May 22, 2002
My Week with A
Not a complete fantasy yet, only the outline of one. I would like to be in A's custody for seven days. Each day I would endure a different torture for Her pleasure.
Day one would be simple. I would surrender to A.
She would escort me to my place of confinement, a dim corner of her basement she
has equipped with chains. I would be spread-eagled, my arms and legs drawn
far apart. A would place a ball gag in my mouth, fitting the strap
behind my head. A gag would cover my eyes. I would see nothing for
the next seven days. A would take an evil-looking knife and run the
tip of it down my throat, over my Adam's apple. Without speaking to me she
would slip the knife between the flaps of my shirt and draw it downward, slicing
through the buttons. A few more strokes of the knife and my shirt would be
in rags at my feet. My pants would follow suit. Two quick slices,
one on either side, would make quick work of my underwear leaving me entirely
nude. A would leave me without a touch or a word. I would
spend the next twenty-four hours standing, my muscles aching, sleep impossible.
This is only the beginning of my suffering.
Day two would begin with the sound of A opening the door and walking down the creaking steps. I hope she is coming to free me from my bonds but I soon learn otherwise. Rather than her hands freeing me, I feel thin leather straps striking my back between my shoulder blades. Over and over again, A lashes me with the cat, first on my upper back, then lower, then my bottom and the backs of my legs. I then heard her step in front of me and begin again with my chest, then my stomach and, finally, my groin. I have no idea how long it lasts but, when she finally leave my entire body is raw and burning. Some hours later, A returns to repeat the process. I bore it well the first time but now each lash strikes my raw, burning skin. Each lash makes me scream into the rubber ball that fills my mouth. Several times the agony makes me lose my footing leaving me hanging by my wrists. A never pauses, not even for an instant to allow me to breathe. Finally, she leaves again. Exhausting overtakes me. Tonight I sleep if only in fits interrupted by the sudden pain in my arms whenever I slump.
Day three begins with pain as A wakes me by dragging her nails over my raw back. For the first time in two days I hear her voice. A cruel laugh as I cry out from behind my gag. I feel her touching my balls and, for an instant, I think I'm going to receiving a moment of pleasure. I quickly realize A has something else in mind. I feel the sharp metal teeth of alligator clips biting into the sensitive skin. They don't break the skin but that isn't important for what she has planned for me. After positioning them to her liking, A flips a switch. Immediately, electric shocks begin to torment my balls. Though I do not know this, A controls their intensity with a dial. Turning it to the right makes them almost unbearable, to the left leaves them only mildly uncomfortable. A amuses herself for a few minutes, adjusting the dial to examine how I respond to the various intensities. With a satisfied smile which I cannot see, she selects a setting perhaps a tenth of the dial's circumference shy of the maximum intensity. I am already weakened from my first two days of torment and deprivation. This agony leaves me nothing. I hang by my wrists, screaming into the gag, tears running down my face. A, my exquisite tormentor, abandons me yet again. This time, however, as she walks back up the creaking stairs to leave me to my third night of hell, she tauntingly says, "Sweet dreams, My pet," and laughs. In a strange way, it is comforting to me. It's better to be mocked as I suffer than to be tortured by a silent nemesis for whom I am just an object.
