-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
Wife set up for sex and torture, what to do with her next?
aimar
Executioner
Very nice average tits for a mature woman. I love such normal hangers.
Almost too good to break, but:
I would fix the woman's legs to the table legs. The tits are nailed to the table top in the nipple area. With a candle flame I would stress the slave between her legs. The heat will give her frantic reflexes to flee, her tits paying the price for the fidgeting.
That's fun!
With just one action you trigger two torments. How will she react when you say: Endure the heat on your pussy willingly, otherwise your tits will feel the flame?
aimar
Executioner
less brutal:
In a sex club, I'd let her sit like that at the bar.
Curious men will definitely come!
She is only available for handjobs and only right here at the bar.
How many men will dare?
Such a spectacle of bouncing tits and a stiff cock is a wonderful inspiration for me and other guests.
In the sex area, I then process what I saw, in a nice fuck with the masseuse.
S
slave666597
Guest
Chain the whore at the whipping post nail her tits at the post and scourge her. Or send her to serve as a bdsm prostitute whore at a bordello were rich clients will whip her to blood, such as the below photo: it is from the site
www.tinaslut.blogspot.com
Here Tina a masochist pain slut whore works at a bordello satisfying perverts and she begs them to whip her without mercy.... Absolute lust
In the second photo I suppose it was a very rich client who scourged her extremely.... she seems to have multiple orgasms. That's the whipping all we masochist want
Last edited by a moderator:
S
slave666597
Guest
Sell her to bdsm brothel at Mexico or Taiwan.. You will get at least 70000$
aimar
Executioner
Inserts for panties and bra!
And then off into nature with her!
She should go for a walk, the nettles will massage themselves deeper and deeper into your cunt.
As she walks, she holds her arms above her head so her tits can be whipped from behind. The friction in the bra is normally just too low!
She has to ask male passers-by if they want to be satisfied. And when she then does her duties on her knees with hand and mouth, I whip the nettle between her legs even deeper.
Nailing the itchy, burning cunt will be the final fun for me.
And then off into nature with her!
She should go for a walk, the nettles will massage themselves deeper and deeper into your cunt.
As she walks, she holds her arms above her head so her tits can be whipped from behind. The friction in the bra is normally just too low!
She has to ask male passers-by if they want to be satisfied. And when she then does her duties on her knees with hand and mouth, I whip the nettle between her legs even deeper.
Nailing the itchy, burning cunt will be the final fun for me.
aimar
Executioner
Ein Folterstory auf Deutsch.
Die Grausamkeit und Atmosphäre der Story bekomme ich nicht präzise übersetzt, hoffend das ein paar deutsche Muttersprachler gefallen finden.
Versprochen an die Administration ist, das ich zukünftig leichtere Texte in angelsächsicher Sprache posten werde.
Ich wurde gefragt ob die Petra für ihre Sünden mit dem Rohrstock gezüchtigt wird.
Klar.
Auch zwischen die Beine?
Das ist hart. Aber wir alle wissen, das in Gefängnissen ein anderer Ton herrscht.
Daher habe ich folgende Begebenheit auch genau dahin verlegt.
Das Petra irgendwann in einer Besserungsanstalt für dauergeile Hobbynutten eingewiesen werden muss, kann sich jeder leicht vorstellen.
Und dort bekommt dann auch ordentlich Schläge zwischen ihre Beine.
Die offiziellen staatlichen Strafen und Maßnahmen zur Züchtigung von Nymphomaninen sind schlimm genug.
Was aber das Personal schlichtweg zur Befriedung der eigenen Begierlichkeiten mit den gefangenen Frauen veranstaltet ist mitunter der nackte Horror.
Da gibt es eine extrem sadistische Wärterin, welche sich ein perfides Spiel ausgedacht hat.
Sie holt sich immer drei Frauen, welche auf allen Vieren und gespreizt, der Wärterin ihre Pussys für Rohrstockschläge anzubiedern haben.
Und glaubt mir, sie tun es. Denn es wird eine Verliererin bei diesem Wettstreit geben.
Verlieren bedeutet, das die vom Rohrstock zerschlagene Pussy durch die Wärterin noch zusätzlich mit einem Kaktus bearbeitet wird, als wäre das ein ganz gewöhnlicher Dildo.
