Message-ID: <21104asstr$942466200@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <21005asstr$939913800@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: links.magenta.com!not-for-mail From: sd@links.magenta.com (Steven S. Davis) Subject: {ASSM} "Tabled" (f/m,femdom,torture,extreme imagery) Lines: 505 NNTP-Posting-Host: links.magenta.com X-Trace: links.magenta.com 937246328 4952 151.199.66.150 (13 Sep 1999 18:12:08 GMT) X-Complaints-To: abuse@magenta.com NNTP-Posting-Date: 13 Sep 1999 18:12:08 GMT Keywords: torture femdom story fiction X-Newsreader: TIN [UNIX 1.3 950824BETA PL0] X-To: story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us JMDigest-Score: good -29 Date: Fri, 12 Nov 1999 23:10:00 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin This story may be freely distributed in noncommercial forums for adult fiction, so long as the headers and warning remain attached. Warning: This is a fantasy. Well, it was partly a fantasy, and it was partly an attempt to induce fantasy in a particular individual. If it works on some other people also, well, hey, that's OK (ah, no, I am not looking, and this is not a stealth personal). I'm a bit uncertain how to label this; I didn't label it NC because it isn't a clearly nonconsensual fantasy. Consent or the lack of consent simply is not an issue in this story. People who find that troubling should skip this story. The facts of physiology and chemistry are sometimes annoyances both in fantasy and in reality. They can be skirted in fantasy. Doing so in reality is ill advised. Also, this story contains some extremely violent imagery of violence against women, and I do mean extremely violent. People who will be disturbed by such should not read this. "Tabled" by SD ****************************** "Tabled" Part 1 I was laying on a wooden table. I was bound spreadeagle, faceup, and naked except for the head harness attached to the table at the top and both sides, keeping my head still. For my discomfort a ladder was tied on the table before I was ordered to lie atop the ladder and my limbs chained and pulled taut. My hands were placed in wooden frames with bars that were tightened to hold my fingers flat w/o cutting off circulation, and my hands turned so that the frames could be slid into slots cut in the table and locked in place. I was ordered to stick my tongue out, and a wide vise was tightened on it, leaving a small bit of tongue mobile outside my mouth, the rest of my tongue immobile, and while sounds could come from my open mouth, no words could. The table was outside the large windows of the house she was inside. I could see her working at a desk within, apparently oblivious to me. I could until the lights were turned on. She didn't seem concerned that anyone might see me, given all the bright, hot lights shining on me from around the table. They were too bright for me to see anything beyond them, and hot enough to have me sweating, not that the summer heat wasn't enough for that even before they were turned on. They were also attracting even more bugs than I was encountering before they were turned on. None of the bites were very serious, but the flies crawling over my face were maddening, and from time to time I futilely struggled against the bonds and the harness, ending up exhausted and whimpering and only briefly if at all free of the insects, and then reclaimed my self-control and lay still despite those damned legs carwling across me. Well, I laid still for as long as I could bear it before snapping again. I don't know how long I'd been on the table. Not too long before the lights came on. Quite a while after that, it felt like, before I saw her again, when she appeared within the lights holding a tall beaded glass and a straw, asking me if I were thirsty and would like some nice cold lemonade. I answered as well as I could, which was to say I made some weird inarticulate noises, and she ran her hand through my hair and over my face and remarked that I was certainly warm. Her pouring the lemonade in my hair and eyes (while being sure none touched my lips or tongue) had cooled me a bit. But the bugs attracted were horrible. Between the bugs and the sweat and the soreness of my eyes in the bright light, I wouldn't open my eyes anymore. Except when I heard the sounds of high heels on the cement around me. Since she'd been in flats before, this sound was startling. I tried to look towards the sound but could see nothing. I gurgled out a sound that might possibly sound something like her name. Part 2 There was no response. Just slow, deliberate steps encircling me, which I tried to follow with my eyes as well as I could, wondering if anyone might have come by. I had no idea where I was, having been brought there while bound and blindfolded and being "distracted" throughout the trip, and only having seen the outside briefly and only what I could make out in the dark before the blinding lights were turned on. Then I heard a giggle, and her voice saying "Don't worry, it's me" as she stepped into the lights. "Or should I say, 'Be worried', it's me' ?" she added as you walked around the table, and my eyes (among other things) reacted to