Part 4

How long have you been here? Hours? Days? It’s hard to tell.

You're hungry, but not ravenous. The last you can remember eating was at the restaurant. So it cannot have been too long, can it?

You have no reference for time. The lights are electric: no window, no sunlight peeking through. No sounds of traffic.

Does anyone know where I am? You think, momentarily panicking. You don't know this man. What are his overall intentions? Where is your friend? Where is that doctor?

So many questions.

And yet... this is what you've always dreamed of, but could never exactly articulate. You are completely helpless. You are entirely at his mercy. And while he has inflicted pain - the pain was not inflicted cruelly.

You run through the experiences in your mind. The lashes were, while painful, gentle at the same time. He certainly could have done far worse. As far as you can tell, no blood has been drawn, no evidence of blistering or permanent damage.

But you also feel he was stiff and hesitant. Holding back. That panicky part of your mind whispers to you that he could be truly dangerous if he wanted to be - or if he lost control.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Your pulse races again.

The door opens. Closes.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sounds of rummaging at the table or desk. A drawer opens and closes a moment later. He's doing something, preparing something, perhaps?

You hear him strike a match. After a moment or two, the flicker of a candle dances across the room and you smell the sweet scent of the candle.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The blanket is pulled away, and you hear him folding it carefully. It is colder in the room. Goosebumps rise on your skin. Is it the cold, or the anticipation? You feel your nipples stiffen involuntarily. They are so hard right now. You can't touch them, but you can feel them pressed against the bed, rubbing on the sheets. They are so stiff they hurt.

He places his hand on the small of your back again. He slides it over your skin. The touch is warm, very warm, and your skin feels cold. Everywhere he touches is burning with pleasure, but as soon as his hand moves away, the cold air extinguishes it.

his other hand caresses your ass. You feel it sliding over with the same heat. You feel him exploring the curve and shape. Then he stops and removes his hands.

A second or two later you feel something press against your tight sphincter. Smooth and hard and slick with something, lubricant you hope. You feel him gently but insistently pressing it into you. You groan a weak "no" as he pushes with more force, not rough, but not as gentle. And your ass betrays you. You feel it yielding. In a moment it has opened wide and the object is slowly pushed in all the way. You know now it’s a butt plug. A thick one. Not one you'd have chosen for yourself. Its very big... and stretching your ass... it hurts, but his touch makes it bearable.

It's all the way in now. You feel so full. And you feel a touch of shame and humiliation mixed with excitement and lust. You don't know this man who is obviously using you as a toy. A total stranger, yet you just yielded your ass to him with no more than the most simple of complaints. You lie there, feeling the fullness and mild pain of the plug, and you feel content.

The cold comes as a rude shock. He places something intently cold on the small of your back. It must be ice. And the cold is extreme after the warm hands. You squirm and it causes your ass to clench around the plug.

You moan out loudly and he slides the ice up your spine. Slowly... you feel it trace over your vertebrae. Up to your neck... and he makes a slow circle on the back of your neck before moving down again. Up and down your spine, slowly. You can feel the air from the fan more acutely now. You squirm, but the squirming only makes your ass ache more due to the size of the plug in it.

And then he lifts the ice from your skin and you hear it drop into a bowl. You sigh in relief.

And then there is the burning. A stripe of exquisite pain moves down your back from your shoulder. The wax! You know it is the wax from the candle and you feel it drip onto your skin.

Again... another stripe down the other side

He alternates left and right sides, and vertical and horizontal stripes over your back. It's like he's painting you in pain and pleasure. A master painter in this form of art. You are his canvas. But how far will he go?

More stripes of wax. Each one searing your skin. You know there will be no permanent harm. The wax isn't hot enough to cause wounds. But it is intense all the same.

As if he read your mind, he stops. Had he gone much longer, it might have been too much. You lay there, panting, and slowly relaxing as the last of the wax cools and solidifies. You can feel it. Feel it cracking and flaking off your back.

And the ice reappears... on your ass and thighs this time. You squirm and feel more wax loosen and fall. You love and hate this ice. It soothes you and yet chills you. The sensations are nearly more than you can bear.

And then he slides the ice over your wet lips. You shudder violently. No... this is to cold. And you whimper. "Please. No," you say. He pays you no heed. He continues on...

And now you feel the ice plunging into you. You realize now it is actually a popsicle... the shape is unmistakable... and the feeling is intense. He twists and turns it inside you... and you cannot take it anymore. You scream. The pleasure is overwhelming. The orgasm is unexpected and intense. He withdraws the icy treat and plunges a finger in to push you further and further into paroxysms of pleasure. The orgasm is almost like a seizure. And it doesn't stop. Just as you feel it beginning to subside, he increases intensity and pushes you back into the pleasure. Over and over, until you cannot count the orgasms, they simply come again and again.

A few moments later you come back to your senses. He has stopped. Something cold appears at your lips and you open your eyes to see the cherry popsicle before you. Your thirst overtakes you and you open your mouth wide for it. You suck greedily on the popsicle for a few moments... it is already half gone and you finish it.

