Staked Out Naked

Editor’s note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Reader note Tess O’Meter — Red.

I am naked.

My wrists and ankles are stretched painful away from my body, muscles starting to quiver from the strain.

I don’t know how long I have been here; it seems like all day.

It’s all a bit blurry really.

Last night, as I was walking back to my hotel, I passed some local guy who smiled at me.

“This is for my sister,” he said before smashing his fist into my sternum.

I landed heavily on my knees, retching, and couldn’t do a damn thing to protect myself when my hands were yanked back and secured behind me.

A cloth was dragged over my head, and still coughing and gasping, I was thrown into the trunk of a car.

Once I had my wits back, I tried yelling and screaming for help, but no one came.

The car stopped and I yelled some more.

I heard the trunk open and tried to pull in some air, then I froze as what was unmistakably a blade was pressed against my balls.

“One more sound out of you and I’ll cut them off and feed them to my dog, which is no more than you deserve you fucking rapist.”

I shook my head but spoke carefully and quietly, so as not to spook the guy who had my manhood at his mercy, “Sir, I promise you, I haven’t raped anyone.”

My balls were crushed in his huge fist and I cried out.

“You think my sister lied, you think her injuries were what, playing fucking volleyball on the beach?”

“I think there’s been a mistake,” I managed at a whimper.

“Yea Motherfucker, you made a big fucking mistake,” he confirmed, before letting me go and slamming the trunk lid shut.

I lay shaking in the dark, my balls throbbing, sniffing up tears. I couldn’t get the hood off or get my hands free.

Who did they think I was?

I’d never hurt anyone.

Okay, I like watching dodgy porn but who doesn’t? That’s why they make the damn stuff.

This wasn’t fair.

I lay, feeling scared and sorry for myself, the air in the trunk on this hot Caribbean night, getting hotter and thinner.

Eventually, dizzy, and terrified, I passed out.

I had come round the following morning, with the help of a bucket of water being thrown into my face.

Spluttering and coughing, shaking my hair out of my eyes, I blinked up at two enormous women who were standing laughing at me.

“Rise and shine,” one said and threw another bucket.

Disoriented and dehydrated, it took me a moment to realize that I was still bound, but now my hands were above me.

I was half sat on a small stool, suspended from a tree in a backyard.

I gasped, coughed, cleared my lungs, and got a firmer seat on the stool.

“There’s been a mistake,” I began calmly, “I haven’t done anything. Maybe another American on the island? I can help you if you are looking for someone, someone who’s done something bad, but it wasn’t me.”

I watched them and they watched me.

My heart was pounding, I swear it must have been like a cartoon through my soaked T-Shirt.

One of the women came forward and leaning down, shocked me by running her tongue up the side of my face from my chin to my temple.

I tensed in discomfort, but God help me, felt my fucking stupid cock spring to immediate attention.

She looked at my cock, now tenting my shorts and looked back at me, “You’re a liar,” she said softly.

I started to explain my innocence more forcefully, but the second women shoved a wad of material into my mouth and then some tape around my head.

I could make no more than muffled protests.

They looked down at me, trembling, bound beneath them.

Then they both started to remove each other’s clothing, caressing each other as they went. Tops off, shorts and skirts pushed down, revealing bikini clad, muscular, beautifully proportioned bodies.

I groaned as my cock tried to climb out of my shorts and they looked down at me, their eyes gleaming with triumph, like they had proven some point.

‘For fucks sake,’ I wanted to yell at them, ‘what man who is still breathing, faced by two almost naked real-life Amazon Goddesses, touching each other, is not going to get hard?’

All they could hear was my wide-eyed mumbling.

All they could see was my aroused, trembling, sweating body and my eyes unable to look away from their astounding beauty.

I was fucking doomed.

One of the women grabbed my T-Shirt so forcefully that she nearly pulled me from the seat. She then ripped it straight down, exposing my chest and abs.

Humming a tune to herself, she started to explore me with her hands, even as the second woman grabbed the back of my T-Shirt and ripped it clean off.

They explored my flesh at their leisure and before long I was moaning.

Louder when my shorts went the same way as my T-Shirt, and I was completely at their mercy.

Next, they cheerfully scrubbed me with coarse brushes and rough hands. I started to cry again when they cleaned me intimately.

I felt so helpless and I could do nothing to stop them hurting me. Which they did.

My whole body was scrubbed, my hair was shampooed, then the soap rinsed off with more buckets of freezing cold water.

I hung, semi suspended as they left me to dry, sitting close by with cold cans and chatting about some woman on the island.

I stopped sniveling and tried to listen; they were talking about me.

“It’s good timing that she is on the island, she will know how to deal with him.”

“HA! Poor bastard.”

“She’s here several more days, although he may not last that long.”

“She will be pleased, and Old Betty is so happy that we have found a suitable present for The Lady.”

“Old Betty is happy that she didn’t have to spend her money or give up one of her slaves.”

They both giggled.

I was amazed.

There were rumors about this island. That it was basically run by the women and the men were little more than slaves.

They were talking almost like it was true.

And who was this Lady?

Deciding that I was dry enough they came back over and examined me again.

Running her fingers through my hair, which needed a trim and was starting to curl, one of them said, “Should we shave his head as well?”

“No,” the older woman shook her head, running her hand over my jaw,” The Lady likes her scruff and a good head of hair. We’ll leave that, it will please her.”

They had then moved into my view a couple of cutthroat razors, and I nearly died from fright right then.

They started to rub oil into my body, and I tried to calm my breathing, jittery from terror and the pleasure of their touch.

They weren’t going to kill me. I was a present for someone wasn’t I? I would have a chance of escape.

There was no chance of escape as they both picked up a razor and started to shave me.

My chest, stomach and most intimate places were left bare, and somehow unmanly, despite my desperate gagged pleas for mercy.

I had started to feel unlike myself.

I had started to feel like a thing.

Hopeless against their superior strength I had been placed back into a car and driven a short distance, then marched along a beach towards a small group of trees, sticking up from the sand.

In this small area of shade, created by five spindly mangrove trees, their roots buried deep in the sand, I had been tied spread-eagled.

The area was deserted, nothing but a small bungalow on the beach above me, but no sign of life.

Ours were the only footsteps in the sand.

Once I was bound securely, they removed my gag.

I tried again as they attached some sort of note to my wrist.

“Please, I swear. I didn’t rape anyone, it wasn’t me.”

“Then you must have a double.”

“Please, it’s a mistake,” I pleaded.

The older women bent down and stroked my face, not unkindly, “I sincerely hope for your sake that’s not the case,” she said.

Standing again she gave her last words of wisdom.

“Don’t make a fuss, no one will hear you. The Lady will find you if it is meant. You are hers now.”

Then they had left me.

Hours ago.

– x

I lay, pulled apart, fading in and out as the sea crashes against the beach.

I’m so thirsty, I can’t even swallow, and I’m starting to think that I have been left here to die.

I’m not sure what’s real anymore, so when I see a figure walking down the beach, I watch without much interest.

I’m probably imagining it.

The figure gets closer and seems to spot me, heading my way with a smile.

Maybe she’s real. I try to call out but it’s just a rasp.

She comes closer.

Bare feet, shorts and vest top, big floppy hat, sunglasses, and hair that has been teased into a tangled mess by the breeze.

This isn’t what I imagined when they spoke of The Lady.

This could be a random tourist, or local, and I’m naked, spread-eagled, and helpless.

For Christ’s sake, why am I getting hard again? Like this isn’t embarrassing enough. What the hell is wrong with me?

The woman reaches me.

She is carrying a large tumbler of icy orange juice, the glass sweating, and as she leans over to read the note tied to my bound wrist, freezing wet drops are scattered across my body, making me jump.

I’m suddenly unbearable thirsty, I try to speak but there is no sound.

She leans down and places her cold glass on my stomach.

I can’t see her eyes, but she hasn’t offered to let me drink, which seems wrong.

She places a finger on my lips as I try to speak again.

“Hush now, or it will be worse for you.”

Warning, “Don’t spill my drink,” before she starts to explore my body with her hands.

Her nails scrap across my nipples, making me jump and she grabs her drink before it spills, hissing at me.

“Sorry,” I manage to croak out, whimpering as she grips my hair and yanks my head back.

“You will address me as Mistress, and not speak without permission,” she informs me.

Oh, Shit it’s her, it’s The Lady.

“Sorry Mistress,” I managed, and her grip turns to a stroke.

“Are you thirsty? Would you like some of this?” she asks kindly.

“Yes, please Mistress,” I say, momentarily relieved before she crushes my hope by pouring the icy drink all over my chest and stomach.

