Nusquam

The grimace turns to low moans of slow suffering. Well restrained, she cannot still the pendulums, forced to submit to ponderous trinkets.

“Nusquam,” he reminds, flicking the light switch, leaving the girl to suffer in darkness.

Chapter Two

“Caned, butt fucked and the nipple torture continues. You had a long afternoon. Really Pattie, don’t you think you’re getting a little too deep into this?”

There comes a welcomed click. The room brightens to bring cheer. The suffering will end.

“I... I... it’s something I need, Miss Kelly.” the voice quaking.

The woman of calm demeanor steps into the chamber, a spare bedroom turned dungeon. She pauses surveying a scene she has so often encountered... yet one which would shock the unwary of the vanilla world.

The apartment’s sole resident, Miss Pattie LaMange kneels naked, wrists and neck encumbered in heavy wooden stocks. Welts on well rounded globes are readily counted, six perfectly parallel stripes on each hillock, evenly spaced... the sadist pridefully sending his message of exactitude.

There glistens traces of male essence, the leisurely flow exiting to coat the inner thighs. And there is to be noted the ongoing breast torment... mouse traps clamped about right nipple and left, weights hanging below to proclaim the mastery of the sadist long after his departure.

“Please Miss Kelly... my tits.”

The plea brings a smile... and little haste. Kelly knows... the body of the masochist suffers... yet the psyche so much covets.

“We’ll take care of you... all of you,” sliding a low stool before the forcibly lowered head.

Kelly sits. Pattie cranes her neck to look upward, the sight of the white uniform welcomed and comforting. The nurse is pretty... raven hair, her mid thirties age offering experience with a remaining aura of youthfulness. Her presence brings a wane smile, knowing the long ordeal will end... and another is to begin.

Hands reach to the left breast, the tender flesh purple, circulation too long impeded. The fingers work, loosening the sprung bar of metal... so slim yet so imposing.

“Take a deep breath,” Kelly’s words matronly.

Yes, the toil of the sadist survives his departure. For as the trap and connecting weights are removed, the rush of circulation brings renewed pangs of pain, the cerebral cortex awakened anew. Pattie LaMange cries out. The smile of Nurse Kelly broadens.

“Shush, you’ve brought this on yourself. And within, you know you enjoy the rush.”

She does, Pattie shamed, chagrined to realize Nurse Kelly understands so well.

“You’re late Miss Kelly,” the words labored in enduring the intense agony.

“Not sure how you would know, kneeling in the stocks for so many hours... but yes. One of my girly boys needed a fanny spanking before I gave him a bath and put him to bed.”

“You spank?” Pattie unaware of such aspects of her services.

“When needed. There are so many roles to be fulfilled, so much discipline required. I try. Another deep breath,” the fingers gently working to free the right trap.

The scene repeats... the returning circulation to again bring a crashing wave of suffering.

“Will you bathe me?” the tone meek.

“Easier to groom you just like this. You’re nicely immobile... and I have access to all I require.”

Weights tossed aside, Kelly steps to the adjoining bathroom, shaking her head as she crosses and surveys the chamber. Pattie LaMange is sick... suffering from a mental/emotional addiction. Thousands upon thousands of dollars have been spent equipping the sizable spare bedroom. There is no imaginable form of torment that cannot be offered by the many devices and implements of pain. Limbs to be twisted, squeezed, restrained in unending immobility... flesh to be clamped, pinched, excoriated... openings oral, vaginal and anal to be stuffed... penetrated with objects of every shape and size.

In addition there is the bizarre furniture, the humiliation of submitting to a visiting sadist enhanced by an array of bondage apparatuses. Yes, Pattie will be made to lie, sit, squat, stand, hang in a variety of p

oses, the gear intricate and expensive.

In the bathroom Nurse Kelly under the sink reaches for a porcelain bowl. She then fills a basin with warm water, fragrant suds to bring olfactory delight, tossing in a soft chamois cloth.

“Do you think your father had any inkling of how you would be spending your inheritance?” Nurse Kelly calls out, swirling the chamois to bring a froth of white to the warm wetness. “I can’t imagine how much you’ve spent on all this... not to mention the cost of my visits.”