Day four begins just as the previous day ended, with me screaming in agony from the electrical charges surging through my balls. I never imagined pain of this sort, so intense and unstopping. Later I will look back in amazement at the body's ability to endure what might seem unbearable. At the time, however, the torture leaves no room for such contemplation. Finally, I again hear the creaking sound of A descending the stairs. She takes her time, I hear each slow step as her heels tap against the concrete floor. She pauses to examine me, taking in each straining muscle and the convulsions that rack my body with each shock. Finally, reluctantly I imagine, she turns off the power. I collapse, hanging limply by my wrists. The metal handcuffs have cut into my wrists as I hung these last hours. Dried blood cakes the stainless steel. A freed each of my ankles. I desperately want to regain my feet to take the pressure off my wrists, but I haven't the energy even to move my feet, much less stand upon them. A frees one wrist and then I hear her laugh as I hang by my sole remaining bond. Finally, she opens that cuff as well and I fall in a heap on the cold floor. A allows me to rest for a moment. She circles me, nudging my battered body with the toe of her shoe. Finally, I feel her slipping a collar around my throat. She tightens it so that breathing is difficult but manageable, barely. She attaches a length of chain to the back and then, with a tug at my leash she commands, "Crawl." Knowing that disobedience will be punished, I manage to crawl slowly behind her. The stairs are a slow, laborious task but she leads me up each one on my hands and knees. We crawl through her house and then, to my surprise, I feel the warmth of sunlight on my back and crisp blades of grass beneath my palms. She is leading me into her back yard, I realize. A lives in the country. Her nearest neighbor is over a mile away and her large private back yard is sheltered by trees. It is isolated enough that no one would ever see me, nor would they hear me cry for help if I were even able to do so. A brings me to heel with a tug at the chain. Her foot on my back commands me to lie in the grass and I do so willingly. Pulling my wrists in front of me, A secures them with soft leather cuffs joined by no more than an inch of chain. A larger, heavier chain is attached the the linkage and secured elsewhere so that I cannot escape. For the first time since my captivity began, A removes my gag. She lays a garden hose next to my lips and I feel the barest trickle of water from the end of the hose against my dry, cracked lips. I lap it up greedily, drinking every drop which flows from the end of the hose. From the sounds of footfalls crunching upon the grass, I realize that A is leaving me to lie on the lawn, rest and refresh myself from the hose. I have no idea how long it will last, but I take advantage of every moment drinking until I can hold no more. Eventually, I drift off to sleep in the warm sunshine.
Most of the day I drift in and out of sleep, drinking the trickle of water each time I wake only to fall asleep again a moment later. It may seem surprising that I made no effort to remove my blindfold. I could have done so with relative ease given that my hands were cuffed above my head rather than behind my back. All I can sat is that in my exhaustion, sleep, the cool water and the absence of any new pain were the only things which mattered to me. When the cool of night comes, I am even more comfortable.
Around sunrise on my fifth day, A slips from her bed and looks out the window. In the dim, pre-dawn light she can see my lying in the grass, sound asleep. She can also see where the chain attached to my cuffs leads. A heavy wooden post, eight feet high, is sunk into the ground. An equally heavy beam extends horizontally from the top of the post. The appearance is rather like the gallows in a game of hangman. The heavy chain runs along the grass for a couple of feet, then up through a hole drilled in the horizontal beam and then down the beam to a winch bolted to the side of the post. A takes a small remote control from her dresser and, aiming it out the window, presses the top button. The motor is quiet, too quiet to be heard from this distance inside the house. Like a silent movie, A watches as the winch turns, first drawing the chain taught and then pulling on it. The tugging at my wrists awakens me. I make some small effort to fight it, but there is no hope. Even at full strength, the motor would eventually win. Weakened, I don't even slow it down. The winch hauls me from the ground. Watching, A presses the button again, stopping the winch when I am completely suspended, only the tips of my toes scratching the tops of the blades of grass. She examines me for a moment, watching as I sway at the end of the chain. Excited about what she has in store for me, she steps downstairs for a cup of coffee before beginning her day.
I had no idea how long I had been hanging, but the morning was warm to begin with and very soon the sun was beating down on me. There was no shade where A had hung me and very shortly my body was a bright red from head to toe. Thanks to the water A had allowed me the previous day, I perspired heavily as I hung. My body barely swayed as there was little breeze to cool me. Eventually, I heard a sound that I couldn't initially place. Soon, enough, I realized it was the cracking of a whip. Not the cat which A had previously used on me, but a genuine bullwhip. The thought of it terrified me.
"Please, God, not a bullwhip," I murmured, my first spoken words in days.
I heard A laugh close beside me. I'd no idea she was so near.
"He can't help you, pet. If you want mercy, pray to me."
To be continued.