Joanne 3

Joanne 3

Joanne’s torture, months ago, at the hands of the dominatrix Lady de Sade, had ended, after a whole twenty-four hours of interrogative torture, with the most intense pain that Joanne had ever suffered, when Lady de Sade had introduced a red hot needle into Joanne’s clitoris. But it had also produced the most massive orgasm of Joanne’s life, something so much more powerful than the ones produced by pleasure.

   Months had passed, but that torture session was still alive in Joanne’s mind, as though it had only been yesterday. She had come to terms with the fact that she was not a submissive, but an out and out masochist, of the most extreme sort. The worse the pain – the worse the prospect of pain – the more turned on she was. She needed to endure the most terrible things to feel truly alive. Vanilla sex was no longer an option for her.

   For Joanne there was only on thing which of which she could conceive, and that was to permanently place herself in the cruel hands of Lady de Sade. But, for months, Joanne put off doing anything about it. What she had, in her fantasy, meant giving up her normal life, as a nurse and as a free human being.

   Yet what was freedom? She was free to work exceedingly long hours in the NHS for poor pay and little appreciation by the government. She was free to live out a normal life until she was old and fat and grey. Or she could find the freedom of utter slavery, of never having to make her own decisions.

Desire took Joanne back to Lady de Sade’s dungeon in the south of England. Lady de Sade let her in.

   “Why do you want to see me, Joanne?” Lady de Sade asked, in an imperious tone. “Your email was not very specific. Did you want to arrange another session?”

   “I want to become your permanent slave.” Joanne said. She had rehearsed what she was going to say. “You can do anything you want to me. I want to become your torture victim.”

   Lady de Sade did not speak for a while. She stared intently at Joanne.

   The fact was that Lady de Sade was now becoming bored of tormenting small-dicked male so-called masochists who claimed that they could take anything, but who used their safeword as soon as Lady de Sade became serious. She had been thinking about retirement. She had a seven figure sum in the bank. It wasn’t as though she’d ever have to worry about money.

   Videos of her torturing this Joanne would sell really well, especially if it was real, no limits torture, and not the sort of stuff which was normally available. She’d have to sell them on the dark web. But that was no matter. Everything would be consensual – or, at least, consensual non-consensual.

   “If I do this then you will be my sexual slave.” Lady de Sade said, eventually. “You will have to satisfy me sexually, multiple times a day. Do you think that you could do that?”

   “Yes.” Joanne said. She had expected something like that. The idea was embarrassing. But, her, a heterosexual, being forced to service a woman was arousing just for that very reason.

   “If you become my slave, then I will turn you into my toilet.” Lady de Sade said. She didn’t do scat. But she wasn’t going to tell Joanne that. “Could you cope with that?”

   “Yes.” Joanne said. The idea repulsed her. But the idea of being so abased that she was reduced to being nothing other than a toilet was also arousing.

   “I will torture you however I please, with no safeword, and no mercy.” Lady de Sade continued. “You will be branded as my slave, with my initials on your mons veneris. You can expect to be whipped, burned, pierced, abraded, and racked for my amusement, on a daily basis. Could you take that?”

   “Yes, please.” Joanne said. Her voice had become breathy. It was clear to Lady de Sade that Joanne was beginning to get turned on.

   Joanne closed her eyes. She could see, in her mind’s eye, a small, glowing branding iron, held in Lady de Sade’s gloved hand. The end of the branding iron had the letters LdS artistically joined together – and they were glowing white. The pain from it touching her pubic mound would be so many times worse than that red-hot needle piercing her clit. It would be terrible to suffer a torture like that. It would be wondrous.

   Lady de Sade had to click her fingers in front of Joanne’s face to get her attention back.

   “If you become my permanent slave then it will be about my pleasure, not yours. I will take away your ability to easily have orgasms. Perhaps I will cut off your orgasms. Perhaps I will find some other way of limiting you. I haven’t decided yet. Do you think that you could stand to be aroused, knowing that you might never get to cum?”

   “Oh, yes, Mistress.” Joanne said. What an elegant torture that would be, to be forever aroused but to never reach the peak of orgasm. That, surely, had to be the worst torture of all.

