The Image
by Jennifer Harrison

Author’s note: A friend sent me a copy of the film ‘The Image’ (1975) which, once you get past the cheesy 70s music, fashions and make-up, is a pretty classy porn movie, and it inspired me to write this story. MF/f, bondage, S/M, consensual, extreme.

“Hello, Jenny, it’s been a while. What brings you back to my door?”

“Hello, Sir,” I say nervously, “I… I was watching that movie you sent me, and…”

“Yes?”

“Well, the thing is... I-I was wondering if you… Sir… might…”

“Let me guess,” you say with a knowing smile on your face, “it turned you on like the horny little slut you are and you were wondering if we could act out some of the scenes?”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” I reply, my face reddening, and I look down to try and hide my embarrassment at being so transparently obvious.

“Well, let’s see. Are you wearing any panties?” I am surprised by the question and stumble over my answer.

“Y-yes, Sir, I…”

“Come back when you have removed them, and I might consider it.” I’m shocked when you shut the door in my face. I look around to see if anyone walking down the street has noticed my embarrassment, but everyone is busy going about their own lives. I look around and spot a nearby alley, and I scurry across the street to go down it. There are a couple of large refuse containers against the wall, and I go behind one of them so that I can’t be seen from the street. Feeling my heart beat faster, making my face flush even more, I reach under my skirt and pull down my knickers, stepping out of them before concealing them in my purse. I quickly return to your door.

“Are you wearing any panties now?”

I shake my head.

“Show me.”

I glance around nervously, seeing that the street is relatively busy, and that whatever I do, people are sure to notice. I look pleadingly at you, but your face is blank, and your body blocks my way into the house - whatever I do, it will be out here, in full public view. Reluctantly, I take hold of the hem of my skirt and slowly lift it, until my nakedness is in full view to you, while the back of my skirt hides me from passers-by.

“I see you have not shaved recently,” you remark disapprovingly, examining me closely. I dare not lower my skirt until you give me a signal, and you wait for an excruciatingly long time before nodding. I drop the hem and let out a sigh of relief at having passed your test.

“Where are your panties now, Jenny?”

I indicate my bag.

“Put them in your mouth,” you order calmly, enjoying my discomfort, as I once again look around to see who will observe my humiliation, and I see an old couple walking slowly towards us. Quickly, I take the garment from my purse, ball it up, and push it deep into my mouth so that I can close my lips to hide it from view. The acrid taste of my earlier arousal hits my tongue, and my nostrils flare to accommodate my shallow, rapid breaths.

“It's such a lovely day, why don't we go for a walk?” You take my arm and lead me out onto the street, right in front of the old couple. They smile and say ‘good morning’, to which you respond in a friendly manner, while I try to smile without making it obvious that my mouth is packed.

We walk into town, and you make a point of being friendly to everyone we pass, and my silence beside you begins to become obvious, embarrassing me at every opportunity. You lead me into a coffee shop and sit on a high stool at the breakfast bar, indicating that I should sit on the stool next to you, but before I do, you lean in and whisper in my ear.

“Make sure that your bare skin is against the seat,” you command.

Again nervously checking to see if anyone is watching, I flick my skirt over the stool and sit down, feeling the cold plastic of the seat against my buttocks.

“I'll have a coffee, please,” you say as the waiter comes over, “how about you, darling?” I shake my head, trying to hide the fact that I cannot speak.

“They have some nice fruit here,” you remark, “how about a selection of fresh fruit?” I nod, alarmed at what I think you may be planning.

“Don't cut it up,” you say to the waiter, “we like it whole. And bring her a glass of water as well, please ”

When the food arrives, I look at it with ill-concealed discomfort, knowing that we are about to play out one of the more bizarre scenes of the film. There are a number of strawberries, a kiwifruit and, most alarmingly, a large, ripe banana.

“Why don't you take a sip of your drink, Jenny? Your mouth must be quite dry.” Nervously, I raise the glass to my lips and tip it, feeling the panties, already damp with my saliva, soaking up the water. I now have to suck the water from them, tainted though it is by my own juices.

“Very good, my dear. Now how about trying this strawberry? I'm sure you know where I want you to put it.” Another nervous glance around the shop tells me that, while it is quite crowded, everyone is busy with their own conversations, and they're not looking at me. I turn towards the bar in front of me, trying to hide my actions from any curious eyes looking in my direction as I slip my hand under my skirt and push the fruit against my wet entrance. I am grateful that the panties stifle my gasps and moans as I force it into me, it's shape deforming as my vaginal muscles squeeze down on it.

