Fair & Square · Part 2

Fair & Square · Part 2 (2/2)
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g like this! My eyes glanced around to their windows, but fortunately all was still black. I relaxed, the light went off, and I could breathe again.

And that was just the first five minutes.

I wasn’t at all comfortable on my toes, so I eased myself down gently, careful of the post-pricks and biting the gag with the pain of two absurdly stretched nipples, before finally sighing with relief as the bucket touched the switch to turn off the butt-plug’s charge.

The nipples were the main problem – they felt as though they were an stretched to an inch, at the end of conical breasts! As I said, I love my bosom, it’s full and round, and it takes a lot to make it conical!

It was then that I realised there was something Jeff forgot to mention.

Whilst he wasn’t lying when he said that the switch turned off the butt-plug, he didn’t say that it would put a charge through my nipples! Already taut, they felt like they were now glowing with the electricity pouring through them. The surprise meant a shake, another five seconds of light, and the pain took me to my tip-toes once more, returning my breasts to the spikes.

It was hell, but unforgettable, invigorating hell at the same time.

I just got comfortable, when all hell broke loose – the light went on

AGAIN, my butt-plug charge got even stronger, and the nipple charge kicked in. I couldn’t understand what was happening, until I felt something trickle down my throat.

I’d forgotten to start drinking.

He had warned me to keep drinking – I remember now – so I started. To reach the valve I had to push myself upwards and outwards, arching my back (that damned weight) and shoving my bosom into the post. I pushed the valve, and the liquid came into me.

And then I realised the final irony of the loose gag. It meant my tongue was free, and my tongue had taste-buds. Had it poured the liquid straight into my gullet, I wouldn’t have had to taste the foul liquid coming through.

There was definitely Tabasco sauce in there, as well as strong curry powder – perhaps madras, but more likely vindaloo. I couldn’t be sure, but there may have been pureed chilli too. That was the spicy part. Mixed in with that was pure lemon juice, a fair amount of (drinkable) antiseptic, and orange soda. I hate orange soda. All of this was dissolved in an amount of urine, which, thanks to my corset scrunching my stomach, not to mention the vibrating box and the general disorientation, meant that the urine content was growing. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

If I didn’t like orange soda the first time around, how would I like it the second?

Twenty four pints.

I’d forced myself to push until close to fainting, and got out perhaps two mouthfuls, and my mouth was rather small at the moment. Two mouthfuls equates to – about ¼ of a pint, and it would be a good twenty minutes before I could summon up the strength for another two mouthfuls. Still, the charges on my nipples stopped, and the lights went off. I was thankful for small mercies.

A long night stretched in front of me. I remember thinking – ‘eight hours – that’s the time it would take to watch a marathon on TV. THREE times. I’ve never watched a marathon – in fact, I’ve never done anything for eight hours with no break.’

After a while, I became angry with myself – I couldn’t understand why

– it just seemed as though everything was conspiring against me. The gnats had reached my skin on my breasts, and were beginning to dive far, far down into my boots. I noticed also, for instance, that Jeff had put syrup at each of my armpits, as well as the inside of my elbows – fleshy areas now being eaten by these little buggers.

My nipples would never live again, I was sure of that much – they’d been abused so much – stretched, twisted, bitten, shocked – they’d suffered so much for me I cried a silent salute to them. I realised that the clamps increased in tightness the more they were pulled – it wasn’t just the stretching that made it more painful. So I had to stay on my toes as much as possible

– that was the decision I came to, but it was not as simple as that – my itchy calves were trembling mere seconds after lifting up my heels, and my weak bladder was filling the bucket far faster than it could drain, straining my labia something horrendous. But that part of me seemed further away than my nipples, so I tried that.

All the effort was useless, of course – the tub above me would fill to the point when the overflow, or trip-switch, or whatever arrangement he had up there kicked in and started the ‘big parade’ as I called it, when the lights went on and the fireworks began.

I cared less and less of the neighbours, leaving the lights on for five minutes – although it meant that all the electricity was running through me, it did increase the amount of liquid I was drinking. I estimated that

I drank about four pints in each of the second and third hours, urinating it in the third and fourth hours in joyous releases of urine.

