From tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom Fri Jun 27 05:00:44 1997 Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-dc-2.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news.slack.net!anon.lcs.mit.edu!nym.alias.net!mail2news From: tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom X-FTN-Sender: "tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom" Date: Fri, 27 Jun 97 02:00:44 -0700 Subject: In the Pain Garden Message-ID: <1516901326@f26.n340.z1.ftn> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories X-FTN-FLAGS: PVT TRN X-FTN-Tearline: NaNoSPaM+ 0.05 X-FTN-Via: Squish/386 1.11 1:340/303, Fri Jun 27 1997 at 10:17 UTC Mail-To-News-Contact: postmaster@nym.alias.net Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net Lines: 606 The THC Adult Text Archive: PAINGRDN.TXT (552 lines) Please do not allow anyone under 18 to read the contents of this message. BEFORE YOU EMAIL ME, Please see the footer for important information. Visit http://vvv.com/~tommy/acd.html ========================================================================== 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 into lace, 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 *** -- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Archivist Notes: (1) Sorry, no requests for reposts, missing parts, GIFs, FTP sites, etc. can be honored. If you find getting stories from this newsgroup inconvenient, the archive is available on CD. Please email adultarc@tommys.spydernet.kom to trigger an autoresponder that will tell you how to get the whole thing on CD-ROM. Change the anti-spam .kom to .com or it will bounce! (2) I didn't write any of the stories in the THC archive. I am not the author of this story. If you are the author and wish it removed from the archive or properly attributed, please email tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom (again, change the spam-resistant .kom to .com) with the particulars and I will take care of it. I respect copyrights and will always comply with the wishes of authors *when those wishes are communicated to me*. Please understand that I don't always get stories with bylines intact. (3) The total THC adult text archive is over 10,000 text files in number. This makes maintenance and screening exceedingly difficult. I am aware that some stories are incomplete, and I am also aware that some stories are excellent while others are crap. However I don't need these to be pointed out to me. Please refrain from emailing comments of this kind. (4) YES this is a real archive, it can be found on my dialup BBS at 250-361-4549. Adult verification is in effect. And while NO there is no FTP site or web page or telnet address, YES all three are coming in January 1998 or sooner... but for now, this newsgroup is the sole means by which I share the archive with the net.public. (5) I apologize for the length of this footer, but I get so much repetitive email that a micro-FAQ attached to each textfile seems the only solution... -=( Tommy )=- aka BSFH, "Bastard Sysop from Hell" (grin) THC BBS +1 250 361 4549 Visit http://vvv.com/~tommy/acd.html