voice saying. And then what sounds like the tape on your answering machine being changed. You ask "Is someone there ?" to no reply. Then you hear your own tape recorded voice saying "Hi, I'll be hanging around my rec room till eight o'clock, how about giving me a call a little after eight ?", the message you left on your friend's machine this afternoon. She always gets home a little late Friday. "Is someone there ?", you say again. "Of course someone's here, silly" an unknown voice replies as the the first of several strip of duct tape are placed over your mouth. "And at 5:15 I was at your friend's house and picked up this tape, which she never heard, from her answering machine. I already knew to come here a little after eight to catch you all securely restrained. I unplugged both motors, turned off both timers, and changed the message on your machine. Uh, and this afternoon I cleaned enough out of your garage to fit your car in it, and when I came back this evening I turned off all the lights that can be seen from outside; convenient that this rec room has no windows, isn't it ? Don't want anyone seeing in, do we ? If anyone stops by it will look like you're out, maybe away for the weekend. I know your boyfriend's too busy to see you this weekend - though if he could see you like this, he'd make time for you - and unless someone else has your phone tapped, no one else knows what's happening. Nobody will be looking for you till Monday - but then, since you missed work last Monday, maybe no one will look until Tuesday, maybe even Wed. Won't that be fun, standing here like this will the police break in next Tuesday and find you like this ? Nearly four full days of bondage, won't that be wonderful ? Oh, yes, I knew you'd like that idea. You do such a good job of self-bondage, no one could ever get out of that without help". "Please don't stop on my account, my dear. You looked so sexy struggling like that. Not that you don't look lovely now", the voice continues, as fingers glide over your bare breasts. "But I know how much you enjoy your little routine, so please continue. PLEASE CONTINUE. Ah, having stage jitters ? You certainly seem to be trembling enough. You've never actually let anyone see this, have you ? Such a waste. Please resume. Ah, well, perhaps you need to know your motivation for this performance", the voice continued, and then a cane sharply strikes your ass. "How about that ? Now enough of this jitters and on with the jiggle" the unseen observer says, and the cane strikes your ass again. "Let's see that fine female flesh flow. Make them bounce", he says, as something stings your left breast, and you start to squirm and turn and twist and try your bonds. "Much better, my dear, please do continue. That, in case you were interested, was a riding crop. Just one of many toys I've brought. Like these clamps for your nipples. Don't they feel fine ? They bounce so nicely. *DO* please keep them bouncing. And this rat trap will look so lovely on your labia; yes, it's just wonderful. And it will look even more wonderful with this weights waving from it. There. So nice". "Yes, my dear, I've brought plenty of toys to try on you. Canes and crops and rods and rubber whips and wax and some of the most fiendish floggers. You'll know exactly how they feel before I leave, which won't be till sometime Sunday, and I'll take some pictures of you then in case any of the marks have faded by the time anyone finds you, so you'll know just how the marks looked. I'll send you copies. And your boyfriend, and your best friend, and your boss and, well, whoever else I can think of. Maybe I'll scan the images and upload them onto the net. You know, it's really not a good idea to list all your userids and passwords in your address book. Poor computer security, my dear. But allow me to compliment you on a very nice system; scanner, fax - what was the number of your fax at work, oh, yes, here it is - high speed modem. This should work very nicely." "Now, my dear, let's start having some fun", the voice says, as the whip burns your back. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Harmful to your health The woman, a nicely fashionable individual in her values as well as her clothes, was laying quietly, perhaps meekly, on her bed after her rape. Her wrists were tied behind her, there was a rope passed around the bed and through her arms, and her legs were spread and her ankles held loosely by ropes running to the bedposts. Though unable to get off the bed or attack her attacker, the arrangement allowed for a lot of movement. She had taken full advantage of this in her considerable efforts to squirm away from the rapist. She'd known the effort would be futile, but she'd needed to offer some resistance (her meek submission to being bound was a different case, as she knew enough about guns to know what twin 19" shotgun barrels spewing buckshot would do to her stomach, and had been very still and compliant as long as they were aimed at her), and now, while she was shaken and hated what had happened to her, she was also sure she had done all that anyone could expect of her. Now, if he'd just take