Weekend Trip to the Inscrutable

»Let me remove those right away. You’ll be able to breathe easier.«

The blonde girl removes the tight belts that sharply constrict my upper body. Indeed, my lungs get access to formerly supressed volume. With the deep inhale I suck in more snot too. I cough feebly.

»Aww. Poor thing. Try to relax. I’ll untie you once I'm done here.«

So now this bitch pretends to be friendly and well-meaning out of the sudden. What a stupid shit-ass cunt! She carefully winds the cables and picks up the hellish electroshock machine to put it in the toolbox.

»Wow! Level 8! I tapped out after a few shocks of level 5, and you got at least 30 of level 8 shocks!«

›Yes, you pathetic blonde wuss!‹ I rejoice internally. ›You may be taller, and you may be more beautiful, but this niggerbody is tough. A little brat like you can’t stump me!‹ Again, the rage helps to rekindle my spirits, but as I wake up from my deranged, trance-like state more and more, I must admit it’s not her fault. I would have done the same thing in her position. She’s just a naked girl with bright red whip marks who’s tidying up the mess after the torment. She returns after the torture devices are neatly stowed away.

The girl starts to remove my remaining bonds, beginning with my hands. My arms remain hanging limply besides the box. They don’t seem to be a part of my body anymore. My ears are ringing, my heart is still racing. My thighs are untied too, then my left foot. But when the girl unties the knot at the shackles of my right foot, she’s unable to hold the weight of my legs, they swing forward, suddenly shifting my body’s centre of gravity. I slide off the box, just slump helplessly in front of it. I painfully fall on my butt. My upper body is leaning crocked against the box.

»Damn! Fuck! I wasn’t careful enough. I’m sorry.« The girl squats next to me. »You’re really banged up.«

She offers me a roll of paper towels. Like in slow-motion I wipe my tear- and snot-stained face. My perceptions are still dampened down. But this setup makes me laugh coarsely. Finally, I can clean my face, but now I’m sitting in the puddle of my own pussy juices. Why should a broken ragdoll even clean its face? Its arms are too heavy. What does it matter? The blonde girl extends her hand towards me.

»Come on. I’ll help you up.«

I guess at some point even the ragdoll needs to get up. I take the offered hand and try to help, but for the most part the girl must lift me up. It gets dark before my eyes; I sway back and forth ominously. The blonde girl puts my arm around her shoulders and her arm around my waist to support me. But I can’t take a step forward. My brain sends the message, but it gets lost on its way. I panic. The torture must have caused permanent damage. The nerves in my lower body must have been fried.

»Take your time.«

Finally, I manage a small step forward. Then another one. It seems parts of my brain reboot. I’m learning to walk again. I’m slower than a centenarian though. And without support I’d probably fall flat on my face. It seems to take minutes to get to the other side of the basement. In my state, the stairs appear as an insurmountable barrier. At first, I must pull myself together at each stair tread. Nearly on the top, I dare to take the last steps without resting every time. A door opens to a long corridor. I sigh, but step by step the distance to the door at the other side decreases. Behind that door I feel soft carpet under my feet. I want to curl up in foetal position and sleep for a week. But the girl leads my onwards. She opens the door to a brightly lit, clean bathroom with white tiled floors and walls.

I’ve made it back from the torture basement to civilization. I hold on to the hand-basin. The person reflecting in the mirror seems to have been through a lot. Tangled hair, bloodshot eyes, confused and empty gaze. Her jaw clatters involuntarily. She gives a pitiful impression.

»Here you’ll find anything you need. There’s also disinfectant spray. You might want to use it on your breast and … well, with the needles down there. Will you be all right by yourself?«

The wretched creature in the mirror nods.

»Take your time but not too long. It’s almost 2am already. Call, if you need help. I'm next door.«

The girl closes the bathroom door behind her. Finally. Alone. Instead of heading for the shower tub I sit down on the toilet seat. Finally. A break. Finally. I sit there, mind completely blank, just feeling the weakness of my body. I don't feel pain. I mean I don’t feel anything I could call pain after the hellish agony I’ve just been through. My tits hurt from the whipping; my cunt hurts from the needle holes. But it’s nothing. It’s registered somewhere in the pain centre of the brain. It works to rule, but I doubt the rules make sense anymore. Does pain tolerance change over time? And if so, does it increase by slow and steady progression or by heavy shocks to the system?

I finally slog along over to the shower tub, hold myself on the shower bar, and turn on the water. The slightly warm water runs over my body, slowly re-charging the energy in my muscles. I start to examine my skin closely. I feel my stomach, my thighs, my ass, my hips, and of course my nether regions. I don’t find anything wrong. It’s a miracle. After my lower body has been barbequed, I can’t find any trace of damage. My strength is greatly reduced. My stamina is virtually non-existent. But my overall health doesn’t seem to be impacted at all. I’ll just need time to recuperate.

I take the shower head from its holder and rinse off my tits and my pussy meticulously. I don’t want an infection. The warm water feels nice, the jets of water make the connected safety pins wobble. I close my eyes and enjoy their dance for a while. But suddenly I have a revelation. If such intense torture can be done without resulting in permanent damage, it can be repeated over an over. The dragon can be unleashed full-scale, again, and yet again. This intensity, even going to such length as doubting I would survive the anguish, is reproduceable and controllable.

But that isn’t the true revelation. That’s just an observation. The true epiphany is that – absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, not without hesitation, but inevitably – I want to experience it all again. No, I don’t want to. I’m compelled to experience it again. Forced. Obliged. I have no say in it. I just know it needs to happen again. That’s a scary realization. I would like to explore further the origin of this dark force inside me. But I’ve been told not to take too long and I’m terribly tired. There will be time for that later.

I turn off the tap and dry myself off. Reluctantly I spray tits and pussy with disinfectant but this time it’s not too bad. Still a little unsteady on the feet I step into the hallway. The house is quiet. I open the next door but only find some kind of storage room. What a strange house tour! Naked, needles through the labia, whip marks on the tits, almost been tortured to death – at least feeling that way. And yet I go on. And what would be the alternative?

I find the living room, but it is empty. So is the adjacent kitchen. Despite of what I’ve just been through I have a hunger pang. I haven’t had anything to eat since the sandwich on the train on my way here. But it’s not my place to loot the fridge. I lean over the sink and drink some cold refreshing water.

The next door opens to the bedroom. Andy lies relaxed on the bed, the duvet pushed aside, only wearing boxer shorts. The blonde hussy sits naked on the edge of the bed. They seemed to have talked about something. I’m sure she’s forging sinister plans. But no, that’s just another bout of jealousy. It hurts to see her so close to Andy while I’m not even allowed to talk. I remain at the door, insecure whether to enter or give them more privacy.

»Oh, the black lady finally grants us the honour of her presence. Won’t you come in?«

Andy’s snarky tone of voice hurts, especially after what I’ve just been through. For him, mind you. I step forward hesitantly.

»You see, I’m a generous host. Even to such a lowlife like you. I even grant you the privilege to sleep in the master bedroom on the first night.«

For a brief wondrous moment, I see myself snuggled up to the warm muscular body on the bed. But Andy turns to the side, facing away.

»But don’t dare to disrupt my sleep, niggerwhore. I’d make you bitterly regret that. The cunt will prepare you for the night.«

The blonde girl stands up and points to the low bedside table. ›My‹ set of white leather shackles is laid out there. Really? After this day, I shall sleep in shackles? I sigh and approach the girl and my fate for the night.

(To be continued)