“Well done, my pet. Now try the kiwifruit, it looks lovely.” My eyes widen in dismay, and I look at you shaking my head - surely you don't expect me to get that inside me as well?! But there is no smile on your face, it is clear that you expect exactly that. I look around again and, reassured that I am still not the centre of attention, pick up the green fruit, feeling it's size and firmness, as well as the fine hairs on its surface. I slip it under my skirt and insert it, feeling it stretch me wider, filling me more. My eyes close as I try to fight my arousal, the air whistling in and out of my nostrils, my cheeks burning and a thin sheen of sweat forming on my brow. I can feel the backs of my thighs now sticking to the chair.

“And now, see how much of this you can get inside. Once you are sure it will go no further, you can break it off.” I look across at you and see you holding the banana, already peeled. I take it in my hand, but this time I don't try to persuade you, my arousal is now high enough that I want to do it. As I perform my cursory glance around the room, I see a man who is staring at me, smiling at the way I am holding the shaft of the banana in my fingertips, clearly imagining me holding his cock in the same way. I stare back at him, wondering if he can see the sexual excitement in my eyes, waiting until he finally looks away and resumes talking to his friends.

Now I turn back to the counter and introduce the banana to my already stuffed vagina. It will only go in a few inches, and I can feel the other fruit as it is forced deeper into me. My muffled cries of discomfort and moans of arousal make me fear that what I am doing must be glaringly obvious to everyone around me, but I can't bring myself to look around to see if they are staring, in case they are! I break off the stem of the banana and bring my hand out from under my skirt, trying to control my breathing. You take what's left of the damaged fruit and sniff it, before biting the end and chewing it with great relish.

As we finally get up to leave, I have to consciously control my step so that it is not obvious that I am in some discomfort. I may be imagining it, but I feel all eyes burning into my back as we exit into the street.

“Why don't we go into the park, Jenny? I'm sure we can find somewhere secluded there.” It is a sunny day, and the park is very busy, keeping my levels of nervousness and embarrassment very high. You lead me into a small area where the view is obstructed by bushes on three sides, although the area is still open to view from one of the paths around the park.

“I think it is time to unpack your fruit salad. Don't worry, I'll block the view by standing in front of you.” I don't see how you will stop anyone from seeing me if they look in our direction, but I realise that I have no choice. I squat down a little, planting my feet wide apart, and pull my skirt up. I reach under to pull the banana from my hot pussy but, to my dismay, it starts to fall apart in my fingers. I can feel the panic rising now, and tears are brimming in my eyes as I have to dig my nails into the soft fruit and pull it out piece by piece.

“Take your panties out of your mouth,” you order and, with some relief, I pull the sodden wad of cloth from behind my teeth and put it down on the grass.

“Now eat your delicious fruit.” I look up at you in dismay, not believing that you now want me to eat this disgusting mush, all that is left of the banana. But, as always, there is no humour in your face and, swallowing my protests, I put what is left of the fruit into my mouth, tasting my own juices mixed in with the sweet paste. I pick out the rest of the banana and eat it, before licking my fingers clean, finding the taste disgusting but the act of eating surprisingly arousing.

I stick my fingers deep into my vagina, struggling to get a grip of the now slick surface of the kiwifruit, eventually succeeding in extracting it, to my great relief. I have to dig even deeper for the remnants of the strawberry, and I am panting from all this stimulation. Like the banana, it comes out in small pieces and, knowing what you expect me to do, I eat it up without protest. Once again, I lick my fingers and the palms of my hands clean, sucking on them in a provocative way, feeling incredibly turned on as I look up at you.

“I wonder if your ass is still as accommodating as I trained it to be when you were here before. Let's find out - put the kiwi up there.”

“Please, Sir, I don't think…” I start to beg pathetically.

“That's right, you stupid bitch, you don't think, and neither should you!” you sneer, slapping me hard across the face. The tears now run down my cheeks, but I position myself, straightening my legs and bending forward, letting the front of my skirt drop whilst raising the back. I press the well-lubricated fruit against my sphincter, and try to work it in, meeting considerable resistance and suffering significant pain. Gradually, I manage to relax my muscles sufficiently to allow it to enter, and soon it is all inside and my sphincter closes again, holding it in place.

“Very good,” you say with a cruel smile, “now piss for me.” Knowing this is one of the scenes in the movie, I squat down and lift my skirt out of the way, straining to make water, as you watch.

