Im Mels Dad 17 Fulfillment

SEVENTEEN

'Fulfillment'

She hangs by a chain carabineered to her collar, her toes just off the floor.

An inch-wide braided grounding wire lashes her legs together, just above her knees.

She dangles, writhing and dancing, as she has since this morning, shortly after Mel went off to school.

In the week that she's been here, I've made purchases at hardware stores, sporting goods stores, pet shops, contractor supply, farm supply...

Any place I could find the items, tools and toys that my re-engaged and propelled imagination could envision that would help me treat her as she desired.

As she deserved.

She'd earned that much.

Her neck is held rigidly extended by a two inch wide riveted steel collar. I used cold rivets, of course, wouldn't want burn her. Not yet, anyway. I was very careful not to pinch her neck skin in the join.

I forwent the gun and reverted to the hammer.

I bent her over the steel workbench, forced her neck against the edge and pounded the rivet's tail with my 20 ounce framing hammer (not the right tool, but it was handy).

I was careful not to hit HER with the hammer - though I admit to being tempted.

I had very thoughtfully welded the eight rings spaced around the collar before attaching it to her neck.

She now stands with her heels just off the concrete floor of the basement, held up by the heavy chain with a heavy duty marine trigger snap clipped to the ring at her throat. This forces her head to look up and her back to arc, offering her vulnerable and tender tits to my attention.

I admire the lines and masses on display as I gather the pieces of the next project I will work on her.

I pocket three heavy bolts and their nuts, and two 38 inch snow anchor pickets.

Setting one end of one of the pickets on the floor and rest the other against my thigh.

I the other I lift to the base of her breasts, just where the tuck back against the ribs.

I lift the other and lay it against the top slope of her tits.

I squeeze the pickets together and hold them as tightly as I can with one hand while reaching into my pocket to pluck out a bolt and nut.

It is awkward using only one hand to keep them tight and only having the other hand to thread the bolt through the center holes which I have positioned between her tits.

I can barely get the nut to seat to hold the bolt in place.

This requires a lot of scrubbing the pickets back and forth and being forced to slightly loosen and reset the nut several times.

She reacts as if this agitation of her tits hurts a bit.

I like that.

The mass of her slightly flattened tits bulge to the sides. I intend to squeeze them from all sides - to surround her soft, firm masses with a tight cage of metal.

I work a bolt through the second pairs of holes in the top picket, those that her flesh mounds bulge past. The bolts skew at wide angles.

I push the bolt into her softness, lining it up with the hole beneath it on the lower picket.

I push it through.

This squeezes the threaded shaft against her tit, causing it to bulge around the bolt. Pressing down on the bolt causes the threads to stutter along the side of her tit.

I thread the nut on the end of this bolt, enough turns to hold it in place.

The same process on the other side leaves her tits mashed together and bulging out around my outside bolts.

I get my lineman's pliers and lay them into her mouth. She dutifully sucks them, slobbering to get them wet.

I take them out and squeeze the deeply ridged jaws over her fiercely erected nipple.

I work the mass of her tit through the metal prison, holding the picket against her ribs with my right hand and pulling her nipple by the biting pliers.

She squeals and I release that bite - only to move to her other tit tip.

And clamp down hard.

This time, she doesn't make a sound.

I give the pliers a quarter turn.

Ahh, yes, that sound.

Beginning at the center, I begin to tighten the nuts on the bolt. The twisting of the pliers while I work tugs and pulls at her skin.

I try not to actually damage her, but those squeaks and gasps please me.

The two pickets move closer together in stages. Mashing the base of her tits and causing them to ballon.

She is whimpering pretty steadily as the nuts get harder for me to tighten, as her mounds more firmly resist being squeezed.

Satisfied that I have achieved my purpose with the makeshift vise, I return the pliers to her mouth. She doesn't open, so I tap her upper lip, pinching it against her teeth.

She takes the jaws in and sucks a little.

I remove my pliers glistening and dripping from her mouth

I stand to her right and rest my left hand on her thickening breast.

I reach down with my right to give her clit a visit.

I have to rock and twist the pliers to spread her lips.

The delicious terror in her eyes lets me know I have found the nugget and I pinch it with the pliers.