the sight of her in only black high heels and very dark wraparound glasses. She turned on a number of bug zappers, their light hardly noticeable but the sound of electricity killing was quite audible. "You're really a mess", she said. "We'll have to clean you up". Said cleaning began with a strong hose pummeling my body all over, though some areas received repeated treatments. Then after spraying my face and hair for a long time, she brought out a large, soaked sponge, and began rubbing my face hard and long, the sopping sponge often covering my mouth and nose entirely and preventing me from breathing, then being briefly removed but followed almost immediately by water being poured over my face, then the sponge again, then the water, then the sponge, then a fabric pressed over my face as water was poured through it and as it soaks I find I can no longer breath through it and I'm struggling and on the brink of panic as well as the brink of unconsciousness when the fabric is removed and then her hands stroke my hair and face as I gasped for breath, then a gently stoking hand pinched my nose while another covered my mouth and I started struggling again and she was giggling from the feel of my tongue against the palm of her hand and from my frantic but futile struggles, and then she released my nose and mouth, laughing at my frigthened eyes, which she correctly read and said "What's next ? Why, we finishing cleaning you up, of course". Then she rubbed some lotion all over me with her gloved hands, and after a few moments I knew why she put on gloves, as my skin began to burn and I ached to squirm but I could barely move at all, and I could hear her giggling someplace at my moans and futile struggles, and then a stiff bristled brush began vigorously and thoroughly scrubbing my tender burning skin, continuing over and despite my loud moans. Then another hosing down, and my very sore skin felt great relief as most of the lotion was removed. "Just to be thorough", she said say, with an evil lilt in her voice, "we'll do a second treatment", and begin rubbing the lotion in again on my squirming, struggling, moaning form, and then she sat on the edge of the table (sitting on a piece of plastic so no residue of the lotion touched her skin), looking in my eyes as her gloved hands roamed over my body, her nails palpable through the rubber, and it was that all I could do not to scream and more than I could do not to cry while her smiling face hovered over mine, and then she slipped off the table and I saw the brush above my face for me to view and I tried to say "please, no", but I couldn't and then the brush began scrubbing my agonized flesh and now I couldn't help screaming. Mercifully, the second scrubbing wasn't as diligent as was the first, though the brush still covered the area between my legs very thoroughly, and the hosing down was done with a more gentle stream of water, and the dimunition of the pain was almost enough to make it seem pleasant to hurt only as much as I did then, which was still enough to have had me groaning in pain any other time. "That's much better", she said, climbing atop me to study her work, and to enjoy the way my flesh now ached from the touch of her flesh rather than for the touch of her flesh, and after she rolled around on me and sat and posed delightfully (or at least I'd have been delighted any other time) on me, she rolled off me, saying "I've something better for you", and darted away, returning with some duct tape and a roll of the plastic cover used on carpets, and unrolled that down my body, the sharp side against my skin, pressing it to me and taping it down on me, and then she climbed on top of me again, her crotch over mine, and humped me hard, raking the spikes against my crotch, and, giggling, squirming up my body a bit so her face was over mine as she rocked back and forth while watching my eyes for the tears, and then folded herr hands across my chest and rest her head upon her hands as she watched my face, smiling happily at my tears, and lay upon me undulating her naked body against mine in ways I craved before but which now brought only agony. An agony which got even worse as my cock pushed against that cruelly spiked plastic, and which she increased by moving her leg between my legs while gazing down upon me with a smug grin. ********************************************** Part 3 Having her sitting on my chest, my head between her thighs, was excruciating. Alternately squeezing my head between her thighs and stroking her calves against my head as I stared up at her while she shifted her hips to grind the sharp plastic bits into my chest and giggled at my groans, was almost enough to make me ask her to get off. Of course, a) I couldn't say it through my tongue-clamp, b) she wouldn't have done anything that it didn't please her to do, c) and she'd probably have said, "that's what I *am* doing". So I was relieved when she spun her legs around, and, applying as much weight to my body as she could, rose to a standing position, and walked slowly up and down the table to which I was secured, stepping on me whenever she felt like it, which was often. Until I almost