She picks up an ice cube and sucks absently on it as she watches me struggling to hold back tears.

Smirking at my bobbing cock.

I have literally no idea why I’m turned on right now, because this normal looking woman is terrifying.

Suddenly she bends down, sweeping her hair aside so that it tickles my chest and takes my mouth in a possessive kiss.

I nearly choke on the ice cube as she passes it into my mouth, but as she rises, I have the precious cube of frozen water on my tongue, and I moan as I let it melt.

When it is gone, she plucks another melting cube from my stomach and places it on my waiting tongue.

I smile at her as I suck it, maybe if we can be friends. But then she straddles me and lowers herself onto my abdomen. Almost but not quite sitting on my cock.

Every thought flies out of my head and straight to my cock, which immediately starts bouncing against her ass.

The Lady, my Mistress, No the woman, starts to gather sand and spread it across my body.

I’m confused until she has a good layer covering me, and then she starts to touch me.

I bite my lip and mutter and try not to cry out as I endure the cruelest massage.

The sand is abrasive against my skin. It’s too harsh to be pleasurable, but as her hands sweep across me, roughly grinding into my nipples and stomach, my whimpers turn into sobbing moans.

My fists clench and unclench as I try to stay true to myself, but despite my stinging skin, when she pushes her centre down over my cock I moan louder still.

I’ll do anything to get release.

She starts to examine my cock and balls, I’m so embarrassed where they shaved me, but her touch feels so good.

I’m leaking all over her hand as she squeezes and tugs me.

Then suddenly she stands and pulls off her shorts, looking at them closely.

I smile in my excitement, “Thank you Mistress,” the smile falling from my face as she turns her shorts and I see that I have smeared pre-cum all over the back of them.

“Really?” she sneers, “You think that your messy, disgusting cock is going inside me?”

I tremble as she kneels back down between my out-spread legs, “Dirty boys get punished.”

The woman, Oh God, my Mistress, takes my balls and starts to squeeze and knead.

To my horror, once I start to whimper and shift in discomfort, she picks up a handful of sand and suddenly my tender nuts are being mashed between her sand filled hands.

I sob and desperately shake my head, but she merely smirks at my straining cock and collecting more sand, hammers my poor balls even harder, until I’m screaming.

The torture seems to go on for hours, and I feel like I am on fire, throbbing so hard I feel sick, when she finally stops.

After a few moments she speaks.

“Thank me.”

“W-What?” I ask confused.

“Thank me for your pain,” she demands, giving my cock a quick flick.

“T-Thank you Mistress,” I stammer, my breath hitching.

The examination starts again and now my Mistress pushes against my hole.

My breathing falters, I’ve never been touched there.

I watch in overstimulated terror as Mistress pushes her fingers deep inside herself, and uses her own arousal to lubricate my anus.

“Now it’s time for some punishment,” she warns me and pushes her finger inside me.

My entire body strains in an arch against my binds, as I howl in pain and terror.

Relentlessly she pushes deep, tutting at me under her breath, and as her seeking fingers hit my prostate I nearly pass out.

A massive wave of unbearable pleasure sweeps me away and my sobs quickly become guttural moans as I rock into her hand.

I’m so close, so close.

I thrust and thrust and then mutter, “Please Mistress, I’m cumming.”

Suddenly I am empty again, thrusting against nothing, all stimulant ended.

I’m gasping and frustrated, sweat pouring from me as my Mistress stands and brushes off her hands.

“Your pleasure is denied,” she tells me and collecting her empty drink, walks away.

My head spins as nausea and fear engulf me.

My cock slowly deflates and with it my hope.

I won’t starve here, there won’t be time, I need water desperately.

I start to laugh as I listen to the sea.

All that water, no good at all for me.

Then my blood runs cold as my sluggish brain finally registers that the sea is getting louder.

The tide is coming in.

I tug futilely at my restraints again, but soon give up.

I’m helpless.

At this realization my cock throbs and grows again.

Standing up like a flagpole, maybe he is trying to attract assistance.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Me?

I become aware of a noise behind me and manage to turn slightly, catching a glimpse of The Lady. Fuck it, my Mistress coming back.

She places a large bag behind the branch by my head and comes around with a bottle of water.

She has changed, and looks fresh and young in a light, floaty dress.

Kneeling next to me, she lifts my head and brings the water to my lips.

I’m so scared that it’s a trick, but she allows me to sip. Little by little until the water is gone.

I feel lightheaded again, from sheer relief.

“Please, Mistress,” I say (hesitating a little at Mistress), “Please the tide is coming in.”

She throws the bottle towards her bag.

“I may decide to give you a chance,” she says, “but first there is something else you need to sip.”

Then she lifts higher on her knees and as the breeze kicks up her dress, I can see she is naked underneath.

My mouth goes bone dry again as I watch her run her finger through her wet pussy.

She runs the finger along my lip, and I moan as she bends down and kisses me.

I’m beyond turned on now. It’s becoming painful.

“Make me cum,” she whispers against my lips, “and I will give you a chance.”

I nod as she straddles me.

She’s about to rape my face and I don’t care because all I can think about is tasting her again.

Her glistening wetness smothers my face and I drink her in, as she moans and rocks against me.

Running my tongue through her, sucking her in. Gasping for air.

My cock is leaking so much it feels like I’m pissing myself and all I want is more.

Her hands are on my chest and her nails almost pierce my skin as she starts to moan and tremble, finally shattering against me.

Flooding over my mouth and face with her cum.

I had heard of women ‘squirting’ but this was the first time it had happened to me and my balls were literally vibrating with lust.

My cock is straining hard, and I fear it may be due to oxygen deprivation.

I gasp in air as Mistress lifts herself from me.

She looks down at me smiling.

“Would you like me to untie you so you can wipe that off?” she indicates her arousal smearing my mouth and face.

“Yes, please Mistress,” I say, and she laughs at me.

Fucking laughs at me.

I’m furious and this makes her laugh harder, but then once again a loud crash reminds me that the sea is getting closer and this bitch holds my life in her hands.

I can’t make her angry, I need her to release me.

I want her to release me.

Don’t I?

Oh, Christ, I’m so turned on.

I don’t care I just need to cum before I die.

“Mistress, please,” I beg.

She lowers herself back to me and drags her hot, wet pussy over my stomach and then over my crotch.

She kisses me as my dick is dragged through her folds, and I mutter promises against her lips.

I’ll do anything if she’ll just please fuck me.

“I want to hurt you,” she whispers.

“Yes, please my Mistress, punish me.”

I’ll suffer anything if you just suck my cock. Just lick me. Just kiss the tip.

“To serve me, you need to pass a test,” she cautions.

“I’ll do anything,” I whisper.

“It’s very dangerous, you must be brave,” she says.

“I’ll do anything,” I promise again.

I groan as she rubs against me.

Anything, suffer anything, give anything.

Please, release me from these bonds, release me from this longing.

Suddenly my feet are bathed in icy water and I took at Mistress in horror.

I panic, “Please, please, Oh God Mistress, please help me.”

I lift my head and stare in terror at the sea, which is sweeping with icy threat over my toes on every few runs.

Mistress walks unhurriedly over to her bag and then removes a strap-on, hanging it high on the branch that my right leg is roped to.

I stare in disbelief.

“That is your reward,” she promises, “if you survive.”

She then giggles as the waves kiss her feet as well, before pulling more equipment out of her bag and dumping it on my stomach.

I gaze in a strange kind of detached horror at the mask, snorkel, and duct tape.

Smiling my Mistress shows me the extended tube, which is securely attached to the snorkel, and as she duct-tapes it to the tree just behind my head, I realize.

It’s not time for me for to leave here yet.

She has created a breathing apparatus that will be above the tide line, but I am doomed to suffer below it.

The sand around me is becoming cold and wet as the tide creeps in.

I let my head fall back and surrender to it as a powerful masochistic urge pulls me under.

“Open your eyes, look here,” Mistress calls.

She holds her hand about two feet above my head.

“This is the high tide water mark,” she says, and my eyes close again as I start to shake and grunt.

Seeing I’m close, Mistress takes me in her hand and starts to stroke me.

I yell and start to thrust immediately, quickly spilling over her hand, even as the sea sweeps over my lower body.

Mistress lowers herself back to my crotch and teases me again as she pulls the mask over my eyes, before kissing me.

I kiss her back fervently.

I belong to her now.

As she breaks the kiss a large wave crashes against her back and over me, briefly submerging me.

She shrieks and laughs, as I cough and choke.

“Fuck that was cold,” she giggles.

I laugh as well.

I’m aware I must be insane but I’m enjoying this game.