Die Wärterin verteilt Punkte bei diesem Spiel für:
-Pussy gut anbiedern für einen Schlag
(weit spreizen, das Becken so
hoch wie möglich anheben)
-wenig schreien und jammern
- schnell wieder in Position
kommen nach einem Treffer.
Wer die wenigsten Punkte hat verliert.
Sie spielt mit den Frauen und deren Angst, schlägt selten sofort zu, lässt die Nutten im Ungewissen wann ein Treffer erfolgt.
Dann sind die Schläge der Wärterin aber wahrlich gnadenlos!
Die Getroffenen schreien wie am Spieß und machen meißt einen Satz nach vorn, oder sacken zu Boden.
Nach drei, vier Runden schlottern den Frauen die Beine.
Nach der zehnten Runden jammert mindestens eine dauerhaft.
Die Atmosphäre im Raum ist jetzt grauen und leidvoll. Das laute Klatschen und die vielen gequälten Schreie haben die Folterfrau so richtig heiß werden lassen.
Wieder und wieder rappeln sich die Frauen auf, und strecken der Wärterin ihre Fotzen emtgegen!
Nach fünfzehn Runden gestattet die Wärtetin den dreien ein Pause: Sie dürfen jetzt ohne um Punkte fürchten zu müssen über ihre Pain jammern und klagen und können sogar gemeinschaftlich um Gnade betteln.
Theoretisch geht das hier bis Zwanzig!
Die Wärterin setzt sich dabei vor den Dreien auf einen Stuhl und massiert sich mit dem Schlaginstrument.
Die drei dürfen und müssen jetzt auch ihre Schwellungen abtasten und streicheln.
Erregt von ihrem sadistischem Werk ergötzt sie sich jetzt am Gewinsel der Nutten.
Die Geschändeten müssen während ihres Klageliedes auf die Muschi der Wärterin blicken:
Es gibt nun vier Fotzen die pochen und geschwollen sind, eine vor Erregung, und drei teils aufgeplatze Schmerzlöcher deren Signale an den Körper rein gar nichts mit Lust zu tun haben.
Der Wärterin kommt es, die Verliererin wird nun die schlimmste Nacht ihres Lebens ertragen müssen, die anderen beiden kriechen mit ihrem geschwollenen Etwas in die Zelle zurück.
Laufen können die alle drei nicht mehr.
Petra ist nochmal davon gekommen.
Eine wabblige Teenagerin hatte große Schwierigkeiten die Prozedur durchzustehen.
Doch das Petra vom Glück verfolgt sei kann man so auch nicht sagen:
Ungwollt hatte sie am Tage einen Wärter geil gemacht.
Dieser zerrt nun die Kriechende in sein Büro wo er ihre geschundenes Fotze die ganze Nacht wieder und wieder penetrieren will.
Die Grausamkeit und Atmosphäre der Story bekomme ich nicht präzise übersetzt, hoffend das ein paar deutsche Muttersprachler gefallen finden.
Versprochen an die Administration ist, das ich zukünftig leichtere Texte in angelsächsicher Sprache posten werde.
Ich wurde gefragt ob die Petra für ihre Sünden mit dem Rohrstock gezüchtigt wird.
Klar.
Auch zwischen die Beine?
Das ist hart. Aber wir alle wissen, das in Gefängnissen ein anderer Ton herrscht.
Daher habe ich folgende Begebenheit auch genau dahin verlegt.
Das Petra irgendwann in einer Besserungsanstalt für dauergeile Hobbynutten eingewiesen werden muss, kann sich jeder leicht vorstellen.
Und dort bekommt dann auch ordentlich Schläge zwischen ihre Beine.
Die offiziellen staatlichen Strafen und Maßnahmen zur Züchtigung von Nymphomaninen sind schlimm genug.
Was aber das Personal schlichtweg zur Befriedung der eigenen Begierlichkeiten mit den gefangenen Frauen veranstaltet ist mitunter der nackte Horror.
Da gibt es eine extrem sadistische Wärterin, welche sich ein perfides Spiel ausgedacht hat.
Sie holt sich immer drei Frauen, welche auf allen Vieren und gespreizt, der Wärterin ihre Pussys für Rohrstockschläge anzubiedern haben.
