Cross’s note: See the two previous posts for information about the events leading up to this stuff. Everything described here is real, as it happened.
She was dropped onto the concrete floor in the middle of a large room. Immediately, she felt 20 hands begin to roughly handle her. Squeezing, pressing, rubbing, touching. She made no sound, just lay frozen. Before long, she was picked up onto her feet. She was shoved back and forth across a ring of people. Each one handling her roughly before pushing her off to the next person.
Soon, the sound of a tazer gets her attention and she begins to fight. Pushing against the hands, kicking, scratching biting. The tazer sounds echo off the walls from several different directions. She fights hard, but ultimately cannot escape it. She begins to feel the bite of the tazers all over her, and she fights harder.
She manages to land blows to several of the captors, but in the end, she cannot hope to win. Suddenly, she threatened to pee on everybody if they didn’t let her use the bathroom. I stepped outside the room and called one of the others. They held the phone up to her head.
“Hello love, what’s wrong?”
“I have to pee. Why are you on the phone?”
“I’m on the phone because I’m not there” I lied. “But they should be helping you with that problem in a moment. Happy Birthday!”
She calls out to me not to go, but I’ve already hung up. Just then a bucket is dropped behind her and she is pushed back onto it. No one has to say anything, she gets the idea. It takes a while, but she finally goes. When she is stood back up and wipes off, the fight returns.
When she finally begins to tire out, and her efforts stop being effective, she is lifted off the ground and dropped onto a table. Almost immediately, she feels the zaps and tingles of a violet wand. She hates it, finds renewed strength in fighting and tries to escape the table. She feels the weight of no less than half a dozen people holding her down. She’s not going anywhere. Soon, ropes replace the hands and she finds herself incapacitated onto the table.
The zaps continue, sometimes in a single place, sometimes all over. There is no part of the surface her her body that escapes it. When it travels between her legs, she she screams and begs for it to stop. Bucking against the ropes does no good however, and the tourture continues. Just when it seems it will never end, the hands and the sensations are suddenly gone.
She feels the table being picked up and moved to a new place. She takes advantage of the chance to rest and breath, but it’s short lived. Intense cold shocks her from several places at once. Ice cubes. All over. It takes a moment for the shock to subside, but she soon recognizes what is happening. Just as she is acclimating to the cold, hot wax falls onto her chest.
The hands shift between hot and cold, throwing her senses into chaos. And then one of the hands diverts and pulls a single ice cube across her stomach and down between her legs. She knows what’s coming and screams threats at whoever the hand belongs to, but to no avail. After a short pause, the ice cube is pushed up inside her and she screams.
Then she feels a gel being put onto her right thigh, then her left. She doesn’t know what it is at first until she begins to feel the tickle. IceyHot. She manages to breath through the sensation and endure it, but she can’t keep quiet when the hand returns and applies the gel to her clit. She screams in renewed pain and begs for it to be removed. But she will have no such luck.
She is picked up from the table and pulled across the room. The hands lift her up and drop her onto a high padded bench, face down. She knows what must be coming. She tries fruitlessly to struggle yet again before being tied down. Her ass still burns from the beating it took only two nights early, so each impact of the paddles and canes is a pain that she cannot stand. She finally breaks into tears, begging for it all to end. One final hit and suddenly the room is silent. The hands seem to be gone.
I am there, with her, now. Not that I wasn’t before, but now she knows it. She sobs into my arms asking why. Why has this happened to her. I untie her and let her sit in a chair. She sips water and munches on snacks.
“You know, deep inside, that you have wanted and needed this for a long time.” I tell her. ” And if you can continue to be strong, if you can endure even more than you already have, then I will take you to La Mancha.”
She knows exactly what that means. Its a reference to a scene from a musical where a girl is brutally beaten and humiliated by a group of men before being taken away and raped. She shudders at the thought. After a little more food and drink. She glances back at the hood.
“Are you ready to dive back in, my love?”
I replace the hood and stand her up in the center of the room. She stands there strong, still, and waiting.
In a moment, the hands return. But they are different now. Instead of feeling like they are trying to extract her strength and will from her, they now seems to be pushing power and strength in, encoraging her to stay strong for what is to come. She thinks to herself a small smile as she imagines being in the tunnel full of hands in The Laberinth.
She feels the leather on her face and chest. She knows the smell and feel of those gloves. And she knows it can mean only one thing. Punching.
The supportive hands go away, replaced by firmer hands. The hold her arms from behind and put pressure onto her shoulder blades.
“Feel the strength and support of those hands that are holding you up. They will not let you fall. Whether your knees buckle or your back bends, they will keep you standing.”
And then it begins. That slowly building, slowly climbing road that is so familiar to her. The blows begin softly, bringing the blood to the surface and warming the skin. But they don’t stay soft for long. As the hits become harder and harder, she struggles to breathe through the pain. But everytime she falters, the hands pull her up and push her forward. She leans back into them, trying to absorb every once that they can give her as the hits keep falling. When it has reached full strength, they are counted down from ten, and when the last hit falls, she finally let’s go her knees and collapses into the support of the hands, who lift her once more and deposit her onto a table.
She feels the cold of the cleansing solution on the back of her thighs and ass. She smells the alcohol. She knows what to prepare for. Someone grabs her hands and places them on the shoulders of someone in front of her. She understands the message. And as the needles sink into her flesh, she digs her nails into him, sharing her pain and his strength.
47 needles find their way beneath her skin. After they are removed and the wounds are clean, a liquid bandage is sprayed over the puncture marks.
The hands sit her up. She feeels something shift as I adjust each of the hands to a specific place on her body, targeting energy points. Once they are all in place, she feels the burst of energy thoguh her, renewing and revitalizing her. She vibrates with energy and gasps for breath. When the hands pull away, she knows, with absolute certainty what must be coming next. The road to La Mancha passes through on of her greatest fears, and when she hears me command the hands to “Bring her!”, that fear is confirmed. She is pulled to one side of the room and forced to her knees. She feels two sets of hands holding her arms out and pressing into her chest. And she feels my presense in front of her.
I lean I closely. “Sing for me little bird.” The transformation is now complete. She is there, in La Mancha, at the mercy of the muleteers. The sharp sting of the single tail whip strikes her back again and again.
“Sing for me little bird.” More rough and wild than before.
She eeks out a small sound the next time the whip falls.
“Sing for me!”
On the next hit, she screams. A scream, not like the tortured pleas before, but one begging for climax. The hits fall harder and harder, her scream grows louder and louder. As the final blow makes contact, her scream is cut short by a tremor that overtakes her body. The hands release her and she falls forward into my arms, shaking and convulsing. When she regains her breath and straightens up. I lean in one last time.
“Are you ready?”
She can only nod her head.
I look at the others in the room. “Go.”
They are already ready. They come at her from all sides, laying her back onto a mattress she didn’t know was there. For nearly and hour, they violate her, puching into every openning and pulling her into new positions. At the end of it all, she hears my voice. “Cum for me” She moans loadly and begins to shake. The person taking her doesn’t stop, but pushes her though a second climax before finally releasing her and letting her collapse onto the mattress.
The hands return one last time, soothing now, and comforting. She lays there quiet for several minutes, occasionally shivering with the aftershocks.
After ample recovery time, she is allowed to sit up and her hood is removed. She gets to see her friends standing around her, beaming with energy and love. She cries with the happiness of it all. Overwhelmed by a flood of emotion she can’t control.
The room is cleaned and put back together, and everyone says their goodbyes.
I drive her back to her home and bed, and she falls asleep with every muscle in her body aching.