wanted her to sit again. And so when she did sit down on me again, and then slid off the table, I was relieved and a little frightened. OK, more than a little frigthened. When she stroked my hair and my teary face and leaned down and kissed my face repeatedly, everything seemed much better. And when she unclamped my gag, placing a finger across my lips as the clamp come off so I knew I was not to speak, and then bent down and kissed my lips, things seemed pretty good. And still seemed pretty good even after she slapped my face and shoved a ball gag in my mouth and strapped it tight and placed a strip of gaffers tape across my eyes and grabbed my hair and pulled it while slapping my face a few more times before I heard her stride back into the house without, as far as I could tell from the sounds of her footsteps, a glance back at me. I've no idea how long I lay there. I must have somehow, aided by my eyes being covered from the bright light, managed to doze. Well, sleep; even dozing I'm sure I'd have heard the click of her heels before I felt the heavy hickory walking stick slash across my thighs, and the cold water hitting my face (I'd have dearly loved to get some of that in my mouth, but the gag didn't allow that), and had the handle of the stick strike the plastic over my crotch. "Sleeping on the job, eh ?" I heard her say as she ripped the tape off my eyes, exposing them again to the merciless light. I could see nothing for some moments before I could make out her smugly sneering at me, but before that I could feel her stroking my exposed palm with her fingertips. "You like this, hmmm ?", she said as she continued to stroke my hand. And I did, and I tried to nod "yes" as she asked, "You like it when I play with your hands ?", and then I was afraid and I didn't know what to do. I tried to give a pleading look with my eyes, but with the bright light so affecting my eyes I'm not sure how they really looked. "Good, because I'm going to play with your hands for awhile", she said... just before a short, heavy, hard rubber strap struck me across the soft skin of my inside upper left arm and my whole body jumped in its bonds (not that this took it very far) before you said "after I deal with your arms", and hit my inner upper right arm, then my left arm again, then the right, then the left and then the right again, leaving me sobbing, gasping (or trying to), trembling, and my arms afire. And then she stroked my hair, and open up the plastic runner enclosing me so that the cool air wafted over my body while her hands softly stroked my sore flesh and she rested your head for a long moment of my chest before kissing each of my nipples and stroking my face, and then kissing my inner arms three times each and then laying atop me for a long moment as my panic subsided under her touch. "Now for your hands", she said as she slide off me (allowing her nails to slide across my welt welts as she did), and toke out a very small hammer and a large bag of sterile lancets. Opening the bag, and unwrapping a single lancet, she jabbed the tip of a finger, and squeezed a bit of blood into a small tube, and then, working up and down each hand, continue to jab and squeeze, the pain being trivial at first but becoming worse as each finger was jabbed seven times and became extremely sore, both to the jab of the lancet and to the touch - and the squeeze - of her rubber gloved hands. "That should be enough", she said as she sealed and put aside the tube with my blood, and I thought it was over, but then she started using the lancets on my palms, drawing blood and then stroking and squeezing the palm, continuing this, between periodically cleanings the my palms with alcohol, until both palms were very sore, and throughly punctured. "Would you like to know what that was for ? Aside from making you hurt", she said as her bare hand stroked my hair. "Not that I need any better reason than making you hurt", she said before her mouth darted to my nipple and bit it hard, her head twisting violently from side to side till I almost felt she'd pull it off, and then she stopped and kissed my nipple and raised her head to smile at me and say "Hurting you is quite enough reason". "But I do have a plan. One you don't need to know, especially since there's nothing whatsoever that you can do about it, no matter how much you might want to stop it". "But first, let's finish with your hands", she said as she picked up the hammer, and positioning herrself by my left hand, used the hammer to reach through the frame holding my hand in place and tap it on the knuckle of my index finger, and then along each knuckle in turn, and then start over. The first taps didn't hurt too much, but they soon become harder to bear, the metal falling sharply on the same piece of skin over bone again and again, and then, as she started hitting the same knuckle repeatedly the pain became unbearable and I was squirming and moaning and struggling futilely with my implacable restraints and hoping vainly for some mercy from my implacable captress, but I couldn't move my hand any more than I could move her with my tears. And then it stopped, and there was a moment of