Small things began to hurt more and more. The pinwheels for instance, which I thought were an afterthought, now became an old enemy – I knew what would happen, where it would hurt, at each of my possible movements.

But Jeff had been fair – he had warned me that I had to be rested and exercised, and I was. I’d never been more awake at 4am, despite my exertions.

I got my second wind around then – the flies had mostly gone around my breasts, although my boots felt as though they were full of ants – not a pleasant thought but I had plenty of distractions.

What I hadn’t thought was that someone would be awake at this time.

I still left the spotlights on for as long as I dare, as my neck was cramping up something rotten even though the spike atop my cap really wasn’t that heavy.

And then a jogger went past.

The jogger stopped. I could sense someone was there but didn’t know who, how many or their sex. I hoped for a shockable prude who would run away in terror – as if I could be that lucky.

I WAS that lucky, I’m pleased to say – the jogger turned and ran from whence he came – at least I though it was a man – not many women reflect moonlight off their bald spot.

I was making a mental note to be more careful, when the bald-spot returned

– this time he approached the porch and quietly mounted the steps. He’d clearly plucked up more courage this time.

Besides which, Jeff had left a sign on the base of the porch, inviting anyone to help themselves to ‘Stacy, wretched slave girl, age 23. If you don’t like torture, just squeeze her breasts and leave.’ That was only fair – he didn’t want me to get bored.

"Hello," said bald-spot. "I’m Danny. You must be Stacy."

I hadn’t seen the sign, and was furious with Jeff for inviting one of his friends over to see me. Danny realised this and told me of the sign; he even asked me to nod if I agreed with the description ‘wretched slave girl’. I nodded, although I am only 22, actually.

Danny noticed immediately that the nod meant the switch, which meant the light, so asked me to keep my head back so he could examine me closer.

I refused initially, until he noticed my reticence and grabbed my hair, tugging it back.

"Like you could stop me."

Strange, but he said it warmly – it was a fact, not a threat, so I wasn’t worried at all! I was more concerned at that moment, of another ‘reminder’ to drink. Danny watched me reach up and push the valve, wondering what sort of thing would happen if I didn’t. All he could see was the fact that

I was pushing myself into the post, into the spikes, and lifting up the bucket! He couldn’t see the pain that I was feeling when I refused to drink the urine!

He brushed his hand against my breast.

"Urgh!" he said as he realised it was a bit sticky. He wiped his hand on my hair to stop me from giggling. It worked. I’d be washing that for a week now!

Knowing me to be sticky all over, he reached out and grabbed my left breast roughly, then the right. He pulled me away from the post, checked how sharp the pins were, and then let me go. When I immediately slammed myself back into the post and reached up to drink more (this reminder was from me pissing myself, like a horse this time as I’d tried to keep it in for longer), Danny was duly impressed. To be honest, there was a little of the showgirl in me, but it was mostly for my benefit, I have to say.

"That’s some trick you do, Stacy. Why can’t I meet a girl like you?"

I smiled at his comment.

"I’d love to torture a sweet lady like yourself – I’d never let you out of my sight!"

Smile – stopped.

"’Scuse me, Stacy, I gotta take a look at this bucket here."

Then he did something for which I will never forgive him. He removed the clamps on my labia. As the circulation returned there, five hours of pent-up pain surged through me. I let out the most enormous roar, startling every pigeon on the lawn, and bringing up a few lights in neighbours houses.

Like it could get any worse.

It got worse.

Not content with giving me circulation, Danny rubbed life back into them, rolling them between his finger and thumb. I didn’t scream, but he went off my Christmas card list, I tell you that.

What was worse was that the bucket was sitting merrily on the switch, shoving volt after volt through my nipples! And I had no way to tell Danny this, except to plead with my eyes for him to reinstate the bucket. He "Look, Stacy, I’ve really enjoyed my time with you, but I have to go to work. Fortunately, the person who did this to you has left some things for me to do to you. He – is it a he? He’s even left instructions!

I brought a few things of my own too, I hope you don’t mind."