whatever else he wanted and go away. She was fully dressed in a nice knit white top and a white skirt, both raised to allow access to her bits; her bra and nylon pantyhose had been cut and torn as necessary to permit access, but were still on her. Her rapist lit a cigarette, and took a few drafts as he reclined alongside her. Then he turned to her and blew smoke in her face. She turned away, annoyed, and said, in a practice, clipped, dismissive tone. "Please don't smoke". It wasn't the brightest response, she instantly realized, but the response was habitual, nearly flexive. "Oh, you don't smoke ?", he asked. "No", she said. "You think it unhealthy, I suppose ?", he said. She said nothing. "I'll bet you used to smoke, before it was sufficiently fashionable to be anti-smoking that you could take an attitude about it and it'd be OK. You couldn't possibly pass up a chance to be fashionably rude, could you ?", he asked. She didn't answer. He flicked some ashes on her nipple, making her jump. "Did you smoke ?", he asked. "Yes, I used to smoke", she said. "Ah. I'll bet there's still times you want a cigarette. After dinner, or with your morning coffee. Or maybe after sex ? Well, I don't plan to stay for breakfast, but you just had sex, so you can have a cigarette now", he said, extracting another from the pack. "I don't think anyone will hold this against you. Good thing, too", he said, before brushing her flank with his lighted cigarette and making her shriek. He held the unlit cigarette up to her face, and said. "like one ?". "No, thank you", she replied, tightly, trying not to cry from the ache of the burn. "Yes", he said, placing it between her lips, only to have her spit it out as she angrily said "NO". He looked at her for a long moment. Then said, "So you won't smoke, it's unhealthy ? Spit out my cigarette, eh ? We'll see about this", he said, and left the room. Realizing she was in trouble, she began struggling with the ropes, hoping that something might have loosened, but nothing had, and she could only wait for his response. She didn't need to wait long, as he soon returned with a container of alcohol, which he dripped over her stomach crotch and thighs, and then poured it liberally over her breasts and her rolled up top. He put some on a cloth, and ran it over her lips and face, then went into her bedroom to wash his hands. Coming out of the bathroom, he lit a cigarette while standing a few feet away, and stepped in close and quickly pressed it into her lips. "So spit that out. They say alcohol fires are the hottest. I was going to stay and play with you some more before cutting you loose and taking my leave, but I think I'd better leave now. Enjoy your last cigarette", she said, as he grabbed her jewelry box and walked out, leaving her wide eyes watching that red ember approach her mouth. ---------------------------------------------------------- Image - Slave Soup Just something I thought you might find amusing. Not a suggestion. Really, it's not. I'm going to go get some soup. ***** The idea of having you in hot water - perhaps sitting in chains in a hot tub the temperature of which is gradually rising from "feels good" to "this is hot" to "Ow ! Where's the temp gauge ?" to " Why are you dicing celery [show slave paper with recipe for "Slave Soup]" - is sort of fun. Hmmmm, you know, I kinda like that "Slave Soup" idea. First you get stripped, twice enemized, and thoroughly washed (and well scrubbed). You get tenderized with a nice long DKF beating, and then you are tied nice and tight, before being fondled (I'll have washed my hands; isn't that fair ?) and fucked with a nice clean dildo and clit-licked (damn cellophane; oh, well, so it will take a little longer) till you come, then the fondling, fucking and clit-licking is repeated till you're very "hot" and your juices are flowing. Then we put some clothespins (previously cleaned, boiled, and then simmered in a spiced broth) on your breasts (nips included, certainly), and place you in a large pot full of hot water, the temperature of which is then raised to the just barely bearable point, and you sit and simmer for a few hours, or until you pass out, hopefully the former, as we add add some spices and stewed tomatoes and some finely diced onion and celery and cabbage and maybe some bullion. After this has simmered for a time we take you out of the pot, toss in the diced potatoes and carrots and the peas and lima beans and chunks of meat, and raise the temp first to a rousing boil for 20 minutes or so, then set to a low boil and cook for the rest of the day, stirring frequently with wooden spoons that have been flavored by beating you. By the end of the day, we'll have a delicious pot of slave soup. What *really* would make this fun is to have it a group project. I think I'll suggest to that sometime next year he have a party at his place a feature of which will be special "Slave Soup", and when the group shows up, it can be a group project to first prepare the soup's special ingredient, then cook the soup. Of course, while you're simmering, and later while you're laying on the kitchen table (still bound, though your ropes