theladystouch
05-04-2008, 06:44 PM
Okay, H Dean. Here is my first attempt at male perspective, first person, etc. I look forward to your critique.
Lady C
“Here he is,” one of my captors reported, shoving me forward. I collapsed on the ground, still gasping for breath. My back and ass throbbed, and I left blood smears on the concrete where my welted and abraded skin brushed the floor.
A pair of red high heels stopped a few inches from my face. I didn’t glance up. I knew what I would find: a pair of triumphant green eyes gazing down at my torn and naked body.
“Michael, I’m so glad you decided to join us after all,” she purred. “It seems you are having difficulty accepting your new status. No matter. I have arranged a reminder for you.”
A cold, sinking feeling hit my gut. My second escape attempt had failed, and I knew that anything she had planned for me was going to be humiliating and painful. Known as The Boss Lady to her face and The Bitch behind her back, she was vicious and creative. This was not going to be fun.
The red heels turned and moved away from me, toward the center of the basement. “Bring him,” she ordered.
The two big bruisers who had captured then caned me each grabbed an arm and dragged me across the floor. Finally looking up, I saw The Bitch standing next to a hospital gurney. She was twirling a lock of her long red hair around one finger, tapping her toe impatiently.
“On his back, just at the edge of the gurney.”
My handlers each grabbed a leg and hoisted me onto the foot of the gurney, placing me on my back, retaining control of my limbs. After three days on the run, without food and with little rest, I didn’t have any energy to fight back, but they were taking no chances. I was placed with my butt at the very edge of the black vinyl mattress. The gurney never moved, so I assumed it was somehow fixed in place.
While the rough, impersonal hands held me, The Bitch calmly and efficiently secured my wrists to the top bars of the side rails, stretching my arms tightly above my head. My legs were then forced apart, knees bent and raised toward my chest, while she secured my ankles and knees to the rails. The goons let go of me, stepped back and stood, silently watching. The Bitch completed her task by fastening and tightening two three-inch-wide webbed seatbelts: one across my throat and outstretched arms, the other low across my abdomen and pelvic bones. As long as I didn’t try to raise my head, the webbing did not interfere with my breathing.
At her nod, her henchmen pressed the release on each side of the gurney, partially lowering the rails. A deep, ragged cry was wrenched from my throat. Agony ripped through my thighs and groin as my legs were pried abruptly apart. In pain, with my limbs splayed wide and tied down, I felt more exposed and helpless than at any other time in my life.
“Ah, Michael, I see I now have your attention,” she drawled, standing at the foot of the gurney, towering over my vulnerable form.
My heart was pounding in my chest, my breaths ragged, this time from fear.
The Bitch raked her long red nails across my ribs, then began worrying my nipples. She pulled, twisted, and pinched them. I was tied down so tightly I could barely flinch and couldn’t escape her hard fingers at all. As I groaned in pain, her eyes narrowed and she smiled. She continued, and the pain increased with each pull and pinch.
I stared back at her defiantly, imagining her trussed like a Christmas turkey, served up on a silver platter, an apple forced between her crimson lips. Oh, how I’d like to make that fantasy come true!
She viciously twisted my nipples again and I winced. “Good boy,” she crooned. “I want you to hurt. I want you to remember this.”
My arms jerked reflexively, trying to protect my poor, tortured flesh. The throbbing of my abraded wrists and back barely registered in comparison. She tormented my nipples until I was reduced to thrashing my head back and forth, whimpering. Finally, I was forced to beg: I just couldn’t take any more.
“P-p-please, Boss L-lady,” I gasped brokenly. “I’ll be good. I’ll obey. I’ll do whatever you want.” At that point I would have promised The Bitch anything to end my ordeal.
She cupped my cheek in her soft hand, staring into my eyes. “I know you will. When I’m through with you, Michael, you will beg me to allow you to serve me. I will make you a model slave, but before that can happen, there is more you must endure.”
I groaned, tears leaking from my eyes in despair. I tried to turn away from her, tried to hide my pain and fear—my weakness. She slapped me hard on the cheek, once again forcing my gaze to meet hers.
The Bitch reached for something on the metal tray one of her goons was now holding. She held up and admired an odd medical clamp with small holes in the tips. Before I could form a question, she attached the forceps to my right nipple. “Aaaaiiiieeee!” I screamed, arching my back off the gurney. It felt like she had just amputated that tender bit of flesh. Her look of concentration never wavered as her hands continued to move against me.
The agony paled, however, when a bolt of fire suddenly blossomed in my chest. She wiped a gauze pad across the area and drew it away, bloody. My stomach flip-flopped. The Bitch had pierced my nipple!
“No! Please, no,” I begged.
Ignoring my anguished cries, she turned her attention to my left nipple. I writhed against my restraints, bringing my full strength to bear, futilely trying to break free. Tears streaming down my face, I begged and swallowed a sob as she clamped my left nipple.
Knowing what to expect made it worse. She pierced the other nipple with the same calm concentration. The pain continued to grow as she manipulated rings into the wounds, then mercifully began to recede.
To my amazement, she began stroking my cock. In spite of the pain, I responded to her immediately. Humiliated, I felt my cheeks heat. Lowering my eyes, I gritted my teeth, willing my penis to wilt. It didn’t. I lay bound, exposed, cock rampant, and totally under her control.
Reaching again for the tray, The Bitch picked up another pair of forceps. Locked into its jaws was a curved needle. Oh, God, I thought in desperation, she’s going to give me a Prince Albert!