This frightening, deadly, thrilling game.

One last kiss and then my Mistress gives me the mouthpiece and, in her kindness, uses duct tape to bind it on and keep me from losing it.

“You just need to survive,” she says as she stands, straddling me.

I keep my eyes on hers and the tide sweeps over me again and again.

I’m so tightly spread that the sea can rock me only a little, but it can also rock the small trees that I am tied to and they pull me in different directions.

Wrenching my already strained muscles.

Mistress sees my pain and I see her realize the cause.

Her eyes light up in pleasure and she laughs at me, even as she is now being buffeted by the sea.

I know that my joy and pleasure in suffering for her is clear for her to see.

Even as the sea completely covers me, and Mistress moves to the side, so as not to step on me, I keep my eyes on her.

Until her dress is swirling around her upper thighs and she has to leave, or swim, and I am powerless and abandoned beneath the sea.

I try to concentrate on the sky high above as the water smothers me. I must keep my breathing steady.

Mistress said I just have to survive, but for how long?

Twenty minutes maybe, no more than an hour.

My heart is pounding though.

The water is oppressive.

I was coping when Mistress was with me and I could look at her, but now I’m alone and the opaque rolls of power feel threatening, as they crash overhead.

Like they are going to crush me.

The sky and trees above me are distorted and the waves look somehow solid and heavy.

I’m scared.

A shape suddenly flies through the water above me and I jerk my head, shifting the mask strap.

Saltwater leaks in and I close my eyes tight as the mask quickly fills.

Shit, Shit. Now I’m blind as well. What if something hits the breathing tube.

Think of something else, concentrate on what is happening, what can I feel?

I force my mind to my body.

The ropes cutting into my wrists and ankles as the trees that I am tied to, sway in the waves.

The sting as the salt irritates the abrasions.

My back and shoulders hurt as I’m pulled and tugged in different directions.

I become aware of the taste of salt and my heart thunders a few beats but then I tell myself that is normal. It’s expected.

I’m not swallowing water, I’m breathing.

Find something that hurts, think about something that hurts.

My ass hurts.

My ass hurts like hell, but I would do anything to feel Mistresses fingers inside me again. Massaging me again, no matter how painful.

Cum over her hand again.

I let my mind focus on this. Eyes still squeezed shut.

I imagine Mistress coming back and running her hands over me. Stroking my cock.

Her fingers dancing over my balls and tugging gently.

Suddenly I realize that this is not purely my imagination.

The sensation is real, a gentle tickling and tugging at my cock and balls.

It’s the water.

The water is retreating, the tide is going out.

I’m itching, it’s water running down me in drips, I’m no longer underwater.

I’m alive.

– x

I don’t hear Mistress approach, just her voice, abruptly beside me.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

I keep them tight shut as the mask is removed and water, I assume fresh is poured over my face, rinsing the salt away.

“Okay, now. Open and blink, blink, blink.”

I obey and the water gently washes out my stinging eyes.

She stands over me for a few moments, “Looks like the tide didn’t wash the trash off my beach,” she says nastily.

I watch her as she cuts through the ropes holding my ankles, removes the mouthpiece and packs everything into a large bag.

Eventually I’m left just tied by my arms, but I have no strength in my body.

She pulls the strap-on from the branch and tugs it over her hips.

“Mistress.”

“No talking,” she demands.

“Mistress, please.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I whine.

She kneels down and grips my balls, leaning over me.

“If you say one more word, I will leave you here for the next tide,” she promises.

She looks angry, “Understand?”

I nod.

Mistress pushes my legs up and lines up the strap-on against my hole.

I think I have just made things worse for myself, and as she shoves in, I scream and know that I am right.

She watches me with a look of disgust on her face as she takes me.

Pummels me until I am gasping for breath through my sobs.

Then she starts to stroke my cock and somehow, despite everything, I harden.

She forces me to cum, as she rapes me.

She breaks me.

Then stands and cuts through the final ropes.

I just lay, still in my spread-eagled position as she looks down at me, shaking and crying. No even the strength to cover myself.

“You are nothing,” she says quietly.

Somehow, despite my pain and weakness. I manage to stand when instructed, and stagger behind Mistress to the bungalow.

She leads me in and leaves me for a moment standing by a door, returning with a small metal stick.

“As per my original instructions, you will call me Mistress and only speak when spoken to,” she says.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“You can use this room. You should be aware that any attempt to escape, or harm me will go very badly for you.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“This is what will happen whenever you speak without permission,” she says, and places the stick against my balls.

I fall to the floor in a soundless scream as my limbs collapse. It feels like my testicle is being torn apart and crushed at the same time, while being burnt to a crisp.

Ten agonizing seconds and I’m left breathless, panting on the floor, shaking like I have been electrocuted, which I pretty much have.

“Have I made myself clear,” she asks.

I manage to rasp out, “Yes, Mistress.”

She pushes open the door to my new room.

Before I crawl in, she leans down again and whispers harshly in my ear.

“Kitty is nineteen years old, studying hard to go to medical school and she’s a sweet hard-working girl. She identified you herself, which took more courage than you will ever possess, so don’t tell me again that you ‘didn’t do anything’ because I don’t believe you.”

I shake my head but don’t dare to speak.

“The message left with you, asked me to punish you, and you can believe me. I will.”

I manage to crawl into the room, and she slams the door shut behind me.

“Shit,” I sit and cradle my balls for a while, feeling numb, struggling to get my head around this.

I don’t feel like this ‘Kitty’ is lying or being vindictive, but she’s got it wrong.

I manage to drag myself to my feet and stand in the shower for what feels like hours. Blissful hot water raining down on my head.

I find myself dozing off for the second time and carefully climb out, drag a towel briefly across myself and crash on the bed.

I can’t think anymore.

I’ll think tomorrow.

– x

I wake slowly and dreaming of Mistress pumping her fake cock repeatedly into my body.

I reach down and grab myself, stroking slowly and gently.

My eyes still closed, a moan escaping.

It’s too soon to wake up, even though I know it’s late, but this feels so good, until —

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She speaks quietly, but I squeak and spring up, landing on my knees, my cock pointing directly at Mistress and bouncing slightly.

She leans forward on the chair; she must have been watching me sleep.

“That cock belongs to me now. You will NEVER touch it again without permission other than to clean it. Is that clear?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Get in the shower.”

I swing quickly off the bed and walk to the bathroom, pleased that I seem to have regained some strength.

Shocked when Mistress moves her chair to the open doorway and sits back down.

I stare at her for a moment.

“Yes, I’m going to watch you,” she smirks at my unanswered question.

Keeping my eyes down I turn on the shower, ignore my shaking hand and start to wash myself. Her eyes following my every move.

I push aside how exposed I feel and start to plan.

I’ve always known that I was submissive.

Ever since I hit puberty and discovered what my cock could do (apart from piss) I have fantasized about being at the mercy of a dominant woman.

I laugh inside, being sure to keep my face expressionless.

Looks like my fantasy is coming true.

Yesterday was frightening, and fucking dangerous, but the pain has faded and now it seems like a turn on.

Nothing’s broken, I’m not bleeding, I can cope with this.

Maybe if I’m good.

If I’m really good and make her happy, she will let me explain more.

Explain that I’m not the man they think I am.

I soap up my hand and clean my cock, growing harder as I think about her watching me.

My breathing speeds up.

“Turn the shower onto cold.”

I look up, “But, I’m not playing Mistress, I just want to be clean for you.”

Her eyes narrow and I swallow hard.

“Cold,” she repeats.

I turn the dial and gasp as freezing water hits me.

My cock shrivels and shrinks away in disgust and I quickly finish, leaping out of the shower and shivering.

Mistress hands me a towel, a dark smile in place.

“Five minutes,” she says and leaves.

Exactly five minutes later I walk out of my room and find her, munching toast and watching me, her bright blue eyes amused.

She looks to be in her forties, but exactly where, it’s hard to tell.

I stand and keep my eyes on the floor, not even looking up when she finishes and approaches me.

She grabs my cock, still recovering from the cold shower and bounces it on her hand a few times.

I breathe in sharply and can feel the blood already start to pump down towards my happy place.

Then she starts to run her hands over my shaved body.

I think she is trying to make me feel like an object, but it just feels fucking amazing, and soon I’m hard again.

Mistress continues to tease me until I’m trembling and then steps back.

“Go make us breakfast,” she instructs, “I’ll have some scrambled eggs.”

“Um, Mistress?”

“Yes?”

“What can I have?” I ask, I don’t want to piss her off again.

She smiles, “I don’t want you passing out on me, you must be starving. You re-fuel property,” she says.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I say and hurry to obey, grabbing an apple as I start.