So, after seeing off the scourge of the gnats, I was applied a second coating, this time just syrup, and in more areas. I think Jeff had avoided getting any actually inside me, worried of the consequences – he IS a fair and just man, as I keep saying. Danny, on the other hand, poured half a tin of syrup down my panties. Hardly just – certainly not fair.

"Here’s a rock for your bucket," he said. Well if that was what he had for me then I could cope with that! It wasn’t, and unfortunately, nor was the action of reaching above me and raising the hook, on which the bars attached to my nipples were held, by an inch, or in my term of reference, three miles.

"He writes that you may have adjusted."

He’d made it a thousand times worse (worse – was that possible? perhaps

I had adjusted!) and still not reached his surprise.

"I saw this once in a magazine," he said, reaching for my breast. It was a big disappointment – after all the build up – when he just attached clothes pegs to my breasts. It did increase the pain, but not as much as the hook raising, for instance.

"You don’t seem perturbed by that – perhaps I can think of something else?"

I tried to look in more pain, but it was too late. He racked his brains beneath that bald spot, trying to think of something else. I couldn’t see what he was up to, but I could hear him messing with some stuff that Jeff had left beside my feet. It was about ten minutes before he’d finished

– I took the opportunity to drink some more urine as my bladder wasn’t bloated (that was the cue I needed!) Despite everything happening to me, I was able to reach up, stand the pain, and take a full half pint at a time.

He’d dug deep, had Danny, to be fair.

"Your boyfriend has restrained you well, Stacy, but he’s left a few areas uncovered. This is a half-brick."

He placed a brick on top of my breasts and one last time, I yelped out a huge cry of pain, snorting some urine out of my nose. I could stand the brick, but not when he’d sellotaped some drawing pins to its base. They dug into my breasts, getting deeper in, second by second.

I shook myself, trying to get it loose, but he warned me of the consequences whilst adding a matching one to my other.

"I’ve tied these bricks to the tail-end of the dog collars that circle your breasts. Should you manage to shake them free, the brick will drop and tighten the collars."

That was all he said. He watched me in silence, balancing the bricks on my breasts, before pouring the rest of the drawing pins down the back of my panties, giving me a quick slap, and leaving for his home.

I thought I’d reached a stable level of pain, but Danny had brought me to a new one. Jeff would be pleased, and I imagined myself beside him, lying down, smelling fresh with no restraints. I was hitting the wall, where I feel I just can’t go on.

It’s this part of my restraint that is the worst – I cried for half an hour, watching the sun rise. Eventually I will get my second wind, but until then I just want it all to stop, yet know my position is helpless and hopeless.

When I finally decided that I would take my chances with the bricks off my breasts, I found that I had a hard job shaking them off. The bricks had wedged the drawing pins inside me. Goodness knows what my breasts looked like! They must have been red with gnat bites, speckled with all the pins sticking in them, orange with the syrup. All I know is that they hurt like hell, so I summoned up strength I didn’t know I had, and shook myself, not caring what happened to my nipples, nor the bucket’s clamps, not the charges running through every part of me.

The bricks fell.

I’ve a short memory when it comes to pain – I can never assess whether the level of agony I feel at time A is more or less than at time B. But

I do know that the fresh wave of suffering caused by the dog collars tightening so much made me wince. I didn’t cry out – I was so pleased of that, but it was expected so perhaps that wasn’t so brave. But as the bricks swung back and forth, they tightened the loops still further. It felt as though my breasts were restrained by a child’s wristband, it was unreal.

Also, perhaps by accident, maybe by design, but the bricks came to rest at the tops of my thighs, where there was no covering. Two inches lower and they would have been rattling against my boots, but no – they had to stop THERE.

It was now rather bright out – perhaps 7am or so, but there were few people outside – I saw perhaps two in the time it took me to drink two pints. Neither saw me, thank god.

I knew that Jeff would be up soon, so I took a final moment to reflect on my situation.

Reading from bottom to top, my hells included:

– feet that were sticky and bitten, soaked in sweat that went up past the ankle.

