Joanne 2

Joanne 2

It has been five years since Joanne was severely tortured at the hands of the Myanmar authorities, all for only being a nurse and trying to help people. She had been burned with cigarettes, beaten with a riding crop, and shocked by electricity, while having a thick, black hood over her head. Of the physical effects of her torture there was no sign. The cigarette’s end had barely touched her; the electricity had left no marks; and the bruises caused by the riding crop had soon healed. But, psychologically, the scars had run deep. She felt abstracted from society. Most things simply no longer mattered to her.

   She had endured the interrogation in Myanmar because she had had no choice in the matter. She had had no names to give to the torturer. But what if she had? That was a question which kept occupying her mind. If she had really been involved with the protest movement would she have been able to hold out, or would she have betrayed people?

   Her relationship with her boyfriend had ended soon after she had got back from Myanmar. Simply put, she had found his concerns to be ephemeral.

   Following the end of her relationship, as the months and years had passed, she had begun to obsess on the idea of being tortured again, just so she would know whether she could hold out, and not betray the names.

   During that time she had had a couple of very unsatisfying encounters with men, who had clearly not understood her needs, even after she had explained them. They had just wanted to tie her up and fuck her.

   Five years on, still haunted by what had happened to her, Joanne decided to seek out a professional – a professional dominatrix. She was not a lesbian, and not interested in having sex with the woman. But she felt that a dominatrix would be more likely to give her what she needed: real, mind-altering torture.

   Finding a dominatrix severe enough for her was not easy, though. Most seemed to have limitations. Eventually Joanne found one in the south of England who was not only happy, but eager, to follow Joanne’s scenario.

   It was to be an interrogation scene. Joanne had paid for an entire twenty-four hours. The scene would carry on until the twenty-four hours were up, or until Joanne broke, and given up twelve names which she was supposed to memorise. Those names were supposed to function in place of a safeword, and were the only way of ending the session early.

   There were a few other stipulations from Joanne. She was to be naked for the entirety of the torture, secured to some sort of torture chair. She was to wear a thick, black hood so that she couldn’t see anything. The room was to be so warm that she would be sweating.

   There was to be no restriction on the torture. Joanne wanted whipping, electrical torture and cigarette torture, and anything else which the dominatrix decided to inflict on her helpless body. But fear was important to Joanne. It was important that there should be no restrictions on the torturer. Joanne wanted to be in fear of permanent marks, and even the possibility of mutilation. No limits meant no limits. It was the only way that it would be real.

   The dominatrix, Lady de Sade, agreed to all the above. But she had one request – that she be allowed to film the entire session from the point where Joanne had the hood secured. If Joanne agreed to that then the session would be free, and Joanne would have her money returned.

   Joanne agreed.

On that fateful day Joanne was shown into Lady de Sade’s dungeon – or one of them. The room was dominated by a gynaecological chair just waiting for Joanne. She had never liked visiting the gynaecologist. It was too invasive. She almost balked, just then. But she reminded herself that she had asked for this.

   “Take all of your clothes off and get in the chair.” Lady de Sade commanded. Joanne got her clothing off, letting it fall to the floor. She got into the gyno chair.

   Straps went around her wrists, elbows, upper chest, stomach, thighs, knees and ankles. A black, cloth hood was produced. It had no eyeholes, as requested. It really was nothing more than a bag. It was put over Joanne’s head, and tied off around her neck, so that it would not come off if Joanne whipped her head from side to side while being tortured.

   A couple of free-standing heaters were produced and plugged in. They were angled to face Joanne. They were turned on, and turned up to maximum.

   Then Lady de Sade left Joanne there. It was time to get ready.

Joanne, left alone in the hood, almost felt transported back to Myanmar. The same fear was there as she had experienced before, five years ago.

   What Joanne had not told Lady de Sade was that she had not memorised the names, in the end. She had been going to, as agreed. But something had stopped her. Now she would suffer torture for a whole day without any way to get it to stop.

   It had to be that way.