I am still lightheaded and that is no doubt due to little food in well over twenty-four hours.

As I get breakfast together, crunching my way through about six slices of toast as I cook eggs, plus bacon for me, I watch Mistress.

She is setting up for the day.

Lots of large sketch pads and pencils, some rope, notepads.

She lays it all out like she has a routine.

Is she an artist?

We eat in silence and then she tells me to go use the bathroom if needed, it will be my last chance for a while.

I hurry back and immediately she binds my hands behind my back.

Tight.

I gasp as she pulls on the rope.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Thank me.”

“Thank you for my pain, Mistress,” I’m learning.

Mistress smiles and instructs me to stand in the light, to flex my hands if I need to and tell her if I get any tingling or numbness.

She seems to have mastered the art of allowing circulation in tight bondage,

because I don’t have any problems with that, but it hurts.

Holding the same position for hours. My wrists tied tight together. The tension in my back and shoulders.

Finally, she puts her pad to one side, I catch a glimpse of my suffering wrists in a detailed pencil drawing. I can almost see the blood pumping through my bulging veins, the pain throbbing from the page.

Mistress pushes me on to the sofa, without untying me, and in a somewhat business-like manner, starts to fondle my cock.

I’m confused, it doesn’t seem like she is trying to please me. It’s more like she just wants me hard. More sketches perhaps.

Then I don’t care because her hands on me feel so good and my head falls back as I pant and grow in her hands.

“Oh God, Mistress, that feels so good.”

And then — she stops.

My head comes up and I blink at her, she moves to the table and sits on a chair, flicking through her sketches.

“I’m a writer,” she says, “and I paint. Mostly femdom scenes. Men’s pain, women’s pleasure.”

She looks up and her eyes are full of an emotion that I can’t read.

“Women’s pleasure at men’s pain.”

I’m breathing hard, and not just because I’m so aroused.

“You are going to help me prepare some new work,” she says.

“I’m pleased to help you Mistress,” I say quietly, “but I only have my hotel room another day.”

Mistress walks back over to me and cups my face, running her thumb along my lips and into my mouth when I open for her.

She smiles again, “You have a submissive streak a mile wide don’t you?”

I close my eyes. I don’t need to say anything, she can read me easily, as my cock reached towards her again.

She laughs softly and grabs a newspaper from the table, coming back and holding it in front of me.

“Don’t worry about your hotel room,” she says.

The paper is folded but I can just make out the headline.

‘American tourist feared drowned.’

My eyes snap to hers in horror and I realize how trapped I am.

I shake my head mutely; I genuinely do not know what to say.

She throws the paper aside and pouts at me as she kneels down, pushing my legs apart and blowing over my cock, which had just been thinking about softening again.

Then, bliss, she takes me in her mouth.

I moan as her tongue swirls around my tip, then she licks me before sucking me deep.

This isn’t punishment, this is heaven.

My Mistress worships my cock until I’m panting, my hips thrusting up and then.

She stops.

Again.

My eyes fly open and I look into her laughing face, and I see.

This is my punishment.

She’s going to torment me. Edge me into insanity.

She pats my knee gently as she stands.

“Let’s get you ready for bed,” she says.

I sit uncertain until she comes back with some sort of harness.

I stand at her command and she unties my hands, giving me a five-minute bathroom break.

I just about manage; my arms are weak from a day being bound.

Then I step into the harness, it comes over my hips, around my waist and loops around my cock and balls.

It’s soft leather, and not uncomfortable, but I feel like a stripper.

Then she fastens my wrists into soft cuffs at thigh level.

“How much movement do you have?” she asks.

I move my arms a little.

I have enough movement to not get cramp or stiff, but I won’t be able to do anything about being painfully aroused.

“Perfect,” she smiles, “There’s your supper. Goodnight.”

I watch her walk away, then walk to the kitchen, feeling ridiculous, my wrists clamped to my thighs, and drink the thick shake she has left for me.

At least she gave me a straw, she doesn’t want to starve me.

Horny and frustrated I go to my room and flop onto the bed, falling once again into erotic dreams of pain and use.

– x

I wake the following morning. Still hard, no surprise there.

I walk out and find Mistress greeting the day with Tai Chi, which is beautiful, and I stand mesmerized, until she finishes and sees me.

I want to tell her that it was beautiful, but I dare not in case she fries my balls again.

She notices my frustration and smiles as she unlocks me.

It’s clear that she will make me suffer in any way she can.

I remain frustrated and upset as I make breakfast.

Tense, as I step into the shower under Mistresses gaze.

I reach up and turn it on to cold when I wash my cock and balls before she has to ask me.

Then I realize with a jolt of shock.

She’s training me.

She’s training me and I’m learning fast.

As I step out of the shower, she hands me a towel again and she is smiling.

Mistress is pleased with me and that makes me feel?

“Five minutes,” she says and leaves.

I dry myself slowly, thinking.

It should make me feel angry, manipulated.

It should piss me off.

I should be screaming at the heavens at the unfairness.

Afraid. I should be afraid.

But I’m not.

Okay. I am scared, but it’s not creating the fight or flight response in me that it should do.

It’s turning me on.

She’s going to punish me today. There’s going to be pain.

And that’s turning me on as well.

I’m happy because she is pleased with me.

None of this makes any sense but I can’t deny these feelings.

I walk out to meet her, and my excitement builds.

There is a rope hanging from the ceiling hook.

Attached to it are cuffs for my wrists.

Mistress beckons me forward, and after she removes the harness, I allow her to restrain me again.

She raises my arms above my head and strokes my body for a while. It seems like she is enjoying me. I hope so.

She looks up into my eyes and smiles.

“Today we are doing pain and suffering,” she says.

I close my eyes, unable to stop the tremble that runs through me.

I honestly have no idea if it is fear or excitement.

“Slave,” she calls.

I open my eyes, breathless at the sight of the flogger in her hand.

“I need you to describe this for me, for as long as you can,” she instructs.

“Yes, Mistress, I’ll try.”

“Have you been flogged before?”

“No, Mistress.”

She gives me such a wicked grin, that is so cute I actually laugh, and chuckling she walks behind me.

Waiting, allowing my fear to build.

“Oh, fuck, please just do it,” I beg finally.

Thwack.

Okay, not too bad.

Thwack.

I can deal.

Thwack.

Except, shit this is starting to smart.

Thwack, Thwack, Thwack.

“Shit!”

Her hand rubs over my ass.

“Warming up nicely, pain toy.”

“Yes, Mistress, it feels warm. Tingly.”

“Hurts?”

“A little Mistress.”

Thwack, Thwack, on and on. My butt, legs and back.

I’m sobbing before she stops again and strokes my back and my ass.

“How’s it feeling now?”

“It burns,” I sob, “It’s throbbing.”

“And when the blows land?”

“Um,” I sniff, “Like a thump but with a sting. The thump and then the sting and then the heat and then the throb.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she says and runs to jot down what I said, mumbling it under her breath.

She comes back and takes me by surprise by taking my face in her hands and kissing me.

“That was really helpful, thank you.”

She seems to mean it.

“Can I get you anything, before I beat the front of your body?”

Oh Fuck.

Screw it.

“Another kiss?” I try.

Her eyes widen and she laughs, “You are so cheeky. Oh my God, how do you dare?”

“You’re going to hurt me anyway Mistress, how much worse can it get?”

She watches me for a while, but she seems genuinely amused, and somehow puzzled by me.

Good. Let her wonder.

I’m not who she thinks I am. If I can make her doubt that.

Finally, she runs her hands over my chest, playing lightly with my nipples.

“It can always get worse,” she says, as I groan.

Suddenly, to my shock she is tickling me.

My hands are above me; I try to move away but I can’t defend myself as she dances her fingers up and down my ribs.

We are both laughing hysterically, but I am also crying and gasping.

“Please, fuck, please Mistress stop.”

As I twist and flail on the rope.

She is ruthless, and I am hanging limp before she relents.

As I struggle to get my feet back under me, dragging air into my lungs, she comes back with some water.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I say roughly once I have drunk.

Then she blindfolds me, and I wait, truly scared now for the beating to re-start.

When it does, it is so much worse than I imagined.

The front of my body seems to be much more sensitive than the back and when the flogger catches my nipples, or my cock, I fucking scream.

My chest, stomach and thighs are red hot.

My nipples stinging and my cock and balls feel bruised, even though Mistress has only struck them a few times.

I describe all this to her when she asks, she relaxes my ties so my arms fall to my sides and rushes to write it down.

Then she comes and unties me, and she makes us a late lunch.

I perch, shaky on the edge of the chair and devour a fruit and cheese salad.