Und glaubt mir, sie tun es. Denn es wird eine Verliererin bei diesem Wettstreit geben.
Verlieren bedeutet, das die vom Rohrstock zerschlagene Pussy durch die Wärterin noch zusätzlich mit einem Kaktus bearbeitet wird, als wäre das ein ganz gewöhnlicher Dildo.
Die Wärterin verteilt Punkte bei diesem Spiel für:
-Pussy gut anbiedern für einen Schlag
(weit spreizen, das Becken so
hoch wie möglich anheben)
-wenig schreien und jammern
- schnell wieder in Position
kommen nach einem Treffer.
Wer die wenigsten Punkte hat verliert.
Sie spielt mit den Frauen und deren Angst, schlägt selten sofort zu, lässt die Nutten im Ungewissen wann ein Treffer erfolgt.
Dann sind die Schläge der Wärterin aber wahrlich gnadenlos!
Die Getroffenen schreien wie am Spieß und machen meißt einen Satz nach vorn, oder sacken zu Boden.
Nach drei, vier Runden schlottern den Frauen die Beine.
Nach der zehnten Runden jammert mindestens eine dauerhaft.
Die Atmosphäre im Raum ist jetzt grauen und leidvoll. Das laute Klatschen und die vielen gequälten Schreie haben die Folterfrau so richtig heiß werden lassen.
Wieder und wieder rappeln sich die Frauen auf, und strecken der Wärterin ihre Fotzen emtgegen!
Nach fünfzehn Runden gestattet die Wärtetin den dreien ein Pause: Sie dürfen jetzt ohne um Punkte fürchten zu müssen über ihre Pain jammern und klagen und können sogar gemeinschaftlich um Gnade betteln.
Theoretisch geht das hier bis Zwanzig!
Die Wärterin setzt sich dabei vor den Dreien auf einen Stuhl und massiert sich mit dem Schlaginstrument.
Die drei dürfen und müssen jetzt auch ihre Schwellungen abtasten und streicheln.
Erregt von ihrem sadistischem Werk ergötzt sie sich jetzt am Gewinsel der Nutten.
Die Geschändeten müssen während ihres Klageliedes auf die Muschi der Wärterin blicken:
Es gibt nun vier Fotzen die pochen und geschwollen sind, eine vor Erregung, und drei teils aufgeplatze Schmerzlöcher deren Signale an den Körper rein gar nichts mit Lust zu tun haben.
Der Wärterin kommt es, die Verliererin wird nun die schlimmste Nacht ihres Lebens ertragen müssen, die anderen beiden kriechen mit ihrem geschwollenen Etwas in die Zelle zurück.
Laufen können die alle drei nicht mehr.
Petra ist nochmal davon gekommen.
Eine wabblige Teenagerin hatte große Schwierigkeiten die Prozedur durchzustehen.
Doch das Petra vom Glück verfolgt sei kann man so auch nicht sagen:
Ungwollt hatte sie am Tage einen Wärter geil gemacht.
Dieser zerrt nun die Kriechende in sein Büro wo er ihre geschundenes Fotze die ganze Nacht wieder und wieder penetrieren will.
Please only English on the public board. You can repost your story in the german corner. I invited you.
aimar
Executioner
From this perspective, her udders look phenomenally large and flabby. We could smack those tits so that:
The woman is fixed while standing, slightly bent forward, so that you can hit the udders easyly from below.
The tits should bounce up, towards her face!
While a tormentor abuses her tits like this, she's going to massage a second torturer's cock with her hands tied behind her back. When the cock is nicely erect from an dominator, he want to hit again!
Time to switch positions and that's the bad thing for Petra:
Only when both men have unloaded their sperm will the wild clapping stop! With the words "frontal and above is still missing" she is left in peace and alone, without eny breastterror for a few hours.
The woman is fixed while standing, slightly bent forward, so that you can hit the udders easyly from below.
The tits should bounce up, towards her face!
While a tormentor abuses her tits like this, she's going to massage a second torturer's cock with her hands tied behind her back. When the cock is nicely erect from an dominator, he want to hit again!
Time to switch positions and that's the bad thing for Petra:
Only when both men have unloaded their sperm will the wild clapping stop! With the words "frontal and above is still missing" she is left in peace and alone, without eny breastterror for a few hours.