Not tight and just long enough that she doesn't know if I will release it.

Moving back to the table, I retrieve a pair of short rice ropes.

I fold one in half and press the loop into her mouth.

The other, I fold and wrap twice around her wrist.

I pass the ends through the loop and, reversing one of the strands, wrap around again, then intertwine hitches firming the lashing and the loop.

I pull the rope from her mouth and repeat on the other wrist.

Using D-rings I attach the wrist loops to the outer holes of the upper picket. Her arms are vees, her shoulders braced back.

Standing just off her heels, her hands beside her shoulders on the pickets, she stands, partially supported by the steel collar, her tits are thrust forward and are beginning to swell.

Quiet tears trace down over her cheekbones.

Lovely

Back at the table, I pick up two half-inch thick bolts about two inches long. Also four 2 1/2" washers. And, of course, the nuts.

I force the bolts and washers into her mouth and, while waiting for her to soak them well, slap her purpling balloons. The hardware muffle her screams a little, the screams causing them to drop back, gagging against her throat.

I reach in for a bolt and a washer and, after putting the bolt through the washer, roughly work it through her pierced nipple from the outside toward the center.

It is obvious nothing this large has ever been pushed through this piercing. It is hard to shove it through, stretching the skin terribly. Also, the threads catch and pull at her flesh.

Finally, I decide it would be easier to screw it through.

It is much easier for me. But the relentless twisting of her nub is very hard on her.

And the gagging coughs through the hardware in her mouth is a constant reminder that this is only the first of the two nipples in my the project at hand.

I know she isn't looking forward to that, but I keep getter harder.

I fish a washer out of her mouth and slip it over the end of the bolt I had finally worked through her complaining nipple. Then go back for the nut.

I spin the nut onto the shaft, wet from being pushed through her resistant nipple. As it snugs down, it got harder to twist. I have to hold the head to tighten the nut.

Her scream gargles through the metal in her mouth as I flatten that nipple between the two washers. Their 2-1/2" faces crush her nub nearly flat before I'm satisfied.

I reach down and shove two fingers into her cunt, which is wet, open and pulsing. I knew it would be.

This was why she stayed with me, why she left, and why she returned.

She knows it.

I know it.

And I like it.

I pull out and dig the other bolt and a washer from her mouth. Saliva has been overflowing for a long time. I'd noticed it splashing down onto her breasts while I worked. I didn't realize how much until I look at her face.

Her face is drenched below her mouth. Spit dripping off her chin and jaw.

I look into her eyes.

I smile.

Experience gained by my bolting her first nipple made the second go quicker. I admit I'm much less... 'tender' this time.

The song of her screaming is much clearer now that the big pieces are out.

Suddenly, she starts gagging, choking, coughing.

I'm startled and look up. Her face is turning red and she can't breathe.

I consider just letting her go, but I have too much planned for her to end now.

I pull the washer out and have to dig into her throat to fish out the nut. It's slimy and there's a small touch of blood on one edge.

She's gasping and coughing and her heaving chest drives great pain into her mashed tits.

The loose bolt has nearly shook loose and I have to twist it several times to seat it again.

I'm not sure why I'm so pissed, but I am.

And I am very rough, screwing and tugging and twisting the shaft of the bolt through her nipple.

As soon as the washer at the head is pressed against the nub, I slam the washer on and spin the nut. Screwing it fast and hard to vise her nipple to match the other.

I stomp off, up stairs, fuming, leaving her.

I pour some milk into a jar, add some honey and vanilla, screw on the cap and flop into the couch in the living room.

My dick has been hard for what seems like an hour.

I stroke it absently and drink from the jar.

I enjoy the feel of sliding the loose skin over the corrugations underlying. I stretch the skin down, circled by thumb and forefinger, and wrap the three fingers under my balls. I bounce and roll my nuts. I rise up along my shaft, taking my balls with me until the pain of the stretch overrides the pleasure. They bounce heavily against my perineum, as they ride the waves of my quickening jacking.

I rinse the jar, set it upside down to dry in the rack and return to the basement.

She is as I left her.

Of course.

Her tits have ballooned more, turning more purple, skin stretched tighter.