I’m starving, but she told me I need to eat only lightly before the afternoon.

We finish eating and I am sipping ice water and drowsing while sat, when Mistress comes over and starts to run her hands over my body again.

Like she owns me.

I guess she does.

“Thank me,” she says.

“Thank you for my pain, Mistress,” I say quickly.

“Would you like more?”

My spine runs cold at her words.

She stands, waiting for me to answer.

I have to answer.

“Yes please, Mistress. I would like more,” my voice breaks as I speak, but even so I realize it’s the truth.

I want whatever this woman wants to give me.

She leans in and softly kisses my ear, “Correct answer,” she whispers.

I follow her back to the rope.

Trembling as she re-fastens the cuffs.

Why don’t I run?

Why don’t I fight?

I could easily overpower her.

I just don’t know. I don’t want to think too hard about the feelings that I am experiencing.

I shudder as my wrists are raised above my head again.

Mistress walks over with a blindfold and gag.

“I’m going to use a strap now,” she says, as I start to sweat.

“This is for some painting prep work. I need marks on your body, but I’m going to stick to the front.”

She runs her hand down my torso and gently cradles my cock.

I start to stir in her hand.

“That way you can sleep comfortably on your back tonight.” She confirms.

As she raises the gag I blurt out, “Mistress, I’m scared.”

She sighs slightly as she pushes the gag in and fastens it.

“It’s just pain,” she says, cupping my cheek, “just pain.”

I blink back tears and nod, taking comfort from her hand, then she slips the blindfold onto me.

It’s terrifying standing here, unable to even beg. In the dark, I’m whimpering in fear, but I just can’t help myself.

The force of the strap takes me by surprise as the first blow lands across my middle. Knocking the breath out of me, almost like a thump.

Closely following by a sharp sensation. It feels like I have been cut.

I don’t have time to panic before the next blow lands. I’m swinging on the rope.

Then another, which makes me bellow in agony as it catches my chest and nipples, which feel like they have been cut open.

I can feel something, liquid? Running down my stomach and legs.

I’m bleeding.

Everything goes silent when the strap hits my hard cock. I can feel myself cumming as I pass out.

It all rushes back almost instantly when another blow hits my chest.

I’m begging, sobbing, frantic. Blubbering nonsense behind the gag.

Suddenly light floods in as the blindfold is removed.

Desperate I look down at myself.

I am scored by angry red marks and welts. Bruises already forming.

Ten, maybe twelve.

My nipples are red and throbbing, but there is no blood.

I have sweat running down my body, mixing with cum on my legs.

The salt from my tears stinging my chest.

Mistress pulls the gag out carefully, “There you go, just let it out, I need to do some work while it’s all fresh.”

She pulls the chair in front of my battered body and starts to draw.

“It looks amazing,” she smiles at me.

I just close my eyes and sob.

Hours later the pain has dulled to a heavy throb and Mistress lets me down, allowing me to lie on the couch while she draws close up details, then finally grabs a few photographs for reference.

I am mostly asleep when she brings me a stir fry that I bolt down in record time.

I have half an hour alone in the bathroom.

Mistress knows I am too sore to jerk myself off.

The water feels like more torture on my body.

Finally, I am strapped into my harness, teased by another painful blow job with no happy ending, and sent to bed.

– x

The following morning, I wake up suddenly in the middle of a spontaneous ejaculation.

Groaning I get my bearings and see Mistress is watching me.

I freeze in fear, is she going to torture my balls again?

Saying nothing she unlocks my wrists and leaves.

I use the bathroom and walk out feeling like a hormonal fifteen-year-old.

Mistress is reading a magazine, still smirking.

“You are on breakfast duty,” she informs me.

“Yes, Mistress,” I say, too embarrassed to mention what had happened.

“A large breakfast or light breakfast?” I ask.

“Just eggs for me, but you fuel up, she says, not looking up from her magazine.

Thank fuck, “No problem Mistress,” I say and start to feed myself discreetly as much as possible while I cook.

After breakfast Mistress sends me to the bathroom again and I come out to find new equipment waiting.

She looks lovely today, in a dark purple dress that floats around her knees. I want to kneel and nibble my way up her legs with my teeth.

She smiles a woman’s secret smile when she catches me looking, but I don’t say anything. I have to find the right moment to make my case.

I’m confused as Mistress hands me a tiny pair of shorts, almost like speedos.

They hardly cover me and when she cuffs my wrists behind my back, it’s worse as my erection grows and I bulge out obscenely.

Next, she fixes a collar around my throat and then a long chain leash.

What the fuck, is she doing pictures on bondage outfits today?

Finally, a gag.

It’s a large penis gag and I can only make muffled mumbles once she has fastened it.

It’s not uncomfortable though.

“No one wants to hear your opinion on proceedings today,” she tells me, as she grabs a locally made shoulder bag and my leash.

Oh Jesus, please we can’t be going outside.

To my horror, we are.

Even worse, instead of heading to the private beach, she walks me down the path to a lane that runs towards the local village.

I drag my feet and she gives me a gentle tug, “Come along Puppy Dog,” she laughs, teasing me.

I know she is just taking the piss, but I’m so embarrassed and my cock starts to deflate, this is just too much.

As we round a corner, things get even worse.

My cock springs back into life as a woman comes into view. She is clearly waiting for us.

She is beautiful.

At least 6ft 5, she is dressed in tiny shorts and a bikini top. The material straining over her muscled frame.

I can’t take my eyes from her as we approach. She’s looking at me like I am dirt.

The two ladies, so different, greet each other warmly.

I am interested to see that even though the new woman towers above my Mistress, she speaks to her with obvious respect.

“Marta, I need to ask you something about Kitty,” Mistress says.

They both disregard me as I walk behind at the end of my leash.

“First of all, how is she?”

Marta glances back and shoots me a look of disgust, “She is dealing with the utmost dignity, she won’t even delay her exams.”

“I don’t want to offend you,” Mistress continues, “but I have to ask. Is she sure?”

Marta stops, her face shocked, “Are you doubting her?”

“No, not for a second,” Mistress briefly looks at me and I see something in her eyes, maybe concern.

She takes the other woman’s arm to comfort her, “Kitty’s a good girl, I don’t doubt her for a second, but I have to ask. Is she sure of her identification?”

“Why do you ask?”

Mistress seems hesitant, “He’s a natural submissive. Not experienced with punishment or pain, but it’s like the more I give, the more he craves. It just seems so unlikely.”

My heart is pounding hard. Mistress doubts my guilt. This is what I wanted.

Then Marta speaks, biting off her words in anger.

“Kitty went with her brother and her boyfriend, they watched him for some time. She was terrified but she didn’t want to make a mistake.”

Mistress takes her hand to soothe her.

Marta draws in a shaky breath and continues, “They were following him for nearly half an hour. There can be no doubt.”

“Okay,” Mistress squeezes her hand, her shoulders seem to drop a little, “Okay, I’m sorry. I had to be sure,” she looks back at me disappointment and disillusionment clear in her eyes.

This fucking gag.

Unable to stop myself I step forward towards my Mistress, my eyes pleading. This CANNOT happen.

Marta pushes me back and grabs my balls in her huge hand, squeezing hard.

I choke with the pain and half fall to the ground.

Jesus Christ she’s going to rip my balls off.

“You don’t disrespect The Lady,” she spits in my face, “I’ll kill you if you try anything.”

“He wasn’t going to hurt me Marta,” Mistress says, gently taking her wrist, “Come on now, it’s okay.”

Marta lets me go and I fall to my knees, nearly onto my face with my hands cuffed behind me.

“I’m sorry Lady. I shouldn’t have touched him, he’s yours.”

“It’s okay Marta. Don’t you worry.”

I drag myself clumsily to my feet as they start to walk again.

Neither of them looks back.

I blink tears away. Mistress is convinced of my guilt now, but maybe when we are off the island.

Maybe I’ll get another chance.

We walk through a narrow alleyway and come out near a street, into the side entrance of a café.

As we walk into a yard my stomach crashes to my feet. I’ve been here before.

Sure enough as we round the corner, my two Amazon Goddesses are there.

Pumping iron in full view of the café customers.

It’s not packed, but there must be nearly a dozen people.

And now they’re all looking at me.

I can feel my face burning as I am led into the café.

There are only a couple of men. Boys really. Staring at me with wide eyes.

The rest are all women, and they laugh and point at me.

Cuffed, gagged and helpless. My cock bouncing in arousal, even as my face flames.

“Is Old Betty here?” Mistress asks as she is shown to a seat.

An older woman sits with her.

