Tag Archives: strappado

Soul in Chains

Soul in Chains

“Why you of all willing flesh?”

“Because there is no-one willing to go to as great a length as I am.”

The Man surveyed her answer. Rated it. Catalogued it. The Man would catalogued them all, no mistake, and use them in any way he saw fit.

___

20th March

Her alias was as classy as it was truthful – “eternalbonds”. Honest. Lower case. A bit clingy for, say, a dating site, but a dark promise on the forum opening up in Bethany’s browser. Once logged in, she studied the sub-fora’s titles with rising heartbeat.

Welcome, Announcements and Technical Stuff were quickly dismissed. With a click she teleported her digital self into BDSM. Whipping had its own area, as well as Ponyplay. Bethany had no interest in the fleeting pleasure of being whipped, and she didn’t want to play, neither as pony nor as human being. Choosing Bondage, she kept the cursor hovering over the button to create a new thread. Continue reading

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Pony Boot Camp — Part Forty-One

L’Estrapade

I didn’t know how Sixteen was about to get back to the camp. I didn’t care beyond curiosity, neither. Even about my own fate I mused in a detached state of mind. In the wake of my fit of temper I was trapped in dark, almost self-destructive euphoria. I would be disciplined, that was for sure. Yet I hadn’t got the faintest idea about how harshly my actions would be dealt with. If I had attacked a staff member, things would turn extremely ugly. But another pony? I wasn’t even sure whose jurisdiction I was under in the case at hand. Kendrick’s? Miss Cuntling’s? The warden’s? Did they differ? Did it matter?

Maybe I would be long-term bridled like Eleven, maybe I would be hugging the whipping post. Continue reading


A Dance in the Cage

 

A Dance in the Cage

You know the girls dancing in those cages at clubs? Sometimes on a pedestal, sometimes suspended over the raving crowd? Ever wondered how they ended up there and what makes them move all night?

Despite the allegedly soundproof glass Bianka felt the vibrations at her eardrums, in the pit of her stomach, in the tip of her pen. The bass pounded its way through every structure, item and living being in the whole building. It was the heartbeat of the club, and with the small hours of the night being near it was hammering wilder than ever. If the owner, manager and icon of Club Noir were to turn around from her desk, she would be able to overlook the main floor through the glass wall of her office. She would see the fetish folk celebrating its own depravity, loosing itself in the dark world the legendary Bianka Schönfeld provided. A world of masks and collars, of monogloves and hobble skirts, where leather was the new lace and black the new black. To the left the long cool-lit bar ran in a wide arc alongside the clubbing area, which in turn bordered at the right on the VIP lounge. Further in the back the entrance to the lower levels awaited those in search for more titillating activities. The rooms for this spicy kind of entertainment were soundproof, for sure. Continue reading


Pony Boot Camp — Part Thirty-One

Better Feared than Loved

Sleeping with somebody is considered to be the most intimate act to perform. Torturing them comes in a close second. In the light of this, Miss Cuntling and I were one step away from being fuck mates.

Kendrick might have been technically right about the abuse my fellow fillies and I were subjected to not being torture in that it wasn’t meant to extract confessions or information. He had applied a rather narrow definition, though. The purpose of interrogative torture may differ from the one of punitive torture; the underlying methodology stays the same. Pain may be inflicted for the sake of pain, but in the long run it is a means to an even more diabolical end. Continue reading


A Tough One

A Tough One

She wasn’t exactly pretty. Attractive, yes. Intriguing, sure. Some — most — might even say beautiful. But pretty? There lay a kind of hardness in her features, making it difficult to connect her to terms such as “cute” or “twee”.

I would call her Rho, for her real name was of no consequence anymore. ρ, the sixteenth letter of the Greek alphabet. Or, minding that it was to be a proper name, the capital form: P. Continue reading