relief though my hand throbbed horribly, and then I heard her footsteps slowly walking the long way around the table, but I knew where she was going, and I tried to raise my head and plead through my tear-filled eyes and through my gag but she was just smilingly cruelly and sexily at me, her face a little flushed and breathing a little harder than the extertions would have required, and she came to my right hand and sneered happily at me as she tapped the hammer on the table a few times, and then started on my right hand, and long before the pain required it, the fear and anticipation of the pain had me struggling and screaming while she relentlessly tapped at my knuckles and lustily laughed at my helplessness and pain and fear, and when the right hand was as battered as the left, she started darting between them and hitting each hand until they were each throbbing so much I was sure they'd burst any moment, and then the hammer stopped, but before I could be grateful a rubber mallet hit me hard in the solar plexus, and I'd have curled up if I could have and I'd have been gasping hard for air had I been able, but the way I was spreadeagled I couldn't do either and all I could do was to just try to fight off the blackness descending upon me and hope that I didn't succumb to the nausea sweeping over me, since to throw up now could be terminal... I awakened to find my gag replaced with several coils of rope wrapped tightly around and inside my mouth, biting into the corners of my mouth, and herr hand slapping my face. As I awakened I realized that there was a wide heavy collar around my neck, which seemed to be chained to the table, and that my hands had been moved and my wrists were now in cuffs which were padlocked to a chain stretched across my hips and secured to either side of the table. "Awake again. Good. Now I'm going to let you have a little fun", she said, giggling. And she reached over and took my cock and balls in her bare hands and began tenderly manipulating them until she felt me hardening, and then not so tenderly but quite pleasingly stroked my cock. And then she snapped on rubber gloves, and, still stroking me with one hand while smiling cruelly at me, opened a bottle and poured it over my cock and balls and rubbed it in as I squirmed and screamed and she laughed, and then she let go and strode to a chair, in which she lay, pulling off her gloves and washing her hands in a ready basin, and dimmming those awful lights so she could see w/o needing those sun glasses, she whipped of the glasses while ordering me "STROKE YOURSELF. NOW !" and I could see herr face flushed and herr eyes gleaming and her lips parted partway between a smile and a growl as she barked out "DO IT !" and I closed an aching, throbbing hand around my throbbing, burning cock and screamed again as the burning fluid seeped into all the punctures in my palms and I let go but she scream at me "DO IT ! DO IT NOW !" and added in a low throbbing voice "I'll do even worse to you if you don't obey me, don't you understand that, you don't have any choice but to obey me.... NOW STROKE YOUR COCK !" and I knew that I had no choice but obey her, whatever agony she may have wanted for me now, she'd do worse to me if I failed her and so my only option was submission to her will and her desires, and I stroked my cock, and squirmed and moaned and cried as both hand and cock throbbed and burned, and through my pain I could hear her moans rising with mine. ************************************* Part 4 "Did anyone tell you to stop ?", she asked. No, no one had. As I'd heard her coming I hadn't dared stop stroking myself despite the pain, and had kept going. Not that, with the sounds of her arousal and orgasm in my mind, or with the sight of her curled up contentedly, I really wanted to stop. Well, I did want to, but I needed not to. Until I came myself, after which I collapsed into a gasping, sweating, hurting hulk. Still, for a time my hands and cock and balls and arms and eyes and back didn't seem to hurt so much. That didn't last long. The first thing I realized was how much my hands ached, and then how much my cock and balls hurt, and then how much I needed to get of this ladder she'd made me lay atop of, and then how utterly stiff and sore I was everyplace. Well, almost everyplace. A certain place was simply very, very sore. And then I saw that she'd roused yourself. "Did anyone say you could stop ? No, no one did. So stroke yourself. Now". So despite the fact that I could barely close either hand and my cock was terribly sore and utterly limp and by my hands and my cock and balls were all burning, and I felt about as unsexy as one could possibly feel, I started stroking again. Not very well, but I did. Being somewhat bored with my performance, her eyes looked for other amusements, like getting a spoon and scooping my come of my chest and removing my gag long enough for her to spoonfeed it to me . After about ten minutes of my haggard performance she became bored with me, and after washing my cock and balls and hands in a solution that removed/neutralized what was left of the original solution (and hurt almost as much), and, noticing