Lady de Sade left Joanne to heat up for a good twenty minutes or so. That gave her the chance to get the digital cameras going, and trained on Joanne. A couple were trained on her crotch, the cunt filling the whole screen, everything in digital high definition. Another two were trained on her breasts. You could see every pore in the nipples. And another covered her enire body.

   It also gave Lady de Sade time to change out of her normal clothes into something a little more revealing. The people who bought her videos liked to see some of her naked flesh. Joanne, of course, wouldn’t see anything.

   When Lady de Sade re-entered the room she was wearing some thigh-length leather boots and not much else. Normally she might have worn long gloves and a corset, but not with the room being so warm. There were gold rings through her nipples, and a bar sideways through her clitoral hood. She was, of course, fully shaven.

   Joanne, still a little overweight (although she had lost a stone in the past five years) was sweating profusely. It made her buxom body really shine as the lights reflected off her flesh.

   Lady de Sade hoped that Joanne would not break too quickly. Interrogation scenes were a speciality of hers. But it was usually men who requested the 24 hour option.

Lady de Sade started with a gentle beating with a riding crop, bringing it down, first of all on the soles of Joanne’s feet. That was a new experience for her. She had not suffered bastinado before. It was not pleasant. But torture was not supposed to be. She endured.

   Joanne took the pain when Lady de Sade worked her way up Joanne’s legs, beating her hard enough to redden the flesh, but not break the skin. There was plenty of time, so Lady de Sade went slowly, giving Joanne opportunity to savour the pain.

   Lady de Sade striped Joanne’s legs from foot to upper thigh. Joanne expected her defenceless groin to feel the kiss of the riding crop. But Lady de Sade cropped Joanne’s arms instead, going from wrist up to Joanne’s shoulders. Soon her arms were as red as her legs. It looked like she would be wearing long-sleeved shirts for a while.

   The whipping had got Lady de Sade hot, for the heaters were still on full. She left Joanne for some ten to fifteen minutes, and went and enjoyed a nice, iced drink. She did not offer anything to Joanne yet. Perhaps later, so that she would not faint, she might get a drink of something.

   During that short break Joanne moved her head around, trying to hear Lady de Sade, wondering why the beating had stopped. But she didn’t say anything. She hadn’t said anything yet. She had merely murmured her pain during the whipping of her upper thighs.

   When Lady de Sade returned she resumed the cropping of Joanne. She started on the stomach, laying on the crop with the same strength as she had used on the rest of Joanne’s body. When the stomach was nicely striped Lady de Sade started on Joanne’s tits.

   Lady de Sade breathed heavily as she raised the riding crop. She liked whipping a cock and balls – but not as much as the prospect of whipping Joanne’s breasts. They were made to meet the crop.

   Whihh! Lady de Sade brought the crop down with all of the strength in her arm (and she did weight training). Joanne screamed in agony as the crop went splat into her voluminous right tit, sinking into the soft and pliant flesh.

   “TELL ME THE NAMES!” Lady de Sade screamed at Joanne. But Joanne shook her head. Good, Lady de Sade thought, this was going to be fun. She was glad that Joanne could absorb this pain. She took the crop away. There was a savage red line on Joanne’s milky white breast. A little blood leaked out.

   Lady de Sade moved around the other side of the gyno chair. She waited, hoping that the fear would build up inside her victim. Then, when she could wait no longer, she brought the riding crop down full strength on Joanne’s other breast.

   Whihh!

   “Tell me the names.”

The slow and sadistic cropping of Joanne’s breasts continued for the next hour. By the time that the whipping ceased all the flesh of Joanne’s tits were the same dark crimson colour, with hardly any flesh remaining milky white. Joanne had screamed many times, until her voice was hoarse. But she had not given up any names, not even the first one.

   Lady de Sade decided on another drink. She had another iced drink, and let herself calm down. She had got perhaps a little carried away in whipping Joanne’s breasts. She didn’t want to break her just yet.

