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Introduction:

Fot two hours I allow a friend freedom to dominate me with my husband and his wife watching us.

Two Hours

Okay so I had lost the bet with Tom; it was no big deal, I’d submitted to him before now and had fun. But this was going to be different; he had boasted in front of my husband and his wife, he could make me give out a ‘password’ to stop within 2 hours of starting. Previously he hadn’t done anything to me that was beyond a mild level of BDSM. Once, I’d lost the bet, I kinda knew he had something extra to do. That had been a week ago, the last 2 days I had been very wet most of the time as I went about my life but thinking of this evening.

So here I was in his special room, naked bar my high heels and stockings. His wife has a big cheesy grin on her face and was seated with Dave, both eagerly awaiting to see what would happen. I could tell Christine’s was already excited her nipples swollen and hard obviously pushing thru the thin material of her braless t-shirt top. My husband was showing his excitement from the bulge in his pants already, but like me he didn’t know what was to unfold, I had a feeling Christine did.

He had me lay across the big oak table and when he finished tying me, my thighs made an angle exceeding 120 degrees, a pillow under me raised my mound higher than any other body part, my hands were above my head, and the strap around my waist limited my torso’s movement to a couple of inches in any direction. I felt completely available to him.

“Relax, you’ll be here for two hours,” he said mildly.

Two hours, and no clue what he might be planning for me in that time. I drew a deep, cleansing breath, knowing that I trusted him, however painfully he might sometimes treat my body. I relaxed my muscles as much as possible; this wasn’t an inherently uncomfortable position.

The first thing I saw him reach for was the vacuum. It was a small unit, converted to apply its suction to a slender, clear plastic tube. I had felt the effects of this contraption on my nipples, and on my clitoris, in the past. It was stimulating, painful only when the application was prolonged.

A few weeks ago, however, he’d shown me a photo series on the Internet, depicting a woman’s clitoris being tortured. Her tormentor had used a suction device to pull the clitoris out as much as possible, then utilizing a thin coated wire below the tube’s opening to bind the extracted tissue in an exposed posture. The suction device had then been removed, leaving her vulnerable to stimulation beyond the limits of manual exposure. The possibilities were immediately obvious to both of us, and he’d indicated he planned to try this on me at some point. I’d forgotten about it in the interim, until the vacuum appeared. Was today the day?

His fingers probed between my labia, confirming that the vacuum was going to be used on my clit. I felt the cold plastic surround that most sensitive node, heard the switch, and my pleasure button was suddenly engorged and stretched to the utter limits of comfort. I could see the pink flesh standing away from my body. His hand reached for something; he raised it so I could see the thin wire before he lowered it to its intended place. It constricted the distended flesh, nearly breaking the suction as he carefully arranged it, then twisted it to tighten it. I emitted a squeak of mild protest as it neared the point of maximum compression. The suction abruptly stopped and the tube slid away from my body.

Looking down along my body, I could see a misshapen clump of flesh protruding above the wire. I could distinguish the rounded tip at the top as the portion of my clitoris that was exposed simply by parting my lips. The additional part was clearly protected mucus membrane, and all of it was rapidly turning purplish with engorged blood.

“Twenty minutes right now. Can’t have this area lose blood flow for too long.” He set the little kitchen timer as he spoke.

His fingers brushed lightly over his target, producing a delicate wave of pleasure throughout my genitals. He grinned, and we both knew that pleasure was not what I’d be feeling, shortly. Indeed, the next item he removed from his toolbox was a wooden ruler. The first swat was light, but still hurt! This produced another squeak from me, but he continued to hit his little toy against my tender flesh. I struggled against the pain, then gave in to it, absorbing the sting and adjusting my breathing to accept this treatment. As I got deeper into this semi-trance, he increased the force he used, until the blows were quite sharp, and I was able to remain still. The only sounds were the sharp crack of the wood against my body and the forced exhalation of my response. Finally, he increased the force enough to cause the pain to break through to my consciousness. “Ow! Ow! OW!” I yelled as the ruler continued to fall.