   “Understand that, if you become my victim, that it will be forever.” Lady de Sade continued. You will become my slave for the rest of your natural life. Your old life will be over. You will never leave my dungeons – not alive, anyway, and not for decades. Perhaps, one day, when we are both old, and I have become tired of your scarred body, I will torture you to death. But that will be many years away; and, when that day finally comes, you will be unrecognisable as a human being, and your tortured death will be begged for as a merciful release. But your final moments will not come easy: your final torture will take place over months, until nothing is left but your mutilated corpse. Tell me, Joanne, are you ready for that?”

   “Oh yes, yes, YES…” Joanne said, her hands down the front of her slacks, desperately rubbing away.

   “Then I accept you as my slave.”

   “YES!”

Joanne could not move in immediately, despite her desires to do so. She had to get her life and disappearance in order, so that the police would not come looking for her. She quit her job as an NHS nurse. What few contacts she had were told that she was going to Africa to be a nurse there. It was a believable lie, as they knew that she had been a nurse in Myanmar in the past. She sold every possession she could, until all that she had left were the clothes which she stood up in. It was only then, when her old life had been deleted, that she would be able to fully embrace her new life of servitude and pain.

   Those weeks were hard weeks for Joanne, for her mind was full of the tortures she desired. She had day dreams of the most revolting practices, of being forced to suck Lady de Sade’s cunt for hours on end, while her back was opened up with a bullwhip. She dreamt of Lady de Sade pissing and shitting in her mouth, each and every day (not knowing that Lady de Sade was not into scatological pursuits). She dreamt of metal skewers being forced through her breasts, and then being forced to stand on her tiptoes for hours on end, with chains around the skewers going to an overhead pulley. But the one mental image which always made Joanne cum was that of Lady de Sade slowly and cruelly completely burning away her clitoris with a hot branding iron.

   There were other arrangements to be made by Lady de Sade. But those she did not reveal just yet.

Somewhat over a month later Joanne once again stood before Lady de Sade. Joanne was wearing the same clothes which she had been wearing when she had returned from Myanmar. It seemed apposite, somehow. She wore no underwear, because that had been destroyed by the torturer. She had her credit card with her, with quite a bit of money on it, from all of the possessions she had sold. That card was now Lady de Sade’s, of course, as slaves could not have possession. The car was accepted.

   Lady de Sade was dressed in an imposing manner. She wore a costume which mimicked that of the Gestapo or Nazi SS: leather jackboots, black cloth trousers, a black jacket with Nazi insignia, and a black leather cap with a swastika on it. By no means was Lady de Sade a racist – she was an equal opportunities sadist – and many people might consider a Nazi costume to be in bad taste. But it had been chosen because it was a symbol of cruelty and oppression. Lady de Sade wanted to start as she intended to go on.

   “Strip.” Lady de Sade commanded. “From now on you will never wear clothes again, with the exception of a hood which I will fit on you a little later.”

   Joanne eagerly removed her clothes. In mere moments she was naked, her clothes in an untidy pile on the floor. Lady de Sade kicked the clothes aside, as she regarded Joanne’s naked body. She’d burn Joanne’s clothes later.

   Joanne had made sure that her body was free from hair. Her pubis was entirely bare; and her vaginal lips already glistening with secretions. That bare mons veneris would soon wear a brand. But Lady de Sade had plans for the rest of Joanne’s slightly overweight form. Joanne would be going on a diet, but not a severe one, as Lady de Sade liked large breasts and buttocks – there was so much area to whip. But, although Joanne would never wear clothes again, there were some adornments which Lady de Sade intended for this willing victim. Both nipples would be pierced. There would be rings installed all down the labia, so that Joanne’s cunt could easily be opened up for severe torture and fisting. And Lady de Sade had something special in mind for Joanne’s clit.

   “Kneel, bitch.” Lady de Sade said. She slapped Joanne across the face, a really stinging slap. Joanne gasped, but knelt on the floor.

   “Put your hands behind your head and thrust your tits out.” Lady de Sade said. Joanne did as instructed.