As the needle neared my erect cock, I passed out.
All rights reserved. TheLadysTouch 2008
Lady C
“Here he is,” one of my captors reported, shoving me forward. I collapsed on the ground, still gasping for breath. My back and ass throbbed, and I left blood smears on the concrete where my welted and abraded skin brushed the floor.
A pair of red high heels stopped a few inches from my face. I didn’t glance up. I knew what I would find: a pair of triumphant green eyes gazing down at my torn and naked body.
“Michael, I’m so glad you decided to join us after all,” she purred. “It seems you are having difficulty accepting your new status. No matter. I have arranged a reminder for you.”
A cold, sinking feeling hit my gut. My second escape attempt had failed, and I knew that anything she had planned for me was going to be humiliating and painful. Known as The Boss Lady to her face and The Bitch behind her back, she was vicious and creative. This was not going to be fun.
The red heels turned and moved away from me, toward the center of the basement. “Bring him,” she ordered.
The two big bruisers who had captured then caned me each grabbed an arm and dragged me across the floor. Finally looking up, I saw The Bitch standing next to a hospital gurney. She was twirling a lock of her long red hair around one finger, tapping her toe impatiently.
“On his back, just at the edge of the gurney.”
My handlers each grabbed a leg and hoisted me onto the foot of the gurney, placing me on my back, retaining control of my limbs. After three days on the run, without food and with little rest, I didn’t have any energy to fight back, but they were taking no chances. I was placed with my butt at the very edge of the black vinyl mattress. The gurney never moved, so I assumed it was somehow fixed in place.
While the rough, impersonal hands held me, The Bitch calmly and efficiently secured my wrists to the top bars of the side rails, stretching my arms tightly above my head. My legs were then forced apart, knees bent and raised toward my chest, while she secured my ankles and knees to the rails. The goons let go of me, stepped back and stood, silently watching. The Bitch completed her task by fastening and tightening two three-inch-wide webbed seatbelts: one across my throat and outstretched arms, the other low across my abdomen and pelvic bones. As long as I didn’t try to raise my head, the webbing did not interfere with my breathing.
At her nod, her henchmen pressed the release on each side of the gurney, partially lowering the rails. A deep, ragged cry was wrenched from my throat. Agony ripped through my thighs and groin as my legs were pried abruptly apart. In pain, with my limbs splayed wide and tied down, I felt more exposed and helpless than at any other time in my life.
“Ah, Michael, I see I now have your attention,” she drawled, standing at the foot of the gurney, towering over my vulnerable form.
My heart was pounding in my chest, my breaths ragged, this time from fear.
The Bitch raked her long red nails across my ribs, then began worrying my nipples. She pulled, twisted, and pinched them. I was tied down so tightly I could barely flinch and couldn’t escape her hard fingers at all. As I groaned in pain, her eyes narrowed and she smiled. She continued, and the pain increased with each pull and pinch.
I stared back at her defiantly, imagining her trussed like a Christmas turkey, served up on a silver platter, an apple forced between her crimson lips. Oh, how I’d like to make that fantasy come true!
She viciously twisted my nipples again and I winced. “Good boy,” she crooned. “I want you to hurt. I want you to remember this.”
My arms jerked reflexively, trying to protect my poor, tortured flesh. The throbbing of my abraded wrists and back barely registered in comparison. She tormented my nipples until I was reduced to thrashing my head back and forth, whimpering. Finally, I was forced to beg: I just couldn’t take any more.
“P-p-please, Boss L-lady,” I gasped brokenly. “I’ll be good. I’ll obey. I’ll do whatever you want.” At that point I would have promised The Bitch anything to end my ordeal.
She cupped my cheek in her soft hand, staring into my eyes. “I know you will. When I’m through with you, Michael, you will beg me to allow you to serve me. I will make you a model slave, but before that can happen, there is more you must endure.”
I groaned, tears leaking from my eyes in despair. I tried to turn away from her, tried to hide my pain and fear—my weakness. She slapped me hard on the cheek, once again forcing my gaze to meet hers.
The Bitch reached for something on the metal tray one of her goons was now holding. She held up and admired an odd medical clamp with small holes in the tips. Before I could form a question, she attached the forceps to my right nipple. “Aaaaiiiieeee!” I screamed, arching my back off the gurney. It felt like she had just amputated that tender bit of flesh. Her look of concentration never wavered as her hands continued to move against me.
The agony paled, however, when a bolt of fire suddenly blossomed in my chest. She wiped a gauze pad across the area and drew it away, bloody. My stomach flip-flopped. The Bitch had pierced my nipple!
“No! Please, no,” I begged.
Ignoring my anguished cries, she turned her attention to my left nipple. I writhed against my restraints, bringing my full strength to bear, futilely trying to break free. Tears streaming down my face, I begged and swallowed a sob as she clamped my left nipple.
Knowing what to expect made it worse. She pierced the other nipple with the same calm concentration. The pain continued to grow as she manipulated rings into the wounds, then mercifully began to recede.
To my amazement, she began stroking my cock. In spite of the pain, I responded to her immediately. Humiliated, I felt my cheeks heat. Lowering my eyes, I gritted my teeth, willing my penis to wilt. It didn’t. I lay bound, exposed, cock rampant, and totally under her control.
Reaching again for the tray, The Bitch picked up another pair of forceps. Locked into its jaws was a curved needle. Oh, God, I thought in desperation, she’s going to give me a Prince Albert!
As the needle neared my erect cock, I passed out.
All rights reserved. TheLadysTouch 2008