WARNING:  This story is quite extreme, and the only person to read
it so far found it very disturbing, even after being warned, and
does not want to read anything like this again.  You may have the
same reaction, so think twice before reading it.  It is for serious
perverts only and is, of course, fiction, and copyrighted. 
Comments welcome.  (Except for those along the lines of "Jeez
you're sick."  I already know that.)  Don't try this at home, kids. 
And speaking of kids, don't read it unless you're at least, oh, 25. 
On second thought, no matter how old you are, why don't you just
stop reading right now?  
follow me...
follow me...
In Extremis
....but she had one habit that I thought was a sweet romantic
gesture, one of the tiny ones that you don't give much thought to
but add richness to a relationship.  She used to lightly kiss me on
my closed eyelids, first one then the other.  It was awkward the
first few times she did it, since I didn't know what she was up to
and tended to keep my eyes open -- kind of like bumping noses when
you first learn to kiss.  But after a little while I grew
comfortable with it, grew to enjoy the brief coolness that the
moisture imparted.  It didn't occur to me to ask why she did it --
I guess I assumed that it was something like her expression of a
wish that everything I looked at would be pleasing -- but I didn't
really care.  It was just nice.
She had to get up for work before I did, and sometimes she'd kiss
my eyes that way before she left, when I'd be lying in bed and
looked like I was asleep.  When that happened I wouldn't stir,
wouldn't let on that I was awake.  I thought that might be
intruding somehow on her private ritual, that it might inhibit her
in the future.  One morning after the kisses I heard her grab her
keys, head for the door, hesitate, then come back by me.  She took
off her clothes and then, ever so gently, slipped into bed next to
me, obviously trying to not wake me up.  I remember what an
unexpected treat it was for me, feeling the warmth of her body next
to mine.  But next she started kissing my eyes, in a different way,
with a slow, wet intensity, still trying not to disturb me.  I was
totally confused, totally curious, and a little amused -- she was
kissing my eyes as if they were my lips.  After a while it seemed
really funny, and my body shook slightly as I stifled a laugh.  She
apparently thought I was waking, and quickly and quietly left for
work.
This happened several more times.  I wanted to ask her what was
going on, but at this point I was hesitant to say anything because
I'd have to admit that I'd been pretending to be asleep all those
times.  One morning I found myself getting aroused, so I pretended
to awaken and began kissing her in return, starting with her lips
and slowly working my way down.  When I got close to her crotch it
seemed like she was sending out a signal that she didn't want me
there.  Then I noticed:  She was wet.  Very wet.  Clearly something
about kissing my eyes in that way was very exciting for her.  
My curiosity killing me, I asked her what was going on.  She got
embarrassed, looked away, tried to change the subject.  I held her,
stroked her hair, and told her that nothing she could tell me would
make me think less of her, that I wasn't going to judge her in any
way.  After a while she told me about it, though she still wouldn't
look at me while she spoke.  She said that at first she just found
something inexplicably erotic about eyeball kissing, licking, and
sucking.  At some point she imagined sucking so hard that she
removed the eyeballs, and the idea was so immediately, intensely
exciting that she found it hard even to examine the thought head
on.  After that it became nearly all she could think of when she
was around me.  She decided that what was so thrilling for her was
that in the fantasy she allowed herself to be so selfish as to take
forever from me something so precious as my eyesight, just for a
few minutes of pleasure for her.  She buried her head in my chest
and squeaked out, in guilt and embarrassment, that of course she
would never want to actually do something like that in real life,
but that even talking about it was turning her on.
I had several reactions all at once, as I comforted her and
continued to stroke her hair.  I was amused at how silly fantasies
sometimes are -- the idea of her having the strength to remove an
eyeball from its socket was ridiculous.  I was disturbed that the
person who I thought loved me so much could even fantasize about
harming me that much.  I was pleased that she trusted me enough to
talk to me about it, and I felt very close to her at that moment. 
And, though I couldn't begin to admit it to myself, I think that a
tiny part of myself was also very excited at the thought of her
wanting to hurt me so much.  
Mainly I was concerned with hiding most of those feelings from her,
and with being supportive and encouraging her honesty.  I told her
that of course it didn't bother me, that I understood that she was
talking about fantasy and not real life, and that I was so happy
that she felt she could share that with me.  I went even farther. 
I couldn't believe what I heard myself saying, but I told her that
if she wanted to, we could explore the fantasy a little bit.  I
told her that she could kiss my eyes anytime she wanted, and that
she could do pretty much anything she wanted to, so long as it
didn't cause any damage or too much pain.  I said that acting it
out a little might serve to relieve some of the compulsion, and at
the very least she could get some fun out of it.  I said that there
wasn't any danger because we would never combine it with bondage,
and I could always stop her if she started to go too far.  She
looked up at me, gave a cute little smile, and said, "You mean,
like right now?"