He stopped briefly; the next blow I felt was of a different calibre. “Yeow!”

My eyes flew open to see the heavy double slapper on its descent—whap-whap! “Ah!” A steady rain of blows fell, all in the same place, each hurting more than the last. I stopped fighting them but never reached the point of not responding verbally. My reactions were not as strong, but the “Ow”, “Ow”, or “Ah!” came with each and every swat. This hurt, a lot! And I got no breaks, only more pain to the same tiny, swollen, sore bit of me!

Just when I thought I couldn’t stand one more stroke with that heavy leather, it stopped. But he wasn’t done, only changing implements once again. This time, the thin crop landed on the target. The sharp sting cut right through the center of the target flesh. The crop was thinner than the mound of tissue he aimed it at, so I felt like a knife was cutting through me each time that infernal crop hit! This time, he varied the angle, so that the stripes all crossed near the center of the clitoris, but the peripheral areas that were struck varied. It didn’t make it any less painful! Forget “Ow!” My voice degenerated into a continuous scream, “EEEEEEEE!” The scream was broken only by my need to inhale.

I was nearly ready to break into sobs when the quality of the pain changed. The way he was hitting me remained the same, but my body had crossed that invisible line where pain returns to pleasure. Suddenly the screams were punctuated by moans and cries indicating that I was approaching an orgasm, in spite of the horrible burning in my pleasure center. My body bucked and strained against my bindings in spasms of ecstasy, each stripe bringing me closer to the climax I now craved. “Ah! Ah! Oh!” I felt the muscles in my pelvis contract as I peaked through the pain. No longer was I focused on the misery, but on its opposite.

Incongruously, the “Beep!” of the timer cut through my satiated moans and the cruel cuts of the crop ceased. He reached down to remove the wire from my swollen, purple clitoris. The rush of fresh blood to the area was as painful as any of the whipping I’d undergone, and reduced me to howling once again. “Oh, it hurts! Ow! Ow!” I was so mentally focused on the pain in that tiny organ that I failed to notice that my torturer had picked up a different crop, and had moved to my side. The first blow to the left nipple came just as the clitoral pain had receded to a bearable discomfort. “Yeow!”

“Couldn’t leave those hard little nipples out entirely.” And the crop hit the right nipple! Soon, as the colour in my clitoris returned to a near-normal redness, my nipples began to approach that colour from the other direction. The pale pink flesh was replaced with a turgid crimson, as I yelped at each and every stoke.

My clitoris was not going to receive a full respite, however! The swollen tissue had not retreated fully into its hood, and the crop began to intersperse its sting on the clit as well as the nipples. He then shifted his target area away from my breasts entirely. One hand opened my inner labia to expose flesh that was heretofore untouched. Whack! I yowled as the wet inner lips turned scarlet and flaming under his attentions. The blows returned to my clit just often enough to keep it sore and miserable throughout this volley.

When the next implement change came, I had been reduced to whimpering and cringing at each blow. I was so tender that what came next was painful, even though it was not meant to be. He flicked at my clit tip with the soft brush we use to tease me to a gentle orgasm. It did not take long for the rapid vibration of the brush to override the pain and bring me once again to a state of pleasure, enhanced now by the soreness I was experiencing as a result of the beatings. But the timer interrupted!

I hadn’t even realized that he’d set it. Abruptly, he abandoned the brush, leaving me just shy of an orgasm!

“Time for more binding.” How could he be so nonchalant about it!?!?!

The suction was torture this time! I could see that the flesh being sucked into the tube was redder than the first time. And I could certainly feel how bruised I was!

“I believe there is more in here, this time. Perhaps we could stretch your clit this way.”

