The FSRA

The FSRA - Ending

I worked in the gardens and fields of Mistress Cynthia’s estate. It was a hard life, but I was fed and given shelter.

Life as a slave was hard, and life seemed endless. But there came a time when I was shackled, loaded on a truck with several other slaves, and driven in to the city. I vaguely remembered arriving at the warehouse where I had originally been sold to the Mistress.

I also remember the process of crucifixion, raised up and displayed for the buyers to examine, paw and probe.

When the crowd of buyers arrived at my cross, I hung in pain, suffering for their pleasure, but I noticed one woman in the back. She was quite young, perhaps 18 or 19, with long black hair and a tight leather outfit that revealed a perfect body. She looked familiar. Her attention was clearly on me, and when bidding began, she quickly outbid all others, paying over $100,000 for me.

Once she had closed the deal, she and the crowd moved on and I hung on the cross, awaiting the time when I would be cut down and transported to my new owner’s home.

I was hogtied and carried to a small BMW parked outside. Whoever this girl was, she was rich. I was thrown in the trunk and waited until the car started and we drove off.

When we arrived at our destination, the car engine was turned off, the door opened and closed and I heard the girls boots click away as she left the garage. I lay hogtied in the trunk for some time, until the lid was opened by two large men, who grabbed me roughly and carried me through a door and down a hall. I was placed on the floor of a large room which appeared to be equipped with every type of restraint and device of torture imaginable.

I was heaved on to a table which was tilted at a slight angle, with my feet lower than my head. My tied hands were secured above, and ankles tied on either edge of the table. I was stretched tightly, and there I remained for the rest of the afternoon and night.

As the morning light shown through the small window slits on one wall, the door opened and the girl entered. She wore a similar outfit to that she wore before; black denim and comfortable cotton top, with leather boots and long black hair tied back in a ponytail.

There was something about her which was so familiar.

She approached, and ran her fingers over my chest and neck, looking carefully at my face.

“You don’t know me. But I know you. Perhaps you will remember back… almost 19 years ago… when you first committed to punishment through the FSRA?”

I lay looking at her… and then it suddenly struck me. She looked like the operator from the prison. The one who had taken me, and tortured me horribly for 3 days until I was transferred to the milking farm. I shuddered, and felt tears fill my eyes involuntarily. A whimper escaped my lips and I said “please… no…” just under my breath…

She smiled widely. “Ah, you do remember. Yes. Your operator then was Victoria, my mother. She died last year. I am Vanessa, but you may call me V.”

Her finger nails slowly stroked my chest and stomach, leaving a trail of blood. They were sharpened to a razor edge.

“My mother’s dying wish was that I find you, and complete the job. You owed her one more day, you know. She never forgot that. I haven’t either.”

Her razor sharp nails circled my groin, leaving a small trail of blood leaking out in a pattern.

“I am your daughter, you know… ” She said these words as if they were almost an aside… as if thinking about how much she was going to make me hurt and just happened to be reminded of that small fact.

I burst in to tears, unable to handle the confusion in my mind… she was my torturers daughter; she was my daughter; she was going to put me through more pain than I could imagine… and she was slowly carving patterns in my groin with her sharpened nails… I thought I would go insane as I sobbed.

Her hand stopped its motion and took hold of my erection. It was the erection I had acquired with the drugs her mother had given me years before, the erection I had kept with me almost constantly for the last 19 years. She stroked it slowly but steadily, expertly. She had learned well from someone, perhaps her mother. In no time I had stopped sobbing and started moaning. Soon after I ejaculated, spurting over my stomach and chest.

She released me, and moved away, to gather something from a table to the side.

When she returned she had a simple piece of wood in her hand. A 2×4, about 3 feet long. And a large hammer or mallet. I shuddered, wondering what was going to happen and knowing it would be very, very painful.

The board was laid across my thighs and my testicles pulled on top. As they rested there, she took something in one hand. A small glint of metal and I knew. It was a nail, and she was holding my right testicle firmly in place.

