Curiously, there comes no cascade of cramps. Despite the many hours, I have not had a spasm and certainly no painful contractions. Just the slow building of anguish which quick release and simple massage resets... deterring the acute self inflicted agony of uncontrolled spastic motion.
I am being sodomized one more time. This manhood is not lengthy but stout, bringing more stress to the rectum than the longer phalli which have plumbed the depths of my throat. With some climactic thrusts, I concentrate on remaining motionless. With the ringing of my bell I hear commotion about the door. Another guest. And the voice brings recognition. There comes a hot rush of sperm as Dr. Samuels introduces her around and there comes a frisson of fear. I can feel the goose bumps form.
“You brought your spatula, Connie. Excellent.”
***
Is this the peak of my short life as a masochist? An interval in which I swear I shall never again pine to endure the suffering offered by a governing hand?
Connie, more formally introduced as Mrs. Consuela de la Porta, lectures. She has indeed brought her spatula and has requested the location of the nearest electrical outlet.
“A simple hot plate, used to warm coffee. Set low, it keeps the spatula at the perfect temperature, just above tolerable.”
A small table has been moved. A long electrical cord, conveniently brought with the spatula and hot plate, connects to offer power.
This Connie, Miss Consuela to me, very much encouraged that my hood be removed. Thus it is rolled up to rest atop my head. I can see. Those guests not wishing to be identified have stepped to my rear. The mirror has been moved. I cannot turn to see. I shall never know or recognize them, yet the voices will forever be ingrained.
Miss Consuela is immaculately dressed, a tight blouse, a flowing pleated skirt, festive holiday colors. With the trench coat of our initial meeting gone, she is well formed, tall... not thin... certainly not plump. She moves with grace, confidence. Long flowing hair, not folded under a fedora, offers a stylish classiness.
Propping her spatula, nothing more than a common kitchen implement used for flipping hamburgers and eggs, on the hot plate, the broad flat surface greets the heating elements. I can smell the heat, feel the glow. She strolls to my side, disappearing from view. Her hand touches, grazing along my left torso then finding its way to the many tufts of skin bearing my weight... spinal grommets. The buttock grommets are of interest. It is apparent that the strict bondage, the slow suffering, enthuses.
“Nice presentation with the oil. Clever stuff these grommets. They’re part of her. And those hobbling ankle grommets... splendid!”
Dr. Samuels explains the hypoallergenic nature of the metal, the body’s ready acceptance of nickel cobalt. As he speaks I feel the hand glide beneath to my belly.
“Tummy’s full. That’s good. Well watered. Gives the mind something to think about... the next release.”
The hand continues to my zippered mons. It teases, brushing my labia majora... up, down, up down. She flicks my bell and laughs.
“You’ve been well fanny fucked, little girl. Your little anus is flowing with nasty stuff. Tsk. Tsk.”
The abundance of sperm slowly oozes and has moistened her exploring fingers. She retracts in feigned revulsion.
“She does not move?”
Dr. Samuels explains the devious nature of arroycoo, the self induced agony if attempted motion brings a spasm and subsequent cramps. The imagination is intrigued. I picture the wry smile as Miss Consuela contemplates the dilemma of the masochist... the offering of welcomed, subtle, slow suffering... abruptly interrupted when inadvertent movement brings the cascade. Discipline, concentration, tedious suffering only to be broken by intense agony.
‘She is forced to meekly show herself,’ I imagine her thoughts. ‘So wonderfully vulnerable.’
“We’ll see how well she has learned to concentrate. I suspect she’ll both savor and detest a lengthy hot spatulating.”
Miss Consuela returns to my front. I have watched the spatula heat, can feel the hot plate radiate. She removes. Right hand. The left index finger touches the edge of the blade. It quickly retracts. A minor burn.
“I’ll need the nose leash. It is best.”
Dr. Samuels unties the cord. Miss Consuela takes it her left hand. She slowly lifts and the jolt of pain forces me to raise my head. My breasts are even more prominently displayed... just as she desires.
“Let’s see how well you can remain motionless, little girl.”
