Weekend Trip to the Inscrutable

I spot Andy under a light of the platform roof as the train pulls into the station. He’s a tall and muscular man. Despite being just fifty years of age, his hair is snow-white and stands out easily. We had spent a whole day when we first met in person a few weeks ago just talking about what we wanted out of this weekend visit, and maybe out of other visits in the future, about the dos and don’ts, about likes and limits, about fantasies and wishes to make them a reality. Andy is not a man of many words, but when he chooses to speak he is clear and staunch.

The nipple clamps take an extra bite out of the sensitive flesh as I jump a bit too adventurously onto the platform, skipping a step. The train terminates here, and dense crowds quickly form at the descending stairs. Andy waits a bit to the opposite end of the platform. I’m walking up to him, evading the passengers pushing in the other direction some of whom bump into my bag nevertheless. I’m not one of them. I’m not an ordinary passenger, heading home from work or school, to dinner and family. I’m heading for the torture chamber. It starts to feel surreal. The pain in my nipples feels very real though. I’m finally there. I reach out my hand.

»Hello, Andy. It’s so nice …«

»Take off your shoes!«

»My shoes?«

I’m not entirely sure if I uttered that audibly or just in my mind. I’m frozen in the position, reaching out for a hand that is not taken. Take off my shoes? I just put them on. I’m just puzzled and stare at Andy. A loud crack breaks the silence as my neck is jerked to the side. My cheek starts to heat up, not only from the crisp slap, but also from embarrassment. We’re in a public place. A man can’t slap a woman in a public place these days. I look around, abashed, prepared to see bystanders intervene. But either nobody notices, or nobody cares.

»Is there anything unclear about my order?«

My cheek hurts. I’ve just been slapped hard for not following an arbitrary order. Was this what I wanted? I’m not exactly sure what I had expected. Maybe at least a bit of polite chat until Andy had taken me to his house. But apparently, he was not in the mood to waste any time. I clumsily hang my bag from my shoulder, hold onto a billboard for balance, and remove the pumps. The floor is as uncomfortably cold as I expected. I hold my bag in one hand, the pair of pumps in the other as I sheepishly look at Andy.

»Come on, niggercunt, let’s get going!«

Andy starts marching away with big steps. I stand motionless for a few seconds, still startled by how fast things progress. In full public view, mind you. The platform is much emptier than a few moments ago, but there are people around. I wonder what they think about the petite barefoot »niggercunt« with her shoes in her hand who now starts to try catching up with the burly middle-aged man heading for the exit. The ground is covered with small sharp road grit that is used everywhere around here instead of de-icing salts. I wobble grotesquely as I try to walk quickly and carefully at the same time.

I don’t think Andy is a real racist. I don’t think he’s a real misogynist either. ›Raceplay is just a kink for me‹, I had explained. ›I don’t really think I’m inferior because of my race. Or because of my sex. I just like to be called names and being humiliated.‹ Andy thought for a few seconds. ›You want me to confirm that I’m not a racist?‹ I nodded, he paused again and then slowly shook his head. ›No, I won’t do that. And I think you are a pathetic coward. You want some cozy humiliation, telling yourself it’s just a kink, but you don’t really want to face the music. You want to have the cake and eat it too. I won’t have it.‹ He kept his eyes fixed on me as he continued. ›What would it even mean if I called you nigger if you knew for sure it was just play-acting? No. If you choose to submit to me, you will be treated as inferior because you’re just niggerscum.‹ With a lump in my throat and a buzz between my legs I whispered, ›What would that mean in practice?‹ Andy chuckled. ›You don’t need to know beforehand.‹

I rush behind Andy who doesn’t slow down or even look if I’m following. I hurry down the stairs and through an underpass, upstairs again, through the brightly lighted entrance hall, across the station forecourt, past a few small businesses, and finally through a passageway leading to a parking area. At least one thing Andy had revealed in a later email. ›The pecking order among my property usually is defined by seniority. However, you, as a subhuman niggercunt, will stay at the very bottom permanently.‹ Yet here I am, following that man, ready to submit myself. The parking area is made of gravel, covered with puddles of brackish snowmelt. My feet are cold, and my soles hurt. My cheek stings. My nipples hurt too. How long have these clamps been on now?

I must slow down, tiptoeing over the sharp pebbles, but finally I catch up to Andy who stands next to an old greyish delivery van and opens the sliding door. I catch a quick glimpse, but the van seems to be empty. Without a word, Andy takes the bag and the pumps from my hands. He takes his mobile out of his jacket and points to a place close to the front passenger’s door.  