   She let Joanne have a drink of water, putting a straw up under the black hood. This was not mercy. It would be no fun if the victim fainted from lost fluids – and the fact was that Joanne was sweating an awful lot.

Then the cropping of Joanne’s cunt began. Lady de Sade was very precise with her strokes, wanting to create agony without ruining Joanne. There was little point into turning her crotch into raw hamburger meat. Not yet, anyway.

   “Tell me the names.” Lady de Sade said, huskily. The only response was a shaken black hood. Lady de Sade’s response was to whip the crop down on Joanne’s right labium. It reddened, but was not cut, as Joanne screamed and then begged for mercy. But mercy came there none.

   Whihh. On the left labium. Another semi-human scream from Joanne. Another shake of the hooded head. Another pause. And the whipping continued, stroke after stroke after vicious stroke…

With the hood on her head Joanne had lost all sense of time. She thought that hours had already passed. She did not know that it had only been an hour and a half out of twenty-four.

Lady de Sade paused for an hour after cropping Joanne’s cunt. She made herself a meal, a nice chicken pasta with a white wine. Of course she did not offer Joanne anything.

   It was only when Lady de Sade had finished her slow and luxurious meal that she bothered to return to Joanne.

   Joanne had asked for cigarette burns, in outlining her interrogation scenario, and Lady de Sade was a smoking mistress. Lady de Sade expected this to break Joanne, for few people could take the intensity of cigarette torture.

   “Tell me the names.” Lady de Sade said.

   “No, never.” Joanne said, shaking her head. Lady de Sade smiled. This would be a good video, even if it ended in the next few minutes.

   Lady de Sade got out her lighter and her cigarettes. She only smoked when torturing people. Otherwise it was e-cigarettes. But life without any risk was no life at all. She lit up.

   “Now I’m going to burn you.” Lady de Sade said. “There is nothing that you can do about it; I will not ask you for the names again until I have finished burning your breasts.”

   Of course, if Joanne had given up the names just then, Lady de Sade would have stopped. She was a sadist, not a psychopath. She did not know that Joanne had purposefully neglected to memorise the names.

   Lady de Sade pulled up a chair and sat down beside the sweating, helpless Joanne. Lady de Sade touched the glowing ember at the end of the cigarette to Joanne’s left armpit. It was so wet with sweat that the cigarette went out with a sizzle. Joanne jumped because the touch had burned her a little.

   Lady de Sade lit up again. She touched the cigarette to the upper slopes of Joanne’s left breast, near one of the straps holding Joanne down. Joanne, unable to see the cigarette coming, was unable to do anything but gasp her pain.

   Lady de Sade left little burns all over Joanne’s left breast. None of the burns were serious, and would all heal without leaving a mark. Lady de Sade was an expert with a cigarette. But Joanne didn’t know that. She thought that she was being left with permanent marks on her breast. No man would ever want her again. But did she really want another man?

   Lady de Sade touched the glowing end to Joanne’s well-whipped left breast some two dozen times. She didn’t touch the areolae or nipple just yet.

   Lady de Sade moved the chair around the other side of Joanne. Joanne heard the chair move.

   “No, please.” Joanne said. She was deep into sub-space inside her head, imagining mutilations much worse than cigarette burns. She imagined a soldering iron tracing trails over her breasts, leaving her ruined forever.

   “Give me the names.” Lady de Sade said. But, of course, Joanne didn’t.

   Lady de Sade began burning the areolae, once the right breast had been burned as much as the left. Her eyes were bright, and the seat of the chair was damp with her juices. Torturing this zaftig mädchen was really turning her on. She was close to orgasm. But that only made her crueller towards this willing victim.

   The end of the cigarette touched the areolae for longer: burns that would take longer to heal; burns which caused Joanne to shriek in undisguised agony. The cigarette touched four times around Joanne’s right areolae, leaving black marks, before Lady de Sade moved to the left. Another four nasty black burns; another four heart-wrenching screams from Joanne.

