Old Slag Degraded by Young Studs Pt. 05

Chapter 5 — The Tortured Tart

I knew as I was being prepared the following day with my wrists closely shackled to my ankles so that I was bent double that the next few hours were those some of the young men had been looking forward to most. They had repeatedly told me over the weekend that they could hardly wait for the last day to arrive. This was, as one of the guys had called it, ‘torture time,’ and I knew that I had to provide a good account of myself whatever came my way.

Thankfully, after fulfilling the forced fantasy the previous day, the men had allowed me to sleep in and not roused me until close to nine-thirty despite their cravings to get started.

The majority of the men involved with me had read most, if not all, of my online accounts and wanted proof that what I had written was true. I knew that providing it would be an adventure in pain and suffering, perhaps surpassing anything I had known.

Despite discussing most of what the young guys wished to do with me during the three days to be sure I was happy, I had purposefully not entered into the intimate details of what would take place. Much of what they described wanting to do was a repeat of what I had depicted in my autobiographical accounts.

I had a reasonable idea that I could bear most of what might be inflicted on me. I had decided, perhaps foolishly, that no matter what, I would not use any safe word or action. I knew Tynan would step in if he felt things were getting out of hand or going over the top. He had already confessed that the plans would be different and painful, but he felt manageable. I had enough confidence in him to trust his judgement implicitly, even if he might take my suffering further than I would have gone myself.

The guys getting me ready dressed me in a hideous short green dress. I do not suit green at all and hated the sight of it. The dress’s only mitigating factor was that it had short sleeves, and I always prefer short sleeves as I am told my bare arms are very sexy.

Once those dressing and chaining me were happy, a pole measuring about five feet in length appeared. On one end was a small round ball, a little like a scaled-down version of a round filial on a curtain pole. I watched, looking behind between my legs as the ball was lubricated before being positioned into my bum crack. There was a short pause before it was quickly and painfully thrust into my bum hole.

This was used to push and guide me with the small metal ball held inside my backside and the pole extending outwards held by two of the men.

I was marched into the main room of the unit the men had procured. My hair almost touched the floor as I waddled with my head almost between my legs like an ostrich attempting to bury its head in the sand. The young men believed this was a most degrading position, and I agree that it certainly was, as the pole stuck in my arse pushed me forward.

As I walked, my bum, either side of the pole, was prodded by at least two sharp-feeling sticks that encouraged me forward in my ape-like gait. I was stopped when my head bumped into someone’s knees.

“So is this the Tart for Torture?” a voice above me asked.

“Yes indeed,” another voice replied, “She’s one hundred per cent filthy fuckmeat; her front fuck hole has had nearly six hundred different dicks, and her rear and upper shag holes have similar numbers.

“Confession time!” the first voice responded to the news with a hint of menace. “Stand her upright.”

My hands were unbound from my ankles, and I was pulled back to stand before one of the young men who had attained the position of the inquisitor.

“Stand up straight,” he barked as my shoulders were pulled back sharply.

“You are accused of being a total whore. What do you say?”

“No comment,” I responded emphatically.

“Take off her clothes,” my interrogator ordered.

The undressing process took seconds before I was naked and vulnerable before the crowd of excited men, all eager to see me turned into a pain slut for the next few hours. The usual crowd had been joined by their grandparents and uncles, whom I had met on my first-day outing. The six large muscular black me who had used me the previous day were also in attendance, along with the other young men I had to whom I had previously been pimped out. All in all, there were about forty guys waiting to see me get my deserved comeuppance.

“Ugly face, no tits and untamed beaver are classic signs of whoredom. No guy would want a bitch like you! Guilty as charged! Let’s pluck her!”

My arms were raised above my head and tied to the car hoist so that I could be stretched taught. My ankles were secured with ropes to shelving units on either side of the room, leaving me with my arms directly over my head and my legs pulled apart, exposing my hairy pussy.

“Good position for a slut,” a voice called out.

