What Became of Me

Petra closed the door to my bedroom behind her. I continued to stare at the screen where the old toy continued to suffer in its strict bondage and made it known through heartbreaking groans.

I was distracted from my suffering for a while, trying to suppress my own moaning so I might hear what Petra was doing in my bedroom. She had already taken away all my privacy. What else was there to do? But between the moans coming from the speakers and my own that I couldn’t suppress for long, I heard nothing. Was Petra taking a nap? Was she preparing my bed for something?

I should have paid attention to how long this shot was. It had been running for at least an hour now. I wondered if Petra had chosen the most brutal thing she had up her sleeve as a “souvenir”? Or was this just an “everyday challenge”?

Sweat dripped down my side from under my armpits. The spit that I regularly secreted past the ball gag had long since joined the pussy juice on the seat. My jaw would definitely hurt for a while. However, the gag on the old toy was much larger than the one I was wearing. Even bigger than the “huge” ball gag from my toy box, which I could barely wear for more than a few minutes. At least that was something I could practice, right?

Petra’s voice from next door briefly tore me out of my agony-filled helplessness.

“Tell me, doll, have you ever been hung by your tits?”

Petra had shouted it loudly through the closed door! What if the neighbours had heard that? I couldn’t answer anyway because it would have required eye contact. Still, I shook my head. I had to respond to the question somehow, right?

But of course, from that moment on I couldn’t get the question out of my mind: what would it feel like to be hung up on those brutally tied tits like in the movie? I guess that was exactly the point of the intervention from the bedroom. And also tormenting myself for days with the idea that I would soon meet a lecherously grinning neighbour in the stairwell who would greet me with “Hello, hung-by-the-tits slut.” At least the bedroom window was closed. Otherwise, the question would have echoed through half the street.

Finally, Petra came back and sat down on the chair next to me with a sigh.

“Man, that has been frustrating! Do you buy your clothes to look particularly unattractive? I like different styles on my toys – especially doll, cheap slut and naked with a few choice accessories – but baggy-boring-colourless isn’t one of them. There is almost nothing in your closet that I would consider appropriate for my doll.”

Of course I didn’t think my clothes were that bad, but in fact most of them were intended for work and since I worked a lot with families with children, it wasn’t appropriate to score points with sex appeal. Well, I also had inhibitions about showing my body.

Petra’s criticism hit me hard. I wanted to look as good as possible for her.

“It doesn’t matter. After all, that can be changed. If you train diligently and are willing, we can gradually get you attractive clothes. Not those garbage bags that you usually wear.”

 The screen went black.

“Yes,” Petra sighed, “unfortunately the camera battery gave up at that point. But I can tell you what happened afterwards: First I untied the tits for half an hour. After all, the risk of permanent damage shouldn’t be too great, right? Then I tied the tits again for about two hours. We then repeated the sequence twice more.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said to myself. “Her tits were tied four times for two hours, with a half hour break in between and half an hour before? So, the poor thing was tied to the steel beam for a total of ten hours? Eight of which with her tits tied in agony?” I also noticed that Petra had talked about not letting the risk of permanent damage become too great. Not about avoiding the risk at all.

Petra lounged seductively next to me.

“Well?”, she asked, “what do you think? Do you think you’ve suffered enough to deserve another edge?”

I didn’t like this question at all. A toy has no say, so it shouldn’t even be asked. Or maybe I was just afraid of giving the wrong answer.

In the morning, I would have agreed with conviction. After all, I had first stood naked on display for several hours, received four hard blows to my breasts, and now spent several hours tightly bound and gagged. In my world before today, I would have “earned” several long edging sessions for this.

But after this afternoon I was pretty sure that Petra had a different conversion rate of suffering and pleasure than I did. I shook my head.

Petra nodded to me. I couldn’t tell from the look on her face whether that was the right or wrong answer.

“Fine. I have to check on the other thing anyway.”

Petra packed up her things, untied my hands and one foot, but left me, with shaking hands, to free the other foot and remove the gag. She was already outside when I finished. The last thing she did was call out to me, already halfway in the door:

“Stop shaving your pubic hair and armpits!”