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In the Pain Garden
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
There is far more violence in this work of fiction than I ever have
actually done, or plan to. This is a fantasy, in which we challenged
each other to go the next step higher; this is not a suggested
model for any real-life doings between real-life persons.
In the Pain Garden
The man was sitting in a chair across from the woman. Handcuffs off.
He was smiling, enjoying the points of her nipples still visible through
the thin cotton, trying to determine whether he saw a hint of wetness
at the crotch of her pants or just imagined it...
She looked at him. So this is the California Sex Fiend. Six feet tall,
widely built and a little bulky, without actually being fat. Long
legs in jeans, wide leather belt, silver jewelled Indian buckle.
Goofy black T shirt with some emblem on the front. Tattoo on the
left arm, cheap watch on the left wrist, plain gold band on the
left ring finger Slim copper bracelet on the right wrist. Death's
head earring in the right earlobe.
Big head, mass of brown-to-grey hair brushed straight back. Mostly
grey and silver beard, trimmed short. Cheerful, wry facial expression.
Big often-busted nose. Droopy eyes behind tinted glasses.
She was surprised about the beard and the bigness; had
figured him as a small lithe type. Must be the pseudonym.
The man looked back at her. We're as far apart as the Earth and Mars,
he thought, and yet so MUCH alike it's almost eerie.
She was on the tall side for a woman, with long dark hair that just
reached her waist, a residual wave from an old perm. There was
a fringe of bangs shading her high forehead. Her face was square to oval;
her cheekbones high and pretty. She had an open face, quite serious.
Her eyebrows were thick and black. Her eyes were brown with depths of
brackish-river green; dark rings beneath them from a lifetime of
tiredness. Her nose was average, not too big, not too small, almost
straight but not quite. Her mouth would have been a cupid-shape if it were
fuller; the corners tended slightly to petulance. Square white teeth,
quick deft tongue.
Her arms were lean and quite strong; she could make the muscles in her upper
arms bulge with a bit of effort. Her hands were small, fingers
short and square; bitten nails. There was a thin gold band on
her wedding finger. No other jewelery, though her ears were pierced.
Long legs; thighs and backside rounder than she would like them but
under control.
Her breasts were full and slightly lax. A
blue vein ran to the left nipple. Her nipples were small and
raspberry-like, surrounded by areolae that were faintly
brownish-pink. She had a long waist, quite
curvaceous, and a soft rounded belly.
``Your turn'' she said, in a low voice. Looking a challenge at him.
``To what?'' he smiled, playing dumb.
``Touch yourself.''
He shifted in the chair. She could see an erection bulge in the well-washed
levis. He ran two fingers up and down this bulge, lightly tracing its
contours. ``Like so?'' he asked.
she stared at him, breath quickening. "Take off your pants."
Slowly, he unbuckled his belt and undid the buttons of his pants.
she watched him closely. she ran her hands over her breasts, feeling the soft
curves, the hard aching nipples. Finally he wriggled out of his pants.
his cock leaped out at her like a taut muscle, long veins snaking along the
velvet shaft.
"Spread your legs."
he threw his long legs over the arms of the chair. She dropped to her
knees and crawled towards him. he waited for her to come, swallowing
once. A light sheen of sweat appeared on his chest. She took his cock
in her hand, her palm cool against his heat. With the tip of her
tongue, she licked his prick gently, teasingly, running her tongue over the
opening and down to the crease between the glans and the shaft. She
tasted him in her mouth, and felt the wetness growing in her cunt.
He tried to touch her. "Don't", she growled, wanting this to be hers.
He tried again. She reared away from his groin and glared. "That's it,
then." Handcuffs (conveniently left hanging on the chair from the
last time!) snapped shut around his wrists. She teased his nipples in her
fingers, making him groan. She leaned over him and kissed him, deep and
hot.
She trailed her hands down his chest, back to the main area of interest.
She spat on her right hand, and took his prick in it and started to
masturbate him slowly. her left hand ran smoothly around his pelvis
and stomach and thighs. She bent her head and took his balls in her
mouth, one by one, nibbled slightly threateningly at his scrotum,
then dropped to the crack between his cheeks. He pulled his legs wider
apart. He was leaning back dangerously, eyes closed, chest heaving.
She slipped her tongue onto the ring around his asshole, and licked round
and round, then pushed into the opening as hard as she could go. His cock
tensed in her hand. She wet him thoroughly, then slid her finger inside
him.
her cunt was throbbing so hard it was all she could do not to leave
him handcuffed in his chair and masturbate.