“Look at that,” the inquisitor said, pointing between my legs. “Most proud Scottish folks wear the sporran in the right kuşadası escort bayan place outside the kilt. You are a total disgrace, girl! We intend to search your head for nits, your cunt for maggots and your tits and armpits for anything else you might have hidden.”

“And we will ALL use these,” another of my captors said, lifting a pair of long-nose pliers for everyone to see.

I knew what was coming next. I had written about it when some of my female friends did something similar during my university days. I braced myself for a painful pulling of hairs from my body.

The first young guy approached and, taking the pliers, asked me to lower my head. I did so, and he ran his fingers through my hair until he felt he had the right one. I felt it pulled taught and then a shaft of pain that caused me to cry out loud as he pulled it from my scalp.

He left with his prized position of whore head hair while another approached and took the pliers before bending down to examine my natural untamed and untrained pussy.

The ministrations of his hand caused me untold suffering as he deliberately fingered me while searching for the hair he desired.

Once he had made his choice, he gripped it in the pliers and gave a little pull to cause me to jump.

“Countdown,” he called, “From three!”

“Three, two, one,” the room answered back before I felt him give his final violent pull as I once again screamed, and he rose with one of my pussy hairs held proudly in the jaws of his pliers.

A third man approached and began to look at the hairs under my armpits. I usually shave these for summer but had been explicitly asked to keep my underarm hair for this gathering. Now I knew why!

Standing spread and prone with my arms over my head and armpits exposed, I gritted my teeth as I felt the pliers find a suitable hair for plucking. With one quick pull, sharp stinging pain and a cry of anguish, the deed was done, and another of my hairs were added to one of the young men’s collection!

The fourth to draw near smiled as he looked at my breasts. “I have drawn the lot to take a tit hair,” he announced blandly as I watched his pliers near my left breast. “Only two of us are allowed your tit hairs due to there being so few of them,” he explained, “Nevertheless, we intend to have some fun with them!”

He certainly had fun as he playfully pulled one after another, taught as if conducting some medical examination. Finally, after selecting the strand of my breast hair he wanted as his souvenir, he pulled it tight before slowly increasing the strain until it broke.

“You have to pull it out from the root,” another lad told him. Breaking it like that is not in the rules.

With a quick and vicious jerk, the young man took hold of the remaining hair and plucked it out of my body whilst I felt as if I had been stabbed by a burning needle!

These scenes were repeated, with two men still holding the metal pole in my bum, until all the men in the room, young and old, had obtained their small memento of my visit. I was left sore in three areas, with over forty strands of personal hair missing from my body, mostly from my pussy.

I was released from the shelving units and hoist. At the same time, the pole was suddenly pulled out of my bum as I staggered backwards in surprise, nearly falling over.

I was forced to lie on my back looking up as a giant funnel used to put fuel or oil in a car was brought and stuffed into my mouth. My nose was pinched, and a two-litre water bottle was obtained from a fridge. This was poured into my mouth, forcing me to drink it without spilling. Thankfully, I was given three short breaks before completing my task.

Once I had drunk all two litres, I was made to kneel with my bum in the air while a large syringe was filled with iced water. I did not need to be told where that was going. I felt the end push into my arse, and the cold liquid injected into my bum.

‘Suck this,’ one of the young men said as he waved a giant butt plug in front of my face. I obediently opened my mouth and moistened it with my lips and tongue until the holder was satisfied it was well enough lubricated.

I waited what seemed like ages until I felt it being pushed hard into my expanding bum hole. Suddenly, it locked uncomfortably into position where the pole had previously been, ensuring that the cold water inside that area of me would not escape.

Once again, I was placed on my back to allow my pussy to receive similar attention as my mouth and arse. The syringe was refilled and pushed into my cunt before its cold contents were released into my warm and well-used vagina. I shivered as more chilly water entered my exposed body, which was feeling very bloated and unpleasant.

“How do we keep that in there?’ one of the younger element asked.

“Easy,” Tom replied, producing a roll of Duck tape, “With this!”

As a length was cut off, another asked, “How will you get it off her?”