You are drained... exhausted. The sensations are so intense, you can't take much more. And he seems to sense it. You feel him pulling on the plug... It hurts, but after a moment it pops out and he removes it entirely.

You hear water and feel a wet clot slide over your intimate parts. Wiping away the juices, both yours and the popsicle's. He peels the wax strips from your body and washes your back, cleaning away evidence of his torture.

He takes good care of his toys.

You lie there, simply experiencing it. The water is warm, but cools quickly. You don't care. The touch is gentle and soothing. You know the cost is the pain and sensory overload, but the touch makes up for it.

All too soon he is finished. You hear him putting things away. He drapes the blanket over you once again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The door opens. It closes.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Fading away.

Part 3


Through the fog you remember more. You recall sitting in an all night restaurant. You're drinking water and nibbling on some french fries. Your friend sits across from you. Another man sits next to her, diagonal from you. The man with the eyes is next to you. Your head is spinning still, but settling a little.

"Keep eating, you need to soak up the alcohol," the man diagonal from you says, "Doctor's orders."

"Todd is an emergency room doc. It's a good thing someone invited him," your friend says, latching on to his arm. You can understand why. He's a handsome man. But he doesn't have the eyes...

"It's possible someone slipped you something. But your friend here says you hadn't eaten much all day... so its hard to say what happened. But I know you're going to be hung over if you don't get re-hydrated and get some salt in your system."

You mumble something and look at the man next to you... only, you don't see him... not his face. He's turned away, looking out the window. Your friend is babbling about something. She's all but throwing herself at the doctor. He's nice, but your mind is on someone else.

Who IS this man? This faceless man. This man who you can't get out of your mind.

You finish your fries and water and put your head back down.

Your friend is talking you up to your rescuer. Somehow you know he's responding, but cannot hear his voice. It is like there's a cloud around him. Like someone is editing him out of your mind.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Your fight or flight instincts kick in... but you can do neither.

The door opens and closes. He's in the room.

Your ass is no longer stinging. You remember the lash, but don't feel anymore pain. He runs his hand over your naked ass, feeling it. You wriggle a little at his touch, enjoying it, but not sure about it.

He steps back to the table. You hear him doing something, then step back.

SMACK

Its a paddle this time.

SMACK

He rubs it over your ass with each strike.

SMACK

SMACK

SMACK SMACK SMACK

You squirm with each impact... it stings... but in a very arousing way.

His hand caresses one cheek while he strikes the other.... then switches.

Some strikes are very light. Others are intense, and it feels like the sting will never fade.

His hand continues caressing while he strikes... but its moving... down, sliding down the back of your thigh...then around and up your inner thigh.

And then you feel him there... massaging your lips. And you realize for the first time they are nearly dripping with excitement.

SMACK

He hasn't stopped the torture. But now it has a counterpoint. Pain and pleasure at the same time.

And now a finger enters you. You weren't expecting that. His finger is thick. And you feel it penetrate you deep. Massaging you inside.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

You cry out... weather in pain or pleasure you can't say. But you cry out. Loudly.

His finger works on you expertly. Working in and out, around and around.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

And then it happens. He finds it. That. Spot. And you leave your body. The pleasure and pain culminate in something inexplicable. Transcendent.

You come back to reality.... panting. Shivering.

He drapes a blanket over you. Kisses the back of your neck, and you hear the tap, tap, tap as he walks to the door... It creeks open, then closed.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Fading away...

Part 2

Footsteps again. You've been sleeping. Your heart begins to race. Your buttocks still remember the sting of the lash. You both fear and anticipate what will happen.

The door opens. You notice a creak to the door, and you hear it close... an almost creepy sound. A portent?

Footsteps around the room again. You catch a glimpse of your tormentor, but still cannot see his face. You desparately want to know who it is. You don't remember how you got here. You vaguely recall agreeing to something. You were at a party... there was a bonfire, lots of friends, and friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends. You had a little too much to drink, it was confusing. Were introduced to several people. Flirted with them. You can't quite recall, but think you danced with a few.

There was one man. It was dark. The music was loud. Smoke poured from the fire, leaving a haze around the party. The flickering light of the flame cast shadows that moved constantly, dancing along with the small crowd of people. He stood back from the crowd. You recall him leaning against a wall, sipping a drink. You can't recall his face.

But you won't ever forget his eyes. Brown. Dark. Piercing. He was watching you. And when you caught him looking at you, you felt the pressure of his stare.

You were dancing with someone, you really don't remember who: a friend of one of your friends. He was obviously trying to make a move on you... putting his hands on your hips... trying to subtly move them toward your ass. You weren't paying much attention to him. You were watching the stranger.

Your dancing partner made his clumsy move. You can't blame him... you were looking great that night, and you were both impaired. His hand slid up your side to your breast as he leaned in to kiss you.

Realizing at the last moment what he was doing, you pushed him away. He grabbed you roughly by the wrist. He was saying something you can't recall, shaking you. You tripped and fell to your knee. When you looked up, there was someone standing between you and your drunken dance partner. He held his hand up, on the man's chest, holding him back. You didn't hear a word, but whatever he said or did convinced the creep to turn and walk away. He scowled over his shoulder, but walked off into the night.