“I’m so sorry Lady, she had to go to the mainland. She accompanied Kitty and Byron back to college.”

The woman pours their drinks, “She sends her highest regards and hopes you will forgive her.”

“Nothing to forgive, don’t be silly,” Mistress says, and I notice with interest that everyone seems to relax a little.

Why are they so nervous of her?

She sips her drink, “Will Byron be staying with Kitty then, Lyn?”

The woman, Lyn? nods, “Yes, as long as she needs. His job is safe here, he’s a good boy. Kitty made a good choice when she decided to claim him.”

They are interrupted when the two Goddesses and Marta come in.

“Oh look,” they laugh, “you made him all pretty.”

“Can we touch?”

“Sure,” Mistress smiles and then she hands over my leash.

She hands over my fucking leash!

They pull me slightly away and start to touch the marks on my body from my beating.

“Oh, look, this must have hurt.”

“Did you cry bastard?”

“Did you beg?”

They slap my chest and stomach and twist my nipples. I look at Mistress, but she is now engaged in conversation and not paying any attention.

Marta reaches round and grabs my cock, making me groan, “Kitty’s my cousin. I’m going to make you pay.”

They laugh and force me to my knees, rubbing themselves against my face and pushing me around.

The other customers laugh and point, some of them are taking photo’s on their phones, or filming.

My dick is getting harder and harder.

The younger Amazon calls over to my Mistress.

“Lady, may we play with him? We can shave him again for you, make sure he stays nice and smooth.”

Mistress flicks me a quick glance, she looks almost hurt, but then she laughs.

“You do what you want girls, as long as your customers are okay with it.”

“Oh, we are all friends here,” Marta confirms, pulling a knife out of nowhere and slicing through my shorts.

I didn’t even have time to be afraid.

The material is ripped away and I’m paraded in front of the customers.

Numerous women pulling at my cock and balls. Slapping my chest.

Laughing and jeering at me.

I’m sobbing, but still my cock stiffens, and starts to leak pre-cum.

“Oh, he’s filthy,” one woman says.

“You should chop this off,” another adds as she twists my dripping cock cruelly,

“then he can’t hurt anyone else.”

“That will be up to The Lady,” Marta tells her, “I would be happy to do it.”

One of the Goddesses comes in with the shaving oil and numerous hands start to massage it into my skin.

It smells of lemon, which stings my wounds and makes me cry harder.

Then I am spread over a table and held down as everyone crowds around to watch me be shaved again.

Apart from Mistress.

She is still chatting away to Lyn, not even looking.

I can’t watch as the blades come toward me again.

I try to limit my shaking and breath steadily as the razors are dragged with confidence over my skin.

My chest and stomach.

My arms are pulled over my head and they shave my armpits, as everyone laughs.

Down my abs.

I feel sick as again the sharp blade runs over my cock and balls.

I hardly dare breathe.

It’s clear they are scared of Mistress; she will be cross if they hurt me.

She won’t let them hurt me.

Next the multiple hands turn me on the table, and I’m laid down on my stomach.

With my hands tied behind my back and the gag it’s hard to catch my breath.

Then I freeze as my arse is opened.

They are rubbing oil into my arse crack, and into my hole.

No, no, no, what are they going to do?

Mistress please, don’t let them hurt me.

I’m pinned down harder as the blade starts to move almost inside me.

They are shaving my crack.

Fucking hell, there are people filming my crack being shaved, it’s going to be all over the internet within about ten minutes.

Christ almighty.

I sob, my welts from the beating are throbbing from the pressure of the table and the stinging from the oil.

I feel completely humiliated, and yet —

I’m still aroused.

I’m so hard my balls feel like they are about to explode.

I want my Mistress.

I want her hands on me.

They finish with the blade and I start to relax, but then as Mistress said to me before.

It can always get worse.

There is lots of giggling behind me and then to my despair I feel myself being opened again.

Something is being inserted into my ass.

I moan in misery as I hear the words.

“Fuck him good Marta. Rape him like he raped Kitty.”

I almost manage to free myself, turning briefly to see Marta behind me with a strap-on, and an evil grin.

Many hands pin me back down.

My hair is grabbed as well.

I can’t move or beg.

Marta enters me in one harsh thrust and I scream.

I cry. I beg though the gag. I try to tell then I’m innocent.

I continue to scream.

For hours.

They rape me for hours.

At one point their grip loosens, as the strap-on is passed to the next lady, and I look around the café.

My heart starts to hammer as I realize Mistress is not there.

Eyes wide I start to panic and one of the women answers my, unable to be spoken, question.

“The lady just stepped out; she’ll be back for you.”

Then it begins again.

I close my eyes, allow the pain to overtake me and fade out.

When I come around, I am slumped on the floor.

I’m still bound, though the gag has been removed, probably to make sure I didn’t accidentally choke.

My ass feels like someone has driven a truck through me, and strangely numb.

I have lots of bruises forming, from heavy slaps and pinches.

It’s nearly dark.

We have been here all afternoon.

Most importantly Mistress is sat watching me.

Waiting for me to wake up.

I start to drag myself into a sitting position, then someone lifts me from behind.

It’s Marta. The woman has awesome strength.

I don’t say anything as Mistress takes my leash and we start to walk back.

Back through the yard.

Back down the lane.

Every step is painful, I’ve no idea how much damage they have done.

I’m still naked.

I’m still hard.

Marta and my Mistress are talking quietly, they say goodbye when we get back to the bungalow and Marta leaves without even looking at me.

Clearly, I am nothing.

I keep my eyes to the floor.

I feel naked, and it’s nothing to do with being without clothes.

I’m astonished when Mistress walks me into my bathroom, strips her dress off and leaving my cuffs on comes into the shower with me.

She is still in her underwear, but I can’t take my eyes off her.

She washes me carefully. Gently.

Somehow, I know she doesn’t want to talk.

Maybe this is the best chance to explain myself, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

As she washes me, I begin to think that I may feel clean again.

I think of Kitty and what she has been through and I start to cry.

Mistress looks at me, I suspect I see a hint of sympathy and I wonder if she would believe me if I told her I was crying not for myself, but for Kitty.

She wouldn’t believe me, not tonight. So, I don’t say anything.

As she pulls up my harness and fastens my wrists, I don’t say anything.

As she leaves me.

I still can’t find the words.

– x

The bungalow is quiet when I wake.

No smell of coffee that makes my stomach cramp with longing.

No gentle humming as Mistress showers, or moves around the kitchen, which makes me smile and feel somehow safe, even though I know that pain is coming.

It feels wrong.

Something is wrong.

I walk slowly into the main room and Mistress is sitting on the couch, staring into space.

She looks tired, older. Almost fragile.

I walk over and she stirs as I kneel before her.

“Mistress?”

She looks at me for a moment and then without any energy unbuckles my wrists.

“Go away,” she murmurs.

“Mistress? What?”

“I want to be alone. Go away and do something useful.”

My heart skitters as I try to think of what useful role I can perform to make her happy.

“I could go for a run,” I ponder, “along the beach, but-”

“But what?”

“I would stay within sight of the bungalow Mistress,” I add quickly, “but I have no shoes, or clothes.”

She huffs with amusement but doesn’t smile.

“You wouldn’t get far,” she promises. Then listlessly rises and removes a rucksack from a cupboard, chucking it down by the table and flopping back onto the couch.

“Take what you need,” she says, gesturing at the rucksack.

My hands shake as I walk over and open the bag.

It’s my bag. It’s my stuff from the hotel.

They have packed me up and disposed of me. Removed all evidence that I had existed on this island.

I slip out of the thigh harness, leaving it on the floor and pull on some shorts and my running shoes.

It feels so strange to wear my own clothes.

Queasy, I stand and look at Mistress.

“Do you need anything Mistress?”

She shakes her head.

“I’ll give you some space then. I’ll see you later Mistress,” she doesn’t respond as I leave.

Already breathing hard from the shock of finding my stuff had been gathered up, I jog down to the sea.

For a while I just stand and let myself calm, my mind emptying into the breezy air, then with a sigh I start to move.

I warm up with a jog along the tide line, then once my muscles are warmer, I start to run.

Pounding the sand, my breath heaving as my body rejoices in the freedom to move properly again.

I’ve been mostly restrained for days, it feels like months, and I’m grinning and laughing as my feet slap against the soft sand.

My breath is coming fast when I stop and brace on my knees.

I didn’t think to bring water, but that’s okay. It’s worth it for this temporary slice of freedom.

Proof that it is temporary comes when a large woman moves slightly out of the tree line.

She is talking on a phone and obviously watching me, clearly unhappy.

She may be one of the women who taunted and shaved me. She is too far away to be sure.