If Petra were mine… and… is my true slave in her heart… and… if she enjoys the pain and humiliation I inflict on her during our sessions for her own sake as well as mine… I would ask her, since as my wife we have an investment together, for the penultimate sacrifice.
It is obvious that Petra53 is fond of her tits and gorgeous tits they are and of course, if she were mine, now, at 43 years old Petra’s tits would get a great deal more of brutal attention in our torture sessions. A lot more than they did in our earlier years together when they set a little higher, perked out a lot straighter and had the pink of youth at their nipples. When she screams in pain as I'm hurting them so severely now, I tell her I couldn't do that if she didn't have them. "Why don't you let me take them off, Petra," I say. She resists for nearly a year with the tortures getting more creatively painful. One evening I left her hanging by her tits well past her limits. Her arms were tied behind her back and her legs were bound at the knees and ankles. When she kicked in distress the whole weight of her legs shocked her bound breasts. She begged me to take her down, and cried and sobbed, cursing me until she feinted.
When Petra woke up we were in bed, bright light from the full moon lighting the whole room. I was massaging warmed lotion into her bruised breasts. She stopped me, pulled me to her, and into her, and we made love until neither of us could hold back. When it was over and we lay holding hands, she said, “I never want to go through a tit hanging like that again.”
"But it's the perfect torture," I smile and reply.
"No! Never again!”she says agitated. "If I have to have my tits cut off so you can never do that to me again… well, so be it. It’s what you want anyway. So go ahead. Debreast me!” she cries hysterically. “We can do it tonight! Right now!” she sobs. “The sooner the better.”
I pull Petra to me and hold her in my arms cooing to her until she stops sobbing and calms down. I dry her eyes and wipe her nose with the corner of the bed sheet. She rolls back over and we hold hands again. We start talking about the pros and cons of her breast removal, covering everything we can imagine. Petra’s biggest fear is not of the pain but the uncertainty of what she will look like and that I’ll not want her anymore without her breasts. I assure her that her loss would only make me want her more.
Petra lays quietly for a long time staring up at the ceiling. I don’t disturb her. She sighs and turns her head. We hold eye contact. What she says next tells me what she’s been thinking.
“I don’t know if you really want to remove my breasts or if it’s just a fantasy. I know if I keep my breasts that you’ll hang me from them again and again and you might really enjoy that more. I might even learn to like it. I don’t know.
“But I do know that a year or two or three of that kind of abuse will squash the internal fatty tissue and stretch the outside skin so that my boobs, big as they are, will hang down to my knees.” She giggles like an embarrassed little girl. “I don’t want to see them like that in our old age and neither do you. I think I’ve known for some time things would come down to this and now that it’s here I can accept what I know has to be done.” Petra smiles. “Dammit. I even think I’m a little excited about it.” She giggles again.
“So I’m asking you to leave my breasts alone until these bruises go away. I want us to take a whole lot of photos of me and them from all kinds of angles so we can remember them and me the way we look now. Then, I want you to go ahead and do it…any way you want. But I’m begging you now. Please. Please, I beg you. Whatever way you take my breasts off, don’t…please don’t leave a mess of my chest.”
I thought I could hear both of our hearts pounding in our chests. We still had eye contact. I smile and tell my Petra with great gentleness. "I've dreamed about taking your beautiful breasts off for a long, long time. How I’ll do it. What your chest and body will look after. You’ll be beautiful." She shakes her head and chuckles. “Beautiful?” I smile and nod.
I sigh deeply before continuing, "I have to tell you something. There will be no more breast torture until then. But you'll only be mildly drugged, my darling, so it will be very painful. I’m taking your breasts off with no anesthesia."
She takes a deep breath, tightly squeezes my hand and whispers, "Oh God. God help me." A few moments later the moonlight glistens in the tears running down her cheeks. We agree in the light of tonight’s full moon we'll do it on the day after the second full moon hence.
I build a cruciform in the shape of a U on a short post at just a little above her height. The post will have a 45- degree footrest at the bottom to give Petra a sense of instability. After we study through watching videos how to neatly perform a double mastectomy, we gather the instruments and medical supplies and we draw three pints of Petra's blood and continue studying as we await the appointed date with me making gentle love to her as often as possible. There were times when the S/M hornies overwhelmed us. I kept true to my promise of no breast torture, but the rest of Petra’s body suffered the more for it.