   Lady de Sade squeezed Joanne’s breasts. Joanne gasped. Then Lady de Sade slapped first Joanne’s right breast, then her left, then right and left again, carrying on for a couple of minutes until the flesh of Joanne’s had assumed a roseate hue. Joanne gasped with each slap, but kept her hands clasped behind her head, and her breasts proffered for whatever further tortures Lady de Sade might want to inflict on them.

   “Follow me. Crawl. We’re going into the large dungeon: your new home.” Lady de Sade said.

   Lady de Sade led the way. It was a different dungeon to the one which Joanne had been in the other time that she had been here. It was underground, down some stone cellar steps, which Joanne crawled down on hands and knees. This dungeon had a floor of stone flagstones, and it had the sort of mediaeval equipment of a classic torture chamber. There was a wooden X-frame; a rack; a Spanish horse with a suitably sharp wooden edge; a set of stocks; an oubliette set into the floor; a torture wheel; and other, more obscure items.

   Joanne saw that, in one corner of the room, there was a brazier with glowing coals in it. The handle of a branding iron protruded from the brazier. There was an extractor fan above the brazier, to remove any fumes.

   This, and the other torture rooms, will be your home from now on.” Lady de Sade said. “Hidden CCTV cameras record everything which transpire in this chamber. There will no longer be any black hoods to disguise your face. I will be making videos of all of your tortures, Joanne. They will be posted on a secret site on the dark web. The videos will all have your full name attached to them. Imagine all of the perverts downloading them and masturbating over you being tortured. I will make sure that I get plenty of shots of your face when you are being tortured. In my opinion there are few things as erotic as the face of a woman in agony.

   “In a few minutes you will truly be my slave. There are a few things which we will attend to today. First is the branding of your pubis. Then there is the problem of your clitoris. After the branding you will be bound down here until you recover.

   “You have asked to be a victim and your wish will be granted. You will only be left to sleep when in some form of bondage. There may be some pain from stress positions, as well, so that pain becomes a constant for you.”

   Joanne would not ask for anything more than constant pain.

   “Come, lie down on this table. I need you to be tightly tied for the branding.”

   Joanne crawled over to a wooden table. It had many straps attached to it. She climbed up on the table, and lay on her back. Lady de Sade tightened straps on Joanne until the masochist could not move an inch. To check Lady de Sade cruelly pinched Joanne’s clit, still carrying a faint burn from its encounter with a lit cigarette.

   Then Lady de Sade went over to the brazier. She grasped the branding iron by its handle, and pulled it out of the coals. The end was shaped into the letters LdS. The letters were glowing white. It was ready. It would leave an indelible mark on Joanne. Lady de Sade walked over towards the table. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t ask Joanne whether she was ready or not. It didn’t matter.

   Lady de Sade pushed the branding iron into Joanne’s pubic mound. Joanne screamed and fainted.

   “One… two… three… four… five.”

   Lady de Sade removed the branding iron. The letters LdS had been burned into Joann’s pubic mound. Those letters would remain there forever. It announced to the world that Joanne was hers.

   Lady de Sade tenderly tended to Joanne’s burn, so that it would not get infected. That would not do. Any injuries to Joanne were to be intentional from now on.

   Lady de Sade got out some smelling salts. There was still one more thing to before she could tie up Joanne for the night. Until Lady de Sade was sure that the brand would not get infected she would not be playing with Joanne. Instead Joanne would be in bondage a lot.

   The smelling salts were waved in front of Joanne’s face. Joanne coughed and woke up. She winced in pain from the presence of the brand. But she did not complain. Possessions did not complain to their owners.

   Lady de Sade unstrapped Joanne.

   “For this next part you are to stand with your legs apart.” Lady de Sade said. “We must attend to your clit. I got the idea for this from a story. It is an alternative to the removal of your clit. From now on your clit is for receiving pain not pleasure. If you want pleasure you must seek it in the depths of pain.”

   Lady de Sade showed Joanne two pieces of metal. They looked a bit like a tube cut in two lengthwise. On the inside of each there were lots of little metal hooks, all pointing in the same direction.

