Weekend Trip to the Inscrutable

Inside the van it’s a bit warmer than outside but not much. I’m cold. The warm drool that drops onto my tits makes a nice contrast. Andy stands behind me and threads a rope under my armpit, over my neck, under the other armpit and across my back. I’m lacking the imagination to understand what he’s trying to accomplish yet. Only when he moves to the front to connect the ropes around my shoulders do I realize he’s tying a kind of chest harness. Whatever he is doing he’s doing it well, quickly, and precisely. Next, Andy ties my hands together behind the back.

»Get your hands loose, whore! If you can’t, the bondage I’ll put you in will be much more restrictive.«

The rope around my wrists is tight, but not tightening around the joints, not endangering to restrict blood flow. But also, the rope doesn’t allow getting my hands out, try as I might. I wiggle slowly, I tug carefully, I pull with all my power. No, I can’t get my hands out. A single rope seals my fate. Up to now, I could have run away under the right circumstances. But there is no way to remove the blindfold with my hands securely behind my back. At least the struggle helps me get warm.

»Time’s up!«, Andy exclaims. »It seems I have to use a strict tie on this disobedient bitch.«

I doubt the outcome would have been any different if I had been able to free my hands. But that’s part of the mind games. Later, when in a restrictive position I would curse myself for not trying harder. Be that as it may, I would surely have chosen a less strict version of the next part. The next rope went around my upper arms, a few centimeters above the elbows. I had told Andy that I used to be able to have my elbows tied together closely. But that was a few years ago. He pulls the rope closer and closer, slowly, but surely. I gasp into the gag. One final pull, then Andy secures the rope. To my surprise, it doesn’t really hurt, but I feel a strain on my shoulders and in my chest muscles. I’m sure the onset of pain is just a matter of time. Andy whistles appreciatively.

»The whore didn’t lie. It really is flexible. I will have so much fun with your nigger body.«

As if to confirm Andy gropes my exposed tits harshly. I grunt into the gag and wiggle backwards. Andy sighs.

»See? I’m always way too nice with cunts. I give them a compliment, and the next second they fuck up. Normal people avoid pain. But you, you are not normal. You are torture meat. You are expected to not run away from pain but to lean into it. Come forward and don’t dare to try to get away again!«

I had an idea of what was coming. I made two very small uncertain steps towards Andy’s voice, bracing myself for the lesson he was surely about to teach. Indeed, the next thing I felt was sharp pain at my right tit from a hefty slap from below. My tit bobs up and down. I gasp into my gag, but I manage to not move backwards again. But the next, equally strong slap to the left tit made me sputter drool from the sides of the ballgag as I screamed into it. Instinctively I take a step back again trying to get out of reach of the nasty slaps.

»Fuck, no!«, Andy hisses. He grabs me by the chain around my neck, pulls me forward again, and doesn’t let go as he cover my tits with a series of vigorous slap and punches. »Stand still, stupid whore!« I try to stop flinching around but Andy is not holding back. While he holds me close, I bend my body backwards to avoid the slaps. It’s just what the body does to protect itself. Andy doesn’t let me go but he finally stops hitting my tits. They sting and feel hot like after sunbathing at midday.

»Well done, you stupid whore! You earned yourself some serious torture of those useless tits when we get home. They are nothing but meat to torment to me. Just like you wanted. The more you try to evade pain, the more you’ll suffer. That’s only fair, don’t you think?«

I hesitantly nod. I crave pain. I even crave to be brutalized. But I also know that the body instinctively tries to avoid pain. It’s hard to overwrite such natural impulses. Still I feel like a failure when my body reacts in this natural way. I am a painslut. I want to lean into the pain.

Andy still holds my chain collar, but now he’s pushing against the back of the hollow of my knees with his foot, forcing my legs to bend. I drop down to my knees, Andy grabs the chest harness at the back and pushes me forward until I hang from it. He slowly lowers me down until I lie on my stomach. The cold wooden floor of the van alleviates the pain in my tits a little bit.

Andy whistles a cheerful tune as he starts working on my legs. He turns my body to the side and back on the stomach just like he needs it apparently as easily as turning the page of a book. Again, I must admire his swiftness and precision. I’ve been at a bondage workshop and being put into tight ropes can take a while, especially if the rigger is not that experienced. But within what feels only like a few minutes Andy fastens a coil of rope just above my knees and another one just below my knees.

»Don’t expect anything during this weekend to be easy, whore! If you wanted easy you came to the wrong place.«

I feel a rope being thread through the restraints at my wrists and my ankles. ›Okay, he’s going to hogtie me‹, I think. I’ve been hogtied before. While uncomfortable it was not that bad. I felt there was no need to talk up a simple hogtie like that. Andy had told me the drive up to his home deeper in the mountains would take about an hour. Challenging, but manageable. Andy bends my legs and connects the ropes around my wrists tightly with the ropes around my ankles. As I said, uncomfortable but bearable.

Probably I should have known better. Andy is not a man of idle talk. He’s not finished yet. I feel another rope being thread through the ropes around my ankles. This rope is connected to the chest harness at my back, right in the middle of my shoulder blades. Slowly, but forcefully Andy tugs at the rope, bringing back my ankles and shoulders closer together inch by inch. My thighs are lifted from the floor, and so is my upper body as my back is bent. When Andy finally secures the rope only the small fraction of my body between my hips and my lower ribcage still has contact with the ground. While I’m struggling the sliding door of the van is opened and shut again.