One swift, hard blow and the nail pierced straight through the middle of my testicle and in to the board. I screamed with pain that grew worse with every blow as she pounded the nail firmly in to place. The pain rapidly spread across my lower body, and I began to involuntarily beg.

Her response to my pleas was to reposition herself on my left side, take my left testicle and raise the hammer. Another series of swift blows and a second nail was securely in place. I sobbed, begged, pleaded, though I didn’t know what I was pleading for.

My daughter untied my legs, and they instinctively rose in an attempt to protect my genitals. But in doing so, it pushed and twisted the board, causing more excruciating pain. I screamed, and hardly noticed she had unfastened my tied hands.

Jerking on my tied wrists she pulled me off the table. The pain swathed my entire lower body and was extending to my shoulders, making it difficult to move, but she gently guided me by pulling the wooden board, and thus my testicles. Moments later I was standing, sobbing, facing a bare wall.

V took a hammer and several more nails, and I screamed and begged for mercy, but she simply lifted the board and began hammering it to the wall. When she finished, I was firmly nailed to the wall by my testicles.

I smashed up against the wall to relieve any pressure or tugging on my poor testicles, and stood as still as possible. V then untied my hands, leaving me completely free except for where I was nailed to the wall. In spite of this, I could not move, for any movement away from the wall created stabbing pains through my hips and stomach. Then, amazingly, V simply turned and left the room.

Focusing on staying very still, I began to realize the terrible nature of the torture to which I was being submitted. As long as I did not move, while I would be in terribly pain, I would remain intact. But if I were to move away, or sink to the floor, my testicles would be shredded and torn. I had to remain standing, facing the wall, without moving, dealing with the horrible pain.

My hands searched for something to help support me as I stood. The wall was smooth. My fingers clawed at the board, the only protrusion from the wall, but it was securely fastened. I tried to control the panic I felt, and slow my breathing. It was hard, but I managed for a while.

But time went on, and the pain took its toll on my strength and soon my legs were shaking from weakness. I had to remain standing, but it was getting harder and harder. I lowered myself slightly, pulling slightly on the nails, in order to get an angle where my knees could rest against the wall and prop myself up. That helped a little, though the pain was worse because of the tugging. I tried digging my fingers in to the wall to make holes I could use to support myself, but the wall was made of a heavy wood that did not yield.

I was beginning to panic, feeling strength fail me, and I considered through the haze of my pain how badly my testicles would be mangled when I fell. Was there a way to minimize the damage? I tested the idea, and began to slip down slowly, but the nails tugged harder on my testicles and I screamed, suddenly finding new strength to straighten higher.

How long I managed to stand there, I don’t know. Hours? Probably. But eventually, my daughter V reentered the room. She came over, and observed me closely for a moment, touching my body, feeling the muscles strain, looking at the minimal blood loss at my groin.

“Father…” she began, in an almost kind way. “I am going to use a cattle prod on you now. It is really going to hurt. Don’t move, or you will loose those precious little gonads of yours.”

Her tone was comforting, soft and almost loving, and it made chills run through my body. She was the most sadistic person I had come across, and I had come across a lot.

I braced myself, pressing myself against the wall. Moments later I felt a searing jolt like the stab of a knife on my shoulder. I jerked involuntarily, screamed again, pulled on my nailed testicles and screamed again. Almost immediately a second jolt hit me on my buttocks, and I jerked the other way. The agony horrible, for the pain from the prod was so sudden I couldn’t help but jerk away, and that caused more pain as I yanked my testicles.

Another stabbing jolt, this time on my leg. I almost fell. A jolt on my neck. They were coming at irregular intervals, I couldn’t predict when and prepare myself. The torture continued, my body on giant mass of contracting, agonized unrelenting pain. I slipped and actually hung momentarily by my testicles as I struggled to get my feet under me. Blood poured down my legs and on to the floor from the enlarged holes around the nails.

A lost all sense of time, but eventually I discovered I was on the floor, regaining consciousness. There was blood everywhere, and I was in horrible pain, but no longer attached to the wall. I don’t remember what happened, if I ripped myself off from the nails, or if I fell, or if she pulled the nails out. I just knew I was curled on the floor, cradling the punctures and sobbing.

