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Subject: STORY: "Tabled" (F/m, torture, extreme imagery)
Newsgroups: soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm,soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm.femdom
Keywords: torture femdom story fiction





This story may be freely distributed in noncommercial 
forums for adult fiction, so long as the headers and 
warning remain attached.


Warning:  This is a fantasy. Well, it was partly a fantasy,
and it was partly an attempt to induce fantasy in a particular
individual.  If it works on some other people also, well, hey, 
that's OK &lt;g&gt; (ah, no, I am not looking, and this is not a 
stealth personal).  I'm a bit uncertain how to label this; 
I didn't label it NC because it isn't a clearly nonconsensual
fantasy.  Consent or the lack of consent simply is not an
issue in this story. People who find that troubling should
skip this story.


The facts of physiology and chemistry are sometimes annoyances 
both in fantasy and in reality.  They can be skirted in fantasy.  
Doing so in reality is ill advised.  Also, this story contains 
some extremely violent imagery of violence against women, and 
I do mean extremely violent.  People who will be disturbed by 
such should not read this.


"Tabled"
by SD


******************************
"Tabled"

Part 1

I was laying on a wooden table.  I was bound spreadeagle, faceup, 
and naked except for the head harness attached to the table
at the top and both sides, keeping my head still.  For my 
discomfort a ladder was tied on the table before I was ordered
to lie atop the ladder and my limbs chained and pulled taut.

My hands were placed in wooden frames with bars that were tightened
to hold my fingers flat w/o cutting off circulation, and my hands
turned so that the frames could be slid into slots cut in the table
and locked in place.  I was ordered to stick my tongue out, and
a wide vise was tightened on it, leaving a small bit of tongue mobile
outside my mouth, the rest of my tongue immobile, and while sounds
could come from my open mouth, no words could.

The table was outside the large windows of the house she was inside.
I could see her working at a desk within, apparently oblivious to me.
I could until the lights were turned on.  She didn't seem concerned 
that anyone might see me, given all the bright, hot lights shining
on me from around the table.  They were too bright for me to see
anything beyond them, and hot enough to have me sweating, not that
the summer heat wasn't enough for that even before they were 
turned on.  They were also attracting even more bugs than I was 
encountering before they were turned on.  None of the bites were
very serious, but the flies crawling over my face were maddening,
and from time to time I futilely struggled against the bonds and
the harness, ending up exhausted and whimpering and only briefly
if at all free of the insects, and then reclaimed my self-control
and lay still despite those damned legs crawling across me.
Well, I laid still for as long as I could bear it before snapping
again.


I don't know how long I'd been on the table.  Not too long before
the lights came on.  Quite a while after that, it felt like, before
I saw her again, when she appeared within the lights holding a
tall beaded glass and a straw, asking me if I were thirsty and
would like some nice cold lemonade.  I answered as well as I could,
which was to say I made some weird inarticulate noises, and she
ran her hand through my hair and over my face and remarked that
I was certainly warm.

Her pouring the lemonade in my hair and eyes (while being sure 
none touched my lips or tongue) had cooled me a bit.  But the bugs
attracted were horrible.  Between the bugs and the sweat and
the soreness of my eyes in the bright light, I wouldn't open my 
eyes anymore.

Except when I heard the sounds of high heels on the cement around
me.  Since she'd been in flats before, this sound was startling.
I tried to look towards the sound but could see nothing.  I gurgled
out a sound that might possibly sound something like her name.


Part 2


There was no response.  Just slow, deliberate steps encircling me,
which I tried to follow with my eyes as well as I could, wondering
if anyone might have come by.  I had no idea where I was, having
been brought there while bound and blindfolded and being 
"distracted" throughout the trip, and only having seen the outside
briefly and only what I could make out in the dark before the
blinding lights were turned on.

Then I heard a giggle, and her voice saying "Don't worry, it's me"
as she stepped into the lights.  "Or should I say, 'Be worried',
it's me' ?" she added as she walked around the table, and my eyes
(among other things) reacted to the sight of her in only black
high heels and very dark wraparound glasses.

She turned on a number of bug zappers, their light hardly
noticeable but the sound of electricity killing was quite
audible.