****
``Show me.''
She looked carefully in all directions, then undid and slipped out of her
pants and panties in one graceful movement. She touched her pubis under
the bottom of her T shirt, as if to make sure everything was still
there. Then she leaned back against the doorframe, spread her thighs
slightly, and used her cupped hands to spread and open her outer
labia.
``Beautiful!'' She heard him breathe.
She had showed her cunt to men before. Of course. But somehow this
was different. She felt vaguely aroused, but also somewhat proud and
defiant. He really means it, she thought. He really thinks it's
beautiful. His little eyes are ready to pop out of his head. What
power I have here!
The night air felt strange on her slick, exposed inner parts.
``If you get on your knees and keep your hands behind your back,
I'll give you a close look,'' She heard yourself say.
He smiled and left the chair (handcuffs swinging in the night
breeze) and knelt in the dirt before her in one smooth gesture.
She spread her legs slightly farther apart and got a fresh grip
on her labia. She was keenly aware of what he must be seeing, the
pink tones, the delicate folds, the dark cloud of hair...he seemed
to have stopped breathing, to have turned into a set of eyes on
stalks with a hardon somewhere near the other end...
She almost wanted to cry, watching his face. He understands something
about this place, this mystery, this sanctuary. Her cunt has known so
many sensations, so many objects and hardnesses and pleasures. But
he looked at it as if he loved it, not its owner or its promises, but
the place itself. She had thought it ugly before, asymmetrical,
sometimes tangled and prickly. But he said, so close that she felt
his breath on the lips, "It's beautiful."
She closed her eyes. His tongue touched her cunt lightly in the alley
between her vagina and clitoris, and moved back and forward there. She
drew her breath in sharply, and steadied herself against the doorframe.
He moved his arms around the backs of her thighs and held her against
his mouth, his tongue moving like an angel in her wet, pulsating,
desperate folds. her vagina became an emptiness that wanted to be
filled, but she didn't want this to stop. She moved her hips against him.
She was sure he was smiling down there. It was quiet outside . Somewhere
a cricket chirped. Soon , she thought, I will reach a point where I
would let you do anything ou demanded.
********
They were leaning against the wall at the side of the garden. Rather,
she was leaning against the wall and he was leaning against her.
They teased each other, naked, like old lovers, although this was
their first meeting; he playfully fitted the head of his cock into
her navel, she pinched his nipples between her strong fingers.
They looked into each other's faces in the darkness; he thought he
could see something like distant lightning deep in her eyes.
He spoke into the corner of her neck and shoulder. ``Do you trust
me?'' he asked softly into the delicious soft, sweaty skin.
``Absolutely not'' she replied crisply. ``But it hardly matters what
I think.''
``Why not?''
She grinned, took his hand from her shoulder, and positively
_inserted_ his fingers into the warmth between her legs. How aggressive,
he thought, how exciting! She was wet; she was running, dripping, lovely
fluids sliding fort to meet his happy fingers. He paired two fingers and
hooked into her interior; again, it was as if they had been lovers for
decades.
His fingers knew this pussy--although he couldn't say why or how.
``That's why trust is beside the point'' she said, wriggling and if
anything sinking down on his hand. ``THAT's the organ in charge.''
There was a small tree near the wall. He had no idea what kind it
was, but it had a nice sturdy horizontal branch growing out from the
main trunk, at the perfect height for the woman to grasp and lean
against. Having only one pair of handcuffs, he used instead the stout
rope he found in the shed, cutting several pieces to the proper length
with a razor-sharp Tanto knife. This woman knew knives. She raised
an eyebrow at him as he bound her wrists to the tree limb. ``How did you
get all this...stuff...into the country?''
``Pardon?'' He made sure her wrists were snugly tied but not too tight,
and that she could comfortably grasp the limb with her hands to take
her weight.
``Handcuffs, knives...this is not an easy country to bring
such things into.''
``Nor to take out, I would suppose.'' He grinned at her and then
dropped to his knees and began roping up one slim ankle. ``Me, I used
to work for the American government--sort of--and I learned valuable life
lessons, such as, bribery, intimidation, misdirection, and stealth--these
things will get almost anything into anywhere.'' He attached one ankle
slackly to the tree trunk, then made a loop of rope for the other ankle.
``Such as, for example, big pieces of steel through airport security, or big
blunt fingers into hot, wet snatches...''