“Pull davutlar escort it,” Kevin responded matter-of-factly.

“Won’t it hurt her with all that hair she has?” the enquirer asked.

Despite my uncomfortable predicament, even I let out a suppressed giggle at this further question.

“Of course it will. It is meant to!” Brett explained as he placed the tape from my bum hole to my navel across my pussy. I knew, too, that he was correct; it would hurt, and it would hurt a lot.

In no time, I was desperate to pee and poo and do something to relieve my aching stomach that everyone could hear churning with two litres of cold water swishing around inside.

My arms were again bound over my head before some of the guys stepped forward to slap my tummy with their open hands. This painful exercise only made me more desperate to relieve myself as quickly as possible or be sick; however, I had to receive two strikes with a riding crop over my naval before anyone was interested in my being relieved.

Finally, with water seeping out of my pussy and my arse close to bursting, I was untied, allowed to squat over a bucket and remove the large butt plug from my bum hole. Due to its size, it took some pulling to release. A deluge of shitty water burst out like a raging torrent into the bucket below as soon as it came free.

Then I was commanded to stand still, legs apart and my hands on my head so the duct tape could be removed. I was not looking forward to this part of the proceedings.

One of the men came forward and, placing his hand between my legs, took hold of the tape at my rear. There was a countdown to prolong my agony.

“Five, four, three, two, one,” then he quickly and violently pulled the tape covering my pussy, and as he did so, I bellowed like a mad bull, charging through a china shop. As the tape came away, it felt like it had stripped my pussy bald. Indeed a closer examination of the tape showed an almost innumerable number of my pussy hairs.

I dance an on-the-spot jig, making strange noises reminiscent of a car trying to run without oil. I was relieved, despite the pain, to have the tape removed because I would have struggled to hold my pee in any longer. It flowed powerfully into a bucket.

“You’re lucky,” one of the visitors commented as he watched the look of sheer relief cross my face, “In olden days, they used to make the victim drink piss, not just water!”

“She’s already done that,” another said knowingly.

Once I had emptied myself, to the general amusement of those watching, I was again attached to the engine hoist and the shelving units. When I saw my electrical box of tricks being bought in, I knew what would happen next, and it would indeed be shocking!

Several years before, I asked an electrician friend if he could make a simple gadget that would provide safe electrical stimuli in sessions I undertook. After considering the subject and working through each possible scenario with me, he devised the most suitable solution based on an amplification mixer panel. Different clips and rods can be plugged into the various jack plugs. At the same time, the assorted slider bars provide a differing intensity of electrical impulses as they are slid up and down.

I watched with a wry smile as a quantity of ice was brought in, which two of the guys used to commence rubbing my nipples. It took only seconds for my tits to become elongated and hard in response. Despite having obtained the desired effect, the ice continued to be applied, possibly hoping that its application might increase the size of my enlarged areola.

I was then shown two lots of wires connected to a jack plug while dangling on the other ends were small crocodile clips that sent a shiver up my spine. I had never allowed crocodile clips to be used before in any of my previous escapades and had agreed only on condition that Tynan arranged to have the jagged jaws filed so they were more rounded than serrated. Was I ever glad that I had made that little request?

I wanted to be blindfolded as I watched wide-eyed as the cruel-looking clips neared my hard, cold, and sensitive skin. I winced as they were held open on either side of my erect nipple before they were carefully released, trapping my tit between them.

There was a slight pause between the deed and my feeling, a sharp, searing pain that felt more like my breast had been sliced off than anything else I could describe. It started with an intense scratching that caused me to gasp before, a second later, a searing pain such as I had not felt in many a year.

My blood-curdling scream, for that, is precisely what it was, caused the two men who had placed the clips to nearly jump out of their skin as they stepped back in great alarm at the pain they had inflicted. I attempted to control the throbbing by breathing deeply rather than screaming. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only around sixty seconds, değirmendere escort I felt that the pain was either subsiding or I was becoming used to its fury.