"You're really a mess", she said.  "We'll have to clean
you up".

Said cleaning began with a strong hose pummeling my body
all over, though some areas received repeated treatments.
Then after spraying my face and hair for a long time, she
brought out a large, soaked sponge, and began rubbing my
face hard and long, the sopping sponge often covering
my mouth and nose entirely and preventing me from breathing,
then being briefly removed but followed almost immediately
by water being poured over my face, then the sponge again,
then the water, then the sponge, then a fabric pressed over
my face as water was poured through it and as it soaks I
find I can no longer breath through it and I'm struggling and
on the brink of panic as well as the brink of unconsciousness
when the fabric is removed and then her hands stroke my hair
and face as I gasped for breath, then a gently stoking hand
pinched my nose while another covered my mouth and I started
struggling again and she was giggling from the feel of my
tongue against the palm of her hand and from my frantic
but futile struggles, and then she released my nose and mouth,
laughing at my frigthened eyes, which she correctly read
and said "What's next ?  Why, we finish cleaning you up,
of course".


Then she rubbed some lotion all over me with her gloved
hands, and after a few moments I knew why she put on
gloves, as my skin began to burn and I ached to squirm
but I could barely move at all, and I could hear her giggling
someplace at my moans and futile struggles, and then a
stiff bristled brush began vigorously and thoroughly
scrubbing my tender burning skin, continuing over and
despite my loud moans.  Then another hosing down, and
my very sore skin felt great relief as most of the lotion
was removed.

"Just to be thorough", she said say, with an evil lilt in her voice,
"we'll do a second treatment", and begin rubbing the lotion
in again on my squirming, struggling, moaning form, and then
she sat on the edge of the table (sitting on a piece of plastic
so no residue of the lotion touched her skin), looking in my
eyes as her gloved hands roamed over my body, her nails palpable
through the rubber, and it was that all I could do not to scream 
and more than I could do not to cry while her smiling face hovered
over mine, and then she slipped off the table and I saw the brush
above my face for me to view and I tried to say "please, no", but 
I couldn't and then the brush began scrubbing my agonized flesh 
and now I couldn't help screaming.  Mercifully, the second scrubbing 
wasn't as diligent as was the first, though the brush still covered
the area between my legs very thoroughly, and the hosing down
was done with a more gentle stream of water, and the dimunition
of the pain was almost enough to make it seem pleasant to hurt
only as much as I did then, which was still enough to have had
me groaning in pain any other time.


"That's much better", she said, climbing atop me to study
her work, and to enjoy the way my flesh now ached from
the touch of her flesh rather than for the touch of her
flesh, and after she rolled around on me and sat and posed
delightfully (or at least I'd have been delighted any other
time) on me, she rolled off me, saying "I've something better
for you", and darted away, returning with some duct tape
and a roll of the plastic cover used on carpets, and unrolled
that down my body, the sharp side against my skin, pressing
it to me and taping it down on me, and then she climbed on
top of me again, her crotch over mine, and humped me hard,
raking the spikes against my crotch, and, giggling, squirming
up my body a bit so her face was over mine as she rocked back 
and forth while watching my eyes for the tears, and then 
folded her hands across my chest and rested her head atop her
hands as she watched my face, smiling happily at my tears,
and lay upon me undulating her naked body against mine
in ways I craved before but which now brought only agony.
An agony which got even worse as my cock pushed against
that cruelly spiked plastic, and which she increased by
moving her leg between my legs while gazing down upon me
with a smug grin.

**********************************************

Part 3


Having her sitting on my chest, my head between her
thighs, was excruciating.  Alternately squeezing my head
between her thighs and stroking her calves against
my head as I stared up at her while she shifted her
hips to grind the sharp plastic bits into my chest
and giggled at my groans, was almost enough to make
me ask her to get off.  Of course, 
a) I couldn't say it through my tongue-clamp,  
b) she wouldn't have done anything that it didn't please 
   her to do,  
c) and she'd probably have said, "that's what I *am* doing".

So I was relieved when she spun her legs around, and, 
applying as much weight to my body as she could, rose to
a standing position, and walked slowly up and down the 
table to which I was secured, stepping on me whenever 
she felt like it, which was often.  Until I almost
wanted her to sit again.