She is crying through closed eyes and taking open-mouthed gulps of breath. Her heaving chest lifting and dropping her prisoned breasts.

I slap them a couple times with full-armed swings, backhanding on the return.

The basement echoes with her screams.

This is why she came back.

For this.

And I know it.

But I don't do this for her. I do it because it pleases me.

That she enjoys it is irrelevant.

I choose a worn braided cable from the table and toss it over the next beam behind her, threading one end through a loop on the side of her collar. Threading it between her tits, under the pickets. The old cable has been abraded roughly, leaving many stray steel hairs to chatter against her soft flesh.

She whimpers at each tug.

I secure the cable to the loop on the other side of her collar with a rolling hitch; I might want to adjust the tension later.

I throw a lineman's loop in a bight some way down the other part, then thread it between her thighs.

This is difficult as they are tied together above the knees. I'm sure the scrubbing of the loose hairs on the insides of her thighs is painful.

Her screaming sobs confirm this.

I pull the cable firm up into her crotch, making sure it sets between her asscheeks and her pussy lips. Then wrap it around her waist a couple times before tying an unnecessarily bulky knot over her clit.

The loose end dangles to the floor.

I go behind her and clip a D-ring to the loop and thread a rubber tie-down through it. I lead that around a post and pull the end to hook back to the loop.

This lifts the pickets vising her tits and forces the gnarly worn cable tight into her cunt slit,

lifting her feet of the floor.

She hangs by her crushed tits and her needled cunt.

A vision.

I admire her teary, sweating beauty. I smooth my palms over the tight skin of her tits, now darkening purple and cool to the touch. I twist the bolts through her nipples.

I worry about those balloons exploding.

But not too much.

I head up to the kitchen for lunch.

>>>><<<<

She's still hanging, back slumped, unconscious.

I stand watching for a time, considering my next play.

I pick up the monkey's fist bound around a quarter pound lead ball hitched to its yard-long lanyard.

I swing it against her hanging tits.

THAT wakes her up, screaming.

Just four or five strikes seems to exhaust my interest in this game.

Plus, I'd hate for her tits to actually explode, which looks more and more likely.

Her gargled screams fade into racking sobs.

I watch her hanging, shuddering.

As she desires.

I strike against her tits again. Don't know why, really. It is a hard blow and causes her to swing back and forth along the frayed steel cord.

After three or four more blows [who's counting] she shudders and collapses into the suspension.

I watch her.

Remembering.

Watching.

Planning.

Fantasizing.

I step to her and release the carabineer from the steel collar, which is no longer supporting her, anyway. The heavy hardware on the end of the chain hangs free, knocking against her face.

I pull it back and let it fall. It bounces off her temple and swings away, comes back and bangs against her cheek.

I pull it back and repeat this on the other side.

Symmetry is important, after all.

I reach to undo the knot at her cunt, cursing myself. This is way too complicated.

And now, her weight pushing down on it requires me to jerk and tug and dig my fingers into her pussy mound to work it free.

The gnarly steel hairs poke and stab at my fingers.

Knowing that this effect has been tormenting her since I tied it here, brings a smile.

She, is just steady whimpering now.

Screamed completely out, exhausted, likely having been forced to submerge the pain to cope with her reality.

This is a state that she has always desired.

I was thrilled to discover this - and delighted to accommodate her.

As I've told you, I like hurting, if it's 'kinda alright'.

And while this is not something I would do to just anyone, certainly not to you, I am doing her a service.

That it allows me to open a door to a private darkness is a bonus payoff for me.

After the knot is undone, her weight causes the cable to saw between her cuntlips and through her ass groove. When she is hanging from the pickets vising her tits, with her feet inches off the floor, the frayed cable still lies between her thighs, draping over the grounding wire above her knees.

I pull it up as I pull it out, scraping her tender inner thighs.

Her quiet, mournful, moaning keen is a song she has song to me before.

It is OUR song.

I bounce the rubber tie-down a few times, simply for the delightful effect of bouncing her pussy on the many steel hairs digging into her tender and abused crotch.

Her throat opens to scream, but only a strangled gargle escapes.

Her throat has been screamed raw.

The bouncing also janks on the pickets crushing her breasts. This pleases me greatly, so I give it a couple more bounces - but then I start to worry I might jerk her tits clean off.