Three days ago we moved the crucifixion platform from the dungeon to the glass enclosed sun room. I’m there now making sure everything is ready. I’ll have plenty of natural light for what I’m going to do to my lovely Petra. The room has been sanitized. The cutting and scraping instruments are sterilized, as are the needles and surgical thread for closing her wounds, sterile cotton balls for dabbing her blood and bandages all lay on a rolling table on the platform covered by clean sterile cloth.
The U shaped cruciform is laying near horizontal. The foot is attached to the spring-loaded hinge on the platform. It takes almost no effort to raise a cross or other device, today the U cruciform, with a victim, today Petra, attached from the near horizontal to the vertical and lock it in place. The hinge has been adjusted so she’ll hang slightly forward allowing her breasts to protrude outward more. Everything is in order and I head to our bedroom.
Petra is in the shower thoroughly washing twice with antiseptic soap and saying goodbye to the tits we’ve both enjoyed for all these years. Once she comes out of the shower and dries off on sterile towels standing on a sterile bath mat, she won’t be allowed to touch her breasts. Ever again. So I won’t rush her.
Last night we shaved and depilated all of the hair from Petra’s body from her neck all the way down to the few little strands on her shapely fingers and toes. (Maybe, when today is an exciting memory, I’ll start giving them extra painful attention until she wants… No! That’s a terrible thing to think! A selfish terrible idea.)
I’ve had my shower and am dressed in sterile scrubs and being careful not to contaminate them, but there is only much you can do in a house that’s lived in. Everything we couldn’t buy sterile we laundered twice in an antiseptic soap and dried on high heat. Like Petra’s white terry- cloth robe and the two pair of white tube socks she’ll wear on her hands and feet to go into the sunroom. When she’s strapped to the cruciform I’ll take them off so she’s totally naked. (I’ll take the hand coverings off first. I wonder if she’ll realize as I slowly slip them from her feet that those socks are the last protective thing before I raise her up for her breast removal. I’ll have to watch her face and body.)
The water stops running and I hear the towels flapping around as she dries off her body and her hair. When she’s done she calls me. She’s pinned her hair up on her head and covered it with a white bandana. We tried a surgical cap but just wasn’t right for the occasion. Petra was standing with her head up, trying to be brave, no smile but almost a scowl on her face. Her right leg was straight, her left bent at the knee, on her toes with the heel off the ground. Her arms were at her sides slightly away from her body, palms forward. Slight tremors rippled throughout her body. There was everything in her pose, defiance, submission and supplication and fear. She was beautiful.
I didn’t have any underwear on and my excitement became obvious. She stared at my groin for a moment and chuckled with a rueful look on her face. She said, “I could probably laugh out loud if I weren’t going to be losing my boobs in a few minutes. I’m scared to death.”
I purse my lips and nod several times, slip a little white pill under her tongue, then go to get the robe and socks. Petra’s staring sadly into the mirror at her body and her breasts when I return. I put the socks on her feet first then stand to cover her hands.
“Go on. Give ‘em one last squeeze goodbye,” I say. She lifts them and gives them a gentle caress, silently mouths, “Goodbye”, then holds her hands out to be covered. I help her on with her robe and tie the belt and we’re ready to go to the sunroom and Petra’s debreasting.
It is obvious that Petra53 is fond of her tits and gorgeous tits they are and of course, if she were mine, now, at 43 years old Petra’s tits would get a great deal more of brutal attention in our torture sessions. A lot more than they did in our earlier years together when they set a little higher, perked out a lot straighter and had the pink of youth at their nipples. When she screams in pain as I'm hurting them so severely now, I tell her I couldn't do that if she didn't have them. "Why don't you let me take them off, Petra," I say. She resists for nearly a year with the tortures getting more creatively painful. One evening I left her hanging by her tits well past her limits. Her arms were tied behind her back and her legs were bound at the knees and ankles. When she kicked in distress the whole weight of her legs shocked her bound breasts. She begged me to take her down, and cried and sobbed, cursing me until she feinted.