With that, the first of many slaps is delivered... really nothing more than a flick of the wrist. The searing hot blade nips my left nipple. The combination of heat and stinging swat overwhelm. I scream, forced to look into the pleasant smiling face of my tormentress.
My reaction brings lurching, my feet and legs thrash about, I tug with my arms futilely trying to escape my bonds. This brings on the cascade and as my stinging breast cools, the cramping begins. All the large muscles uncontrollably tighten... glutei.. soleus... gastrocnemius. I yelp, trying to return myself to calm. Concentration... discipline, I tell myself. It requires minutes, my audience greatly amused by my self induced anguish. Mrs. Consuela de la Porta has brought a tidal wave of agony with the mere flick of her wrist.
The spatula returns to the hot plate. The fingers of the right hand gently brush away tears. She leans, whispering, but others can easily hear.
“This isn’t what you deserve, little girl. But it is what you desire.”
Epilogue
Mrs. Consuela de la Porta
It is fortuitous to be wealthy when one has the proclivity which I possess.
Winnie so nicely arranged for me to meet this Sunny Sudenskaya... that ostensibly chance encounter on a secluded lower Manhattan side street was most contrived. Yes, Dr. Winthrop Samuels and I go back a few years. In medical school together, I dropped out when my wealthy father died. With the bequeathal of few hundred million dollars, late night study, long hours of internship, become no longer endurable.
So with my father’s demise I was left to marry, a charming and equally wealthy man, and pursue recreational activities. No children desired. Our tepid marriage is more akin to a merger of business interests.
Winnie emailed pictures of Sunny to me. I became intrigued. Enough so that I had the crew prepare my yacht and we sailed to New York. Then we conspired for a rendezvous. Winnie thought that a ‘chance’ meeting, one in which Sunny was displayed leashed, mostly naked, and outdoors on a public street, would best illustrate her predilection... one which so nicely complements mine. He is aware of my penchant for ownership... body and soul... my preference for mousey little girls... obedient... trainable tongues... limited family... not to be missed if I whisk them away. When I freely palpated Sunny’s breasts, teased her zippered labia, her silence bespoke loudly. Toying with her clitoral hood leash almost brought an orgasm. Control and governance arouse!
And when Winnie so graciously invited me to his holiday gathering, I became even more attracted to and enticed by this Sunny Sudenskaya. The girl, strung up and bound utilizing permanent openings, so subtly enjoyed exhibiting her aberrant sexuality. Yes, she was in her element in being so displayed, acquiescing so placidly to Winnie’s clever bondage.
I swatted those breasts throughout the night. And yes, the smelling salts were used. No one was in any particular hurry, so I leisurely tormented. I would guess that each application of the searing hot spatula required some ten minutes of recovery... required to calm those cramping muscles.
I fell in love!
I suppose aficionados of fine art have the some emotion concerning a rare painting, for the affection is not romantic attraction. No, I coveted the modified nakedness as one would covet a sculpture.
I wanted her. I wanted her to be on display for me... at my behest. From Dr. Winthrop Samuels, artiste, I acquired a living masterpiece.
Yes, when one has uncountable millions, one is usually able to acquire what one wants. After all, there remain some foreign countr
ies where the application of modest dollars can still serve to silence the tongues of government. Nothing outrageous to raise the ire of the free world mind you. Just some ‘games’ where allegedly consenting participants engage in otherwise condemned behavior.
So weeks after the holiday gathering, Winnie secured Sunny in the frame and some well paid conspirators wheeled her out of the loft. Down the elevator, into a panel truck, to the Brooklyn docks, onto my yacht and away we sailed, Sunny never leaving the devious frame of Dr. Winthrop Samuels.
Where to?
Not to be divulged. But a clue. A small Central American country where the impetus of curtailing narcotics trafficking predominates over all other concerns of the United States government. Thus a little ‘hanky panky’, sexual peccadilloes, are overlooked. Rumors of a girl, one who never legally entered the United States, being held against her will are not to upset the status quo of the relationship with the corrupt local government... assuming Sunny’s plight is deemed to in fact be non consensual.