will have been loosened a bit, partly for your comfort but mainly to make it easier to lick the broth from your body) between treatments of the spoons, well, things will get a bit dull, and people will be finding ways to pass the time (we'll probably keep you blindfolded from the time we start preparing you till the broth has been licked off (so you can only guess who will have done what to you - everyone present will be encouraged to at least lick you a couple times), then remove the blindfold so you can see what goes on, including the people ominously picking up the wooden spoons and approaching you with vefgs. ---------------------------- "I want you alive" (cyberscene excerpt) Just an FYI about the following (please forgive me if this is all painfully obvious). In these cyberscenes, text inside the "<" and the ">" marks describes the action that's going on. The rest is the "strange man" character speaking. The victim of "SM's" designs, whose name has been replaced with "X", is never heard in these pieces; she speaks, she's just never heard (rather like the old Bob Newhart pieces where he'd be having a phone conversation and the audience heard just one side of it; FWIW, the first cyberscenes I wrote for this person were entirely in that "Newhart" mode, but after a while I started using the gimmick because that business of conveying/suggesting everything via a one-sided conversation is quite hard to sustain; oh, and I don't plan on paying him any royalties for the idea ). ****** begin excerpt Just transfering you to another vehicle. And to another container. One can't be too careful, can one Crawl out, "X". Good I want you to get a look at this A false floor, dear, the better for hiding valuable cargo like yourself . Get in the box, dear, it will just fit you. Good I think you'll agree that this should hold you quite securely. In fact, I don't think you can move anything below your neck. And that deficiency we'll address now Hello, again, "X", I needed to seal the board in place (it's quite airtight now) and cover it with some clothes. Yes, dear, I did say airtight. The mouthpiece serves two functions: it keeps you quiet, and it allows me to pump oxygen to you. Without it you'd quickly suffocate. And if I want you to go without oxygen, all I need do is turn a knob. Similarly, if I want you to breathe nitrous oxide or carbon monoxide, all I need do is turn a nob. You are alive now, and will remain alive, for one reason only: because I want you to remain alive. Everything that happens to you will be because it's what *I* want, you have not the slighest influence over your fate. If I want you to feel pleasure , you will. If I want you to feel pain , you will. You will hear only what I want you to hear, and as you are aware, you can see nothing (the face mask would prevent it even if you weren't laying in complete darkness), nor can you move at all. I'll know when you are awake or asleep, or calm or agitated, among other things, from some of the many electrodes glued to you, and if I don't choose for you to sleep, I'll add some pungent odors to your air supply, and if I don't want you calm, I'll cause you distress. It will be a fairly long trip - how long will be for me to know, but it will seem much longer to you than it actually is - and you will be totally under my control for the whole time. I have some nice indoctrination tapes prepared, but I don't think I'll use them on you - you'd be surprised how effective they'd be after a few hours with minimal sensory input, but as I much prefer your mind dirty, there's no need to brainwash you. But that too is *my* choice. If I wanted you to think something, you'd think it. Now I'll be switching to some white noise, dear. Try to relax for now. There's nothing you can do about anything, and if I want you to not be relaxed, I'll be in touch. ************* end excerpt --------------------------------------------- Very Quick Image More an Image of an Image than a full Image, but perhaps you'll enjoy it. These two pretty young ladies got dressed up to go out in search of a good time. They could hardly have guessed that they would be snatched in mid bar-hop and wind up locked in and with their sexy outfits cut from their bodies, leaving them in just their high heels and hose. The young women lay alongside each other on a table. Normally one woman would lay spreadeagled on this table, but tonight the two of them lay on it, each captive's wrists fastened together above hir head, each pair of ankles cuffed together, and their trim bodies taut between the restraints. They would lay there for several hours as their calls went unanswered and their mix of anger and fear changed to nearly all fear. In part because of the presence, more clear in the dimly lit room as the captives' eyes adjusted, of numerous instruments of torture and death. When at last someone entered, he promptly silence the flood of questions. "You will survive this event, if you survive it, by being completely obedient. Any hint of refusal or resistance and you will die very painful deaths. Your first order is: be quiet. This is what's going to happen to you. You will each, in