And so when she did sit down on me again, and then
slid off the table, I was relieved and a little
frightened.  OK, more than a little frigthened.

When she stroked my hair and my teary face and leaned
down and kissed my face repeatedly, everything seemed
much better.  And when she unclamped my gag, placing
a finger across my lips as the clamp come off so I knew
I was not to speak, and then bent down and kissed my lips,
things seemed pretty good.

And still seemed pretty good even after she slapped my face
and shoved a ball gag in my mouth and strapped it tight and placed
a strip of gaffers tape across my eyes and grabbed my hair and
pulled it while slapping my face a few more times before I
heard her stride back into the house without, as far as I could 
tell from the sounds of her footsteps, a glance back at me.


I've no idea how long I lay there.  I must have somehow,
aided by my eyes being covered from the bright light, 
managed to doze.  Well, sleep; even dozing I'm sure I'd
have heard the click of her heels before I felt the heavy
hickory walking stick slash across my thighs, and the 
cold water hitting my face (I'd have dearly loved to get 
some of that in my mouth, but the gag didn't allow that), 
and had the handle of the stick strike the plastic over 
my crotch.

"Sleeping on the job, eh ?" I heard her say as she ripped
the tape off my eyes, exposing them again to the merciless
light.  I could see nothing for some moments before I
could make out her smugly sneering at me, but before that
I could feel her stroking my exposed palm with her fingertips.

"You like this, hmmm ?", she said as she continued to stroke
my hand.  And I did, and I tried to nod "yes" as she asked,
"You like it when I play with your hands ?", and then I was
afraid and I didn't know what to do.  I tried to give a pleading 
look with my eyes, but with the bright light so affecting my eyes
I'm not sure how they really looked.  "Good, because I'm going to 
play with your hands for awhile", she said...  just before a short, 
heavy, hard rubber strap struck me across the soft skin of my inside 
upper left arm and my whole body jumped in its bonds (not that this 
took it very far) before she said "after I deal with your arms", 
and hit my inner upper right arm, then my left arm again, then the 
right, then the left and then the right again, leaving me sobbing, 
gasping (or trying to), trembling, and my arms afire.  And then she 
stroked my hair, and open up the plastic runner enclosing me so that
the cool air wafted over my body while her hands softly stroked my 
sore flesh and she rested her head for a long moment on my chest 
before kissing each of my nipples and stroking my face, and then kissing
my inner arms three times each and then laying atop me for a long moment 
as my panic subsided under her touch.

"Now for your hands", she said as she slid off me (allowing her nails
to slide across my welts as she did), and took out a very small
hammer and a large bag of sterile lancets.  Opening the bag, and unwrapping
a single lancet, she jabbed the tip of a finger, and squeezed a bit of
blood into a small tube, and then, working up and down each hand,
continue to jab and squeeze, the pain being trivial at first but 
becoming worse as each finger was jabbed seven times and became
extremely sore, both to the jab of the lancet and to the touch 
- and the squeeze - of her rubber gloved hands.

"That should be enough", she said as she sealed and put aside the 
tube with my blood, and I thought it was over, but then she started 
using the lancets on my palms, drawing blood and then stroking and
squeezing the palm, continuing this, between periodically cleanings 
of my palms with alcohol, until both palms were very sore, and 
throughly punctured.

"Would you like to know what that was for ?  Aside from making you
hurt", she said as her bare hand stroked my hair.  "Not that I need
any better reason than making you hurt", she said before her mouth
darted to my nipple and bit it hard, her head twisting violently
from side to side till I almost felt she'd pull it off, and then
she stopped and kissed my nipple and raised her head to smile at 
me and say "Hurting you is quite enough reason". 

"But I do have a plan.  One you don't need to know, especially since
there's nothing whatsoever that you can do about it, no matter how
much you might want to stop it".