Pretending that I haven’t seen her, I turn around and start to run back the other way.

My speed builds as my body remembers how to run.

I fly past the bungalow and keep going. Pushing myself hard, until my muscles are trembling, and I stagger to another halt.

“Fuck, should have brought water,” I gasp out loud.

Turning I see that I have run past another woman.

What are they, guards?

She is about three hundred yards back, also having an animated phone conversation and waving her arms about.

Carelessly I start to stroll back towards her and the bungalow.

Then, feeling an exhilarating sense of mischievousness, I stop, step out of my shoes and shorts, and run naked into the ocean.

The sea lifts me in her bouncy embrace, carelessly slapping at me as I start laughing again and swim hard towards the horizon.

I sting in some places, but not for long and anyway, salt water is healing, so they say.

When I finally turn and look back at the beach, my clothing, and the woman almost hidden in the trees, are just little specks.

I wonder if she can even see me anymore, but then a flash of light. The bitch has binoculars, so yes, she can see me.

I startle as my foot brushes against something, but quickly realize that it is just a rock, way out here, waiting to capture unwary boats heading for the shore.

I stand on it to rest, my head just poking out of the water.

Then the sudden realization that I am alone. Hidden from the woman on the beach and unbound.

A sense of guilt washes over me, but I ignore it.

Gripping my instantly hard cock in my hand and stroking fast.

“Oh fuck, oh yes.”

My other hand massages my balls as I tug, squeeze, and stroke myself to a fast, thundering climax.

“Yeeesssss,” I yell, letting the wind whip my shout away.

Despite the sensitivity, I continue to stroke, until I bring myself a second, breath-taking orgasm.

Then I stand and laugh.

At the guard. At the world. At my Mistress.

At myself.

Eventually, thirst is becoming an issue, so I swim back the shore.

Unhurriedly pulling on my shorts, I stand again staring out to sea.

The nearest island is a four-mile swim, but I have no idea what direction to take, so it would be suicide.

I could run, I’m fast, they wouldn’t catch me, but there is a frightening power here on this island.

If I find some tourist and ask for help, I have no doubt I would be quickly gathered up and some story of my illness given.

I could run and hide, try to sneak onto a boat, but I suspect they would just lock down the island until they found me.

I turn and stare at the woman watching me.

She doesn’t like it, standing stiffly and staring back.

There is no more than an echo of shock as the awareness comes.

I have already accepted that I am not leaving this island alive.

I could swim, hasten the end, but why.

I have experienced pain such as I could never have imagined with Mistress, but also pleasure.

I frown as I think of my Mistress.

I’m worried about her.

Leaving with her is my only real chance, and regardless I’m worried and need to check on her.

Picking up my shoes I walk back to the bungalow.

I guzzle some water from the cooler on the porch and then pad, still barefoot, into the bungalow.

Mistress is still on the couch. Lying down now, holding herself tightly.

I almost gasp at the pain emanating from her in waves.

“Mistress?” I move quickly to her, “do you need a Doctor?”

She shakes her head.

Her face is scrunched up, she is trembling, a lone tear escapes down her cheek and the truth hits me.

She is in agony, but it’s not physical.

I can’t bear to see her hurting, her hand pushes weakly at me as I gather her into my arms, but I am, in fact, much stronger than her.

I sit on the couch and hold her tight against me.

She shatters.

She cries so hard I hold her tighter in case she breaks apart.

I hold her and soothe her as she sobs and wails out her pain, shaking so hard the couch vibrates beneath us.

Now I can see the truth in her art.

She takes the pain inside her and uses it to create, like a pressure release, but it’s only a pale reflection of how much is churning inside her.

I want to kill whoever caused this.

I want to take the pain into myself, so that it cannot hurt her anymore.

All I can do is hold her while the storm rages.

Hours later she stirs in my arms.

She fell asleep some time ago.

As she wakes, she snuggles into me and I stroke her hair.

Then she becomes aware and she slowly pushes to sit, slightly away from me watching me carefully.

I just sit and look at her.

There is a question in her eyes, but then they turn cold again, and my heart breaks a little.

“Don’t,” she raises a hand as I open my mouth to speak, to plead.

“Just don’t.”

She goes into her room and I hear the shower start.

When she walks into the kitchen a while later, dressed only in a T-Shirt, I take a chance.

“Mistress, you can use your device to roast my balls if you want for speaking out of turn, but you need to eat something.”

I place a bowl on the counter.

She moves forward without interest, “What is it?”

“Just yogurt and fruit.”

She sits and pokes at it with the spoon.

“Do we have any honey?”

“Yes Mistress,” delighted, I pass her the honey.

She starts to eat.

“Did you make yourself any?”

“No Mistress.”

She motions with her spoon, so I quickly prepare myself a large bowl (I’m famished) and giving her some space, I go and sit on the couch to eat it.

From here she can pretend I don’t exist, but I can see her legs and the T-Shirt revealing her panties.

So, I sit and torture myself, as clearly, she does not have the energy for it today.

I’m still eating but pause when she rises and walks over.

She observes me for a few moments, then sighs.

“Don’t touch yourself tonight.”

“No, Mistress, sleep well,” I whisper as she goes into her room.

– x

The following morning, after I enjoyed the fantasy of having the bungalow to myself for the evening, I leave my room and find my Mistress laying out her pencils and pads again.

She glances at me and away. Not encouraging conversation.

I hover uncertainly until she tells me to drink some water and have some fruit.

Based on our previous sessions, that means I am in for a painful day.

When I return from the kitchen, I am rock hard, and Mistress is not pleased.

“Go and take a cold shower,” she commands, “and don’t jerk off in there.”

I hurry to do as she wants, although anticipation is racing through me, and I don’t know how long I can stay soft.

Shivering I rush back to her. Mistress is drinking coffee and frowning at me impatiently.

She hops down from the stool and kneels down before me, slipping some rings over my flaccid cock and behind my balls.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks.

“No Mistress.”

She looks up at me and smirks.

“It’s a rather nasty version of something called ‘The Gates of Hell.”

Even as she says it, my cock stirs within its new cage.

Mistress threads me though the device, and then uses some strapping to make sure it cannot slip off.

It already feels quite tight, even though I am soft. I’m very uneasy but becoming excited.

Pausing to finish her coffee, Mistress smiles at me. Her smile is cruel.

“Today I am going to be working on anguish and agony,” she informs me.

Oh Shit.

Mistress secures me to a chair, I am forced backwards, my hands and arms secured behind me.

No comfort or chance to rest.

As she tightens the ropes my cock grows and throbs, and I start to pant as the sensation of compression becomes pain.

My ankles are also tied to the chair, so I am open, my cock jutting upwards, crushed against the rings of pain.

“Fuck.”

“Yes, it will be a long day,” Mistress says, her voice calm.

She sits near my cock and strokes me a few times through the gates.

I can’t feel much but it’s enough to stimulate my cock to try harder for freedom.

I start to sob.

Mistress leans forwards and licks my balls.

I groan as my cock swells even harder against the restraints.

“Mmmmm,” she hums softly, “that’s starting to look really good.”

My arms, back and stomach are already stretched to breaking point from the tension.

My cock feels like it is bring slowly crushed, and yet her satisfaction somehow makes me feel proud.

My Mistress is pleased with my suffering.

That makes it all worthwhile, but dear God, anguish and agony?

“Okay, nearly there,” she says and through my tears I see her lift a metal stick of some sort.

“Do you know what this is?” she asks as she bends to my cock.

“No Mistress,” I sob.

“It’s called a sound. It’s like a probe.”

I’m terrified.

A urethra sound, I’ve never experienced anything like this.

I feel her threading it through the end of my cage and then it’s poking at my sensitive cock.

It slides me open and Mistress slowly and carefully spears my suffering cock, ignoring my screams.

I’m so tightly squeezed by the device; it feels like it is splitting me open.

I try to see. To see if my blood is pouring out, but there is nothing.

Just the floor, my ankles, my Mistresses feet, and this torturous impalement.

“I’ll just screw it down,” Mistress says giving me a bright smile, “it’s in now you can stop screaming.”

I don’t.

Not for some time.

By the time I come back to myself, still sobbing wretchedly, Mistress has done several sketches.

They are scattered across the table and floor.

Views of my tormented cock, flesh spilling through the rings.

Close ups of the sound buried deep inside me.

My distraught face wet with sweat and tears.

Bunched muscles, tight with tension.

I can see small areas of color, where she has penciled in to remind her of tones and shades when creating the final piece.

Her talent is terrible, and beautiful.

Mistress lowers her pad and walks outside for a while.

