Bedtime Stories

Bedtime Stories

I am blessed with a girlfriend with a very active imagination. She loves to read stories of young women being tortured mercilessly by cruel male doms with big cocks (bigger than mine). She also loves to submit to me, but her fantasies of what she would like to do, do not much the actuality. She does not have a high pain threshold, and having plastic clothes pegs on her nipples is about as far as she can go – and only that when she is already turned on. But she has an incredible body, with a cunt tighter than any other one I have ever known. So I’m not really bothered that I don’t get to do crazy tortures on her. But she is, as she finds descriptions of such tortures highly arousing. I know that she wants to push her limits. But I’m quite happy to have a slut without any scars or bruises. Oh, by the way, she calls herself Candy (not her birth name).

Any, one night, while we were lying naked in bed, she began to talk, while she began a slow wank of my cock. She was telling me a story, one which she must have made up some time ago, as she had all the details worked out. I think she must have memorised it.

“Once upon a time, there was a cruel Master who had a slavegirl called Candy.” Candy said. “The master liked Candy, but she was only a slave to him, as disposable as any slave in his kingdom. For the cruel Master had many female slaves in his palace, all of them his possessions. None of them had any rights. They were things to be owned, not people. Master could put any of them to death, on a whim, and he had often done so, in the past.”

Candy, as she manipulated my hardening cock, looked into my eyes. Her eyes are deepest brown, so deep that they are almost black, much darker than her long brown hair.

“Just imagine having your own slavegirl, Rick, one you could torture to death and nothing bad would happen to you. Imagine the power to do anything you decided to an utterly defenceless girl. Imagine if you could torture me to death…”

I didn’t reply. Like I said, Candy had fantasies of extreme torture, the sort which should only be limited to stories, and which should not take place in real life.

“The Master felt that Candy was only interested in her own pleasure, and not interested in pleasing him.” Candy continued. “So he asked her to beg him to cut off her clitoris. He told her that she had to beg. But Candy refused, because she liked her orgasms, and didn’t want to lose them. The Master was right, Candy cared only about her own pleasure, and not that of other people.

“The Master told Candy that she would regret not begging to have her clitoris cut off, and that she would beg to have her centre of pleasure destroyed. He had Candy taken to the dungeon, and put on a Spanish horse…”

Candy was getting turned on by telling this story. I could smell that wonderful scent of female arousal. Those pheromones are the best aphrodisiac in the world. I was already rock hard. It wouldn’t be long before I came. But Candy had always been good at manipulating me. She paused in the tale, but continued wanking me, intending me to climax at the climax of the story. When she thought that I was very close she continued with the tale.

“The Master watched Candy ride the wooden horse, the edge pressing into the slavegirl’s cunt. Candy moaned, for the pain got worse and worse. But the Master was not finished. He had another slavegirl, Mindy, Candy’s friend, brought into the dungeon. He told Candy that her friend would suffer if Candy did not beg to have her clit could off. But Candy refused to beg. The Master had Mindy bound over a T-shaped cross. Mindy’s arms were tied to the cross-bar of the T. Mindy was bent back so that the cross-bar of the T was beneath her back, and her big tits were now the highest part of Mindy’s body. Mindy had the biggest, best tits of any of the slavegirls. They were great, milky mounds. Mindy’s hair was bound into a ponytail. Her hair was weaved a hook attachment. The hook was drawn down and attached to a ring set into the wood of the T-cross. Mindy’s head was drawn back as far as it could go, her mouth open.

“The Master ordered his main Torturer, a great big brute of a man, to whip Mindy’s breasts with the barbed chain whip. This was a terrible lash, with thin metal chains forming the strands. But the links of the chains had sharp barbs coming out of them. It would draw blood with each strike. A person could be whipped to death with it.

“Lash after lash fell on Mindy’s breasts, as she screamed. Each strike of the chains drew blood. But not only blood, for the barbs cut the flesh, tiny gobbets of the skin and breast tissue whipped away…” – that was where I came – “…until, much later, when Mindy could not be revived with smelling salts, her breasts were unrecognisable as being a pair of tits. They were mere gobbets of bloody flesh, much reduced in size. It was then that the Master had Candy taken down off the Spanish horse. She had won, for now…”

The story ended, at least for now. I could see that Candy was very turned on by the story she had told, and the gory fate of Mindy. But, unusually, she did not touch her clit, even though one touch would have brought her to orgasm.

I had come all over Candy’s face. She had directed my cum onto her pretty little face. Normally she would have gone into the bathroom and washed her face clean. But, instead, she leant back on the bed, and let my white cum dry on her face.