Your rescuer reached down and lifted you to your wobbly feet. He stood beside you, walking you along, and lead you to a set of lawn chairs around a folding table. He sat you down and you put your head down on the table... dizzy and confused. Was it the wine? Or did someone slip something into your drink?

The man with the eyes is standing next to you as you try to collect yourself. One of your friends comes over and talks to him. You don't hear his voice. You can tell he speaks softly, and your friend hears every word. But you can't hear him.

Your friend leans down, touching your arm, asking if you're ok. Do you want to go home? You mumble incoherently. You can't seem to make yourself speak clearly, though a part of your mind is crystal clear.

Your friend converses with him some more. You hear her agree to something. She leans down again: We're going to get you out of here. It's going to be ok.

They help you to your feet and walk you to his car. They help you into the back and your friend climbs in with you. Two people get into the front, and in a moment you're driving away, leaving the sounds of the party far behind. You remember things with such clarity: yet everything about this man is shrouded in fog...

Your attention is brought back to the here and now. The tap tap of your tormentor's footsteps is both comforting and unnerving. Your emotions and senses are on edge.

He walks to the part of the room where he keeps the whip. You sense, though you cannot see, that there's a table or bench there. You hear things being moved around, a drawer opens and closes, a cupboard...

Tap... tap... tap... a few slow footsteps.

A hand.... on the small of your back. Just resting there. You can feel all five fingers on your skin. The hand slides just a little bit over your skin. then down over your buttocks. It seems both sensual and clinical. Like he's evaluating the damage done earlier.

More lotion is applied. Cool and soothing. The touch is firm, business like.... but with an element of.... tenderness? Or are you just projecting emotions?

A glass of water is placed next to you, with a straw. You suck greedily at it, not realizing how thirsty you were. The cotton feel to your mouth is gone, and you find your voice.

"Who are you? Where am I?" you ask.

There is no answer.

"Please?"

Tap. Tap. Tap. The door opens. Tap. Tap. It closes. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap... fading down the hall.

I'm not entirely sure why I wrote this, other than I wanted to mentally torture (in a fun way, hehe) someone I know. She thought I should go ahead and post this somewhere.

Mind you, this is not my typical genre of writing, or activity. However, I have a very twisted imagination.

With no further ado... this one goes out to the ladies.

______________________

You awake to find yourself in a room with bare wood floors, plain white walls, and no windows. There is a ceiling fan overhead, gently stirring the air, but making no noise.

The room is silent.

And you realize you are tied to the bed... though tied scarcely covers it. More like bound, the ropes tied with such perfection that only a sailor or boy scout can master. Soft cloths pad many of the ropes, to avoid chafing or friction burns, but other than those pads and the ropes themselves, you are completely naked.

And, as the room is slightly cooler than room temperature, your skin is beginning to feel the stirring of the air and raise goosebumps on your smooth flesh.
_____

After a period of time, how long you cannot say for sure - it could have been hours - it could have been minutes, you hear footsteps. You are bound in such a way as to have a limited field of view. You cannot see a door, but you soon hear one open. And close.

More footsteps around the room. You catch, out of the corner of your eye, a glimpse of a person. A man. Dressed in a white shirt and dark, perhaps black, pants. But you cannot see a face. He says not a word. Makes not a vocal sound.

You are lying face down. Your head turned to your left. By the sound of the footsteps, you believe he is standing near your feet, slightly to the right.

You feel a hand touch you. Neither rough nor gentle. The hand slides over the back of your leg, as might the hand of a man touching a new possession. Feeling it to know its really his.

The hand lifts away, and there are a couple steps, moving away from you. You hear a rustling noise. And a few footsteps back.

There is no warning. Nothing to prepare you. Nothing to suggest this was about to happen.... but you feel a number of sharp stings over your naked ass and the back of your thighs. An involuntary yelp escapes your lips as the shock registers. Then you feel the leather strips slide over your skin as the cat o'ninetails is slowly pulled away.

Thwack! Another strike. The leather strips each impact over a slightly different area, spreading the pain.

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Each lash is different, though each is the same. The slow, methodical lashing covers your entire ass over the course of several strikes. None of which are enough to cause severe pain, but the total of them leaves your ass burning from the sting and releases a flood of endorphins into your system to counter its effects.

You lose count, but there's been at least a dozen lashes. And then... no more.

The footsteps move away again, and you hear another rustling. Then they come back. You cringe, knowing something more is coming. Will it be worse? Just what did you get yourself into?

You are taken by utter surprise as you feel something cool and soothing pour over your burning skin. A cream or lotion.... and a gentle hand to spread it over the burning sensation. It does not remove it entirely, but makes it more bearable.

After a moment of gentle ministration, the hand lifts away. The footsteps step back a moment, and more rustling and rummaging among items which must be on a table or bench. And then you hear the footsteps again, the door opens, closes, and the footsteps recede.

For now.