We moved to the bed, with her on top.  We started with a long
kissing session, which we both loved so much.  She then moved
slowly upward, gently kissing my upper lip, nose, cheek, and
finally my eyelids.  It was more relaxed than before, since we knew
we had all the time in the world, and since there was no longer a
secret between us.  After a long period she whispered that she
wanted me to open my eyelids for her.  It was a command, a soft
command, but a command nevertheless.  I did so, and she started to
kiss and lick my eyeballs themselves.  At first it was difficult
for me -- her tongue did tend to irritate the corneas, and I had to
struggle against the reflex to close my lids -- but eventually I
was able to relax and accept it.  Her tongue became more insistent,
probing far under the eyelids, and it was becoming just about
uncomfortable enough for me to complain, when she switched to
gentle sucking.  I would have thought that would have made me very
uneasy, knowing about her fantasy, but it felt rhythmic and
calming, and took the tension out of my eye muscles.  I felt like
I was getting a special intimate massage from the one I loved, and
who loved me.  I could feel her wetness soaking all the way through
her clothes, and later we had slow, deep, powerful sex.  Afterward
she laid her head on my chest, as was our habit.  We stayed that
way forever, completely spent and speechless.
That night was the high point.  Things slowly moved downhill from
there.  I wanted her to feel comfortable with her fantasy so I
never refused her, but she wanted to do it more and more often, to
the point where conventional affection and sex were being pushed
aside.  It got to the point where anytime we'd start to kiss I'd
know that at some point she'd totally abandon my lips and focus on
my eyes.  It was as if I wasn't even in the room -- it was just her
and my eyes, and I felt alone.  Gone was the gentleness of before. 
She became forceful and demanding, as if I owed it to her to let
her do as she wished.  And I became bothered by what I knew was
going on in her head, making me want to recoil.  It always ended
the same way:  She would start to cause me serious pain.  I'd ask
her nicely to stop. She'd say, "Just a little more."  I'd *tell*
her to stop.  She'd ignore me.  Then I'd beg her to stop.  She'd
ignore me.  Finally I'd push her away, first gently and then, when
she wouldn't budge, as hard as I could.  She'd give me a look of
hurt, anger, frustration, and starvation, then go away and sulk. 
If I went over to her to try to kiss and make up, things would go
fine for a few minutes, sometimes she'd even apologize, but then
she'd start again.  But the worst part of it all was that it was
exciting to me too.  I could no longer deny that to myself, but I
found myself shifting my body around so that she wouldn't feel my
cock.  But she knew. 
Around the time of her birthday things unexpectedly got better. 
She left my eyes alone for a week beforehand, and we left to spend
some time together in the small farmhouse her parents had left her. 
It was where we occasionally played with bondage.  We had some toys
in the basement there, and a wide, thick padded wooden table with
restraints.  I knew that there wouldn't be any bondage this trip,
though -- at least not where *I* was tied down -- because I no
longer trusted her enough.  
Mostly we spent the days leading up to her birthday just being
lazy, which was a real treat for me since it was hard for me to
relax.  On her birthday she took me downstairs, sat me on the sofa,
and told me what she wanted for her present.  She said that she
appreciated what I had done so far for her in terms of her fantasy,
but now she craved more reality.  She said that what she really
wanted to do was to take my clothes off, tie me to the table, and
take my eyes.  She said that she definitely wanted to go all the
way through with it.  She understood that I might not be willing to
do so, but she wanted me to go as far along that path with her as
I could.  She said that she wouldn't push me to go farther than
that, but that I wouldn't be allowed to backtrack even one step. 
Allowed.  I shivered at that word, as excited as I was
apprehensive.  But there wasn't anything to fear -- I could quit
anytime I wanted to, and the touch of reality would turn us both
on.  And even if things got a little bit out of hand, I could trust
her not to seriously hurt me, right?
She leaned over and started kissing me.  Soft, yielding, and
loving, just like she was before all this started.  We kissed for
an hour, then she started to remove my clothes.  I reached out to
unbutton her blouse and she slapped my hand.  I tried again and she
slapped my face, hard.  So hard that my ears rang.  She had never
done that before, and I was stunned.  Not knowing how to react, I
tried to cover my confusion with nervous laughter.  She gave me a
broad smile, as if she had won something from me, and continued to
remove my clothes.  Eventually I sat there, cold and naked, while
she, fully clothed, stared directly at my body.  It seemed
ridiculous that a little thing like clothes should make such a
difference, but the power balance had shifted.  I had to get some
clothes back on.  I reached down to the floor, to pick up my shirt. 