The next day, when we were in bed, Candy began a slow wank of my cock with her milky double D breasts. Ah, it felt wonderful. And she began to talk, carrying on with the story which she had started the previous night. It was clear that Candy was already very turned on, no doubt due to not cumming the night before.

“The next day the Master, again, asked Candy to beg to have her clit cut off. But again she refused, for she did not want to lose her orgasms. So, again, Candy was taken down to the Master’s dungeon, where a Spanish horse awaited her. Candy’s face paled, for this wooden horse had a much more acute angle, and would be that much more painful to ride. But Candy loved her orgasms, and refused to beg. She was out on the horse.

“The Master told Candy that, each night that she refused, she would ride the horse; and that, each night, one of her supposed friends would suffer because of Candy’s pride. This time Candy’s friend Sandy was brought into the dungeon to suffer.

“Sandy had the sweetest cunt in the whole harem of slavegirls. Everybody said so. It was perfect, so that all of the other slavegirls loved to give cunnilingus to Sandy.

“The Master told the torturer that Sandy’s cunt and clit had to be ruined. They should be whipped away to nothing. Somebody was going to lose their clit that night. The Master told the Torturer to make it last.

“Sandy begged, but was ignored. She was bent backwards over a stool-like device, and chained spread-eagled, her wrists and ankles attached to iron bolts set into the stone floor of the dungeon. Sandy was set up so that she was in front of Candy as she rode the horse, and Candy would be able to see everything which happened to her friend.

“Sandy’s cunt was the highest part of her body. The torturer worked his way up, over a period of hours, starting with the mildest pussy whip, and ending with a hooked cat o’nine tails. That last whip had hooks which caught in the flesh, and shredded it as the Torturer jerked the flesh back. When the Torturer finally finished his gory work Sandy’s groin was only an open, bloody wound. Both inner and outer labia had gone, and her treasured clit had been whipped away…”

By then I had cum, splattering white spunk over Candy’s pale globes. Despite being close to cumming herself she did not bring herself to orgasm, but turned over and went to sleep, my cum still on her tits.

The next day, when we were in bed, Candy got down between my legs and began to lick my cock. In between a very slow fellatio, she would break off to tell me sections of another story, one set in that same place as the other tales of the cruel Master and his slavegirl Candy. It was more than a little distracting – for me – for Candy to break off to carry on with the story.

“The Master, on the next night, once again asked Candy to beg to have her clit cut off. But, once again, Candy refused, even though she feared more hours on the Spanish horse. Her cunt was still very sore, and she feared the pain. But she still refused to surrender her clit, even though she was a slave, and the Master had the right to do whatever he wanted to Candy.

“The Master, on the next night, once again asked Candy to beg to have her clit cut off. But, once again, Candy refused.

“Once again, she was taken to the dungeon. She was put on the Spanish horse again. But, this time, heavy stone weights were attached to Candy’s ankles, adding to her discomfort, dragging her down.

“Another supposed friend of Candy was brought into the dungeon. It was the blonde Wendy, from the far north, who had the fairest skin of all the slaves. The Master ordered that Wendy’s skin should be marred by fire, so that it would never recover, and that she would wear the marks forever. The Torturer prepared the branding irons.

“Over the course of many hours red hot branding irons were applied to nearly every part of Wendy’s body, as Candy suffered on the Spanish horse. Candy watched every touch of that glowing iron. She watched as it was rolled up and down the thighs of Wendy. She watched as it was applied to the soles of Wendy’s feet. The branding iron left marks which would last forever on Wendy’s stomach, armpits, buttocks, breasts and pubic mound. The final touch was to Wendy’s clit, where the branding iron was held until that organ was no more, for it had been decreed that somebody should lose their clit that night.

“Wendy was taken away. She had survived the long torture of the branding iron. But nobody would ever desire her again. Thanks to Candy’s pride her body had been ruined…”

Candy gave a last suck on my purple, engorged glans, and took her mouth away. I exploded, cumming all over her face. She closed her eyes, letting stream and stream of hot white cum fall on her waiting face.

She did not wash her face, but let my cum dry on her skin. Nor did she bring herself to an orgasm. Not that night…

The next day Candy had a fourth chapter of the tale for me, related as my cock was buried in her tight, shaven cunt. Candy is very skilled with her cunt, able to grip and release in a rhythm. When she does that I can’t resist spurting deep inside her.

“The Master, on the next night, once again asked Candy to beg to have her clit cut off. But, once again, Candy refused.