“I don’t think I need to, Sir,” I explain hesitantly.

“Let me put it this way, cunt – either you piss in the grass, or I piss in your face. Now, which is it going to be?” I feel the tears of shame on my cheeks as a pungent stream of hot urine spurts from my urethra onto the ground before me. It doesn’t last long, and as the flow slows to a dribble, I feel it running down my slit to my buttocks.

“Good girl. You can wipe yourself clean with your panties.” I pick up the flimsy cotton garment, mopping the combination of piss and juices from in and around my pussy.

“And now put them back in your mouth.” The idea is disgusting, but I know I have no choice and, to be honest, I am reaching that place where I will degrade myself without protest if you order it.

“Come.” You lead me out of the park and hail a taxi. As we drive in the opposite direction from your house, I wonder where we are going, but of course, I can’t ask. I feel your hand on my thigh, and it feels good, but as it moves up my leg, it takes my skirt with it, until I am exposed to the driver, as he stares in his rear-view mirror. I try to push my hem back down, but you slap my hand away, before leaning into me and whispering in my ear.

“Play with yourself.” Then more loudly, “Try not to kill us, driver, eyes on the road, please.”

With my thighs spread wide, I start to finger my pussy and realise just how wet it is already. I manage to drive any thoughts of how embarrassing this is out of my mind and just focus on what my fingers are doing, spreading my lips open and massaging my clitoris. My eyes close and my mouth sags open, inadvertently revealing the white material of my panties inside. I slide my fingers inside my cunt and begin to work more urgently, knowing I am close. In a sudden moment of panic, I open my eyes and look at you, silently asking permission to cum. You smile at me and nod, and I moan in appreciation, speeding up my actions as I force myself over that final hurdle. I squirm in my seat, desperately sucking in air through my nostrils as the orgasm hits me, back arching, head thrown back.

As I gradually focus back on the world around me, I realise the car has stopped moving and the driver is staring at me in the mirror. I immediately go bright red, blushing from the roots of my hair to what feels like somewhere around my waist!

“Okay, we're here, out you get!” You hand over some bills to the driver, who seems rather distracted.

You lead me up to a rather nice townhouse, and ring the bell. While we're waiting, you tell me to remove my panties from my mouth, which I do with great relief - now I can breathe properly, and whoever we are going to see doesn't have to see me with my knickers stuffed in my mouth!

The door is opened by tall, elegant blonde woman somewhat older than me, who smiles at you, greeting you with a kiss on either cheek, and she looks at me with an arched eyebrow. She allows us to enter and then closes and locks the door behind us.

“So, this is the girl you were telling me about?” she asks with evident interest.

“Yes, this is the silly bitch who wants to star in our re-enactment of ‘The Punishment of Anne‘. Her name is Jenny, but you can call her ‘cunt’ - it seems appropriate.”

“Hello, cunt,” she says contemptuously. I lower my head in embarrassment, looking down at her feet and noticing that she is wearing thigh high boots with stiletto heels.

“Well, answer her, cunt!” you bark.

“Hello… Miss,” I mumble, eyes still downcast.

“She is rather filthy, physically as well as mentally,” you say in a sneering tone, “would you help her to clean up please, Marie?”

“Certainly, Rudolph. Why don't you fix yourself a drink while you wait, you know where it is. Come with me, filthy little cunt.”

I follow Marie upstairs, admiring the shape of her curvy body in the cream sheath dress, like a 1950s Hollywood star. She leads me into the bathroom and turns to look at me with obvious contempt.

“Take your clothes off, cunt.” Feeling totally intimidated, I unbutton my blouse and put it on the chair, then unclip and remove my bra. I step out of my shoes and then take off my skirt, standing nervously before her, naked. She looks me up and down coldly, appraising me.

“Disgusting!” she spits. “We’ll start by getting that ridiculous fuzz off you and cleaning you inside, then a shower should get rid of the worst – you stink!”

She hands me a razor and watches as I shave off what has grown back since we parted the last time – I felt I had to step away or lose myself forever, at least psychologically, and maybe physically too. Now, as I bring myself back to that vulnerable, denuded state, I feel myself regressing, sinking back into total submission, into dangerous acceptance. I am scared, yet at the same time intoxicated by the feeling. My heart pounds and my breath is ragged with excitement.

“Now piss and shit, then you will use an enema.”

“I… I have something… up there,” I say miserably, indicating my bottom.