She kept her silence as he attached the remaining ankle to a heavy, repulsive
garden gnome that squatted nearby. Now her legs were quite handily spread,
her ankles at least 3 feet apart.
He walked around the tree and stood in front of her. Her body was exciting,
hard-working muscles taut, nipples hard and distended vulva slightly
spread by the legs-apart position, a fugitive sheen of moisture gleaming
in the delicate shadowed folds.
She swallowed. Her face was brave and determined and at the same time a
bit confused. ``W-What do we do now?'' she asked, in a very small voice.
He stooped and picked up the remaining coil of rope. ``We _play_.'' And
with the slightest of smiles, he bent close to her, took one gemlike
nipple into his mouth and sucked lightly, and then flicked the other nipple
with the end of the rope, hard.
He could feel the gasp all the way down to the earth of the garden floor.
She stared at him, passive, waiting for his next move. He leaned towards
her and traced a line down her body with his tongue, from her jaw down
to one tense thigh. She shuddered. So this one wanted teasing; he had
known she would. His broad hands explored her stomach, breasts,
shoulders. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
"Open them."
"What?"
"Open your eyes. I want you to see the expression on my face."
"Is that an order?" she countered, gamely. The rope swung again,
flashed dizzily through the air to leave a red line across her
belly. She jerked. "Just in case..", and a line appeared just below
the first, beautifully parallel.
She looked down, fascinated. "You do that very...professionally,"
she said, some of the cocksure edge gone from her voice.
He smiled and knelt at her feet. "I won't do anything you don't want
me to," he said. He indicated the knives,
neatly lined up on the earth at her feet.
"But you'll want me to carve you up with one of
these babies by the time we're finished." She narrowed her eyes,
sliding her lids over the fear. She swallowed again.
"Do whatever you want," she said. His hand slid up her thigh and
over her hot cunt, finger slipping into the wet, baby-smooth vagina.
Her eyes closed automatically, then snapped open as he pinched
her nipple in admonishment. His tongue slid around her clitoris,
teasing it into a state of near-desperation. She leaned dangerously
against the branch, feeling weak.
He looked up at her, certain that she wanted a lot more than these
pleasanteries. Her head was tilted towards him, a pink flush lying
over her throat. The knife. She wanted the knife. Something about
its smooth silver blade, the absolute edge of it, the terror
inside it. She hated it and she wanted it.
He stood, stepped back, and tried to assess his judgement. Without
warning he slapped her face, hard. She caught her breath in
astonishment, then dismay, and bit her lip. No tears; just a renewed
challenge in her eyes once she had regained her composure.
He stooped for the big one.
***
``This is a Tanto knife'' he said, in a voice suitable for a museum
lecture on a Sunday afternoon. ``It was cut down from a rather high
quality Japanese sword that was carried by an Admiral on Yamamoto's
staff in 1944...''
1944...? she thought. Is that supposed to mean something? That thing
looks...thirsty...
He laughed. ``Don't look your fear at the blade, darling. It makes
the knife want to cut you deeper.'' He reversed the knife in his
hand with some sort of flashing movement, now holding it like a
giant scalpel. ``And we don't want ...deep...'' he murmered, studying
her body. ``...we want...decorative...''
He pressed the angled tip of the knife against the top of her
right breast, up where the muscle pointed toward the shoulder.
He cut her.
At first she thought it was another of his endless series of tricks,
some kind of special effect. The thin line of blood appeared before
the pain message actually reached her inflamed brain.
My God, he did it! was all she could think. The clean slit welled small
drops of blood that began to slide down her sweaty, dirty body.
The man smiled sweetly. ``You feel it _here_'' he said, leaning in
to blow his hot breath on the cut, ``--and you appreciate it _here_''
he continued, roughly grabbing her between the legs with his free hand.
She gulped, then straightened without saying anything. The pain from
the cut was not very bad--even when salty sweat began to trickle into
it. She was quite surprised that right along with the pain and fear and
arousal she expected to feel, another powerful emotion manifested
itself: pride. This is it, this is the big time, she told herself. This
is what's going to take me all the way, and I'm up to it. I can do
it!
Sensing that the woman had nothing to say, the man calmly and methodically
made a matching cut across the top of the other breast. He stepped back
and studied her very carefully.