“Once again, she was taken to the dungeon. She was put on the Spanish horse again. But, this time, her labia were grabbed with pliers and pulled out as wide as they would go, before nails were hammered through her cuntlips, securing them in place. Only then were the heavy stone weights hung from Candy’s ankles.

“The Master had a beautiful eighteen year old girl brought into the dungeon. Candy gasped, for it was her virginal younger sister Cindy, who the Master must have ordered kidnapped. Cindy was not a slave, but that did not matter to the cruel Master.

“Candy begged and begged to have her sister let go. But the Master ignored Candy’s pleas. They fell on deaf ears. Candy had to learn.

“Cindy was chained spread-eagled in front of Candy. The teen shivered in fear, and so she should. Because of Candy’s pride Cindy’s life was forfeit.

“Her death was to be horrible, though. The Master ordered that she be skinned alive. Candy watched as her sister screamed in agony, as the skin was peeled off Cindy’s thighs, the Torturer working with great skill to get the skin off in two pieces, one for each thigh. Candy watched as Cindy gurgled in agony as the skin was removed from her youthful breasts, her nipples removed in their entirety. Candy watched as Cindy’s pubic mound was skinned. The teen’s labia were cut away, and her clitoris – which had never known a lover’s touch – was cut away. Cindy was left a gory, bloody mess. But she was not dead yet. The torturer had left just enough skin that Cindy would last for hours, before finally expiring in front of her sister. Only then was Candy taken down from the Spanish horse…”

Candy’s cunt was pulsing, not in orgasm, but in skill. I released my seed in her cunt, and Candy dismounted me. I didn’t think that she had cum. But I felt exhausted, even though Candy had done all the work.

The next day the story which Candy had created reached its climax, so to speak. Candy carried on with it only after inserting my cock into her tight arsehole. I rarely got to fuck Candy in the arsehole because she normally claimed that my cock was too big – it’s only average in size – not due to any hang-ups about anal sex. But, tonight, Candy wanted me inside her hot, tight ass.

“The Master, on the next night, once again asked Candy to beg to have her clit cut off. Candy could not face more long hours on the Spanish horse. Her cunt and clit simply hurt too much. It would be better to lose it than to have it tortured each night, by having her weight press it into the cruel edge of the torture horse. So she begged her Master to cut off her clit.

“The Master told Candy that she would indeed lose her clit, but that he was very angry with Candy, for the refusals of the other nights. So her clit would be removed, but with not some simple cut by a knife or scissors. No, because of her delays Candy would be whipped to within an inch of death. And then, when her features had been ruined forever by the bullwhip, her clit would be removed by a branding iron. Candy begged, but the Master would not be moved.

“Candy was strung up, hanging spread-eagled in chains. The Torturer was ordered to whip Candy close to death, but told that she must not die, or the Torturer himself would be put to death, in the most painful way that the slavegirls could conceive. The Torturer then was very scared, for the slavegirls hated him, because of the punishments he had delivered in the past. So he put all of his skill into marring Candy so that no man would ever desire her again.

“The whipping of Candy was truly terrible. It went on over days. Whenever Candy fainted smelling salts were used to revive her, so that she would miss none of the pain. Every bit of her body was whipped, apart from her eyes and her clit. By the time that the Torturer had finished it was impossible to tell where one cut ended and another began. Her body was red with blood. Her breasts had been destroyed. Her labia hung in ribbons. No man would ever desire her again.

The Master himself burned off Candy’s clit with the branding iron. Then she was sent to the deepest dungeon, never to see him again, to live out the rest of her long life in dark seclusion.”

I came into Candy’s arsehole as the story ended. It had been a good tale…

The story had been completed, so I didn’t expect anything when I went to bed with Candy the next night. But, on the bedside table, there was my soldering iron. It was plugged in, and the end was almost certainly very hot.

“Why is that there?” I asked.

“I am offering myself to you.” Candy said. “I am offering to be a slave for your pleasure, not mine. I have not cum all week. I am desperate to cum. But it should be about your pleasure, not mine. So it is time that our relationship changes. Let me serve you as a no limits slave. Ignore the fact that I can’t take pain. Burn off my clit so that I can never cum again. Make me your pleasure slave…”

I laughed and reached for the soldering iron…

Here the story ends. Decide what I do next. There are two options:

One: The sensible option. I turn off the soldering iron and put it away, knowing that no woman should ever be denied the right to cum.

Two: The crazy option. I burn off Candy’s clit…

It is your decision. What do I do next?

The End.