“What?”

“A… it’s a… kiwifruit, Miss.”

“How revolting! Get it out, you loathsome slut!” I squat over the toilet and struggle to get the thing out, having to stretch myself and poke my finger up, trying to hook it out. It is a painful, messy process, and when I finally extract the ruined fruit, the bathroom is filled by the sound and smell of my bowels evacuating rapidly. Marie looks appalled, and I feel utterly humiliated to be shitting, like a toddler, in front of this complete stranger.

I have never had an enema before, and Marie makes me lie on the cold tiles, face down, while she, none too gently, inserts the tube into me and fills me up.

“This is a coffee enema,” she says, “it will give you a hit of caffeine, so you have enough energy for what awaits you downstairs.” I’m frightened by the implication of what she’s saying – what do they plan to do to me? But I already know – I’ve seen the film, and I know it is going to be a challenge, to say the least.

I feel uncomfortably full of the enema, my stomach distended by the volume forced into me. but I can also feel the caffeine affecting me, making me jittery, a little dizzy and nauseous, my heart racing.

“Now, clench so that you don’t leak, stand up, and empty into the toilet.” I have to physically push my buttocks together with my hands to make sure I don't squirt foul liquid all over the bathroom floor, and I dash to the toilet, quickly expelling the enema from my body in a stinking flood.

“Get in the shower.” Marie takes the shower head as I step into the cubicle, then hits me with the full force of the spray. I let out a gasp and cringe away from the needle-sharp points of freezing water as she blasts me from point blank range, scouring my body. She picks up a long-handled brush and roughly scrubs at my skin, ignoring my whimpers of discomfort. She makes me bend and prise apart my buttocks so that she can clean away any last remnants of excrement, then orders me to turn around and spread my legs, allowing her to scrub my pussy and fire the jet of water up inside me. The discomfort this causes quickly transmutes into tantalising pleasure, and my cries of distress soon turn to moans of excitement. But the shower is over before I can get too carried away.

Marie dries my body roughly, and then sprays me with perfume, under my arms, across my breasts, and between my legs. She ignores my clothes and ‘dresses’ me in nothing more than a thin leather collar pulled uncomfortably tight around my neck, not restricting my breathing, but tight enough to always remind me that I am restrained.

She leads me back downstairs and into the main living room, where I see you sitting in an armchair, drink in hand. You signal for me to approach, and I start to walk toward you, but Marie restrains me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Get down and crawl to him!” she commands. I sink down onto my hands and knees and start to shuffle across the floor, but I feel the stiletto of Marie's boot against my buttock, and she pushes violently, sending me sprawling.

“On your belly! When I say crawl, cunt, you fucking crawl!” I slither over the carpet, trying to keep my body in contact with it at all times. The stiff pile rubbing against my newly-shaved crotch merely adds to the frustrated arousal from the shower, and I feel like a bitch in heat as I approach you.

I notice that you have removed your shoes and socks, and I kiss, lick, and suck on your toes, hoping that this excites you as much as it does me, but your face remains impassive. I sense Marie standing over me, and suddenly she grabs my arm, pulling me up until I am kneeling in front of you. I notice that she is holding a whip in her hand, and I start to feel a curious mix of nervousness, fear, and excited anticipation.

“Present yourself!” she commands and, recalling the scene in the movie, I raise my arms above my head and part my knees, leaving me completely vulnerable. Marie squats down before me, looking into my eyes, daring me to resist her. My breathing becomes shallow again as I feel her hands on my breasts, fondling them, cupping them, squeezing them, playing with the nipple until it is firm and erect. Her hand moves down across my stomach and her fingers touch me between my legs, bringing a gasp from my open mouth.

“She is a fine whore, Rudolph, she knows I am going to beat her, and yet she is wet down here, clearly excited by the prospect of her suffering. Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint her.”

She raises the whip and brings it down hard across my flank, the tail wrapping around my hip to the small of my back. I flinch under the blow, letting out an involuntary squeal as I feel the pain transmitted through me. She waits until I draw myself back up, my arms high in the air, presenting myself correctly once again. The leather slaps into me once more, hitting me in a similar place, causing the same reaction from me.

“Look at Rudolph,” she barks, “you're his whore, look at him and show your appreciation.” I stare at you, and can see the spark in your eyes as my punishment continues until I collapse on the carpet, sobbing, tears now running down my face. After a few moments, I have recovered enough to once more kneel and raise my arms, offering myself up.