The new pain seemed to the woman to be a red-hot wire attached to some
evolutionarily advanced sexual organ that didn't appear in the anatomy
chart. Her entire pelvis felt swollen, congested, afire. Her nipples
ached and pulsed and felt as though they could explode right off
her body at any second. She found herself imagining the MOST horrible
and frightening things, things she would never dare ask and had never
dared contemplate--slice my tits to ribbons, stick the knife through
my tongue, carve my cuntlips inlace, slice my clit, fuck me in the
ass with a tree limb--these images and more swirled in her head until
she was more scared of her own mind than of the relentless, knife-
wielding stranger in front of her.
``Penny for your thoughts'' the man said quietly, making a three-inch
cut just above the fringe of her pubic hair. Blood began to trickle
down into her curly triangle. It felt like thick warm soup--tomato
soup, she thought hysterically.
***
Perhaps she fainted for a moment, or perhaps her outer consciousness
merely overloaded. She heard a rushing noise in her head, and then
felt the man's strong square fingers take her jaw and tilt her
head up to meet his gaze.
``Would you like to come?'' the man said conversationally.
``Wh-what?'' She felt stupid and yet extremely aware of every inch
of her body. She would swear that her nipples and clitoris and
anus were all pulsing and glowing like some science-fiction set
effect. She could feel every tiny break in her skin where he had
sliced her, she could feel the ropes that held her to the tree
as if they were organic extensions of her own body.
``I'm going to do the next thing'' the man continued. ``It's going
to hurt the most of all.'' She felt an odd, dual emotional surge;
pure terror and bright desire. ``And when I do it, you will have an
orgasm. Not THE orgasm, but an orgasm.''
The woman looked at him. silent, her mouth hanging open. She knew she
must be the most frightening sight anywhere under the indifferent
stars that night; a bloody, gashed, dirty, sweaty, lankly hung woman
with the expression of an idiot...she nodded, once, slowly.
The man, moving like a cat, captured her right nipple with one hand.
He pulled the nipple out, away from her breast, and held it between
thumb and forefinger so that a small stub of dark pink protruded
from his grip.
With the other hand, he brought up the Tanto knife in one of those
swirling, whirling gestures she had come to recognize.
He's going to cut it off, she thought. The words practically appeared
in letters of fire in the night air. This man is going to cut off my
nipple with his knife.
She felt _something_ in her swollen pelvic area loosen, almost begin
to move. A never-before-felt gush of hot fluid appeared in her
vagina and began trickling down her muddy legs.
The man brought the knife down point first. Very slowly.
The woman felt something like --like independent muscle spasms
starting in the floor of her crotch.
The man let the knife sink down of its own weight. The wide, slanted
point began to deform the resilient nipple.
The woman groaned a low, rumbling groan, much more animal than human.
The upper part of her body she held absolutely still, as if
her nipple were transfixed to a steel post. The lower part of her
body made tiny thrusting movements.
The sharp tip of the knife sank just a hair's depth into the nipple.
One tiny drop of blood appeared.
The man snatched the knife away, out of the way. The woman was _taken_
by orgasm, inflicted by it, grabbed and rughed and tumbled by it.
Her eyes rolled up, her teeth chattered, her arms and legs waved and
twitched. She bounced against the ropes. The tree rattled. A great
gush of hot, thin fluid sprayed out of her core. Her pelvis snapped
and rolled in all possible directions.
``I'm going to let you down now'' the man said, raising the knife.
She looked at him. Everything seemed to have a black-and-orange
tinge to it, as if she had accidentally breathed anesthetic. His
big head with its curly grey hair appeared to wear a nimbus or
halo. The thought almost made her laugh out loud. Saint A_,
patron of sexual torture. The one who makes martyrs out of lovers.
The ropes parted, and she fell down and forward. The man caught
her just before she would have slammed face first into the ground.
``A little off your best form?'' he said. He arranged her like a
mannequin, up on her knees, down on her shoulders, her face pressed
sideways into the dirt.
***
``Duh-'' she heard herself say. Just like in a cartoon. She had
temporarily lost the power of speech. She rolled over on her back
in the dirt, looked at him, crouching naked over her, cock and
balls more or less dangling over her face. He still held the large
knife in one relaxed hand, looking like a pale aborigine from some
time-lost tribe.
She marshalled her thoughts and tried once again to speak. ``Do
you--will you fuck me now?''
The man smiled and touched her lacerated upper chest, fingerpainting
with the already drying blood. ``Certainly--in a way...''
Everything is `in a way' with this one, she thought, as he helped
her to her knees. He left her there for a moment and returned with
a large pot of something slippery and shiny.
