Laura's Torture

Laura's Torture

I was always excited by ideas of torture and pain. When I was a teenager I made myself cum by thinking about prisoners subjected to agonizing tortures in dungeons. I read about Saint Sebastian who was tortured by having arrows fired into his body without killing him. That made me hot, but most of the victims in my masochistic dreams were female.

Once when I was alone in our house I decided to find out what torture really felt like. I looked in the kitchen drawer for tools that I could use. I took a pair of metal salad tongs with pointed teeth. Then I went to the garage where Dad kept his tools. He was a keen carpenter, and there was a wood lathe next to his workbench. I knew that he used a curved instrument a bit like tongs for measuring the wood that he worked on his lathe, and found several pairs of these hanging on the wall above the workbench. I took a small one, and thought about how they would feel if I closed them on my skin. Should I try these two tools, or find more. A schoolfriend had told me stories about torture with clothespins. She had read about it in a book belonging to her brother, and said that the girl in the book had screamed when her boyfriend had put the pins on her breasts. I found a box full of clothespins in Mum's laundry basket and took two of them. Then I ran to my room and locked the door. I put the tools on a chair next to my bed, then took all my clothes off and lay on the bed. I was breathing heavily, and wanted to masturbate just thinking about how the tools would feel. But I had to find out first.

I picked up one of the clothespins and opened it, then clamped it on the ball of my thumb. It hurt a bit, but not badly. This didn't seem like real torture. Then I put it on the side of my left breast, just inside my nipple and areola (I have large areolas). That hurt a bit more, and I rubbed my clit with excitement. I could still take that pain quite easily, so I left the pin hanging on my breast. I tried to put the second pin on my left nipple, right on the tip, but that hurt so much that I yelped and took it off again. I tried putting it on a bit further back, pinching the nipple together with part of the areola. I could just about manage that. My left breast felt on fire. I started to masturbate again, and this time I couldn't stop and rubbed until I came. My pussy was sopping wet. As soon as I came the pins seemed to hurt more, and I took them off. That wasn't comfortable! I hadn't even tried the tongs and my father's tool, so I put them back where I had got them. There had to be a next time, and I could hardly wait.

A few days later I was alone at home again. This time I picked up the tongs and Dad's tool and took them to my room. I tried the tongs on different parts of my body. They left little indentations, like toothmarks, bright pink. The most exciting place was on the inside of my thighs, just below my pussy. Soon there were rows of pink marks down my thighs. The tool from the lathe I put on my right breast, the soft fleshy part. I pressed the two sides together as long as I could bear the pain, then left the tool hanging. When I took it off there were two deep pits where the metal ends had pressed into me. I made myself cum, and it was even better than before.

Those were the first of many sessions with tools, instruments, anything that I could get hold of and that I thought would do as an instrument of torture. I even pressed a thumbtack into my arm, making it bleed.

This was exciting stuff, but I knew that what was missing was the torturer. I could not really be cruel to myself, and needed a second person, or maybe more, to add that element of fear to the pain that I thought might give me an orgasm unlike any I had had before.

My chance came when I was twenty three years old. I had a job, and lived in a small apartment near the city centre. I knew about bdsm and bondage sex from the internet, and had looked at many websites, some with personal messages from dommes and from submissives like myself. I took the plunge, and added my name to a personal site for mistresses, masters and slaves, giving a false name, Laura. I said that I was a pain slut, young and good-looking, with a slim body, fairly large breasts, and shoulder-length straight brownish-blonde hair.

Plenty of answers came in. Some of them I rejected straight away, either because they sounded dangerous or mad, or because the writers lived far away. But one of them was possible, and I kept looking at it, wondering if I had the courage to reply. After two weeks of agonising indecision I took the plunge. The writer, whoever he (or she?) was, told me about a torture club in my city where victims could discuss their fantasies and then take part in sessions held in the club's dungeon. I replied by email that I was interested, and got a reply the next day. I was told to come to an address about half a mile from my apartment, at 8 pm the next day.