– legs that were cased in leather, sweat and ants (who feasted on me from the sweat-line upwards)

– thighs speckled with holes from drawing pins being bashed into them

– a pussy that had suffered relatively little, actually! I was thankful for that

– but made up for by labia stretched down an inch

– and a bottom that was groaning under the pressure of the enema, the fierce butt-plug, and butt-cheeks tortured as though I’d been sitting on a bed of nails

– my bladder had had so much pass into, through, and out of it, it felt like a dam in a power station

– my waist was still 19 inches – that hadn’t worsened!

– but my breasts had suffered so much torture that to restate everything would defeat the object of a summary

– my arms had never been so restrained for so long – they were only now starting to ache, a fresh hell to add to the pile

– most of my body’s skin had been gnawed and bitten and reddened by powders and insects of all kinds

– and finally, my mouth had taken the foulest substances one could drink, and yes, orange soda is no better the second time round

I’d thought about the orange soda whilst taking another desperate gulp from the tube. I was sure that I hadn’t drunk twenty four pints, but perhaps if I drank enough, Jeff would have mercy on me. After all, that was the only thing I had to do… "…and you failed," he said.

That finished me off. I knew now that I would get no reward for my efforts, no cuddle from him, no love for another week. The weeping started again, but he was right. As I said at the top, was fair: he had set the rules and I failed to follow them.

"Come on, let’s get you down," he said. There was no anger in his voice, just disappointment. As he removed the gag, I asked him how short I’d been.

"Four pints."

He left the metal bars attached to my nipples, and the bucket to my pussy – in fact, all he removed was the gag and the toe-restraints. I discovered why when we went in.

"I think five strokes on each nipple, and five on the pussy."

"No, please Jeff, not there! Anywhere but there!"

Useless. He removed the four clamps from the four clamped bits, quickly and efficiently, knowing that too much time would dampen my reaction.

Remove left nipple clamp, remove right nipple clamp, remove labia clamps, strike with a riding crop on the left nipple, just as a little feeling returns, ignore my primal scream and strike the right nipple, and then the pussy. I didn’t have to stay on my toes, but that last one made sure

I did!

He carried on, and it was all I could do to stop running away. Fool that I was – I thought when he came out, it would be over.

"I think another five each for screaming. Be a little quieter – it IS

Sunday morning, you know."

After the fifteen worst moments of my life, my arms were untied and

I was allowed to shower, bathe, disinfect, and whatever else I felt I needed to get myself clean. I thought I’d have treated my breasts first, perhaps the twisted, stretched nipples, but as I lay back in the bubble bath, my hands kept returning to my calves, which now felt as thick as my thighs.

I had to run a second bath (Jeff hadn’t told me to be quick so I had all the time I wanted) and as I sank in, he walked in on me. This wasn’t unexpected – he rarely gave me any privacy (one occasion when I was sitting on the toilet, he came in and pissed all over me! I can laugh about it now.

"I was cleaning up outside, draining the tub into a bowl that you’ll drink later on when I saw this note wedged under that sign

I made for passers-by. Who’s Danny?"

I explained what he had done, showing Jeff the still-visible impressions the collars made upon me.

"Sounds like a nice guy. Listen, you’ll never believe it but he’s offered

£1,000 to have you over at his place for 24 hours sometime."

I was gobsmacked, then flattered – a grand for one night?! I could earn

£365,000 a year! I’d be dead by February, but even so! Visions of luscious designer underwear, latex sheets and diamond-studded collars filled my mind.

"I thought about this for a while," said Jeff, "and wondered if it were illegal to hire you out for money. So you’ll be going for free. Oh, and

I wanted to discuss the situation you were in a little more – I’ve rigged up a duplicate in the garage – it’s much better there. Alright, you won’t be outside so no insects, but to make up for it I can whip you, knowing that any sound will not escape. I can leave you bootless and use pinwheels on your calves – that’ll be fun! And because I’ll be there to monitor you, I can use a larger enema, a larger dildo, a larger everything! It’ll be great! Actually, I think I should have tightened up the nipple restraints in the way Danny did. Although I’ll have to go further as he seems deviousness.

But you won’t mind, will you – you’ve always said that you were worried about your breasts sagging…"

That was fair comment, I reflected, massaging my left calf.

Fair & Square · Part 2 (2/2)
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