Marie pushes me forward until I am pressed against your knees, my naked body contrasting with the smart suit you still wear. I watch as she wraps a chain around my wrist, binding it to the arm of the chair, then clips the end of the chain to itself, trapping me in place. She repeats this on my other arm, and I am locked before you like a supplicant before her Lord, just as the girl in the film was. You stare hungrily into my face, and I see that cruel spark in your eyes, the one that I am so familiar with.

“Continue the punishment,” you say coldly, locking your gaze deep into my eyes as I sense Marie coming behind me. The lashing begins again, this time across my buttocks, and each time I am struck, I let out a small cry and my body jerks against yours, feeding my fires even as the pain becomes more focused and pronounced. The strokes are coming regularly now, every few seconds, and I don't have time to recover from the jolt of one blow before the next arrives, turning my ass cheeks into a burning mass of tortured flesh.

You lean down towards me, cupping my face in your hands and holding it still as my body spasms with each fresh lash of the whip, and I feel your hot breath on my skin as you push your lips against mine. Your tongue snakes out and works its way into my mouth, even as I am crying out under the beating which continues to torment me. You pull me forward and press your lips against mine, muffling my squeals and agonised little cries. I feel intoxicated, and I sense your arousal too at this strange confluence of tenderness and cruelty.

The beating stops, and I look around to see that Marie has moved closer, her body almost pressing against mine. I flinch as I feel her hands stroking the abused flesh of my buttocks, then let out a gasp as her fingers slide into me, with her thumb forcing its way into my anus. Soon I am panting with pent-up frustration under her expert touch, writhing in your lap, looking up into your eyes with a hunger of my own. We both know where this is going, but you resist the inevitable until you see how close I am to my orgasm.

I watch you unzip your trousers and release your cock, just millimetres from my face. There is nothing more that I want to do right now than take it into my mouth and service it, but I remember in the film that the girl appears surprised, horrified, pulling away. So I do the same, using all my acting skills to make it look as though I'm desperately reluctant to engage in such a degrading act as to fellate you. I see you smile in recognition of the part I am playing, and you put your hand around the back of my head, pulling me forward onto your erection, until I feel the glans pressed against my lips and I have no choice but to part my lips and take you into my mouth.

I can hear your reaction as I slowly take you deep inside, my tongue flicking and wrapping itself around your shaft, and I can feel it in your body, the tension mounting as I move forwards and backwards, sucking and licking the bulging head of your penis, before descending again until I feel your pubic hair tickling against my lips.

Marie's fingers continue to work on me and, as my own excitement increases, so my actions on you become more urgent, bobbing my head backwards and forwards in an attempt to bring us both to climax together. Marie is driving her fingers in and out now and I'm frantically sucking and licking you, desperate to make you cum.

“Whip her! Whip her!” you cry, and I feel the hand withdrawn, immediately replaced by the bite of the leather into the backs of my thighs, making me jerk forward and cry out, muffled though it is by your cock filling my mouth. Marie’s attack on my behind becomes frenzied and, despite the removal of the direct stimulation from my pussy and clitoris, I feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge. I also sense how the violent jerking of my mouth around your member and the explosion of breath onto it is I cry out with each lash of the whip is driving you wild.

The pain being inflicted on me is somehow transformed into the most glorious feeling inside me, and as the waves of pleasure crash over me, I feel your cock pulse and spasm, before exploding in a flood of semen into my mouth. I swallow it down greedily, not wanting to lose a single drop, as I feel the tension gradually ease in your body and your erection become flaccid between my lips. The beating has stopped as well, and I can hear Marie behind me, breathing heavily from her exertion and, I suspect, her own arousal.

“Very good, Jenny,” you say, stroking my hair, “I'm glad to see that we’re now able to bring you that last little way to orgasm with only the whip, I find that very exciting. Now, you need to thank your hostess properly.”

You release my arms from the chains, and I turn to see that Marie is now sitting in a similar armchair, her thighs spread wide, causing her dress to ride up around her waist, displaying her naked pussy ready and waiting for me.

But before I can crawl across to her, I let out a cry of pain and surprise as you twist my arm up behind my back. I feel the chain from my wrist being threaded underneath the collar and then wrapped around my upper arm, where it is secured, holding my arm up behind my back, the hand held between my shoulder blades. You repeat this on my other arm and I am chained in this strenuous position, choking as the collar is pulled even tighter across my throat. You push me forward and I fall flat on the floor, much to your amusement. With great difficulty, I wriggle across the carpet until I am beside Marie's feet, but there is no way for me to get up from there. Marie solves the problem by grabbing my hair and hauling me up until I am on my knees, between her thighs.

