By Louetta

Being tortured


Almost always I let just let it happen. Now and then I begin to
fight. A few times when I was younger and some things were done
to me against my will I did. But mostly I want the stuff done to
me. I've tried simulated stuff like rape scenes but they don't
work for me. It's hard to struggle against people trying to tie
you naked to the bed when you can't wait to be tied. Early on I
would have preferred to be tied up ready for my ordeal first and
then slowly stripped. Just being strung up in a bikini with ties
or in my underwear provided plenty of tantalizing exposure of the
girl inside and allows her little outfit to be slowly removed at
any time. But now I like to be slowly stripped before whatever is
going to be done and led naked to whatever awaits me.

Ever since I could remember I rejoiced in the whole an ordeal.
Being stripped first to my underwear, or a little bikini. Almost
nude but not quite. As much of me offered as possible without
revealing all of me. Keeping me as naked as possible without
preempting the coming ceremony of finally stripping me naked.
Then slowly, inch by inch, baring my breasts, if I had any, and
pulling my panties down to reveal every sweet inch of me. To feel
hands upon me, tickling my moist little slit, moving slowly up
over the tops of my thighs, across my stomach to my breasts. My
breasts, soft, white, bared to the prying eyes of my captors.
Bared to whatever cruelty they saw fit to visit upon them.

And I look forward to it, waiting, waiting, waiting for the pain
to start, terrified, trembling, shivering, perhaps weeping with
the fear, the fear of what is to come. Struggling, struggling
against my ropes, feeling them cut into my soft white skin.
Hearing the call of my body. Waiting, waiting, loving every
minute, loving the soft breeze over my naked body, the heat of
the air, the heaving of my chest, the quickening of my pulse, the
hint of sweat across my forehead, under my arms, beneath my
boobs, in the soft crease of my tummy, between my thighs.

Then finally it starts. It is difficult to describe the joy of
being tortured. Hung naked and tortured. Really tortured, with no
mercy. The waiting is over and they torture you mercilessly. The
anticipating is done and the reality is here. And nothing quite
equals the reality. Nothing quite equals the thrill as every inch
of you burns. You struggle helplessly against the ropes that hold
you tight. Your body twists and turns wantonly under the
instruments of torture as you try desperately to escape.

And the best kind of torture is the one you know you cannot
escape. The one done with no safe word, no chance for mercy, no
hope of reprieve. Just like that first time, the first time I was
stripped naked in the woods and my nude body whipped until my
bare ass was red and raw and my tits were on fire with the pain
inflicted by the lash across the tender white flesh.

And all the while I pleaded for mercy that I knew would never
come. That was the day that made me. It was warm that day and I
was bound and stripped naked in the sun. There was no
embarrassment in it for me. In fact my whole body purred. Being
naked and bound had plugged my body into some socket and I was
humming on high. I didn't know why I liked it but I knew I did.

louetta_keene@yahoo.com