This would be most unpleasant.

I loosen the tie-down until she drops enough that her toes reach the floor and her legs can support her weight, weakly, which takes the terrible strain off her breasts.

I untie and unwrap the rice rope holding her wrists to the pickets.

I roughly undo the bolts holding the pickets together. They release suddenly and she falls to the floor, the cable tearing through the rings of her collar.

The blood rushing out of her tortured tits calls all the pain in her body to rush in to fill that void.

She writhes screaming and wailing on the concrete floor, she thrashes, rolls, crumples.

Her hugely inflated purple mounds dance wildly, and when they bounce against the rough concrete she flops away, screaming.

She very slowly slows down, exhausted and falls into unconsciousness, contracting into a tight fetal curl.

She lies still.

I absently stroke my half-erect cock, as I stand and watch her for a time.

Her tit balloons return to near normal size and to a more normal color, though obviously they will ache and be a pair of massive bulbous bruises on her chest for quite a while.

The cable still clipped to her collar hangs loose, draping over her quiescent body.

I leave her on the cold floor and return to the kitchen for water.

I carry down the pitcher to give her drink.

She is still lying curled on her side. With my foot, I push onto her back and lay her flat.

She is awake and she slowly, reluctantly, opens her eyes and looks at me, exhausted in her weeks long surrender. And the powerful memory of the time when we were together and why she originally surrendered to me so profoundly.

And why she left.

And why she returned.

She craves this.

She can not live without this.

Or with it.

I slowly pour the water on her face until she opens her mouth. The steady stream fills her mouth, overflows. She swallows, closing her mouth.

The water continues to splash on her face, adding to the growing pool under her.

She opens again, closes her mouth, swallows.

She continues to repeat this under the unceasing stream I control.

When I turn up the pitcher to drip the last few drops onto her eyes, she turns her head to the side and weeps at my feet, her tears joining the pool she lies in.

Having learned my lesson with the worn and gnarly cable, I retrieve my heavy muleskin work gloves.

I unhitch the shaggy cable from her collar and, pull a loop in it to tie a hand-cuff knot (like shoelaces are tied, but in the bight of the cable), then throw a hitch around each loop. I slip one loop over each wrist and work the whole snug.

I leave the loose end hanging free.

I walk to where the rubber tie down still hangs in its loop. I pull the cable and lift her wrists up overhead.

I tie another lineman's loop and move the tie-down to it.

Then I pull on the cable until her toes again just brush the concrete.

If she stretches.

That really is such a lovely pose.

That's why you see pole dancers, ballerinas, models, figure skaters take it.

Legs together, fully extended, back slightly arched, arms stretched to the sky, wrists crossed.

You see what it does.

The female body was made for that pose... well, more likely vice versa.

In any case, I like

And she looks so inviting.

I wrap the end of a 12-gauge copper wire around her left nipple behind the bolt, pulling tight into the groove inside the washers. Tighter with each round. After a couple wraps, I twist the ends together with my lineman's pliers. Nipping the skin a little just for the squeal.

I bend the sharp ends of the wire to press against her flesh just under the nipple.

I repeat with the right one... I do so love symmetry.

I force short lengths of the wire between her flesh and the wrapped copper, pinching and scratching. Again, she yips and whimpers and bites her lip.

I twist the ends of these above the bolts, leaving about a three centimetercloop hanging down.

Again, I bend the cut ends towards her mounds.

On short chains, I hang half-pound weights from these copper loops, dragging down her tits harshly.

I turn her around a couple dozen times, twisting the cable she's suspended from.

I slap her right ass cheek a couple times and the cable starts to untwist.

With each pass, I slap her ass again, speeding up the revolution.

I step back and watch, pleased that my concept is working - the weights tug outwards due to centrifugal force.

Her spinning slows as the cable has twisted tightly in the opposite direction.

She slows and then begins to spin the other way round, speed increasing as her weight untwists the cable.

Again, the weights tug her bolted nipples outward.

This pleases me.

I didn't expect it to be so... well... this.

This twisting back and forth continues for several rounds, each shorter, weaker and slower than the last until she comes to a rest, hanging stretched, the weights pulling her nipples towards the ground.