Transfixed (Vignette)

Martina left the bathroom, her fluffy bathrobe wrapped around her naked body, the top of her ample breasts visible over the top of the robe. She sat down in her living room.

Her breathing was heavy. There was a mental image that she could not get out of her mind. It was the fault of a master by the name of Crowley she had met at a fetish event. He had told her that he wanted to see her screaming in pain, tied to a T-cross, her cunt resting on hot, jagged metal. She had blown off Crowley, thinking him nothing but a nasty, untrustworthy sadist. But she had still taken his mobile number. And it was an image which she had not been able to get out of her mind. The mental image turned her on. She couldn’t help it. She felt transfixed by it, unable to escape it when she went to bed, when she closed her eyes.

She let her bathrobe fall open, as she sat on her couch. Her shaven pussy was wet, and it was not from the shower which she had taken. The brunette’s middle finger slid between her moist cuntlips, the first part of her digit sliding in easily.

The mental image alone would not be enough. She had to hear Crowley’s deep voice. It was like dark chocolate, but with an edge. He was a man who had delivered much cruelty on willing slaves. Was she ready to be one of them? Was she ready to be tortured?

She picked up her mobile phone and pressed 7 on speed dial. She did not know what had caused her to put his number on speed dial, but she had. Perhaps she had anticipated such a moment. Perhaps she had done it without thinking.

“Crowley speaking.” That was not his real name, of course, but it was the name he used for all his BDSM contacts; and the number was of the mobile he used for such activities.

“Hello, this is Martina.”

“Hello, Martina.” Crowley did not say anything else. It was clear to Martina, as she masturbated with one hand and held the phone with the other, that she would have to do all the running.

“Tell me how you would torture me. Tell me about being bound to that T cross.”

“Very well. You would be naked, in my garden, with its high fences over which none of my neighbours can see. You have come willingly to me, begging to be tortured, in a no limits session, knowing that you will suffer agony, knowing that there will be no safe word, knowing that the only limits are those which I will impose. I will decide when you have been tortured enough, not you, and I can assure you that it will be far beyond your normal limits.

“You are will be naked, standing before a wooden T-cross set into concrete in my garden. It is like a crucifix, but missing the top. It ends with a wooden bar. But, unlike a crucifix, there is a sharp-toothed blade, like a saw, protruding from the upright. You are gagged, as I do not want my neighbours to be alarmed by your screams. And you will scream, as you are tortured. Nor do I want you to be able to beg for mercy. There would be no point, as no mercy will be shown.

“You will stand on a wooden block, so that I can tie your arms to the crosspiece of this cross. I will tie your wrists tightly, rather than pierce them with nails. I want your focus to be on your cunt, at least to begin with. Your cunt will be destroyed by the torture.

“With your arms tied, your pussy will be mere inches above the thick, toothed projection. It is crueller than any Spanish horse. I tell you to hold yourself up, using your arms. You manage it, at least for the moment. But your cuntlips are very close to the metal.

“The teeth of the projection are not sharpened. They are big. But they will be very uncomfortable when you are forced to sit on them – and, when your arms tire, you will have no choice. You will have to lower yourself onto this metal sedile. The way you are bound, the teeth will be between your cuntlips, sinking into your cunt. Perhaps, if you are perfectly still, they will not cut you up too much.

“I kick the wooden block away. Either keep lifting yourself up, or rest on the metal, it is your choice.”

As Crowley talked, Martina’s finger went in and out of her hot cunt. She closed her eyes, imagining herself on that cross, hanging there, knowing that she might hang there for hours, knowing that Crowley would not let her down until she was broken.

“I have a tall brazier.” Crowley continued. “I would push it under the end of the long, saw-toothed sedile. I would light the coals. The heat from the coals would slowly permeate the metal, slowly running along it in the direction of your defenceless cunt. And then I would sit down in a deckchair and watch. I have all day. I would watch as you struggled to hold your cunt above the hot, jagged metal. But it is only a question of time. You are not that strong, and you have to lower yourself down. You have to expose your cunt to this double torture. One jagged tooth goes inside your cunt, pricking the inside, not yet hot enough to cauterise this wound. A little blood now trickles down the metal. Another of the teeth pricks your anus. A third touches your clit with its increasingly hot point, pressing your clit back into its hood, sharp enough to cause pain, not sharp enough to cut your clit in too.

“You raise yourself up, time and again, using your remaining, dwindling strength, until you have no choice but to sit on the edge, burning your arsehole, burning your clit, burning your inner cunt. Your head droops. But I will not allow you to suffer the solace of unconsciousness. You have come to me seeking irrevocable torture, and that is what you will experience.”

As Martina listened, her fingers became quicker, as three fingers were now inside her, a damp patch on the couch. She was close, despite it being a short phone call. But she had been dreaming about this torture ever since the BDSM meet.

“I pick up a bullwhip, and I whip your breasts. Each lash causes you to wriggle on the metal bar, tearing up your cunt even more. I carry on until blood flows from your breasts. I return to my chair, throwing the whip away, and I watch some more.

“Eventually, I see that you are nearing the end of your ability to endure pain, and there is no point in torturing an unconscious person. Putting on heavy leather gloves I move the brazier away. I go around the back of the cross, and I click a lever. The metal bar falls out of the cross, and you think that I am being merciful. But I have already told you that there will be no mercy.

“I tie leather bands around your left big toe. Using a step ladder I tie it to the horizontal top of the cross, not far from your hand. You are too exhausted to resist. Then I tie your right big toe to the other end of the horizontal bar. You are now spread so that your tortured cunt is open. There is some dried blood from where the top of the edges pierced you as you struggled, and you have nasty little burns from the metal. But nothing is missing. There is nothing which will not heal, given time. Your cunt, though, is very red, and very sensitive from the torture.

“I pick up a length of garden hose. Just that, nothing more. I tell you that I am going to whip your cunt until you faint. I whip your cunt as hard as I can, the end of the garden hose flicking forward between your scalded cuntlips to land on the soft interior. I whip inside you. I whip your cuntlips. I whip your burned arsehole. But you do not finally faint until I land a full force blow on your painfully swollen clit.

“Hello? Are you still there?” But an orgasming Martina has pressed the red button on her phone, as she screams out in pleasure. The description of the torture made her cum.

But did she ever go to visit Crowley? Well, that would be a whole different story…

The End.