turn be tortured until you break. That point will be judged to have occured when you are sobbing or screaming or begging genuinely, unreservedly, and uncontrollably. You will then be allowed several hours to rest, recover, and to remember the horror you have experienced. Then the pleasure will begin. Each of you will, in turn, be teased and stimulated until you come. You will then be tortured again, and it will, I assure you, be worse than was the previous torture session. So you will probably want to resist the orgasms for as long as you can. The effort will, of course, be futile. This process will be continued through 30 orgasms, or your death, or until catatonia sets in. If trauma and fatigue seem to be the reason why you can't be made to come, you will be allowed time for rest and recovery before the resumption of the ordeal; I have all the time I need for this project, and you pretty young ladies now have no other reason for your existence than this project, so we can take all the time we need to do it right. Each time you succumb to pleasure your surrender will be followed by pain that is not simply terrible, but is worse than any you have ever known. Each orgasm is going to raise you to a higher level of pain. If either of you survive this project, and I think you'll agree that there is a good chance you will die in it's progress, you will be released. It should be interesting monitoring you to see how you react to sexual pleasure in the future. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Taste Test The chocolate-loving lady was tightly tied to a wooden chair. She was naked. Not for any particular reason, just because her master liked her naked. Her legs were bent back a bit so that the bare soles of her feet were facing upwards. Two bowls, one white, and one blue, were placed on the table. Both were sealed in plastic bags (she could even see the as-seen-on-TV color strip where the bags were sealed). Both bowls contained a brown substance that had been whipped in a blender. "Now, my dear, I know how much you like chocolate. *One* of these bowls may contain chocolate, which I know you want to eat. The other definitely contains - well, let's say it's something that *I* want to see you eat. It's your choice, dear. From which bowl do you wish to eat ? As always, you are free to refuse this direction - and receive something much worse than what you refuse. Now choose." Staring at the two bowls, with their identical appearing contents, the woman had no idea what was in either. Wanting it to be done, she said "The blue one". "The blue. That's your choice ?" "Yes." "You're sure ?" "I'm sure it's my choice. I'm not at all certain it's the right choice." "Let's see". He took the blue bowl, stepped away from her, opened the bag, then stepped up behind her, knelt, and smeared some of the substance on each of her bare soles. Then he went to the door, and opened it, allowing the two dogs to scurry in. They soon rushed to her feet and began licking at the substance. Actually, they went to her left foot and began licking at it, pushing each other away as each tried to get what the other wanted. Their mistress had started to squeal as the dogs' ticklish tongues began working on her defenseless foot, but a towel stuck in her mouth kept her from saying anything that might discourage the dogs, leaving her to twist and squirm and laugh till she cried while the dogs finished their treat. "I know that chocolate isn't very good for them. But they don't get a treat like that very often. And I know that what you're about to eat isn't very good for you. But I don't get a treat like this very often", her master said, as he pulled the towel from her mouth, seized both her hair and a large wooden spoon onto which he'd scooped up a heaping from the white bowl, and held her head steady as he pushed the spoon into her gasping mouth, her "no" being muffled as the spoon filled her mouth and her mouth filled with the taste. "Bitter, eh ?", he said, scooping another spoonful from the bowl, and bring it to her lips. "I prefer the milk chocolate myself, but I suppose I've an unsophisticated palate", he said, as he pushed the spoon against the lips of the woman, who was crying again, but managed to scarf the chocolate off the spoon. And off the subsequent spoonfuls that he raised, more slowly and more gently, to her lips, and which she, wordlessly, her eyes gleaming though her tears were done, most artfully licked from the spoon, her tongue gliding back and forth over the spoon to be sure she got it all. "You see, my pet, I *do* like seeing you eat chocolate. There are other things I'd like to make you eat, and maybe someday I will, but not today", he said, as he loosened her bonds. And then, his hand still in her hair, he sat down, pulling her to her knees as he said "But chocolate isn't all that you'll eat tonight". ************************************************************************ Steven S. Davis sd@magenta.com Homepage, vanilla: http://links.magenta.com/files/Authors/sd/www Homepage, pistachio: http://links.magenta.com/lmnop/users/sd.html -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /