Part 2
The leather hood dulls your sense of hearing, so you can't hear when I return, about an hour later. I creep around my crude basement dungeon in near silence, preparing the next stage of your torment. You don't even know I have returned, until one hand is unhooked from the crucifix, and fastened to something above your head.Your mind races, you don't remember seeing anything there that I could possibly attach the leather cuffs too, but you weren't concentrating properly when i brought you down here were you? You were too busy staring at those boots, wondering how I can walk so elegently, balanced on those needle like heels. You were fantasising about me, imagining what it must be like to be allowed to touch my latex clad body, or to be allowed to look at my face. But you know you aren't worthy of that, you know why you are here.
The click of the rachet echoes through the room, 6 or 7 clicks is enough to take up the loose rope and pull it taught. Your naked body inches upwards. You begin to wonder how much chain is attaching your ankles to the base of the cross.
You soon get the answer, as you hang in the air, your body no longer moves with each click. the ankle chain has no more stretch. Your limbs do. More clicks from the rachet, you try and struggle to get my attention. There is a pause. Your plan seems to have got my attention, I am no longer turning the rachet... the pause goes on for what seems like an hour.
Then a more familiar sound, as the black snake of my bullwhip wraps cruelly around your chest. You are only inches off the floor but it feels like more. The pain sears through your body. You want to yell, you cant. You want to scream you cant, its just muffled by that evil gag. With a flick of my wrist, the tail of the whip unwinds itself from your flesh, and falls to the floor by my wicked boots.
"5 more clicks..." I call out "then the real fun begins..."
5 more? It may as well be a death sentance as you hang there vulnerably. The chains on the wrists and ankles are already very tight, and 5 more clicks sounds unbearable. Your mind is filled with fear.
"and as you interrupted me, each click will be followed with a lash of the whip... you will learn not to distract me"
Part 3
Click, click click... 3 clicks followed by three biting lashes with the whip. "two more to go" I yell, turning the crank and raising you yet higher. The cruel leather of the cuffs bites into your skin, and the tension threatens to tear your arms from their sockets. I make you wait for the final clicks of the ratchet.
Its only 30seconds, but as you hang there it could seem like hours. THe last click is agonising. Your body and limbs are screaming for release, but there will be none. I walk over to you, and remove your hood. Your eyes will take a few seconds to adjust to the red light of my basement. You will see you are hanging from the roof, a few inches from the ground, you will see my many items of torture laid out on the table. Some of them are terrifyingly obvious in their purpose, others are less obvious. You can tell I have been collecting these little toys for quite some time.
Your eyes fall to my feet, those needlespiked heels, and the tight black leather that goes up to my thigh, where it merges seemlessly with the tight figuring latex of my catsuit. Your eyes venture to my chest, and thats where you stop. You are interrupted by the firey sting of my slap. I slap your cheek hard, a reminder that you are forbidden to look at me... you have just remembered one of my golden rules. A rule that you just broke. Your eyes will fall to the floor...
"DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO LOOK AT ME?" I yell, and another slap lands on your other cheek. Theres nothing you can do about it. You cant dodge the blows, or even answer my question. The solid rubber of the gag will choke any sound you try to make. I slap you 5 or six times, turning your cheeks to an angry red.
The tone of my voice then changes, so much calmer as I slowly pace around you. I circle you, admiring your figure as it hangs there, I'm like a spider who has the fly caught in her web. You know what is coming, but you can't escape it.
"No mercy..." I purr... "Thats what you asked for in your email... and thats what you shall recieve. You will live to regret those words my dear... I'm going to tear you apart... I'm going to break you down... I'm going to show you the meaning of pain and fear.." My voice is cold and calm, as i continue to circle you. Each step echoes throughout my lair. I am smiling wickedly.
Part 4
I continue to talk, my voice cold and commanding. I am stood behind you, and you cant move to see me, even though you instinctively
"Normally... I'd be breaking out the nipple clamps on someone in your position. Maybe even the hot wax... but we both know thats far too tame... you promised me 'no-limits' and I plan to test that, of course, you have your safeword, but don't think for one second it will make any difference"
I laugh to myself. Your safeword is meaningless and we both know it, but you know I plan to push you to the point where in desperation you will scream it out. You know that the minute you call that out, you have been broken.
You can hear me moving around behind you, though the noises give you no clues as to what might be about to happen next. You are racing with thoughts, trying to imagine what torments I have hidden in the shadows. Then you feel my hand, tearing into your hair and pulling your head sharply back. I have moved the crucifix, and you hang freely, inches off the ground, with your arms and legs straining in their restraints. Its becoming serious, but you know you have little chance of escape. I whisper into your ear...
"Even if you do survive my little game, I plan to make sure you never forget me"
The pain shoots through you, four short burning lines of agony rip through your left shoulder. I hold the knife up in front of you, the dim red light shines off the blade, but you can clearly see your blood on its cold edge. I draw it from view, and seconds later, more agony another line, then 3 more, and another 3. If you could concentrate on anything but the pain, and the warm sensation of the blood running down your back, you would know exactly what I was doing to you.
I stand back and admire my handywork, dripping in blood, the word "MISS" is carved into your flesh. I step around and stand before you, you are staring at the ceiling, your teeth gritted in agony. Suggestively I lick the blood from the blade, and flick my hair over my shoulders.
"Even if you do escape my lair, you are going to have some explaining to do, to any poor girl you ever have to share a bed with..."
I laugh, and return back behind you, hidden from view, you feel more burning pain, as i begin carving the next part of my artwork. I'm agonisingly slow, but when I am done, the word "Miss" sits proudly above the word "Razorwyre". You hang there, marked forevermore.