»Stand there! You know what we must do.«

I just nod assent. We had chatted about this before. But once again I’m wondering if this really should be done in a public place. The van blocks the vision in one direction, but from the other side of the parking area we are visible from a distance. However, it isn’t likely that we would be overheard. I relax a little. It’s Andy taking the disproportional risk anyway. As an owner of a business being identified as a »pervert« could ruin his livelihood. Andy points the camera at himself.

»Recording this is Andy ___, and here we have our houseguest for the weekend. Say hi!«

I smile instinctively. Stupid habits. I’m here to get tortured and I smile into the camera as if I’m on an adventure weekend of fun and games. I try a more solemn expression, but I really don’t know what’s appropriate for the occasion. I am expecting some kind of fun and games, after all. Wicked fun and cruel games though, a thought that makes me smile again.

»Review these documents and confirm that they are identical with the copies I’ve submitted by email.«

Andy hands me his passport, driver’s license, and the registration for the delivery van. I sift the papers, not really in the mood to check them thoroughly while my feet are freezing to icicles. Back home there is a sealed envelope with print-outs of these documents and the password to the email account we used for our communication. I think I’ve done the best I can to avoid handing myself over to human traffickers.

»They are legit and in line with the documents you’ve provided by email. We’ve also met before.«

»Can you verify that you are the person responsible for all communication from email address ___?«

»Yes, that’s all me.«

»Can you affirm that you still stand by the declarations of intent with regard to this meeting made in our email exchange, especially in the mails of January 6 and January 21? I will read them to you if you need a reminder.«

I slowly shake my head. I don’t need such a reminder. I have a vivid memory of those mails. I’ve read them and Andy’s replies several times over. If we weren’t standing in the cold I might even be amused by the mumbo-jumbo. I doubt there is any way to make torturing somebody legally foolproof. But I understand that Andy feels he should have at least some protection.

»I remember our conversation by email well. I stand by all declarations of intent in our email exchange, namely those made in said emails.«

»Can you confirm that you are here entirely voluntary? Can you confirm that you are not under the influence of any drug? Do you feel in full possession of your mental faculties?«

I can’t help but smile again at the attempt to tame a raging, self-destructive, and irrational monstrosity. I’m handing over my body for torture for goodness’ sake. Could anybody of really sound mind voluntarily enter into such a bat-shit crazy agreement? I’m completely insane. I’m not here because I want to be here. I’m here because … Why am I here? I’m here because I’m at the mercy of a drive I don’t fully understand. I don’t feel I have much more free will over this than the moth who is flying closer and closer to the candle. But this is not the time for deep psychological inquiry.

»I came here of my own free will, totally sober, and capable of making responsible decisions.«

»You said in an email that you want to be subjected to pitiless torture, without any regard for potential protest or pleading, without any way to control the kind of torture or its intensity, and without any means to stop it. Is that a fair description of what you want during this weekend?«

Finally, I have the feeling we are getting past the formalities and to the meat of the matter. To the torture meat of the matter. I chuckle at my own stupid pun. But I need to be serious and clear here. I clear my throat and look straight into the camera. I try my most steadfast voice, but it still cracks.

»That’s exactly what I want.«

»Do you understand that I’m a genuine sadist? Do you understand that I will be delighted to make this experience as agonizing and miserable for you as I possibly can?«

»That’s what I hope for.«

»Do you accept that you will experience any form of psychical or mental torture, including any sexual and verbal abuse I or my assignees want to impose? Of course, while respecting the set limitations of avoiding permanent damage and allow you to go back to work on Monday?«

This is such a surreal conversation! We’re standing in a corner of a parking area of a provincial train station discussing the terms of how I’m going to be tortured. But maybe it just feels strange because we are rehashing the terms. We’ve talked and chatted about all this. This is just for the camera, just a more tangible proof that I’m not coerced in any way. But everything I state I have already written in mails. It’s the same as I had fantasized about for the past weeks.

»I accept whatever torture or abuse you or your assignees want to put me through.«

The part of accepting the unlimited authority even of other people assigned by Andy was difficult. But I finally had to admit that if I entrusted somebody with my health and ultimately with my life, I should be convinced the same person would use the right of transferring such powers also in a responsible way. For this weekend we agreed that Andy would only refer the authority to act on his behalf to his subs. Chatting extensively with one of them helped to convince me of Andy’s sincerity and impeccable conscientiousness.

»Do you refrain from any claim for damages for any injury incurred during this weekend and any psychological distress?«

That’s another tough one. But I couldn’t blame anybody else for my own depraved desires.

»I won’t claim any damages.«

Andy had been quite serious throughout the whole recording but now he smiles for the first time.

