A Wal

If you want to see where this story is set, Google Maps will find the Waimakariri River at 43°27'33.69"S, 172°23'18.08"E. This is fiction - in real life you have to worry about injury and permanent skin damage.

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A Walk by the Waimakariri

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Mason flicked through the rack of clothes. "This will do nicely," he announced. He'd picked out a yellow sundress. To Sarah's eyes it was surprisingly tame. His choices were usually more along the 'borderline legal' category. This dress buttoned up the front, fell to below her knees, and even had a high neckline.

"Right. You'll need a bra as well. An old one for preference as I may decide to take a pair of scissors to it."

Sarah grabbed the clothes. She debated for a moment whether to wear panties, but decided that if, as he usually did, Mason didn't want her wearing them then they'd only take a moment to strip off.

As soon as she was dressed, Mason hustled her out the door, pausing only to ensure she had a good wide-brimmed hat. His black BMW was in the driveway and he motioned her to the passenger side. At least today she wouldn't be travelling in the boot!

The trip wasn't long. Mason turned off a few minutes later, down a gravel road that lead to the bed of the Waimakiriri River. Like many of New Zealands's 'braided rivers', the bed of the 'Waimak' (as it was known locally) was a wide plain of gravel with many bushes, mostly gorse and broom, and numerous hillocks and depressions. The river itself occupied only a small part of the bed, leaving many square miles of terrain suited for a private walk.

Mason followed some old tracks and parked the BMW, motioning Sarah out of the car. He grabbed his backpack, then locked the car.

"A little walk should be good for you," he said, but smile on his face promised that there would be more to it than that. "Knickers," he ordered and Sarah quickly stripped them off and handed them to him. A moment later he delved into his bag and came out with some clover clamps. Without a word he lifted her dress, indicating that she should hold it up, then reached down and attached the clamps to her labia. Clover clamps generally bite harder under tension, but they sometimes slip off when released. However, Sarah had noticed that these clamps had been modified with an extra rubber strip to keep them firmly attached. They were certainly painful, especially as Mason tugged on them to check they were firmly attached, then clipped a leash to the short chain that connected them. Taking her dress, he then fed the cord out between the buttons at the front. From a distance, it wouldn't be obvious that she was leashed like a pet.

Mason extracted a long, thin, rubber cord from his bag. It was black, square in cross-section, and about 2mm across. This looked very much like, and indeed was, a single cord out of a long bungee strap. Lifting Sarah's skirt again, he folded the rubber in half and looped it under her clit. Holding it place, he grabbed a syringe applicator and added a drop of cyanoacrylate glue, blowing gently on the nub to make it set faster. Sarah shuddered as waves of sensation radiated into her body, while Mason ran the rubber up the two sides of her clit, then crossed them over above the (now prominent) clit and glued them in place. He tested the effect with a tiny tug on the each of loose ends, and Sarah couldn't conceal how strong the sensation was. The two ends of the rubber strip were now fed out through the front of her dress as well, then loosely tied together.

"Ok, unbutton down to your waist," was his next order, which somewhat surprised her, but didn't stop a quick undoing of buttons. "Hands behind your back."

This, of course, was the real transfer of power. Even without seeing the handcuffs he drew from his bag, she knew she would now be completely in his power. Her hands went behind her back - as they had so often done before - and a moment later she felt them snap shut.

Now a pair of scissors appeared. Sarah felt a moment of annoyance, thinking "He could have just taken the bra off before cuffing me," but then she realised something else was planned. Mason pinched her right nipple firmly through the fabric of the bra, then pulled away. After a short, painful, moment the nipple slipped from his grasp. Immediately he brought the scissors up with his other hand and snipped a circle of fabric from the bra, which snapped back, now with her nipple protruding, slightly obscenely, through the new gap. He treated the other side the same way, then spent a little time twisting and pinching the exposed peaks. When he was satisfied that they were firm enough - which never took long when Sarah's nipples were concerned - he produced a couple of short, firm, rubberbands. He quickly rolled them down to the base of each nipple, and Sarah suspected that her nipples would be firmly erect for some time.

"One last thing, and then we're off," he said, then produced a couple of flat sheets of some material, a few inches across, from his bag. Sarah was puzzled what they were, especially as Mason stripped some type of plastic film backing from the first one, then a sinking sensation hit her stomach as she realised what torture she was going to suffer, just as Mason stuck the first of the self-adhesive sandpaper pads to the inside of her dress. The other was attached in a moment, and Sarah felt the first rasp of the abrasive against her pointed nipples, as Mason buttoned up the dress. The abrasive had looked a bit unusual but Sarah was no DIY-er. She didn't realise that the grit was actually an unusually fine 1200 grit that would abrade without causing permanent damage.

"Now I would like to enjoy our walk in piece," he announced, "so no talking. If you say one word, these panties will make a good gag. Nod if you understand."