Water splashed over me, and washed away some of the pain and blood. My hands were jerked away from my groin and tied together. A hook was placed through the wrist ties, and slowly ascended until I hung from the ceiling, my feet about a foot from the floor. I was in pain throughout my entire body, and desperately wanted to curl up and protect myself, but I simply hung there, jerking uncontrollably.

V circled me, one hand touching me, running around my torso. She reached down and felt my erection, which had diminished some. Her touch brought it back fully, in spite of the pain.

“Two more hours, father. You can do it, I know you can…. lets try something different, shall we?” Her tone was kindly but businesslike. I was cranked higher in to the air, until I was about 4 feet from the ground. V brought two large round weights, the size of bowling balls. Each had a small loop of chain attached. She slipped the loop of one of the weights over one of my ankles and then let the weight fall. It jerked my body, pulling my shoulder joints, hip joints, and any number of other places across my body. The weight must have been about 20 lbs.

The second weight went on, and with a sudden jerk stretched my body further.

The pain, dehydration, stress, everything, overwhelmed me and I vomited over myself. My daughter crinkled her nose, but did nothing but reach one foot out and swing the heavy weights back and forth.

The cattle prod was brought out again, and my daughter spent some time watching me jerk. She played, sometimes touching me with the prod when it wasn’t activated so that I would jerk at the touch, but there was no shock. Other times, I would feel the shock without warning.

I lost consciousness for the second time that day.

When I came to my senses, I didn’t realize what was happening, or where I was. It took a moment to get oriented, after which I saw I was hanging horizontally to the floor, my wrists strung up in one direction, my ankles pulled in another. Wires were attached to my body on my nose, ears, nipples, wrists, ankles. I knew what was to happen, and I screamed again before it did.

Searing pain from a high voltage shock ran from the electrodes in my nose, down the the wires on my wrists. My body tensed, but the shock was so great I could not make a noise. When it finally stopped, I flopped down and cried, but only for a moment for another shock began, running from my nipples to my ears.

The agony continued, one location of my body, to another. No predictable pattern. Just pain, recurring, over and over again in my suspended form. My muscles had tensed to the point of tearing repeatedly. I lost consciousness again, and was awakened with a splash of water so that the torture could continue.

At last, I realized I was hanging by my wrists and ankles, and had hung there without any shocks, for some time. Reality and the ability to think began to return. I was aware of the room, the cold and dark descending.

I hung exhausted, bleeding, drooling, head hanging backwards, every part of my body aching and burning with pain.

My daughter, my torturer, V, came over to me and began stroking my penis. It became erect, and in moments I had achieved an orgasm, messing myself and making my testicles scream out in protest.

Moments later I was lowered on to a gurney, the chains removed from my wrists and ankles, and rolled out of the room.

The next morning I awoke in a clean white room, on a comfortable bed. There was an IV in my arm, pumping liquids and antibiotics in to me. I had been washed and was dressed in pajamas. A light breakfast sat on a small table next to my bed.

Over the next two weeks I was give the best medical care possible, and V came in to check on me several times a day.

After a month, V gave me new clothes, a fresh shave, and some money. She led me to the door at the front of her home, and opening it, she said “You have fulfilled your side of the contract with my mother. Your agreements and responsibilities under the FSRA have been met. You are a free man.”

The door closed behind me as I stood bewildered.

I had been in some sort of slavery for the last 19 years. My life had been full of hardship, pain and horror. It had climaxed with my own daughter putting me through hell. And now I was free. I had no idea how to deal with this freedom. I didn’t know where to go, what to do, how to act. Even the act of wearing clothes seemed unnatural and uncomfortable.

I did the only thing I could think of. I turned, rang the bell of my daughter’s home, and kneeled as she opened the door.

V knew what I wanted, what I needed. She stroked my head and placed a collar around my neck. Attaching a leash to the collar’s ring, she led me inside the house, slapping my buttocks slightly with a crop to hurry me along.