My deep breathing also had the unexpected effect of causing some of the men to become animated beneath their trousers as I observed through my tear-filled eyes. Knowing that others enjoyed watching the spectacle gave me a little reason to endure the suffering.

“Right, Guys”, Tom commanded, “Now comes the shocking bit!”

I have often heard similar puns when my box of electrical apparatus is used. I now laugh almost in anticipation of any witticism about to be made.

I braced myself as I saw my apparatus turned on, and one of the slider bars moved to release the trickle charge into one of the clips on my nipple. Suddenly, something like a ripple effect began to enter my left breast, gently at first but still powerful enough to make me jump in my bonds and issue a short gasp. As the frequency increased, my breathing became shallower and more rapid, much to the enjoyment of my watching detractors.

Once the second slider was moved and both nipples were injected with varying amounts of electrical stimuli, I writhed against my bonds, alternatively groaning and letting out short, sharp screams of pain.

As I hung with my eyes closed and sweating profusely, the sensations coursing through my breasts suddenly ceased, resulting in me hanging almost limp in the hoist.

When I opened my eyes, I saw two excited young men approaching me carrying two six-inch long round metal probes with wires protruding on one end. No one needed a degree to know where those would be placed.

Without too much care, they were pushed deep into my cunt and arsehole. As the two guys retired, I felt the current commence between my legs, and my feet attempted an involuntary dance despite being bound by the ankles.

Many guys ask me what it is like enduring an electrical probe in your arse or up your pussy. I have suggested that they allow me to stick it up their backsides to find out; however, in nearly twenty years of providing group sex and BDSM fun to the alpha male, I can only think of two willing to try it!

It feels like a bar that warms up and sends heat waves in pulses through your body at varying rates and intensities. If the machine is used correctly, the results can be pretty intense.

As Tyson oversaw those using the control box, I jumped, grunted, groaned, shouted, shook and suffered at the business end of the wires. No matter how many times I have endured electrical torture of one sort or another, it never ceases to amaze me how excited it makes the men with me. There must be something in a man’s psyche that reacts to a pretty woman enduring pain caused by an unseen but real and painful presence.

One man once told me that the thrill was watching my body cavort and my face contort as the charges were administered. Whatever, when this session concluded, I believe that every man in the room had their cocks in hand and rock hard, almost as if they too had received a volt of current that had made them instantaneously stiff.

I can’t say I wasn’t glad to have the cruel and painful clips removed from my nipples. However, the sudden inrush of blood caused another throbbing that nearly put me over the top and into another orgasm.

Once released, I was given a large hook to suck with a piece of elastic attached to one end. A few weeks before the event, I was sent several short clips of other women involved in BDSM play. I recognised this from one of those clips and knew it would be put into my bum hole once I had suitably lubricated it with my mouth. I did not, however, know what else was also planned at the same time.

With the hook in position up my arse, the elastic was pulled taught and tied tightly around my long hair, pulling my head back so that I was, more or less, facing the ceiling.

“On your knees bitch!” I was ordered.

Thankfully, being in such an uncomfortable and debilitating position, I was assisted in getting down as requested.

“You need a drink, slut,” I was told as I looked up, “Open your mouth.”

As I did so, all the men lined up to walk past me and commenced to spit into my proffered mouth. Most found the target; however, some deliberately aimed for my eyes or breasts. Once all had filtered past, my mouth was filled to overflowing with spital running down my chin and in my eyes, Kevin spoke up.

“Okay, Whore,” I was ordered, “Swallow it.”

Although I had been in this predicament before, it was an uncommon experience, and I could count on one hand the times I had been asked to receive men’s spital.

To everyone’s amazement, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and swallowed. It was not the nicest thing I have ever done, but it certainly caused a few gasps from those watching. This was not too bad, considering the other vile concoctions I had been forced to consume over the previous days.

Still on my knees and my head pulled back by my hair attached to the large hook in my bum, several men decided this was a good time to slap my face or boobs.

In more ways than one, I was relieved when my hair was released and the hook removed from my bum.

“Tie her on the bed,” Tom instructed, “Spread eagle, nice and wide.”

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