She slapped my face again, hard, and when I started to open my
mouth in protest, slapped it again.  I felt like I should have been
angry, but I just sat there, still not knowing how to react, not
sure what to do, just knowing that I didn't want to get slapped
again.
She softened, and pressed up against me again, resuming the
kissing.  I felt more relaxed, since she was no longer staring at
my nakedness, and since the warmth of her body offered at least a
little protection from the cold.  She reached down and started
stroking my cock, then leaned over to my ear.  
"It's actually going to happen tonight.  I'm actually going to do
it to you." she half whispered, half moaned.
Her words seemed to go straight from my ears to my cock, and I
panicked -- I have to get it away from her, she can't know the
effect her words will have on me.  I tried to pull my crotch away
from her hand, but she grabbed my balls with her other hand and
squeezed, and I couldn't move.  
"Did you hear me?  I'm actually going to do it to you.  Tonight." 
My cock was rock hard, and there was no way of hiding it from her. 
She smiled briefly, stopped rubbing me.  
"I'll finish over there," she said in her best seductive voice,
nodding in the direction of the table.
"Subtle," I said, trying to make a joke out of it.  I complained
that she wasn't playing fair.  She told me that I was the one who
wasn't playing fair, since I was supposed to go as far as I could
with her, and since I could quit just as easily from the table as
I could from the sofa.  I was feeling manipulated, but since I
could see no flaw in the logic, I agreed.  I went to the table,
climbed on top, and sat in the center, moving slowly since she
still had my balls in her hand.  She rewarded me with more
stroking, and when I tried to reciprocate I got slapped again, and
again I didn't know how to react.  After a little while she stopped
once more.
She said, "You know what I want you to do now, don't you?  I want
you to move your leg over there so that I can strap it down. 
Before you start whining again let me remind you that you can
always undo all of the cuffs up until the point that your last arm
is strapped down.  And if you quit on me now I'm not going to let
you come.  Come on, move it.  Now."
I hate to admit this, but frightened though I was at the idea of
having any part of me strapped down, the idea of approaching as
close as possible to the point of no return excited me beyond
belief, and there was *something* about her voice, so certain and
direct, that weakened my will to resist.  Plus I very much needed
to come.  A little voice inside me said that she probably wouldn't
let me come until after my last arm was strapped down, but I told
myself that I'd deal with that when the time came.  I moved my leg
for her, and she strapped it in.  After my reward I let her do the
other one as well.  She'd buckled my legs tighter than she'd ever
done before, and this, combined with my nakedness and her attitude,
gave me the feeling that I was rapidly losing control of the
situation.  She took her bottom off and sat on me just forward of
my cock, so that I could feel and hear how wet she was, then put
all of her weight on me, pressing my back against the table. 
Without asking, she moved my right arm and strapped it down.  
Damn, why did it have to be the right arm?  Things were going too
fast for me, my heart was pounding, my mind racing, and I was so
horny.  I didn't even notice that she was placing a strap around my
chest.  Now I couldn't even sit up, and I could only reach one
buckle.  She started to move my remaining arm.  It was now or
never.  I told her, in a panicky, breathless voice, that I had had
fun but I really needed to put an end to this before it was too
late, that I wasn't going any farther, that I didn't care whether
I got to come or not.  She stopped, quickly hopped off the table,
got some things from a corner of the room, and returned to stand at
the foot of the table.  She raised one of the objects high -- I
could see now that it was a nightstick -- and brought it down as
hard as she could, inches from my left knee.  
"You are so stupid sometimes," she said with disdain, all trace of
seductiveness gone from her voice.  "It's already too late.  You've
already lost.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to just get
through the day when you're blind?  Do you have any idea how much
harder it would be if you also had two smashed knees and two
smashed elbows?  And were deaf?"  She held up a pencil for me to
see.  "There's no way you could unbuckle yourself fast enough to
stop me from doing that to you.  I also won't let you come if you
try," she said, a little bit of teasing seductiveness returning to
her voice.
She was right.  The only chance I had was to go along with her and
try to talk her out of it.  She raised the nightstick again, and,
in shock, I moved my arm toward the restraint.  She walked around
to the left side of the table, keeping well out of my reach. 
Cautiously, she strapped my arm in with her left hand, keeping the
nightstick ready in her right.  Instantly I felt that I had made
the wrong decision, that at least I had had a tiny chance to free
myself in time.  But now it was too late.  As she added straps to
secure my stomach, knees, elbows, neck, and thighs, I felt panic
and helplessness build within me.  When she brought gauze, tape,
towels, and ointments into view, her intentions really hit home. 
With every bit of strength in my being I tried to free myself.  I
suppose that I'd been tied down absolutely securely on previous
occasions, but in the back of my mind was always the thought that
I could escape if I really wanted to.  This time was different,
because I discovered that I absolutely could not move.  I lost
control of my senses and thrashed around helplessly for a half hour
or so, while she sat, waiting and watching me like an owl, slowly
fingering herself.