»Almost done. So, do you commit to obey any order from me or my assignees without questioning and hesitation or accept any punishment deemed necessary in the case of disobedience?«

»I do.«

»Take off your coat!«

Despite my solemn pronouncement I hesitate for a second before I slowly start to unbutton my winter jacket. I let it slide over my shoulders and hand it to Andy who puts it onto my bag. The ice-cold air revitalizes the pain on my nipples. I don’t think I can conceal my excitement. Finally. A deep breath of relief and desire escapes my lips.

»Nice tits! I’m looking forward to torturing those! Topless under a coat? Wearing nipple clamps too? What a slutty whore you are!«

»You ordered me to meet you like that.«

»And you obeyed only too willingly, didn’t you, painslut?«

I nod and Andy pulls at the chain between the nipple clamps. I grunt. Then without any warning he quickly opens both clamps at once. I let out a scream and writher in pain. I take a step back to massage my assaulted nipples. Andy shakes his head.

»No, no, no. That’s what you want, right? Hands off!«

Reluctantly I let go of my nipples. The pain pulsates through them with the blood rushing back and the nerves firing on all cylinders. I carefully look around. My scream had been quite loud. But luckily there seems to be no one nearby. Less than one hour ago, I would not have imagined standing naked in a parking lot except for a pair of jeans, yelping in pain. In the meantime, Andy has gotten a canvas bag from the van.

»Ready to really start the adventure, niggercunt?«

I’m terrified, yet so excited and aroused. I nod enthusiastically.

Andy produces a short chain from the bag. The about dozen chain links are thick and welded. The chain is tarnished. It looks black rather than from shiny metal. At one end of the chain a sturdy yet simple lock is attached. The purest, roughest symbol of submission. Without a word Andy dangles the chain within my arm’s length. I close my eyes for a second, take a deep breath, and grab the chain. It’s even heavier than it looks. I open the lock and place the chain around my neck. I shiver, not only because the metal feels even colder than the winter air. It’s only temporary, but which submissive doesn’t shiver when the lock of the collar clicks shut? One push. Done. This thing won’t come off without the key. Unless with the help of the fire department.

Andy nods approvingly and reaches into the bag again. The red latex ball of the gag seems to shine even in this dark corner of a parking area. The belt is sturdy and well crafted. This is not cheap stuff. I take a step forward and reach out to take the gag, but Andy pulls it out of my reach.

»Okay, okay, slow it down. While I like your eagerness there’s something I need to explain first. Taking this gag and putting it on does not only prevent you from speaking for as long as you wear it. As long as you are here you will not speak at all unless it’s absolutely essential. Other than screaming and begging I don’t want to hear a single word from you. You will not talk to me or anybody else until you’re dismissed. Torture meat suffers but doesn’t speak. Is that understood?«

No talking at all? Not even asking a question for clarification? Not connecting with the other subs who might be around? Not giving feedback? But Andy is right, torture meat suffers but doesn’t speak. I nod and hold out the palm of my hand to show I’m ready to take the gag and the additional burden of being voiceless for the next days. I buckle the gag. It’s not one of the huge ones that spread the jaw open very widely, but it’s also not a small one and I start drooling almost immediately.

Andy’s hand is already searching inside the canvas bag again. I’m not surprised as he presents a blindfold mask.

»Put it on and we’re almost done!«

While I buckle the blindfold behind my head, I feel a strand of drool dripping down my chin and onto my tits. The blindfold is quite comfy. It’s made from soft leather. But it blocks the view entirely. Not a single ray of light hits my eyes.

»Well done, niggercunt. Your welcome video is almost done. There’s only one final touch left to do. Look at you! Almost naked, collared, gagged, and blindfolded. And you’ve done all that to yourself. Decision time! If you want to leave now just nod. But if you want to proceed to two days of relentless torture step into the van and clasp your hands behind your back!«

Decision time has long passed though. I take a step towards where I think the van is and grope about for the opening of the sliding door. No, I’m not there yet. I take another step. When did the decision to follow through with the insane plan to submit myself to torture became irreversible? When I exposed myself in this parking area? No, that was embarrassing and arousing but not the turning point. I can feel the opening of the sliding door now. When I stayed after I’ve been slapped? No, before that too. I carefully step up into the van. The wooden floor feels at least nicer under my soles than those nasty pebbles. Was my fate sealed when I packed my stuff for the weekend? No, even before that. I take a few short steps into the van and face to where I think the door is. There was no turning back after the possibility of this experience entered into my depraved brain. I clasp my hands behind my back.

The van sways slightly. The sliding door is slammed shut. Andy’s voice is very close.

»Welcome to two days of agony, painslut.«