   Lady de Sade stubbed the cigarette out on Joanne’s left nipple, grinding it out slowly as Joanne screamed her head off. Then Lady de Sade relit the cigarette and gave the right nipple the same treatment.

   Lady de Sade had to halt the torture then. She was too turned on. She went to a cabinet with toys inside, and grabbed her favourite, powerful, black vibrator. She sat back down in the chair, opened her legs wide, turned the vibrator on full, and held it against her clit and labia.

   She came in seconds. That would be something extra for those who bought her videos.

After the orgasm Lady de Sade calmed down a little. She looked at Joanne’s breasts. The nipples had been burned a little more severely than she had intended. She considered calling an end to the session to treat the burns. But, no, Joanne had asked for this, and worse. Let the silly bitch be marked for life for all she cared. The torture would continue.

   Lady de Sade moved the chair between Joanne’s wide-open legs. It was time for some serious genitorture.

   Lady de Sade felt Joanne’s crotch. As she had guessed it was sopping wet. The woman really was an extreme masochist. Perfect.

   Lady de Sade fetched some leather strings, to the ends of which were attached sharp-toothed crocodile clips. Lady de Sade clipped one on the top of Joanne’s left labium. Joanne winced, and moaned. Lady de Sade stretched the leather band out, tying it off to a metal ring set into the gyno table for that purpose. It had the effect of painfully pulling Joanne’s labium out.

     Five more clips on leather strings were attached, three each side. Joanne moaned with each clip going on. When they were all tied off Joanne’s labia were pulled so far apart that she was more open than she had ever been. Her cunt was wide open. The wet inner pinkness was fully displayed.

   Lady de Sade lit up another cigarette.

   “Tell me the names.” she muttered, not really want an answer. Joanne shook her hooded head from side to side. No names were said.

   Lady de Sade stroked the end of the cigarette along the inside of Joanne’s left cuntlip. Joanne’s scream was deafening. Up and down the cigarette’s ember was trailed, the barest of caresses. Then the right inner cuntlip was given the same treatment. It touched the entrance to Joanne’s urethra. It singed her anus.

   Then Lady de Sade delivered what she presumed would be the coup de grace. She pulled back Joanne’s clitoral hood. The clitoris was red and erect. Part of Joanne had clearly been liking this treatment – so far.

   Joanne stiffened. She was able to guess what was coming next. But she didn’t do anything but moan.

   “So be it.” Lady de Sade said. She extinguished the cigarette on the end of Joanne’s erect clit.

   It was perhaps lucky that the gyno chair was bolted to the floor, for Joanne would surely have shaken it free, such was her state in this torture. She carried on shaking her head from side to side for several minutes.

   Lady de Sade strapped on a massive, studded dildo, tightening the straps around her waist. Then she raped Joanne. There was no other word for it. This was rape of both the body and the mind.

   The strap-on would never go soft. Lady de Sade could keep on fucking for as long as she desired, the metal studs further hurting the insides of Joanne’s cunt. Lady de Sade kept up the fucking for a good twenty minutes. By then Joanne was making gurgling sounds.

Lady de Sade took off the strap-on. She removed the crocodile clips from Joanne, letting Joanne’s labia assume something resembling their normal shape, but with red marks where the cruel clips had bitten down.

   “I’m going to bed now.” she informed Joanne. “I’m going to go to bed and masturbate while thinking of you tied up down here. But, don’t worry, you won’t be bored. I think that I had better give you another drink first, though. We don’t want you fainting due to dehydration, do we?”

   Lady de Sade got more water. She made Joanne drink more than a pint of it through a straw stuffed up under the hood.

   Then Lady de Sade set up Joanne for a very uncomfortable night. Thick, long, metal probes were introduced to Joanne’s anus and vagina. Medical tape ensured that they would not fall out during the night. There were wires trailing away from the probes to a TENS unit.

   Lady de Sade turned on the electro-shock machine. The TENS unit was put on random: random intensity; random length shocks; and a random gap between the shocks. The highest intensity shock which could be delivered was level ten. The shortest length was a second; the longest length was ten seconds. The longest gap between shocks was five minutes, the shortest gap only thirty seconds.