"But first, let's finish with your hands", she said as she picked up
the hammer, and positioning herself by my left hand, used the hammer
to reach through the frame holding my hand in place and tap it on
the knuckle of my index finger, and then along each knuckle in
turn, and then start over.  The first taps didn't hurt too much,
but they soon become harder to bear, the metal falling sharply
on the same piece of skin over bone again and again, and then,
as she started hitting the same knuckle repeatedly the pain became
unbearable and I was squirming and moaning and struggling futilely
with my implacable restraints and hoping vainly for some mercy
from my implacable captress, but I couldn't move my hand any more
than I could move her with my tears.

And then it stopped, and there was a moment of relief though my
hand throbbed horribly, and then I heard her footsteps slowly
walking the long way around the table, but I knew where she
was going, and I tried to raise my head and plead through my
tear-filled eyes and through my gag but she was just smilingly
cruelly and sexily at me, her face a little flushed and breathing
a little harder than the extertions would have required, and
she came to my right hand and sneered happily at me as she tapped 
the hammer on the table a few times, and then started on my right 
hand, and long before the pain required it, the fear and anticipation 
of the pain had me struggling and screaming while she relentlessly
tapped at my knuckles and lustily laughed at my helplessness and pain
and fear, and when the right hand was as battered as the left, she 
started darting between them and hitting each hand until they were
each throbbing so much I was sure they'd burst any moment, and then
the hammer stopped, but before I could be grateful a rubber mallet
hit me hard in the solar plexus, and I'd have curled up if I could
have and I'd have been gasping hard for air had I been able, but 
the way I was spreadeagled I couldn't do either and all I could
do was to just try to fight off the blackness descending upon me 
and hope that I didn't succumb to the nausea sweeping over me, 
since to throw up now could be terminal...

I awakened to find my gag replaced with several coils of rope
wrapped tightly around and inside my mouth, biting into the
corners of my mouth, and her hand slapping my face.  As
I awakened I realized that there was a wide heavy collar around 
my neck, which seemed to be chained to the table, and that my
hands had been moved and my wrists were now in cuffs which
were padlocked to a chain stretched across my hips and secured
to either side of the table.


"Awake again.  Good.  Now I'm going to let you have a little
fun", she said, giggling.  And she reached over and took my
cock and balls in her bare hands and began tenderly manipulating
them until she felt me hardening, and then not so tenderly
but quite pleasingly stroked my cock.  And then she snapped on 
rubber gloves, and, still stroking me with one hand while smiling
cruelly at me, opened a bottle and poured it over my cock and balls 
and rubbed it in as I squirmed and screamed and she laughed, and 
then she let go and strode to a chair, in which she lay, pulling off 
her gloves and washing her hands in a ready basin, and dimmming those
awful lights so she could see w/o needing those sun glasses, she 
whipped off the glasses while ordering me "STROKE YOURSELF.  NOW !" 
and I could see her face flushed and her eyes gleaming and her
lips parted partway between a smile and a growl as she barked
out "DO IT !" and I closed an aching, throbbing hand around
my throbbing, burning cock and screamed again as the burning fluid 
seeped into all the punctures in my palms and I let go but she
scream at me "DO IT !  DO IT NOW !"  and added in a low throbbing
voice "I'll do even worse to you if you don't obey me, don't
you understand that, you don't have any choice but to obey me....
NOW STROKE YOUR COCK !" and I knew that I had no choice but
obey her, whatever agony she may have wanted for me now, she'd do
worse to me if I failed her and so my only option was submission
to her will and her desires, and I stroked my cock, and squirmed
and moaned and cried as both hand and cock throbbed and burned, 
and through my pain I could hear her moans rising with mine.

*************************************

Part 4

"Did anyone tell you to stop ?", she asked.

No, no one had.  As I'd heard her coming I hadn't dared
stop stroking myself despite the pain, and had kept
going.  Not that, with the sounds of her arousal and
orgasm in my mind, or with the sight of her curled
up contentedly, I really wanted to stop.  Well, I did
want to, but I needed not to.  Until I came myself,
after which I collapsed into a gasping, sweating,
hurting hulk.  Still, for a time my hands and cock and
balls and arms and eyes and back didn't seem to hurt
so much.


That didn't last long.  The first thing I realized was
how much my hands ached, and then how much my cock and
balls hurt, and then how much I needed to get of this
ladder she'd made me lay atop of, and then how utterly
stiff and sore I was everyplace.  Well, almost everyplace.
A certain place was simply very, very sore.