Keep fighting the drug trade... host some libertines... all is well with the US authorities.
***
Sunny’s tolerance for this arroycoo suspension has become incredible. She hangs many, many hours with short respites in which she is massaged, walked to limberness then returned to her bondage. Not a word spoken. She seems happiest in the seemingly severe suspension, those opiates, as explained by Dr. Samuels, flowing to direct her mind to a fantasy land of masochistic revelry.
I have designed my own frame, a modified version of Winnie’s. It is a simple rectangle of pipes, much wider and not standing on wheels. Instead it hangs from above, cables attached to the steelwork holding up the roof of my outdoor garden. Motorized, Sunny’s nakedness can be raised or lowered with a flick of a switch. I usually have her secured then sit and admire my sizable objet d’art as a simple press of my finger raises her naked form. High up into the trellises amongst hanging, blossoming vines, she decorates my covered patio. She is quite pretty there, quietly suffering in the tropical flowers. Suspended some three feet below the frame, visitors can walk beneath her and admire from below. But there are also those occasions when it is time for her to endure the hot spatula, torment which proves to be delightfully diverting. She squirms most delightfully, her many cords offering motion which serves to begin the cascade of muscle contractions and cramps. As I found at the holiday party, one simple smack of the spatula can bring a full ten minutes of self induced agony until Sunny can calm herself and endure another.
Other slight modifications? Before leaving New York, I had Winnie grommet the top of her ears. No more hair bob, she’s kept completely shaved. The ear grommets are utilized to relieve the tension of the nose leash instead. And I don’t bother zipping her closed. With arms constantly restrained she cannot masturbate so the precaution is unnecessary. Instead I have used her labial grommets to do the opposite.
Yes, with the wider frame, I have Sunny’s ankles spread to the maximum, offering a most revealing exhibition of her mons. And to assure thorough display of her charms, I had a special large ring of matching nickel cobalt made, some eight inches in diameter. It is to this addition that I have attached thin decorative chains which loop through the eight labial grommets and the hood grommet. The ring encircles her mons and accommodates the chains. Pulled to tightness, the configuration holds her lips obscenely open, her clitoris well exposed. Essentially, with thighs widely parted, her splayed sex offers humiliating views of her most intimate anatomy. The expanse of pink is both shocking and amusing... and affords a sense of vulnerability that is most confounding for her. Her feminine essence constantly drools, the evidence of her arousal visible to all. And anything, any time can be inserted. For her it feels that I am forcibly presenting the very depths of her womb... to me... to all visitors... all is opened for visual inspection... plus a teasing finger or two from time to time. My guests so much like to reach above and explore.
I have not the patience of Winnie and Louise in terms of the required care, feeding and cleansing. I observe my precious ‘sculpture’, lower the frame to have that wondrous tongue lick my love nest daily and play with my spatula on occasion, otherwise I do not touch.
No, I have relegated Sunny’s care to Rudolpho, a huge, muscular and swarthy native born and raised to work the local sugar fields. As a virile teen, I rescued him from a life of grueling labor.
Rudolpho is loyal and caring, but his most notable attribute is ten inches of coal black uncircumcised manhood which Sunny is slowly learning to fully accommodate in fellatio.
For that she is lowered in her new frame, of course, and I delight in watching Rudolpho enjoy a well earned reward. He fucks her mouth and throat like a bullstud.
Anal penetration will follow at some point. Just as with fellatio, the frame will be lowered so that Sunny’s little opening will align with Rudolpho’s turgid stiffness. Those large hands will grip the buttock cords and swing her entire nakedness for impalement. Resistance will bring forth the cascade of course. So Sunny will meekly submit and that massive organ which she is barely able to fellate will plunge deeply. Swinging to fro and fro, I’ll watch with glee as she’s slowly sodomized. Oh the degradation!
For that reason, Rudolpho is working with my assistance to open up that tight little sphincter. We’re close to achieving accommodation. But really the fun is more in impaling her anus and slowly inflating an imposing plug, stretching her rectum daily. Resisting it can bring those spasms... and the cascades begin...