Part 5
The dungeon falls into a room of cold, cruel contrast. You hang there in agony, your arms threatening to tear from their sockets, and your blood clotting on your mutilated back. I however walk slowly across to the corner of the room, and pour myself a glass of red wine.I hold it up to the red light, and take a sip as I admire my handywork. Your head is bowed, your brain screaming for the safeword. But you won't say it. You know it won't make any difference, and you are determined not to give me the satisfaction of knowing you have been truly broken. I walk away, slowly taking each step to my throne. I sit in comfort and watch your tortured body as it hangs before me. I sit there for a few seconds, smiling coldly between each taste of my blood-red wine.
"You know... we agreed a session of an hour, but I am having so much fun... perhaps we may make it a little longer"
I switch off the timer that sits by my side. Its digits stuck forever on 28mins. You werent even halfway through the session, and now you discover that even time can't save you anymore.
My attention turns to my tray of torment. A stainless steel tray, covered with instruments of pain. Some are almost scientific. There is a scalpal.. with its surgical blade polished to perfection. Some are seemingly harmless, like the deciptivly innocent looking pinwheel, and some are simply brutal. My hand hovers over an old clawhammer. I pick it up, and test the weight of it in my hand. It would make easy work of your already tormented body. Already your mind is in red-alert. You shudder in your restraints and i smile.
"We'll save your kneecaps for later"
and i mercifully drop the hammer back onto the tray.
My latexclad body shields your view. You can hear the sound of my "toys" being shuffled around. Eventually i turn around, and hold a rusting pair of pliers to the light.
"Did you know, that the male body has no use for nipples... they serve no purpose"
My devious smile says it all as I take a step closer to you....
Part 6
The cold, rusty metal of the tool grips into your flesh. But despite my words, its not the nipples i attack first. That would be too predictable. You would expect that, but you will learn never to second guess my deviant mind.
I even spare your manhood. Again, it would be too obvious. Its the kind of thing that would happen on a website or illegal movie. But I'm not like that. The movies are written for perverts, scripted to give a man a cheap thrill from behind the safety of his laptop screen. You asked for pain, and I can give you pain. I dont have a script, or an audience to please. We are alone, and you know it. You realise that there is no-one to save you, even if you could scream, the dungeon is below ground, and a long way from anywhere.... this is my world, and you are a willing part of it.
I remind you of this with my cold, emotionless voice, as the icy cold grip of the tool, bites into the soft, vulnerable flesh of your earlobe. It crushes it mercilessly. You try to pull away, but as the pain shoots through your body, you realise its futile.
"Thats it princess... fight it... you wont win. But thats what you wanted wasn't it? Something more than just a slut with a whip..."
You give up the fight, and i squeeze tighter on the handle. the jaws of my devilish tool so close together, only a wafer thing strip of agonised flesh keeping them apart. I could rip the earlobe clean off if I wanted to. But I am kind, I don't do it.... at least not yet.
Part 7
I whisper into your tormented ear, the cold steel still biting hard into your vulnerable flesh.
"Aww... poor baby. Did that hurt?"
Then you make your biggest mistake yet. You speak out of line. You dare to comment.
"Bitch" you whisper, only very softly. For a split second you regret it, but hope that I didn't hear it. Unfortunately for you, I did.
I don't even say a word, I don't have to. You can tell my thoughts by the look of disgust in my eyes. My eyes make contact with yours for only a second, then I spit in your face. You've made me angry, and simply by the way I look at you, you realise what a stupid little boy you have just been.
"So... you think this is me being a bitch do you?"
"No Mistress" you reply, your voice downtrodden and desperate.
"If you want to see a bitch... I'll give you a bitch"
And then I do it. I step forward and launch my knee into your manhood. You cry out and gasp for air, but yet again its futile. Your aching limbs strain to move, but the restraint is firm. Just as you feel you mind master the pain, I do it again, and again and again. You feel sick from the sensation, and all you can hear is my perverted laugh.
When you raise your head to look at me, you can see me smiling. My face bears a look of cruelty. You wonder how many others have gone before you, and what happened to them. You consider the safeword again. You're brain is pleading with you to use it, but you just hang your head in shame.
Part 8
"nothing to say now huh?" I sneer, and I step back, almost admiring you as you hang there. there is an awkward silence as I await your answer. But your eyes are focussed on the ground.
You are trying to concentrate on something, anything but me. You are beginning to break. This isnt fun anymore. You thought it would be, but its not. Its punishment, its agony, and you know you are helpless to stop it. You signed up for this and its not going to stop untill I decide. You're mind is torn, half of it is begging for release, the other half causes you to raise your eyeline to the tight shiny latex that surrounds my body. One look at that and you remember why you are there.
I grab you by the chin and spit your face again. I am rough with my grip and my sharpened nails hurt your skin. Then I slap you. Hard and humiliating. The burn on your cheek lingers for a few seconds and your eyes drop to the floor. You are close to breaking point.
My boot kicks you hard in the balls, you gasp for air and try and collapse, but the chains and cuffs mean you are going nowhere. You hear my cold laugh. I am enjoying this. I suddenly realize that the tension on your suspended body has in fact loosened your shoulder joints and now you are standing on your tiptoes. I grab the winch handle a brutally turn it not one..not two, but three clickes stretching you upward. "AAAHH!!" comes your scream in the dungeon. I watch for several minutes as you hang, struggling to breath with this increased state of torture. Next comes my whisper in your ear... a seductive hiss that sends a shiver through you.