That day I was in a feverish excitement. I showered and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that showed off my figure. I kept looking at my watch, but time seemed to go twice as slow as usual. At eight I was at the address. It was nearly dark. I pressed the bell. A woman in her thirties, good-looking and smartly dressed, opened the door, smiled, and ushered me into a small office. She sat down in an armchair, and asked me to sit on a second one. She told me that it was her job to find out about by fantasies before planning a pain session. She told me that the club was like a clinic that helped clients express their deepest desires. When I asked if I would have to pay for this "treatment", she explained that it was free for the victims, and paid for by the masters and mistresses. I spent the next half hour telling her (her name was Jane) all the ideas that made me hot and the various things I had tried on myself. She said that I seemed to be turned on by instruments that pinched and bit, but was particularly interested in my telling her about Saint Sebastian. She wrote notes about that in a book on her desk, explaining that one of the sadistic clients had asked her if she could come up with a victim who would accept being pierced with small darts. That was a frightening idea for me, but one that I couldn't stop thinking about. When Jane had finished questioning me, she said that she would now discuss the interview with some other people. Wound I wait for perhaps 15 minutes, and would I be willing to have a session that evening? I said yes to both, though by this time I was really nervous, trembling slightly and with a dry mouth.

When Jane came back to the office, she was with another woman. Jane introduced her as Martha, and told me that if I was willing, Martha would like to have a session with me that evening. She then left Martha a me alone to work things out, explaining that everything done in the club was consensual.

Martha asked me if I would take bondage from her, and torture with various pinching instruments. I said that I would, and we agreed on a safe word. Martha asked me how much pain I was willing to take. I told her that I wanted to be her victim and let Martha decide. I said that I thought I could take a lot. The Martha asked me how I felt about being bitten, as I seemed to like pinching tools. I said that I had never been bitten, but that I was willing to try. Were there any areas that were out of bounds? I explained that I didn't want bruises or marks where they would show when I went to work the next day, but anywhere else was OK. Lastly she asked me about the idea of darts. Obviously she was the lady that Jane had talked about. I said that I would have to think about that and asked if we could leave that for the moment. Martha seemed satisfied with my answers, and told me to follow her.

We walked down a short corridor to a heavy wooden door covered in baize. She opened the door with a key and led me into a dark room in which I could just make out a kind of couch or bench, a chair, a wooden cross with straps, and a table with various implements, tools, whips, canes and clamps. I had the impression that there were some people at the other end of the room, perhaps an audience of some kind, but it was too dark to be sure. "Take off all your clothes and put them on the chair", Martha said quietly. Feeling even more nervous than before, I managed to undress and stood before Martha naked. "This first session is to see how much pain you can stand" Martha said. She took my arms and tied a soft rope around each wrist. The she tied the ropes to a beam above my head. I hadn't noticed that before. I stood before her, helpless and vulnerable, with my breasts stretched upwards.

"I'm going to start with the pincers", Martha said softly, but with a cruel tone in her voice. She was obviously as excited as I was. "How painful they are will depend on where I use them, and how hard I squeeze. That will give me some idea of your pain threshold." She picked up a pair of tongs, made of steel and about eighteen inches long. Each jaw had three sharp-looking teeth. She came nearer until she was near enough to use the tongs on me. She seemed to hesitate before deciding what part of me should suffer. "I think I will start with your thighs". She said, with a gleam in her eye. She held the open tongs to the front of my left thigh and gradually closed them on my skin, pinching a fold of skin and muscle. As I felt the teeth close, I thought that I would show my torturer that I was a tough victim and not afraid of a little pain. She squeezed a little more, and the pain began. I could see the teeth indent the flesh of my thigh and gradually the pain became intense. I knew that any moment now, if she squeezed harder, I would have to scream. I started to moan, and Martha released the pressure. The relief was great. My injured thigh tingled and hurt, but I could stand that. There was a pause while Martha looked at my body. "The second time will be harder" she said. "That was pain, but not really very much. Not enough to satisfy me". She put the tongs on my other thigh, a little further up than before and a little to the inside. I knew that from my experiments as a tender place where clothespins and other implements could hurt quite badly. She close the tongs more quickly this time. The teeth bit deep and I could not stop myself from crying out. "That really hurts!", I sobbed. "I know", said Martha as she withdrew the tongs. "But I am going to hurt you much more than that".

(to be continued)