I can smell her now, and see the glint of her juices on her wild bush of pubic hair. She pulls me forward until my nose is pressed into that bush, and I hungrily start to lick at her wet entrance, letting my tongue slide up between her swollen lips until it reaches her engorged bud. My exertions are rewarded by the sound of her tiny gasps and whimpers as I work with lips and tongue to bring her to the point of ecstasy. As I force her to climax, her thighs clamp around my head, holding me tight as the gushing flow of her cum washes over my face.

“We'll continue this back at my place,” you say sometime later, when we are all sufficiently recovered. You release my hands and Marie hands me my blouse and skirt - my bra and ruined panties seem to have disappeared - and I put on the blouse, buttoning it up. I go to step into my skirt, but you stop me.

“No need to wear that. You can just carry it.”

“What?! But I can't go out like th-“ My protestations are cut short as Marie slaps me hard across the face.

“Shut the fuck up, cunt! Why can't you just do as your fucking told?”

We step out of the house, with me holding the skirt in front of me, as some sort of protection, at least hiding my bald pussy from the eyes of the world. It is dark and luckily the street is deserted, but we are approaching a taxi. I slide into the back seat, trying to keep myself covered with a skirt while not showing my bare arse to the driver. The seat is cold against my bare skin, but I'm more concerned when you get in beside me on my left, while Marie slides onto the seat next to me on my right. You give your address to the driver and we start off.

We have only gone a few yards when I feel your hand on my thigh, underneath the skirt. It is quickly joined by a hand on my other thigh, and I glance at both of you, seeing the same evil smile on each face. I stare straight as I feel the hands work their way onto my inner thigh and move up. Almost unconsciously, I spread my legs, allowing you both to do as you please with me. Once again, I feel my breath becoming ragged as your fingers work their way between my labia and up into my vagina, stimulating me in both my pleasure centres at once.

I slide down in the seat a little, enabling me to open my legs a little wider, affording you even more access, and I feel my pulse quickening under your insistent touch. It seems as though another taxi driver is going to see me cum!

I feel almost disappointed when we reach your house before I reach my climax. I shuffle out of the car, trying not to show my buttocks to the driver, only to realise that a young couple are walking past as I emerge. I turn around in alarm and embarrassment, but hear their laughter as they walk away, before realising that I am now displaying myself very clearly to the taxi driver, who seems to be having a coughing fit. I can't get into your house quick enough, feeling like I am about to die of shame.

Marie takes the skirt from me and waits while I strip out of my blouse, quickly leaving me naked once again. You lead us down the steps into your cellar, a place with many unhappy memories for me. This is where you have tortured me many times, a place I came to fear, a place where I thought I might lose my life. And now, I am walking into it of my own free will - I never thought this day would come.

I see the spreader bar, with its cuffs at either end, hanging from the hoist in the centre of the room, and go to stand underneath it, waiting meekly for my fate. I do not have to wait long, as you and Marie fasten the cuffs around my wrists, hoisting me up until my toes are barely touching the floor. We are now ready for the climactic scene of the film, a scene in which I will be tortured. Why do I want this? I can't answer my own question, but I can feel the tingle of excitement in every fibre of my being.

I watch passively as you make preparations for my torment. You bring in a small oil burner and place it on the table, lighting the wick. There are also a number of long, thin needles, each with a small handle at the end.

While I am distracted watching you, Marie comes up behind me and roughly forces the rubber shaft of a bit gag between my teeth, pulling it into my mouth until my cheeks are stretched back and my jaws are forced wide apart, before buckling it in place behind my head. I make an inarticulate sound, somewhere between alarm and excitement, reflecting the conflicting emotions churning inside my mind and my body.

“One of the few complaints I have about that film,” you say, ”is the torture scene. Anne screams and struggles delightfully, but the treatment she receives hardly warrants such an extreme reaction - the woman barely scratches her skin! Now, I know you have been acting the innocent all day, Jenny, and very well too, but I feel we would all be disappointed if you had to stretch your thespian abilities to accommodate such a transparently fake assault. I know Marie will be much more conscientious.”