I can see her swinging her arms and bouncing, to ease her stiffness and loosen her muscles.

I am trapped in this steadily climbing pain, although there is some numbness now in my limbs.

I am too deep in submission to care.

Mistress returns and continues to work.

There is nothing but my shuddering breaths and the soft rasp of her pencil.

Finally, shaking out her fingers, Mistress puts her work to one side and seems to see me fully for the first time in hours.

“Do you have any pins and needles, numbness?” she asks.

“I can’t feel my arms or hands,” I manage.

She quickly unties me and tips me from the chair.

I slide with a heavy thump onto my back, my arms useless by my sides.

Moving me into a flat position, mistress pinches me.

I can feel it on my legs, and my torso is sore, but my shoulders, arms and hands are completely dead.

“You are going to have some major tingles,” she says, and goes to make herself a snack.

I wait.

Mistress moves around, tidying her work away and it’s some time before I realized that my limbs feel sort of heavy, maybe a little bit hot.

I’m happy to have any feeling returning, and don’t pay much attention to the vague tingly sensation when it starts.

A while later it begins to burn and I shift slightly, yelling as an intense flash shoots through my arm.

Mistress hears me and comes back in.

“Oh, here we go,” she says and draws her hand firmly down my arm.

“Fuucckk!” I scream, as her touch trails like fire.

This isn’t tingling. I feel like I’m being electrocuted.

Mistress sits and watches me suffer, occasionally adding to my suffering with a hand or foot dragged along my skin.

It’s dark by the time I can move without pain, although I am stiff and crampy.

My cock is still locked in its cage from hell.

Mistress yawns and stretches.

“I’m going to bed,” she says, “I’m sure you can figure out how to remove that.”

I stare after her blankly, then down at my cock.

Moving carefully to the kitchen I grab food and eat; I’m shaking with hunger.

Then I wrap some ice in towel and lay it against my cock.

I can’t take this thing off if I’m hard, and my fucking stupid cock has stayed hard all day.

I wince when I feel movement, and unscrewing the sound, I gently pull it free, then slip myself out of the rings.

Falling to my knees on the kitchen floor I cry a little with relief.

Then I start to think about Mistress binding me to the chair. Her hands on me.

The concentration in her eyes, as she used my pain to create her art.

Her touch on my skin, her eyes on my helpless body.

My cock hardens again, and I crawl to bed and dream that I am still there, suffering for her.

– x

The following morning, I find Mistress in her room and see that she is packing.

Glancing at me she tells me to choose clothes for the day from my bag and pack the rest.

She seems distracted so I quickly do as I’m told without question.

I feel strange, a bit lightheaded, but I’m also excited.

Are we leaving the island?

Not long afterwards I am loaded down under all but one light bag, as we walk to the café.

I’m uncomfortable as we approach, but at least this time I am clothed.

When we arrive, one of the women who has ‘had’ me comes and indicates where I should leave the bags and beckons me inside.

“You come and wait in here for her,” she says, her large hand engulfing my wrist.

I feel scared, my heart is pounding, but I have no choice but to let her drag me inside, towards a door marked office.

Pulling back slightly I turn and look back at my Mistress.

She is watching me, and for a moment she seems almost uncertain.

Then her expression clears, and hardens, and she turns away from me.

“No,” I say and take a step towards her.

The woman with little effort grabs me, pushes me into the room and slams the door shut.

It’s not an office. It’s a cell.

“NO,” I scream and start banging on the door, “Mistress, please.”

I yell and thump the door for hours, until my voice is hoarse.

For hours, after I know she is gone.

Until the door opens, and the two men walk in.

One of them is the man who kidnapped me, and he has hatred in his eyes.

Before I can say anything, he grabs me, and I feel his blade against my throat.

“One move and I will bleed you,” he promises.

I’m too scared to even breathe.

He holds me from behind as his friend comes with another knife and starts to cut my clothing from my body.

Strip by strip I am exposed.

They slap me and laugh.

Rub at the marks on my shaking body.

I don’t protest.

I feel dizzy and hopeless.

I’ve been left here for them to do as they wish.

Mistress has deserted me.

Even as I am forced to my knees, and still with a knife against my skin, a cock is forced into my throat.

Even as a part of me is still disgusted and horrified.

Another part of me, the heart of me, curls into a ball and abandons all hope.

I cough and choke as cum fills my throat, but it’s a reflex only.

I’m unresisting.

Limp, as my hands are bound behind my back and I’m bent over.

A brief flicker of horror as I’m penetrated by a man for the first time, but it soon dies away.

I suffer their repeated rapes with silent tears running into my mouth.

Angry at my lack of resistance or reaction, the second man takes my cock into his mouth as I am raped for the countless time.

Despite myself I start to harden.

My body can’t resist the stimulation and pleasure from his hot mouth, and wet tongue.

I cum into his mouth even as I am filled again.

Sinking, sobbing to the floor, still bound, as they kick me and laugh and then leave.

How long can I last like this?

– x

I can’t open my eyes.

Even in this darkened room the light is blinding.

My mouth is opened, and cool water is poured in, but even though my body craves it, I vomit it straight back up.

Hands that feel cold to my burning skin, press damp cloths against me to soothe.

I shiver, my teeth chattering, even as the sweat pours from me.

I think I am dying.

I don’t care.

– x

I am shaky with fatigue, having hardly the strength to stand.

An old lady sits and clucks at me.

Feeding me weak broth, making me sip water.

My stomach churns but I am no longer rejecting it.

My body has betrayed me and decided not to die.

I can stay in this hell a little longer.

I don’t know how long I have been ill.

I do know that this lady has been with me for some days.

I don’t know what I have said to her in my delirium.

I have vague memories of her bathing me like a child.

She stands and tells me to rest more, I will be able to work again tomorrow.

More men will come for me.

I am still naked, even in illness my dignity has been denied me, and at her words my cock hardens.

I sicken myself.

I don’t understand myself.

I curl towards the wall; I don’t even have the strength to cry.

My despair is silent.

She leaves me.

– x

I wake abruptly and come to my feet at a crash against my door.

Shouting and curses hammer against me.

Shaking, I back away as the door is thrown open.

A man comes in, he is not very big, but he is angry, and I am weak.

He grabs me around the throat and throws me across the room.

A sickening crunch reverberates through my body as my head smacks against the wall.

Then there is just blackness.

– x

I am warm.

Very warm, but not from a fever.

This is a cozy warmth.

I open my eyes and see trees.

An ocean of trees before me, framed in a large window.

Snow is falling through a pale light.

A hand is gently caressing my head, fingers tangled in my hair.

It feels nice.

It feels safe.

Maybe this is heaven.

I close my eyes.

– x

I become aware again.

Opening my eyes, I see that the snow is still silently falling.

Heavier, coating the endless forest.

It is nearly dark.

A fire burns cheerfully, the smell of wood smoke familiar and comforting.

I can feel the weight of a hand, now just resting on my hip.

I am still cozy and warm, but now I can tell it is from the duvet and cover that I am snuggled into, and the heat of the fire.

Maybe I am still ill.

Maybe all of this has been some bizarre dream.

I move and feel a pull in my ribs and soreness in my ass.

Okay, not a dream then, but where the fuck am I?

“Are you going to stay with me this time? You’ve been zoning in and out for hours.”

I flash hot and cold at the voice and slowly, not daring to breathe, I roll onto my back.

My Mistress removes her hand from my hip and pushes herself to a kneeling position on the bed.

Too many thoughts rush through me to process, but uppermost is survival.

Reading my mind, she pounces, pushing the covers down, trapping my arms and holding me fast.

“Don’t,” she warns softly, “you may still be disoriented, you need to take it slow, Tom.”

My mind goes blank at the use of my name and I lay helpless, watching as she climbs from the bed, walking around towards me.

Tom, I haven’t been Tom in weeks.

She is dressed casually in jeans and a T-Shirt, her feet bare, her hair loose.

She picks up some light pajama bottoms and kneels, indicating that I should leave the bed.

Carefully, wincing a little at the pain in my ribs, I push back the covers and swing my legs around.

One foot, then the other into the pajamas. My Mistress pulls them up, carefully over my throbbing erection (smiling slightly) then smoothing them against my stomach.

Then she takes my hand and I move carefully, allowing her to pull me over to the window.

I stare for a few moments at the trees, slowly turning white. There is nothing else in sight.

“We are about 200 miles North East of Vancouver,” she says.

I turn and stare at her.

Calmly she just watches me in return.

“Thomas Johnson,” she says quietly, “out of Denver. No living family. No very close friends. No one to miss him when he sells his house, goes traveling and accidently drowns in the Caribbean.”