When Petra woke up we were in bed, bright light from the full moon lighting the whole room. I was massaging warmed lotion into her bruised breasts. She stopped me, pulled me to her, and into her, and we made love until neither of us could hold back. When it was over and we lay holding hands, she said, “I never want to go through a tit hanging like that again.”
"But it's the perfect torture," I smile and reply.
"No! Never again!”she says agitated. "If I have to have my tits cut off so you can never do that to me again… well, so be it. It’s what you want anyway. So go ahead. Debreast me!” she cries hysterically. “We can do it tonight! Right now!” she sobs. “The sooner the better.”
I pull Petra to me and hold her in my arms cooing to her until she stops sobbing and calms down. I dry her eyes and wipe her nose with the corner of the bed sheet. She rolls back over and we hold hands again. We start talking about the pros and cons of her breast removal, covering everything we can imagine. Petra’s biggest fear is not of the pain but the uncertainty of what she will look like and that I’ll not want her anymore without her breasts. I assure her that her loss would only make me want her more.
Petra lays quietly for a long time staring up at the ceiling. I don’t disturb her. She sighs and turns her head. We hold eye contact. What she says next tells me what she’s been thinking.
“I don’t know if you really want to remove my breasts or if it’s just a fantasy. I know if I keep my breasts that you’ll hang me from them again and again and you might really enjoy that more. I might even learn to like it. I don’t know.
“But I do know that a year or two or three of that kind of abuse will squash the internal fatty tissue and stretch the outside skin so that my boobs, big as they are, will hang down to my knees.” She giggles like an embarrassed little girl. “I don’t want to see them like that in our old age and neither do you. I think I’ve known for some time things would come down to this and now that it’s here I can accept what I know has to be done.” Petra smiles. “Dammit. I even think I’m a little excited about it.” She giggles again.
“So I’m asking you to leave my breasts alone until these bruises go away. I want us to take a whole lot of photos of me and them from all kinds of angles so we can remember them and me the way we look now. Then, I want you to go ahead and do it…any way you want. But I’m begging you now. Please. Please, I beg you. Whatever way you take my breasts off, don’t…please don’t leave a mess of my chest.”
I thought I could hear both of our hearts pounding in our chests. We still had eye contact. I smile and tell my Petra with great gentleness. "I've dreamed about taking your beautiful breasts off for a long, long time. How I’ll do it. What your chest and body will look after. You’ll be beautiful." She shakes her head and chuckles. “Beautiful?” I smile and nod.
I sigh deeply before continuing, "I have to tell you something. There will be no more breast torture until then. But you'll only be mildly drugged, my darling, so it will be very painful. I’m taking your breasts off with no anesthesia."
She takes a deep breath, tightly squeezes my hand and whispers, "Oh God. God help me." A few moments later the moonlight glistens in the tears running down her cheeks. We agree in the light of tonight’s full moon we'll do it on the day after the second full moon hence.
I build a cruciform in the shape of a U on a short post at just a little above her height. The post will have a 45- degree footrest at the bottom to give Petra a sense of instability. After we study through watching videos how to neatly perform a double mastectomy, we gather the instruments and medical supplies and we draw three pints of Petra's blood and continue studying as we await the appointed date with me making gentle love to her as often as possible. There were times when the S/M hornies overwhelmed us. I kept true to my promise of no breast torture, but the rest of Petra’s body suffered the more for it.
Three days ago we moved the crucifixion platform from the dungeon to the glass enclosed sun room. I’m there now making sure everything is ready. I’ll have plenty of natural light for what I’m going to do to my lovely Petra. The room has been sanitized. The cutting and scraping instruments are sterilized, as are the needles and surgical thread for closing her wounds, sterile cotton balls for dabbing her blood and bandages all lay on a rolling table on the platform covered by clean sterile cloth.
The U shaped cruciform is laying near horizontal. The foot is attached to the spring-loaded hinge on the platform. It takes almost no effort to raise a cross or other device, today the U cruciform, with a victim, today Petra, attached from the near horizontal to the vertical and lock it in place. The hinge has been adjusted so she’ll hang slightly forward allowing her breasts to protrude outward more. Everything is in order and I head to our bedroom.