All I knew was that it hurt! The wire was replaced about the base of my distended clitoris, creating its own distressing pinch, and the vacuum released, providing a momentary respite. I could see him setting the timer once again. Then he picked up the clump of willow branches that were resting in a vase nearby. Oh, no! That was almost the stingingest thing he used on me! I squirmed and cringed as he stood between my legs again, eyeing the magenta mass above the wire. Swish! “Ah!” Again! “Ah!” Over and over the branch tips stung me. At first, I fought the sensation, crying out in agony with each blow. Gradually, I reached a more accepting place, however, once again taking the pain into myself and allowing it to flow though me. My thighs no longer jumped at each stroke, and while I still yelped, it was not so strident. He increased the tempo a bit then, keeping me off balance, till all I was feeling was a continuous stream of fresh hot sting! The switches wrapped around the tiny mound of flesh slightly, flicking the sides of the protrusion far more than the previous implements had done.

The next pause was just for an change of toys again. I was breathing so hard after the continuous screaming the switch had produce that I didn’t even look at what he was doing. Therefore, the impact of the loopy cat on my bruised clitoris was a horrid surprise. “EEEE ... IIIII!!!” I bellowed, my legs straining as they tried to close to protect my whipped clit. It was useless. I was going to have to take this! “No No No!” He slowed the delivery, but did not stop, and did not hit me any less hard. This was pure pain! My whole being focused on that terrible sting, each time the cat struck. I couldn’t think, only feel. I screamed continuously, and it seemed like forever. And then, no more.

The timer hadn’t rung yet, apparently, as he made no move to release me from the wire wrapping. A few seconds after I stopped screaming, though, I resumed my vocalizations, as a new sort of stinging pain assaulted me. My eyes flew open, and I could see green fuzzy leaves being rubbed on my hapless pleasure node. Nettles sting, but more like a bee than like a whip! On already abraded flesh, the effect was overwhelming! Protected by his plastic glove, he stroked every square millimetre of the target area with the prickly leaves, creating a nasty after burn. When the clock signalled the unbinding of my clit, he left the leaves in place, removing only the wire. He continued to massage the area with nettle while the circulation returned to my tortured tissue. I wasn’t sure which of the competing sensations was worse, whining constantly until the throbbing of blood receded and he abandoned the leaves.

I was not left to recover, though. By now, the affected area was swollen enough that there was no possibility that my clitoral tip would retract under the hood. He slid his fingers into my soaking cunt and rubbed the lubricant over my soreness, relieving the nettle sting somewhat. I was stimulated enough by this that I started to moan with pleasure at the stroking, and he insured that I was quite worked up before going on to another application of pain. I wasn’t thinking about it, but deep in my mind I knew that he was nowhere near the end of his arsenal.

SNAP! A split second after I felt the touch of his fingers on either side of my clit, the tortured tip was smashed by a wide rubber band. Every muscle tensed; every nerve screamed! Certainly I did. “AAAAAARRRGH!” SNAP! My pelvic muscles contracted wildly as the pain penetrated. SNAP! “AAAHH!” SNAP! The repeated assault on the same tiny area began to work its invidious magic, as I felt the beginnings of a rise to orgasm out of this agony. SNAP! “Ooohhhh!” SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! Once again I was rising to climax, my whole body involved in the peak of pleasure, even though the only place I was being touched was a tiny strip of skin centred on that minuscule, protruding hub. SNAP! SNAP! I was over the top, snapped twice more to round it out, and then done.

It seemed the timer rang sooner than before, and he smiled as he informed me, “Fifteen minutes now, so we can fit in two more sessions of bound torture.” Oh, please! What could he dream up to fill these next segments? I was already so sore that I could not believe I would be able to stand more beating. The tissues were engorged just from the bruising, the skin aflame from the stinging! I whined in misery as he activated the vacuum again, wrapping the wire for the third time, more quickly. The accidental brush of his fingers on the tip of my clitoris was excruciating!

The next thing I heard was a match striking; this was followed by the scent of a candle. Wax! Hot wax scorching my bare bruised clit! My body began to shake in anticipation, my mind full of misery and fear. I could feel sweat beading on my body, and nothing had actually happened yet. As I degenerated into a quivering, whimpering jelly, he simply watched me from his station between my open knees. Then he reached over me with the candle, tipped it, and allowed the wax to pour continuously onto the target flesh. “Hot! Oh, god, it’s Hot! AAAAAAA!!!!” After what seemed like many minutes, but was probably less than one, he righted the candle. The entire lump of tissue felt like it was on fire, through my tears I could see that the tiny mound was completely covered in purple wax. He allowed it to cool, and gradually my anxious reaction slowed. With his left hand he flipped the wax cover off his target, removing most of it in one large casting of my distorted intimate place.