***
The slippery stuff seemed to cover her entire body from thighs to
navel. It dripped on the earth, mixing in interesting patterns with
the blood and sweat on her body and on the ground.
She felt something pressing against the entrance to her anus, but
her private parts were so congested and oerstimulated that she
couldn't have told whether it was a cock, some fingers, or the
handle of the hedge shears. He pressed into her, slowly but deliberately,
until she felt wiry pubic hair brushing her buttocks.
Oh good, she thought feverishly. He's finally fucking me. In the ass,
no less. Doesn't hurt. Feels...friendly.
The man began a slow in-and-out rhythm, slower than she would have
liked. When she tried to meet him with her own thrusts backward and
pick up the pace, he slapped her butt with one hand and yanked,
rein-like, on her hair with the other. So she settled down to passively
being fucked, enjoying his thrusts and the sensations of the cut and
bruised and abraded places on her body.
It came over her as suddenly as shame, and she could not hold it off.
She was, in any case, in no position to reason with it. It billowed
over her, slid into the cracks of her body and the sweat on her back and
the crusted cuts in her skin. She pressed her head down further.
"Hrmm," she mumbled, desperately not wanting to say it.
"What?" The tantalising rhythm hesitated. She remained silent.
Roughly, but just gentle enough not to push her over the edge, he
pulled at her tangled hair and twisted her head round. "What did you
say?"
She would not look at him. "Hurt me," she whimpered.
Well, hell, he thought, guess a couple of rope burns and being
slashed open with a blade don't really count. Real wimp stuff. What
does she have in mind? Immolation? He suppressed the laughter -
slightly hysterical - that welled up. This woman was pushing way too
far. He wasn't sure where the breaking point was, but he sure as
hell didn't want to take her past it. Not on the first date...
He stayed inside her, fucking her asshole slightly faster, despite
himself. That ought to hurt; at least a little. His hands roamed her
shoulders and neck, fingers lingering at the throat, lacing
together, pressing slightly. He wanted badly to kiss the back of her
neck, but he was pretty sure, from her slight tremors that it would
make her cry. And that just wouldn't do.
At last, the man leaned forward and rested his upper body on the
woman's sweaty, grimy back. Still drilling her ass in a steady
rhythm, he reached down and around with his long arms and caught hold
of a nipple in each hand. The woman made a keening sound and whipped
her head back and forth so that her long, matted hair swished past
his face.
No more knives, he thought. We don't need them. All we need is a
little more of that HOT pain, a little buzz along the magic wire
that leads from tit to clit. He squeezed and pulled and rolled her
hard, flexible nipples between his thumbs and fingers.
The woman was now breathing like a steam engine, and, incredibly,
had fit her right hand between her legs and was steadily frigging
her clitoris as he pumped and rode her. Now she actually _was_
starting to cry, but the tears were a part of a general loosening
up and washing out that he could feel throughout her body. er
asshole actually seemed to open up around his jamming cock. He
could feel the vibrations of her masturbating hand, as they rippled
through her groin.
The man felt a mastery, a control, that was freeing and frightening.
For the first time in his long career he understood how riding the
tiger actually felt. A vision of her turning and clawing out his
throat with one lightning slash splashed up against his mind; and
as the imaginary blood spurted, his cock swelled inside the woman's
anus and firedhot gouts of cum deep into her. She gave her last
great moan, a terrible dying sound, and blasted into an exhausting,
exhausted orgasm that clamped her muscles around his cock like a
padded vice.
***
They were sitting in a big square bathtub full of bubbly water. The
man carefully washed the slit wounds above her breasts and pubis.
The woman looked down and did not wince; his touch was so light, she
could hardly believe he was touching her.
She looked at him from under her dark brows, a slight smile in
the corners of her mouth. ``I'm crazier than you are'' she said
mockingly.
The man raised an eyebrow. ``How so?''
``All you do is tie people up and whip them and slash them with
knives and fuck them up the ass.''
``All I do this evening...''
She smiled and pointed at the clean cut above one rounded, wet
breast. ``_I_ _get_ tied up and whipped and slashed and fucked in
the ass. And _I_ ask for it!''
The night and the garden outside the window heard their mixed low
laughter, but paid little attention. The blood, sweat, lube,
pussy juice and sperm had already sunk into the thirsty soil, and
no other sign of their love match remained save a few cleanly cut
strands of rope, dangling from a small tree...
***
averti and friend February 1992
***
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