Petra is in the shower thoroughly washing twice with antiseptic soap and saying goodbye to the tits we’ve both enjoyed for all these years. Once she comes out of the shower and dries off on sterile towels standing on a sterile bath mat, she won’t be allowed to touch her breasts. Ever again. So I won’t rush her.
Last night we shaved and depilated all of the hair from Petra’s body from her neck all the way down to the few little strands on her shapely fingers and toes. (Maybe, when today is an exciting memory, I’ll start giving them extra painful attention until she wants… No! That’s a terrible thing to think! A selfish terrible idea.)
I’ve had my shower and am dressed in sterile scrubs and being careful not to contaminate them, but there is only much you can do in a house that’s lived in. Everything we couldn’t buy sterile we laundered twice in an antiseptic soap and dried on high heat. Like Petra’s white terry- cloth robe and the two pair of white tube socks she’ll wear on her hands and feet to go into the sunroom. When she’s strapped to the cruciform I’ll take them off so she’s totally naked. (I’ll take the hand coverings off first. I wonder if she’ll realize as I slowly slip them from her feet that those socks are the last protective thing before I raise her up for her breast removal. I’ll have to watch her face and body.)
The water stops running and I hear the towels flapping around as she dries off her body and her hair. When she’s done she calls me. She’s pinned her hair up on her head and covered it with a white bandana. We tried a surgical cap but just wasn’t right for the occasion. Petra was standing with her head up, trying to be brave, no smile but almost a scowl on her face. Her right leg was straight, her left bent at the knee, on her toes with the heel off the ground. Her arms were at her sides slightly away from her body, palms forward. Slight tremors rippled throughout her body. There was everything in her pose, defiance, submission and supplication and fear. She was beautiful.
I didn’t have any underwear on and my excitement became obvious. She stared at my groin for a moment and chuckled with a rueful look on her face. She said, “I could probably laugh out loud if I weren’t going to be losing my boobs in a few minutes. I’m scared to death.”
I purse my lips and nod several times, slip a little white pill under her tongue, then go to get the robe and socks. Petra’s staring sadly into the mirror at her body and her breasts when I return. I put the socks on her feet first then stand to cover her hands.
“Go on. Give ‘em one last squeeze goodbye,” I say. She lifts them and gives them a gentle caress, silently mouths, “Goodbye”, then holds her hands out to be covered. I help her on with her robe and tie the belt and we’re ready to go to the sunroom and Petra’s debreasting.
stretchedgirl
Magistrate
I wish I had such lovely breasts. If I did I would like to be . .
streched face down with my delicious bosoms resting on blocks of ice until they are blue with cold
and then the ice replaced by cans of warm oil which make me scream out with pain
This is repeated with ever hotter oil warming over the flames of a glowing brazier
During all this a pointed dildo made of ice is slowly pushed into my dripping pussy
When the dildo has melted a funnel with a 90 deg end is pushed into me and the warm oil poured in
I am consumed with delicious agony
This too is repeated with the increasingly hot oil with ever severe effect!
After two hours I am turned over to be harshly racked and then beaten with rods and vicious whips
My muscular tormentors stop only to satisfy their manly lusts (mmmmm!)
. . before resuming my tortuous titllations . .
Long may my torturers want me . . I am in ecstasy!!
streched face down with my delicious bosoms resting on blocks of ice until they are blue with cold
and then the ice replaced by cans of warm oil which make me scream out with pain
This is repeated with ever hotter oil warming over the flames of a glowing brazier
During all this a pointed dildo made of ice is slowly pushed into my dripping pussy
When the dildo has melted a funnel with a 90 deg end is pushed into me and the warm oil poured in
I am consumed with delicious agony
This too is repeated with the increasingly hot oil with ever severe effect!
After two hours I am turned over to be harshly racked and then beaten with rods and vicious whips
My muscular tormentors stop only to satisfy their manly lusts (mmmmm!)
. . before resuming my tortuous titllations . .
Long may my torturers want me . . I am in ecstasy!!
iuiu38
Magistrate
I like nettles. I think its a superb kind of torture before flogging and crucificion. I use a table that the condemned must walk until the nettles with a lou cloth. Then, after count 60, loincloth is removed by executioner and sex meet nettles. Suffer and excitement for next crucifixion