And then I saw that she'd roused yourself.  "Did anyone
say you could stop ?  No, no one did.  So stroke yourself.
Now".  

So despite the fact that I could barely close either
hand and my cock was terribly sore and utterly limp
and that my hands and my cock and balls were all
burning, and I felt about as unsexy as one could possibly
feel, I started stroking again.  Not very well, but I did.
Being somewhat bored with my performance, her eyes
looked for other amusements, like getting a spoon and
scooping my come of my chest and removing my gag long 
enough for her to spoonfeed it to me .  After about 
ten minutes of my haggard performance she became bored
with me, and after washing my cock and balls and hands
in a solution that removed/neutralized what was left of the 
original solution (and hurt almost as much), and, noticing
the condition of my hands, she observed "These aren't what 
I want swollen", and wrapped them in cloth and then placed
cold packs around them and bandaged them to keep the cold
packs in place, and then she decided to take matters into 
her own hands, and began stroking and squeezing my cock and
balls, both still intensely sore, but, now free of the
burning lotions (if not of their effects), safe for her
to touch with her bare hands.  Even a soft, gentle
touch hurt, which she seemed not to mind.  But she was
persistent, and between the touch of her hands and
the sound of her voice cooing and the sight of her
smiling face and the feel of her lips kissing my face,
I finally began to respond, and she became slowly
less gentle and more insistent, ordering me to come
for her, demanding that I come for her, telling me
I could come now and I would come now and I must come
now because it's what she wanted and didn't I know
that I had to give her what she wanted, and I tried 
as hard as I could and humped as much as my bonds allowed 
as she kept ordering me to come for her and insistently 
stroking my cock and milking my balls and her voice was
increasingly impatient and angry and I so wanted to please
her and so hated to disappoint her and so feared to fail
her and I was humping and trying and running every surefire
fantasy through my head and visualizing such horrors
befalling such beauties that I could finally, distantly,
feel the possibility that I might be able to come and
her voice was so insistent and her face so hard and flushed
and her hands so cruelly demanding and I was watching dear 
friends hanging by their hair with their feet inches from 
flame and lovely legs sheathed in nylon and shod in vinyl 
held by steel chains between heating coils and hearing a 
woman screaming in agony as her shoes and hose melted around 
her legs and seeing a busty beauty stripped and held by 
several men and their overpowering strength as my Lady
placed several cuts on each of the busty beauty's breasts 
and then sood back as the men forced her, over her most 
awful struggles to bend down and put her breasts into the 
tropical river and after a moment the river comes alive as 
the piranha attack and devour her breasts as she screams and 
struggles, and I could feel it approaching and hear her demanding 
and I saw thousands of college girls handcuffed and blindfolded
and trying to run down a sort of bleachers, backwards and in
high heels, but most misstepped and fell into spikes and buzzsaws
and beds of hot coals and pools of lye and pits of snakes and 
packs of African wild dogs that ate them alive and a couple
into tanks full of live jellyfish where they immediately 
received dozens of stings, and all who reached the bottom were
forced to go back to the top and do it again and again until 
only one was alive and she was passed into the crowd of spectators
and raped in every possible way and then forced to take a club and 
kill any of the other competitors whose death throes haven't yet ended, 
and then locked in a small room with a cot and a stool and a dangling
noose and told that tomorrow it will all start over and she curled into 
a ball and cried and cried and then got up and dragged the stool over 
to the noose... and I'm almost there, I'm so close, I'm trying so hard,
I'm so close but it could go away so soon but I must do this for her,
I have to do this for her and I see my Lady sweaty and flushed and
glassyeyed and I arch and stretch as much as the bonds allow and I 
finally came, not very much as these things go, but something squirted
into the jar she was holding by my cock (which she was also holding), 
and I slumped, sweaty and limp and flushed and exhausted and gasping, and
she pulled out my gag and pushed the come from the jar into my mouth and
smiling wickedly asked "Does it taste better warm ?" and I break into
hysterical laughter, not because what she said was so funny, but because 
everything everywhere was so funny.



END




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