Nodding produced two wildly different sensations. The very first rasps of pain in her sensitive nipples, but also a shock of pleasure as the movement of her dress pulled on the rubber cord connected to her clit. As Mason pulled her along by the leash between her legs, the pleasure built rapidly. Sarah felt sure that she'd barely make a hundred metres before she came. While her tormentor didn't make her run, he kept her to a brisk walk. Worse, the river bed was filled with little hills and gullies. Mason rarely went around these, instead going up and down which made Sarah's poor breasts bounce constantly, which in turn made the coarse sandpaper scrape unmercifully across aching skin. Long before she reached that first hundred metres the pain had built until she was reduced to moaning in a desperate attempt to keep from speaking. After about twenty minutes she was sure she could feel a trickle of blood from the tortured skin.

But horrible as the pain was, it didn't mask the constant tugging and movement of her clit by the rubber cord attached to her dress. That built as well until her mind was constantly whipsawed between the pleasure and the pain. Either stimulus by itself would have overwhelmed her, but the combination blazed like fire and ice through her brain.

At last Mason stopped. He pulled the neck of her dress away for a moment and studied the red and inflamed skin exposed. "Do you want me to take the sandpaper away?" he asked. Through the tears of her pain, Sarah could only nod, despite the pain it caused. The thought of how abraded her nipples would be after another 30 minutes was horrifying.

A moment later, Mason pressed down on her shoulders, then unzipped himself, pulling a firm cock out. He didn't need to give an order, as Sarah knew she would have to suck him off before he would offer any relief. This was hardly the first time she'd been in this position. As she started to rock forward and back on his shaft, he grasped a handful of her dress, just to ensure that the motions she made would cause her the maximum of pain.

It didn't take long before he spurted into her throat, a salty offering that she obediently swallowed. Now he helped her stand, and then, to her intense relief, he undid the rubber cords and unbuttoned her dress, flipping it around her fastened wrists, and quickly knotting it to keep it in place. Her relief, however, was short lived.

Mason reached again into his bag of pain and proced a pair of bulldog clips, the metal and wire clamps used to hold documents - thick documents. "Choose," he demanded. "These, or the sandpaper."

It was a Devil's choice. Sarah knew from experience that these clamps were absolute agony. But at least the pain would be *different* pain, and the abrasive was just too much to bear. She nodded, and presented her breasts for the pain to come. The pain was, indeed, awful. Despite all her self control, after the first clamp went on she tried to flinch away from the second, until Mason had to pull her back with the leash on her pussy. Then he set off again, pulling his captive behind him. The clamps bounced constantly. Every step made them bounce up and down, bending the already tortured flesh. But Mason didn't leave her just in pain. Now the two ends of the rubber cord were tied off to the clamps on her nipples. The same movements that caused so much pain, also tugged fiercly on the rubber, and thence to her clit.

The trip back was a blur. Mason seemed to find even more hills and slopes to make her breasts jiggle and the clamps flop up and down. She was in so much pain, and also so much pleasure, that the thought that she was now nearly naked barely crossed her mind. Eventually, however, they returned to the BMW. There was no shade where Mason had parked, and the black paint seemed to give off ripples of heat.

One more time Mason reached into his bag, and this time he turned to his pain toy with a blindfold in his hands. A moment later and Sarah was imprisoned in total darkness, accompanied only by the nearly overwhelming sensations of her body. She heard Mason open the car, but couldn't tell what he was doing. A moment later he announced "Right, lets get this bra and these clamps off you."

Sarah waited for the release of her hands, but Mason removed the clamps himself, then unfastened her bra and let it slide down, to bare her breasts, each nipple now scarlet with blood and abrasion. Then, with horror, she felt him nudge her legs apart. "Don't want that metal or cloth keeping your breasts away from this lovely scorching hot paint do we? Now bend over while I fuck you from behind, and make sure you keep those breasts sliding over the bonnet. The more you move, the faster I'll come, and the sooner you can get to the ice that's in the cooler in the bar. Now bend over and squash those breasts against the metal!"

Shock ran through Sarah's mind. Her tortured breasts hurt so much and the thought of burning that flesh against the roasting hot metal of the car was terrifying. Her whole mind was whirling with the pain she felt, the pain that was going to come, the desire to obey, the desire to rebel, and under everything, the fierce sexual heat that she had been pushing to the side for the last hour. As she felt Mason's cock enter her, she bent down to finish the destruction of her breasts.

The searing heat against her breasts was the final element, the catalyst that brought together all the sensations, all the pain, all the stimulation, into one gigantic orgasm. It lasted for only a moment, or perhaps for an hour. She couldn't tell. She barely felt Mason. Had no idea whether he come or not. Didn't care. Nothing mattered as she writhed in pleasure.

Sarah had no idea how long it was before Mason gently pulled her upright. She couldn't feel her breasts, no doubt the nerves were burned away. She felt his hands at her head and a moment later the blindfold was gone. She looked down at her burned flesh. But it wasn't burned! Her nipples showed the effects of the sandpaper and clamps, but the skin of her breasts was gleaming white, undamaged. Undamaged!

The black metal of the BMW still radiated heat, but where she must have pressed herself against it, there was water rather than burned skin. It dripped down and her eyes followed the drips to the ground. Something pale there. She couldn't process it until she heard her master's whisper. "Ice." He must have taken the sheet of ice from the car while she was blindfolded and held it in front of her as she leaned down. It was ice that her breasts had pressed against. Ice that had shocked her nerves. All planned. Carefully prepared.