The right hand reached over again, and once more, the wax cascaded onto my clitoris. It felt even more intense now! I screeched incoherently as the thin stream hit the exposed tip and then ran down around the rest of the trapped tissue. Only when it was completely engulfed once again did he remove the source of my torment. I wailed for several minutes in response to the heat that continued to transfer into my over stimulated body. Again, he removed the wax. Again he replaced it with a fresh coat. This time, I began to shake more severely, but what was happening was that I was once again approaching the pain/pleasure line. Swiftly, he removed the no-quite-cooled wax and repeated the application, this time slowing the stream to a steady drip. About ten drops later, I began to climax! The drips continued until I was past my orgasm, and only then was the candle snuffed out.

About a minute later, the timer signalled my release from the wire bond once again. This time, as the blood circulated with its now-familiar ache, I felt his mouth briefly caress, suck, tease. I knew he was enjoying the copious juices running from my love tunnel, but he wasn’t going to pleasure me for long.

No sooner had his mouth left me than I was jolted back to reality with his violet wand! He teased me, allowing the current to stimulate just beyond the pleasure to pain line, then backing off, and returning. He finished the break by taking the bristle side of my hairbrush and grinding it into my open labia and clitoris, abruptly moving back into the realm of real pain! It was with a sigh of relief that I welcomed the clock’s bell; I was much too tender after the wax to tolerate the stiff brush.

Before he picked up his equipment, he tightened the cinches around my waist and thighs, so that I was completely unable to move. “Last one.” The vacuum pulled excruciatingly at my aching flesh. He quickly replaced the binding, as low and tight as he could force it. He turned off the vacuum, but instead of removing entirely, he slid the tube away until only the very tip of the clitoris was still encased. Then he turned the suction back on! Guiding the wand with his left hand, he refused to allow anything but the barest tip to enter the tube, but moved it away so that the portion between the wand and the wire binding was stretched very taut. I was puzzled enough to be watching him as he produced in his right hand a very fine needle! In our previous needle play, he had only been able to insert two into my clitoris at once. But the way the usually buried tissue was now elongated, there was room for several!

I felt the sharp point just above the wire, slowly, slowly penetrating. My upper body writhed in fear and pain as the needle slid through the tangle of nerves inside the slender shaft, pressing unbearably on the inside of the skin before exiting again. My cunt contracted wildly, but it was the only movement I could affect with my lower body. Needle number two appeared. He reached around the shaft to insert this one at a different position on the perimeter from the first, and slightly above it. When that needle slid to its final position, the two made a 60-degree angle. The third, still higher, starting at yet another line. He was constructing a spiral staircase of needles around the turgid stem.

Each needle hurt worse than the last, as if the concentration of nerves was greatest at the outermost end. The sixth and final needle entered just below the suction tube, causing me to scream out more intensely than I had throughout this two-hour ordeal. And the scream turned into wild cries when he lessened the tension just a bit, then flipped off the suction. All 6 needles slammed into the bound base, compressing against each other and creating waves of crashing agony! I saw stars! My entire body ran with sweat, flushed with the heat of this new distress!

“Aaaaaahhhh!” When the shock of that implosion finally receded, he delicately pressed down on the end of the top needle. The orgasm burst upon me as suddenly as a whiplash! Each tiny movement of the metal inside my shaft triggered waves of pain/pleasure, which he continued until the end of the last interval.

The needles remained in place until after the wire was removed for the final time. Then, the act of protractedly removing one needle at a time, leisurely teasing each one from my skin, produced nearly as much excitement as the earlier play. I lay exhausted on the padded table, wallowing in sensations real and remembered, even after he’d released me from the restraints.

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