   Lady de Sade left the heaters going, but turned the light off, as she left Joanne for the night.

   The dominatrix went to bed, and masturbated to another orgasm, as she thought of Joanne suffering shocks for hours on end, and not able to do anything about it.

In the morning Lady de Sade did not go straight to Joanne. Instead she enjoyed a breakfast of pain au chocolat with coffee while watching the television. She went shopping in town. It was only after midday, after Joanne had been suffering electrical shocks for more than twelve hours, that Lady de Sade went to check on the masochist.

Joanne had not slept at all. The shocks had been too painful and too random. It had been impossible to get used to them. Their unending nature had turned her mind inside out. After five minutes of them she had believed herself in Hell. After half an hour she had known that she had died, and gone to Hell, suffering eternal punishment for not being a good enough Christian.

   She was a martyr, like some of the saints she had read about. Saint Sebastian was martyred by being shot through with arrows. Saint Cecilia was burned (the flames not harming her) and then beheaded. Saint Agatha had her breasts cut off. This was her martyrdom.

   After a couple of hours Joanne began to hallucinate, thinking that she could look down, and see her own body, despite the hood being on her head, and the room being in darkness.

   After another hour she began to need the torture. At least the shocks reminded her that she was alive. It was as though the torture was slowly reprogramming her mind. Had Lady de Sade left some tape recorder running with instructions then she could have totally brainwashed Joanne. But the only brainwashing was the shocks themselves.

   Another hour, and with each successive shock her mind began lying to her body that it was feeling pleasure as well as agonising pain.

   Another hour, and Joanne had her first orgasm from the shocks alone.

   Each successive shock now took her closer to more orgasms. The longer and the more intense the shocks the more she reacted.

   After another hour a ten second shock on level ten took her to the second paingasm of the night.

   By the time that Lady de Sade finally turned off the TENS unit Joanne had lost count of the number of orgasms which she had had. There was only one thing which she wanted: pain.

“So, are you willing to give up the names?” Lady de asked (although Joanne did not recognise the voice at first, she was so out of it). Lady de Sade had to repeat the question.

   “No.” Joanne sighed. Her body was as full of endorphins as it had ever been. She felt terrible and wonderful at the same time. Had the shocks stopped? That was a pity.

   Lady de Sade removed the metal dildoes from Joanne’s cunt and arsehole. She was surprised to find that Joanne was sopping wet – and it wasn’t just sweat. This woman was amazing.

   Lady de Sade gave Joanne another drink, as it was clear that she had to be dehydrated. Perhaps that had done something to her mind. But she had not been broken yet. The torture had to continue.

There was only one thing for it: it was time to get out the needles.

   Lady de Sade took her time with the needles, despite most of the full day having passed. She was still confident that Joanne could be broken.

   She started out with Joanne’s toenails, forcing the needles under a nail. That made Joanne scream again. Needles went under every toenail. Lady de Sade wiggled them as they went in.

   Then needles went in Joanne’s breasts, again going in slowly, again being wiggled as they were inserted. But no names were forthcoming.

   Lady de Sade turned Joanne’s breasts into pincushions. Not all that long now and the day would be up, the day which should have broken Joanne. Lady de Sade began inserting the needles in Joanne’s cunt. They were forced through all of her labia. one pinned her clit hood back against her body, revealing Joanne’s erect, red clit.

   Lady de Sade, with a mere five minutes left, knew that this Joanne had somehow bested her; and that she had somehow been able to take all that Lady de Sade had been willing to dish out.

   Lady de Sade had one final torture. She took her cruellest needle, one with rough nodules along its length. She got out a miniature gas torch, lit it, and heated the needle until it was red-hot. Then she plunged the glowing needle down through Joanne’s clit, all of the way down to the handle of the needle.

   Joanne screamed out as she fainted with the pain of the greatest orgasm of her life.

The End.

Note: the author is currently working on a coda to the story of Joanne.