   “The metal is safe, like that of a standard piercing.” Lady de Sade said. “The hooks are designed to grasp your clit, and stop it from retreating. Your clit will be permanently stretched by the tube. Perhaps it will even increase in size. Don’t worry, the tube can be removed. But it will only come off to torture the clit worse than the tube itself.”

   Lady de Sade bent down and fitted the tube around Joanne’s clit. It wasn’t that bad – at the moment – as Joanne’s clit was not erect or extended. A few of the sharp hooks tickled her clit. But Lady de Sade had not finished. One end of the metal tube was still open. She attached a pump to that end, and pumped until all of the air in the metal tube was sucked out. This had the effect of stretching out Joanna’s clit to the maximum, and impaling it on the little hooks all along the tube’s length, when the clit tried to retreat. The sharp hooks prevented the clit from decreasing in size. But there was still more to come. Lady de Sade produced the last piece of the torture device. It was a long, sharp needle, the head of which could be screwed into the open end of the clit torture tube. Lady de Sade screwed it in. Joanne screamed, her clit now pierced by a metal needle along its length.

   “It is time to put you to bed for the night.” Lady de Sade said, to the wincing Joanne. She dragged Joanne over to chains hanging from the ceiling. Padded leather manacles were put on Joanne’s wrists, and attached to the hanging metal chains. Similar manacles were put on Joanne’s ankles, and attached to widespread ringbolts set in the stone flagstones.

   Lady de Sade walked over to an electric pulley system set in the wall. A button effortlessly raised Joanne, until only her toes could touch the floor.

   Yet there was even more to come for Joanne. An electrical torture device, a TENS, was wheeled over on a wheeled table, to be in front of Joanne. A wire was attached to the end of the metal needle piercing Joanne’s clit; and another wire to the metal tube encasing it.

   “Don’t worry, the needles and the tube are separated by the screw head, where it touches the tube, being non-conductive. The electricity will flow between the needle and the tube. Only your clit will be shocked. You may think that your nerves will end up being destroyed by the shocks. But I am reliably informed that that will not happen. The pain of the thousandth shock will be as great as the first.”

   Lady de Sade turned the setting up to ten. The length of the shocks was set at ten seconds. And the interval was set at fifty seconds. Every minute Joanne would suffer an excruciating electrical shock through her clit. She would have sixty an hour. And she would have hundreds that night, each as terrible as the last.

   Lady de Sade turned on the TENS unit and left Joanne to her torture, knowing that she would not be able to do anything but suffer for the rest of the night.

   Joanne screamed as the first shock hit her clit. The power was too high. There was no way that she would be able to turn this into pleasure. This really was torture, just what she had asked for, a martyrdom without end.

   She was happy.

Epilogue

Occasionally a video would appear at a site on the dark web. These videos showed a woman being tortured, and announced that the victim was Joanne Thompson. These videos were stronger than anything which you would find on ordinary BDSM sites on the internet.

   It was clear, just from looking at this Joanne, that she had suffered many tortures in the past. There was a brand, the letters LdS, on her pubic mound. Her breasts were pierced by thick rings through the areolae, behind the nipples. Three rings went through eacj labia; the rings stretched out Joanne’s cuntlips, so that they could be attached to leather bands around her thighs. Joanne’s cunt was permanently stretched open.

   Her body was covered by old scar: from whippings until the blood; from red hot skewers forced through her breasts; from cigarette burns all over her body apart from her clit, for it was still contained in its torture tube.

   Those watching Joanne might see further cigarette burns to her defenceless, wide open cunt, an entire pack stubbed out all along the labia and on the pink flesh inside; or her arsehole fisted to the elbow; or a hundred red hot needles forced deep into Joanne’s breasts; or a bullwhipping that went on for hours and left the skin of Joanne’s back and buttocks hanging in bloody shreds. But, whatever the torture, the video would end with an image of Joanne’s face, a proof that it was her; and each image showed a Joanne who, although tortured, was clearly experiencing the most beatific orgasm that could be imagined.