Now that position is hard to bear. I can alleviate the tension just a tiny bit when I contort my body even more. But I quickly, within seconds must lean back into the bonds. The chain around my neck rustles when I do that. I can wiggle my toes and my fingers. But that’s it. I sigh into the gag. An hour of this will be hard, just as Andy had said. Fuck! I’m utterly immobilized in the loading space of a van, gagged and drooling, blindfolded, and topless. My stupid cunt leaks and twitches as I fantasize of being kidnapped and threatened to be sold into permanent slavery.

I realize that Andy should be in the driver’s seat for a while already. We should be on our way to his home. I try to remain still, prick up my ears, and listen attentively. I can’t hear anything except for my heart beating heavily. Maybe Andy is having a smoke? But the time this takes seems to have passed already too. What is going on? I try to remain calm but being tied helplessly as well as painfully and then being abandoned is not a situation to keep composure easily.

I don’t know what to do or to think. Well, there is nothing I can do except for trying to not make noises that might draw attention to the van. I wonder what people outside would hear and what they would think or do. My breathing turns to loud grunting. »Hush!«, I try to convince myself. The chain rattles. »Stay still«, I demand from myself, but of course I have to wiggle to find at least a bit of relief from the demanding position. People nearby must realize that something strange is going on in this van. I must have drooled a thick puddle by now. I surely don’t want to be found like that.

What if my fantasy is about to come true? What if a different person than Andy shows up to take me somewhere? Had I’ve been naïve believing the assurances and ›proofs‹ of identity Andy had offered? Had I been lured in by the depraved need of my cunt for abuse? Maybe I should wish to be found like that and be rescued from my own self-destructive urges? But I can’t bring myself to wish that. If the choice is being salvaged or being sold by traffickers, I honestly choose the traffickers. I removed so many inhibitions to be here. I’m willing to pay the price. Why do I crave so much what would be the worst nightmare for normal people?

Despite the cold I sweat profusely now. I try to relax as much as possible because I feel that if I cramp up it will be much worse. My body suffers, so I suffer. We don’t have bodies, we are bodies. However, my body and my mind start to diverge. I’m still in heavy pain, but my mind starts to feel what I experience as the thrill of suffering. The intensity of the feeling that sweeps away everything else. Being completely and utterly at somebody’s mercy. Absolute impuissance. Total self-abandonment. And also overwhelming sexual arousal. The arousal doesn’t cancel out the suffering. Agony and arousal reinforce each other, progressively amplify each other. It’s hard to explain.

I lose the sense of time. How long have I been lying here? Half an hour? One hour? Two hours? It seems like every muscle in my body screams in pain except for my face, my fingers, and my toes. Just waiting, squirming in pain, is nerve-racking. There is no end in sight.

Finally, the driver’s door is opened and shut, the motor is started. The van bumps over the potholes of the parking area. I hear the signal sound of the indicator, the van turns and picks up speed. I sigh in relief. At long last we are on the way and every minute that passes brings me closer to the end of my suffering. But it also brings me closer to a different kind of suffering. I’ve been threatened with serious tit torture when we arrive at Andy’s place. My nipples are rock-hard in expectation.

Being tied up like this in a driving vehicle makes the pain only worse. Every time the van slows down, speeds up or takes a turn the forces act on my curled up body. Lying still is bad enough, but being jerked forward or backward or bent to the side is worse.

»Ld’ ijg ‘’! I ch'’ ‘a’e ut’ ‘o’e!«, I scream into the gag several times. But even if it were comprehensible my request to be untied would be ignored. Which is exactly what I wanted. I plead to get out of my misery and yet I sincerely hope the plea is ignored. In fact, it is met with derisive laughter. »Shut your stinking mouth, nigger!« I sob from pain and frustration. At least now I know Andy is driving the van, not a different person. That’s hardly of any consolation.

The van stops and I hear a huge rolling gate squeaking. Apparently, Andy drives the van through the gate. He turns off the engine and the gate squeaks again while he enters the back of the van and starts to untie me. I sigh as my body relaxes and I can breathe more easily again. The hogtie is unknot, my legs are untied. I enjoy working every muscles that is liberated from the bondage. But Andy doesn’t untie my arms. Instead he removes the blindfold and drags me onto my feet. I’m twitching and jerking as my leg muscles are tight and exhausted.

Andy connects a leash to the chain around my neck and drags me out of the van without worrying about my balance. My knees hurt as he forces me to jump out of the van and pulls me forward. We are in a huge warehouse. Building materials are piled up everywhere, forklifts and more vans are parked in one corner. Andy owns a construction firm. But before I can take it all in we reach a wide metal door and I’m dragged into a staircase. I must hurry to keep up with Andy as I’m dragged down four flights of stairs.

Andy opens the door to the second basement level and drags me forward. This floor is not lit as brightly as the main one, but I can see some strange equipment which seems to have been built from scaffolding components. In passing I can see a wooden horse. Other structures seem to be bondage frames. The meaning and purpose of other stuff remains obscure to me. I might find out later. I’m overwhelmed, fearful and excited at the same time. That warehouse floor is for a masochist what a candy store is for a child.

Andy stops close to a vertical beam made of timber. At this corner there are also several cages of different sizes lined up along the wall. I’m shocked to find that one of those is not empty. A pale blonde naked girl is locked standing in one of them. Her whole body is covered in vibrant red whip marks. She clings to the grid and stares at me.

»Yes, your torture will be witnessed by some audience. Get used to it. But I bet you like to be watched anyway.«

While I didn’t expect to be exposed during the torture, Andy is not wrong. Being watched while in agony is a huge additional turn-on for me. And there is the element of competition between subs. Crying and screaming and sobbing in front of the torturer is one thing, but to loose face to another sub … No. Not if I can prevent it. My thoughts are interrupted as Andy lets a flexible rod soar through the air in front of my body.

»It’s about time the real fun starts, torture meat.«