the condition of my hands, she observed "These aren't what I want swollen", and wrapped them in cloth and then placed cold packs around them and bandaged them to keep the cold packs in place, and then she decided to take matters into her own hands, and began stroking and squeezing my cock and balls, both still intensely sore, but, now free of the burning lotions (if not of their effects), safe for her to touch with her bare hands. Even a soft, gentle touch hurt, which she seemed not to mind. But she was persistent, and between the touch of her hands and the sound of her voice cooing and the sight of her smiling face and the feel of her lips kissing my face, I finally began to respond, and she became slowly less gentle and more insistent, ordering me to come for her, demanding that I come for her, telling me I could come now and I would come now and I must come now because it's what she wanted and didn't I know that I had to give her what she wanted, and I tried as hard as I could and humped as much as my bonds allowed as she kept ordering me to come for her and insistently stroking my cock and milking my balls and her voice was increasingly impatient and angry and I so wanted to please her and so hated to disappoint her and so feared to fail her and I was humping and trying and running every surefire fantasy through my head and visualizing such horrors befalling such beauties that I could finally, distantly, feel the possibility that I might be able to come and her voice is so insistent and her face so hard and flushed and her hands so cruelly demanding and I was watching dear friends hanging by their hair with their feet inches from flame and lovely legs sheathed in nylon and shod in vinyl held by steel chains between heating coils and hearing a woman screaming in agony as her shoes and hose melted around her legs and seeing a busty beauty stripped and held by several men and their overpowering strength as my Lady placed several cuts on each of the busty beauty's breasts and then sood back as the men forced her, over her most awful struggles to bend down and put her breasts into the tropical river and after a moment the river comes alive as the piranha attack and devour her breasts as she screams and struggles, and I could feel it approaching and hear her demanding and I saw thousands of college girls handcuffed and blindfolded and trying to run down a sort of bleachers, backwards and in high heels, but most misstepped and fell into spikes and buzzsaws and beds of hot coals and pools of lye and pits of snakes and packs of African wild dogs that ate them alive and a couple into tanks full of live jellyfish where they immediately received dozens of stings, and all who reached the bottom were forced to go back to the top and do it again and again until only one was alive and she was passed into the crowd of spectators and raped in every possible way and then forced to take a club and kill any of the other competitors whose death throes haven't yet ended, and then locked in a small room with a cot and a stool and a dangling noose and told that tomorrow it will all start over and she curled into a ball and cried and cried and then got up and dragged the stool over to the noose... and I'm almost there, I'm so close, I'm trying so hard, I'm so close but it could go away so soon but I must do this for her, I have to do this for her and I see my Lady sweaty and flushed and glassyeyed and I arch and stretch as much as the bonds allow and I finally came, not very much as these things go, but something squirted into the jar she was holding by my cock (which she was also holding), and I slumped, sweaty and limp and flushed and exhausted and gasping, and she pulled out my gag and pushed the come from the jar into my mouth and smiling wickedly asked "Does it taste better warm ?" and I break into hysterical laughter, not because what she said was so funny, but because everything everywhere was so funny. END The SSB FAQ: http://www.unrealities.com/adult/ssbb/faq.htm The SSB Charter: http://www.mindspring.com/~frites/charter.htm The SSBF Charter: http://www.tpe.com/ssbbf.html The SSB Homepage: http://www.phszx81.demon.co.uk/ssb/ The ASB/SSB Welcome: http://www.mindspring.com/~frites/wel.htm My homepage: http://links.magenta.com/lmnop/users/sd/sd.html ASSTR directory: ftp://asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/sd The alt.sex.stories hierarchy FAQ may be found: Among the Informational Documents at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/apuleius/www Or at this URL: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Interesting_Reading/ass_faq.txt -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | ASSM Archive site +-----------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | | --- | +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | This newsgroup is moderated by ASSTR, an entity supported by donations. | | If you enjoy this newsgroup, please consider making a donation to help | | Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository keep providing this free service for you.| | Donations: | \_________________________________________________________________________/