The Blacksmith’s Daughter
Prologue
Dr. Winthrop Samuels
My name is Dr. Winthrop Samuels. Some of you readers may remember the name, and me, from the ‘Suspension Bondage’ affair, in which I accommodated the curious penchants of Ms. Sunny Sudenskaya.
If not, I offer some background...
I am a doctor. I have a medical degree but never see patients. With my graduate studies in engineering I work in medical research... orthopedic devices... replacement joints mainly. So I have forgone the general practice of medicine... the moans and groans of the hypochondriacs, the sniffles of spoiled children, the miserably living and the soon to be dying... for a less exciting but equally lucrative career in designing, testing and ultimately selling very precise and expensive devices... for the most part knees and hips.
Yes, it’s not overly exciting. Lots of testing, lots of data to evaluate, meeting after meeting, hour after hour before the Cad cam terminals (computer aided design, computer aided manufacturing)... lots of waiting as prototypes wear in clinical trials.
I suppose it’s this prosaic professional career that has fostered a sort of ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’ lifestyle, my social life quite the contrast.
You see, I am a sadist. And though I do not announce, broadcast, wear such on my sleeve so to speak, my own proclivities are known within the New York D/s clubs where, under my middle name, the nom de guerre ‘Haig’, folks of my ilk gather nights and weekends and fervently endeavor to satiate the masochists... and doing so, ironically, by assuring that they are never really satiated. Yes, Dr. Winthrop and Mr. Haig, not the literary ring of the classic Robert Louis Stevenson story but somewhat analogous.
Whereas I keep a low profile at these fetishist gatherings, playing the role of curious observer more than active participant, I am known from time to time to arrange for a private tete a tete when the right morsel of quivering flesh proves to be tempting.
My good friend, Louise Flanner, aka Nurse Ratched, assists. More outgoing, more active in the scene, she will on occasion steer my attention. Louise is polysexual, able to obtain equal glee in tormenting both the genders... and those in between. So she keeps her eye out. And whereas I can’t say she sends me her rejects, there are little strumpets in need of discipline who seek correction from ‘Daddy’. So as with Sunny Sudenskaya, I accommodate, briefly adopting and offering correction on a given Saturday night, but rarely in such an intriguing manner as assuming ownership, as with Sunny.
And so there comes the affair which I mnemonically refer to as ‘the blacksmith’s daughter’. Louise recommended that the girl talk to me and also called me to recommend highly that I agree to see her.
Of course, I inquired about the nature of this proposed meeting, desiring my private life to be as confidential as possible. Louise is one of only a handful of people who know both the details of my vanilla life and my deviant social activities. When attending social events I am ‘Haig’, my middle name... never Winthrop or Winnie. And never ever ‘doctor’. I have much invested in my medical license and intend to keep it.
Chapter One
The story begins...
“What’s it about, Louise?”
“You’ll see. Trust me, Winnie; you’ll be as intrigued as with Sunny.”
She brings this up to entice, my initial contact with the orally gifted Sunny was indeed as a result of Louse’s recommendation... to Sunny. And she likes to tease, knowing that my hyperactive scientific mind cannot process vagueness. It frustrates... and Louise knows how to frustrate.
“Over coffee?” I suggest.
“I recommend a place where she can be exhibited.”
It’s a code, the phrase meaning a location where I can have her stripped naked. More tantalizing intrigue.
Well, I only take girls to my place after some vetting, to assure such are into the scene and indeed won’t change their minds, calling the authorities in some rash afterthought. I am comfortable with Louise. I am sure this girl is somewhat vetted by her. But I fish for more than what Louise cares to offer.
“How do you know this girl... this Sandra?”
“She experienced the ignominy of being tossed out of Spankers... conduct unbecoming a pervert,” Louise offered with a laugh.
Spankers is one of the many BDSM clubs Louise regularly frequents. To be tossed is unusual, not much is forbidden, as one can imagine.
Dr. Winthrop Samuels Series Page 17