I feel a sense of dread, as the fear starts to overwhelm my sense of excitement. You take a seat, drink in hand, ready to enjoy the show as Marie picks up one of the needles and holds it in the flame. My eyes are fixed on the shard of metal as it slowly heats up until I am convinced it is glowing red. Marie strolls casually over to me, waving the weapon before me, filling me with terror. I look into her eyes and see the same cruel glint as I have seen so many times in your eyes as you stand before me, ready to cause me distress and agony. I start to hyperventilate as she crouches before me, her free hand stroking my stomach, choosing her point of attack.

I squeal as the hot metal touches me on my skin just above my hip bone and the tip scores a line across my body like a knife. She pokes me with the needle-sharp point, eliciting a desperate cry on each occasion, but it feels like she is searching for the perfect spot, settling on a pinch of soft skin close to my belly button. Suddenly, I am screaming at the top of my voice and continuously as the needle breaks my skin, slowly pushing deeper, before it emerges three or four centimetres away. I continue to shriek desperately as Marie pushes the metal through, twisting and turning it slightly to increase my agony, smiling as she enjoys the higher pitch of my wailing.

She stands back, admiring her work, and I look down in stunned horror to see the needle still attached, still piercing deep into the skin of my stomach. My cheeks are wet with my tears, and now my chin becomes damp as saliva escapes past the bit in my mouth and overflows my lip. I look over to you in mute plea for mercy, but there is only a broad grin on your face. I throw back my head and howl in despair, praying that this torture, which I brought upon myself, will end soon. I look up in alarm, realising that, while I have been distracted, Marie has returned, and she's holding another of the needles. I shake my head as the tears flow and I try to beg her to stop, but she merely smiles and strokes my wet cheek.

I pull at my bonds and scream into the blank walls as the process is repeated, the cruel teasing of the needle being tried in various places before a suitable site is found, this time higher up, in the skin over my ribs. The pain is excruciating and constant now, and I sob forlornly at my terrible predicament. She returns with a third pin, and this time I feel her hands exploring my thighs. My renewed cries and pleading take on a new urgency, but it makes no difference. I feel the metal point pierce my inner thigh, sending new waves of pain shooting through my body. I am screaming like an animal caught in a trap, and the simile seems appropriate as I struggle to escape her evil clutches, but it is no use, she holds on to my body with a vice-like grip. The needle passes through several inches of my thigh before emerging once more, and every millimetre of its progress causes me intense pain. I pray for the sweet release of unconsciousness, but it will not come, my body will not succumb even though my brain wills it. All I can do is twist and writhe in my agony, whilst crying out wordlessly.

The torture continues, but now she has decided to target my breasts. She fondles them, squeezing and pinching the flesh, searching, prodding with the razor-sharp point. to test my reaction - in each case, I squeal and sob, hoping to dissuade her from her terrible purpose. Once again, to no avail. She lifts up my left breast and I bawl as I feel the soft flesh broken, the needle passing through until I see it poking out of the side of the mammary. Please, I beg to myself, please pass out now! Surely, this is the ultimate punishment?

But there is one more needle left. It seems inevitable that Marie pinches the nipple on my right breast, pulling it out until it is stretched, and without teasing or further delay, accompanied by a cacophony of hideous shrieks from me, she slides the metal into the flesh behind the areole, forcing it through until it breaks out on the other side, the tip now red with my blood. Spent at last, I hang by my wrists, still barely conscious, trying somehow to process the pain.

Minutes pass and I look up wearily to see where you are. Marie is sitting on your lap and you're both staring at me, enjoying the sight and sound of my suffering, each sipping at your drink, contemplating your next move. Marie returns to me and now takes out the needles, causing me to moan in fresh agony, too exhausted to scream, as each is extracted swiftly but not painlessly. When she's done, I look down at my body and see where the various trickles of blood have dried, hardly attesting to the extreme torture I have suffered and the agony I am still suffering.

Now you approach, while Marie takes the spectator’s chair. You are swinging a flogger, held casually by your side, almost as an afterthought, but I can't take my eyes off it, I know that this is the next source of pain for me.

You circle around me as if wishing to find the exact place and the exact moment at which to launch your assault. Or perhaps you are trying to lull me, get me to lower my defences so that your first strike has that terrifying element of surprise. But when it finally arrives, I'm not ready for it, how could I be? You target my already tortured breasts, still aching from their earlier mistreatment, making me cry out anew.

