Strung up, naked, on what appeared to be a very crude St. Andrew's. I knew who they were, of course, and knew what they wanted. They had gotten me easily enough, so they knew me fairly well, but obviously not well enough. Not well enough to know I had a much more authentic one in the basement of my house, or that a friend and I had once joked that I would never be the "white picket fence" type, but a "white picket" St. Andrews Cross might be more my style. So, I had a feeling what might be in store for me, and wondered how long it would take them to figure out it wasn't going to work, and how much longer after that before they found my weakness, found what really WOULD work.
Not much else in the room, bare walls, a covered table, electrical cords snaking out from under a portion of the cover, plugged into an outlet on the wall, one of those gynecologist's examination chairs. That was it, no windows, two doors, I wondered where they led. I wasn't blindfolded or gagged, so they obviously didn't care if I saw them, or how much noise I made, maybe they liked the thought of listening to my screams, ha, they really didn't know me that well.
I heard them outside one of the doors, two of them, arguing, low voices, but arguing nonetheless. Not my worry, let the bad guys fight amongst themselves, I could not care less, the longer it took them to get to me, the more time my team had to find me, and I knew they would, eventually. Finally, one came into the room, tall, white blond, Aryan-type, young, must be a newbie, I thought to myself, they must be really underestimating me if they're sending in the second string first.
"Comfortable?"
"Fuck You"
SMACK!!! The back of his right hand made contact with the side of my face. Now I don't mind being slapped, sometimes I really like it. This time, it started to piss me off, but I didn't react, just looked at him. Something in my eyes must have sparked him SMACK!!! left handed this time, oh look, he's ambidextrous. Split my lip a little with that one, too, so I spit the blood at him. Mistake? No, I was interested to see just how far he could go, before he'd have to back off, turn me over to someone with a little more authority. The spit obviously pissed him off, and he began to methodically slap me, backhand, forehand, five times, ten times, I stopped counting, that familiar tingling getting started, deep in my belly. He was definitely holding back something, he could very well have slapped me unconscious, but he stopped well before that became an issue.
"Now you'll tell me what I want to know, so we don't have to go any further than this"
"I'll tell you anything your little heart desires, sweetie...
"Good"
....except where to find the pictures you want so badly."
"Fine, we didn't expect it to be easy."
He walked over to the table, and pulled the cover off of it. Implements of torture (hehehehe) were laid out, waiting, the thin rattan canes, clamps of various sizes, the singletail, a big wooden paddle, and (be still my heart) a Folsom unit (electrical play at its finest) with some interesting looking attachments, including a stainless steel speculum that I had always wanted to try, these poor guys had no clue. Maybe I should try to look afraid.
He chose the canes first, two of them, and came back to stand in front of me. Maybe he was hoping I'd just buckle and tell him what he wanted to know, but I just hung there, waiting for him. The first strike of the cane is always the best, I think, brings everything into focus immediately, and everything after that is just icing, and he had two of them, one in each hand, and he was definitely ambidextrous. He started with the outsides of my legs, calves first, both hands, then using the canes together in one hand, I think he was hoping I would flinch, or cry out, or something, but I was strapped to the cross fairly well, and couldn't really move, and I really didn't want to cry out, or they would figure out really quickly that it was orgasms, not pain, not fear, that were making me react, and I was not quite ready to have that happen yet.
But holding it all in was apparently making some impact on him, as I was beginning to sweat, and I could not help but moan, a little, and I think my little reaction egged him on, he kicked up the caning, the insides of my thighs now, my pussy, around to my ass, my back and shoulders, dam, he had a way with the canes, that's for sure. I was barely keeping it together, managing to enjoy it, but being soooooooooo quiet about it, and all I really wanted to do was scream at him...Harder, hit me harder, make me cum.
"Enough?"
"Oh, is that all there is?" I'm not usually quite so bitchy, but he had stopped at a really bad time. I could feel the welts forming on my back, and could see the purple stripes on my arms and my tits, god, makes me feel special.
He walked back over to the table, and picked up the singletail, took a few preliminary swings with it, and came back toward me, smiling.
He stood far enough from me that that first strike with the singletail just bit a nipple. He was good with this, had obviously practiced, that excited me even more, there is nothing like a singletail in the hands of someone who knows what to do with it. He continued at that distance for a few strokes, just letting the whip bite me here, bite me there, not letting me feel the full impact of it yet, if he only knew how he was teasing me, but I tried to let a little fear show in my eyes, tried to make my moans sound scared and in pain, gee I hoped I was fooling him.
"Enough yet? You don't seem to like my little friend, you're struggling." He was right, I was struggling, only he didn't realize I was struggling to get closer to each blow, wanting, needing to feel the full impact of that whip, needing to feel it ripping into my flesh.
"So, enough? Ready to talk now?"
"No, fuck you."
Anger now, in his eyes, I was being obstinate, he was used to his subjects breaking by this time. And so it began, the full onslaught of his anger, raining down on me through that whip. Shouting at me..."Tell me, now, enough games, tell me." I could feel the bloodlines beginning, on my thighs, on my back, paper cut like, stinging, I couldn't stop the orgasms, coming fast and furious now, his fury taking them for moans, screams of pain, of terror, inciting him to whip me harder, he finally had to stop himself, perhaps afraid of inflicting too much damage. Again, he was obviously not the one in charge, and too much harm might cause him some problems with the one really in charge.