When I stopped moving, exhausted, she crept up on top of me and
moved to start kissing my eyelids.  All I could think about was
that she couldn't do what she wanted if I kept my head moving, so
every time she started to kiss I would jerk it away as best as I
could.  Each time I did so she slapped me hard on the face, and she
made it clear that she had days, if necessary, and she could easily
outlast me.  Adding to my feelings of powerlessness was the fact
that my cock seemed to be on her side;  every time she slapped me
it just got stiffer, and there was no way to hide that fact from
her.  I tried threatening her, saying that I'd tell the authorities
or even kill her when it was all over.  She patiently and
clinically explained to me how vulnerable and defenseless a blind
person is, and how many ways she could retaliate against me if I
tried to hurt her.  Finally I just gave up, and decided to resume
the struggle when she actually began to hurt me, hoping that in the
meantime I could reason with her.  She said, "Good boy," and
rewarded me by taking me just below the point of orgasm, then
stopped and resumed the eyelid kissing.  She then explained that
she didn't like the feel of my eyelashes against her tongue, and
started to pull the lashes out with her teeth and fingers.  I tried
to protest, but she slapped me several more times, and pulled out
a clump of pubic hair.  I shut up.  When she was done removing the
lashes she began to try to force my eyelids open with her tongue. 
I let her.  Her tongue was stronger than I had remembered -- was
there such a thing as tongue exercises? -- and she pushed it as far
along the edges as she could.  I felt an incredible, demoralizing
sense of invasion, violation, and rape.  I wanted to pull my head
away, but I just couldn't -- I knew that it wouldn't make any
difference in the end, and I didn't want her to hurt me any more
than she'd already planned to.  She grabbed a small plastic squeeze
bottle from the cart.
"Meat tenderizer, mostly," she said.  "Muscle weakener.  *And* it's
tasty."
She grabbed a handful of my hair, gripping hard to immobilize me,
and forced the soft tip of the bottle under my lids -- not very
difficult, since she had stretched them so far before.  She aimed
the tip between the eyeball and socket, and squeezed hard.  When
she was finished she massaged my lids for a few minutes, to work
the greasy substance in, then left the room to get something to
eat.  The first thing I felt was an intense burning pain.  It was
nearly unbearable, but the worst part was that, when I opened my
eyes, I couldn't see through the stuff.  It was a foretaste of
blindness, and I was in despair.  By the time she returned the
burning had mostly turned to itching, and was driving me mad.  I
lost all my composure and begged her.  I begged her to let me go.
I begged her to stopp the itching.  I begged her to let me come. 
I begged her to forgive me for making her slap me so many times.  
She resume licking my eyeballs, lapping up the substance.  It was
like finally scratching the itch, and it felt so good that I
actually felt grateful for her "help."  I was broken, and after
that point cooperated with her -- if she wanted me to move my head
she just pushed it lightly in the direction she wanted, and I moved
it for her.  I felt relief in accepting what was going to happen to
me, in giving her what she wanted.
She told me that we were near the end.  She stood up over me, so
that I could get a good, though slightly blurry, last picture of
her, looking triumphant, hands on hips.  She said that she wanted
to hear my pain, that I wasn't to try to hold it in.  Then she
began.  She pulled back the lids of my left eye with her thumbs,
and began to suck, rhythmically, gently at first, then harder,
until it was clear that she was using all of her strength.  She
grabbed my hair with both hands to keep my head from pulling up
from the table, and to have something to push against.  With each
pull I screamed louder -- the pain became so intense -- and I
remember wondering whether I was hurting her ears.  Toward the end
I saw white flashes and felt tiny little pops, and the eye was
gone.  
She started on the other eye, and when she covered it with her lips
and I realized I would never see anything again, I lost my
acceptance and my relief.  I struggled, I begged, I cried, I
humiliated myself, but to no avail.  All I could do was lie there
and wait for it to happen.  And it did.
When it was all over she mounted me -- I was still hard -- and she
quickly climaxed.  She released my arms.  She wasn't at all afraid
of me, because she knew that I was helpless, and couldn't even get
to the hospital without her.  I tried to reach down to bring myself
to orgasm -- even after all I'd been through, I for some reason was
nearly dying from horniness -- but she wouldn't let me, and moved
my hand away.  She removed the rest of her clothes, put her head
against my chest, and said she wanted me to hold her.  Having no
other significant options, I did.  She lay there, satisfied,
totally relaxed, knowing how much pain I was in, knowing that she
had promised me sexual release, knowing how much I needed that
release to salvage something from the tragedy.  But she had gotten
what she wanted, and she just didn't care.
> 
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