You take your time, letting the full effect of each lash work its way through my nervous system, bringing out the maximum pain in my flesh and in my mind, before striking again, each time targeting a different place - my breasts, my stomach, my shoulders, the small of my back, my buttocks, the front of my thighs, my pussy…

I am in a world of pain, screaming desperately as each blow is delivered. I hang, limp, trying to catch my breath, as you walk around me, deciding on your next target.

“The girl in the film manages to reach orgasm without any sexual contact whatsoever,” you say as if musing on a deep philosophical conundrum, “she was faking it, of course. I don't know if it's even possible for a woman to climax just from receiving pain. But it will be interesting to find out, don't you think?”

I shake my head emphatically. No! Please! Not that! You'll kill me! The tears roll down my cheeks again as I see your terrible purpose.

The whipping resumes, still very deliberate, very controlled, each lash designed to serve its purpose. I am dancing on the chains holding me like some rag doll puppet, my body flinching instinctively as each strike cracks across my skin, the cry a split second later forced from me with no conscious action on my part. More and more times, the leather fronds are licking around my buttocks and my thighs, concentrating on my points of arousal. You have developed a diabolical upper cut, trying to target it between my thighs, striking directly against my shaved labia. How can you ignore my cries? How can you feel no sympathy, no guilt at causing such terrible anguish?

The number of blows reduces, but the intensity of each one delivered increases, and somehow, in some awful way, they are affecting me. This cannot be happening! I cannot be being turned on by this horrendous experience! But the signs are undeniable - my pussy lips and clitoris are engorged, my vagina is slick, my heart is racing, my breathing is shallow and ragged, my skin is tingling. Each lash of the flogger now makes this worse, or better, if you look at it that way. My cries of agony have turned to cries of passion - you can tell that, Marie can see that, and I know it.

I have entered some strange, twilight world, where pain is still pain, but it is accompanied by an equal if not greater pleasure, and slowly, inexorably, I am being forced to orgasm. The lashing continues, but some part of my mind welcomes it, craves it, even as other parts of my brain are screaming at me that this torture is unbearable.

At last, the moment arrives. The familiar feeling of electricity running through my body centred on my vagina sweeps across me, tensing every muscle, sending me into spasm, dancing on the chains once again. The last, ecstatic animal howl comes from my throat and I slump, hanging by my wrists, my jelly legs unable to support me any longer.

Now is the point at which I finally pass out, if only for a few seconds. When I regain consciousness, I am falling to the ground, collapsing in a heap as I am released from my bondage. I feel your hands on my sweat-covered body, turning me over so that my hot breasts and thighs are pressed against the cool slabs.

Only moments later, I feel you raising my hips, pulling the lower half of my body up until I am on my knees, but with my face and shoulders still firmly against the floor. I sense your body behind me, your flesh touching my flesh, and I know that you are going to take me from behind.

Your fingers work to ease your passage, but they are at my back door, and I realise that you intend to bugger me rather than fuck me. I have no energy left to fight you, even if I wanted to, and I bite down hard on the gag as you thrust your erection into my anus, forcing it deep into my rectum until your thighs press against mine. A small, indistinct gurgle of pain struggles from my lips as my teeth grind on the rubber bar, the only expression of my discomfort that I can make. You thrust into me again and again, not caring about what I may be feeling, that is not of importance to you. You seem to be making a point of driving into me as deep and as hard as you can - much like the whipping, this is all about your power over me.

At last, you cum, and I feel your hot seed filling me up. Moments later, you pull out and cast me aside, leaving me to recover as best I can on the cold stone floor.

I don't know how long I lie there, drifting in and out of consciousness. But when I finally come back I see you and Marie standing over me, both fully clothed, arms around each other.

“Thank you for the entertainment, Jenny, it was… stimulating,” you say, “now Marie and I are going upstairs to enjoy each other, you started quite a fire! Perhaps you’ll come back again when your needs become irresistible once more. You know your way out, don't you?”

With that, the pair of you walk out of the dungeon, Marie tossing my skirt and blouse on the floor as you leave. I feel humiliated, used, cheapened. Tears brim in my eyes as I pull my clothes on and make my way up the stairs and out into the real world, picking up my handbag on the way.

Eventually, I manage to flag down a taxi and head for the airport. As I sit in the cab, wrapped up in my own thoughts, I realise that I have also used you - you have treated me exactly as I expected you would, and exactly as I wanted you to, satisfying that terrible hunger inside me. As I think back over the day, my hand creeps under the hem of my skirt, touching the small but painful scar in my thigh, before moving up…

The End

Copyright© 2013 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.