The men moved the chair, with some difficulty, until I was underneath the double beam contraption on the roof. I watched while the lower beam was released and dropped to about four feet above me.
Barry then took great delight in showing everyone some little metal clips on the end of a thin metal chain. My first introduction to Clover Clamps. I still possess the two sets used on me that day.
I looked on through my ever-widening, tear-filled eyes as Barry commenced to place the little clamps on my nipples. I must have subconsciously enjoyed the flogging because my nipples had become hard and erect without me even realising. They were just perfect for the subsequent torture to be inflicted on me.
When the clamps were attached, I gritted my teeth as they bit into my tender nipples.
The linking chain was attached to a D ring clip hanging on another short chain secured to a hook in the lowered wooden beam. I could easily see what was to occur; however, I was in for another painful surprise.
A further pair of Clover Clamps appeared, and one of the builders took great delight in searching through my exposed pussy for the right place to attach the clamps. He found it as my cry of pain testified. A similar format followed. The clamps connecting the chain were attached to a D-ring clip at the end of another chain, which was placed on the same hook in the beam.
I could feel my mouth going dry as my eyes started to cloud over with more tears. It seemed that as my mouth dried, everywhere else became wet. I sweated freely until my skin was glistening under the lights and, strangely, once again, my pussy was becoming very moist.
I heard a handle turning with a strange rattling noise, like you might hear when a door opens in a horror movie. Then suddenly, the lights went out, and we were in total darkness. The room went silent, apart from the grinding of the handle.
I felt the clips in both sensitive areas of my body tighten and grip deep into my flesh. At first, I gasped, then whimpered and finally, through the impenetrable darkness, I let out a blood-curdling scream as I felt my tits and cunt were going to be pulled right off.
I realised that I was breathing very rapidly and shallowly. I arched my back to relieve the pressure on my tits, but that worsened the pain in my cunt.
'Ohhhh Noooooooo!' I called out in desperation.
To my great relief, the creaking of the handle stopped.
Now the only sound heard was my shallow, heavy, rapid breathing. My throat had become so dry that I felt I couldn't muster another suffering cry of agony.
I just lay in the darkness, enduring pain that I was sure I had never felt before. Then suddenly, I knew that something else, totally unwanted, was going to happen. I could feel the dampness issuing from my pussy lips and running down my bum. It produced a kind of tickling effect.
I knew my body was about to go into orgasm. I tried desperately to control it. My breathing became sporadic, and I fought against the bonds that held me tight to this wooden implement of torture.
'Oh please no... Not that!' I managed to croak out.
Hearing me suddenly struggle and change my breathing patterns, Barry quickly called for the lights to be turned back on.
As light flooded the room, everyone watching was treated to the sight of me with my tits stretched taught and my pussy lips pulled tight, shaking uncontrollably, grunting and groaning like a demented pig. I was enduring pain and enjoying pleasure at the same time.
The ecstasy of my orgasm was to some degree stunted by the intense agony of my stretched tits and fanny. As I naturally wriggled and squirmed in pleasure, the chains pulled the clamps tighter, resulting in more screams from my parched throat.
I knew that such screams of anguish must be having quite an effect on the audience who had come to view and enjoy such an unusual spectacle.
Again, my breathing rate soared, as did my heart rate, as I came down from my pleasure cloud of torment.
'That was so hot, ' someone stated.
As I regained my thoughts, I looked around. Every man who had been watching from the seats had left them. They wanted a better view of the torture I was now enduring.
'How long do you think the bitch can endure staying in that position?' one of the watchers questioned.
'Let's find out, ' Barry responded with another one of those sadistic smiles playing on his face.
Various items of food were brought in and handed out as guys walked around me, looking intimately at my exposed position. Occasionally, one would give one of the small chains a flick with his finger, the results of which shot through my body like a knife through butter.
I was offered a sandwich and fed it while still in my prone, stretched position. Even the movement of my jaw caused great additional discomfort from the clamps holding my nipples and pussy tight in their iron grip. Lying down with my head slightly tilted back also made swallowing hard work. I did not eat much.
Suddenly, Barry exclaimed to my great relief, 'That's enough, let the bitch down.'
Someone went to use the handle to lower the beam. Whether intentionally or otherwise, he commenced winding it the wrong way, and the clamps bit tighter, my tits and cunt lips were pulled tauter, and I screamed louder!
Barry ran to the handle and quickly turned it in the opposite direction, issuing a stream of expletives toward the previous operator.
As the chains slackened, one of Barry's colleagues quickly unclipped the clamps, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. That was short-lived as the blood flooded into my very tender and stretched areas, causing almost as much pain as the torturous device I had just worn. I am sure some observing the proceedings wondered why I was once again breathing heavily, squirming against my bonds, and grunting like a dog in heat.
Barry was obviously aware of what was happening unseen inside my body as he and others quickly undid the straps on my wrists and ankles to release me fully. I immediately began to rub my breasts and cunt vigorously in what some must have thought was an act of masturbation.
Finally, I stood up and managed a half-smile, more of relief than anything else.
'Are you alright?' Barry questioned sympathetically.
'I think I will be, ' I replied with as much humour as I could manage, 'next week.'
The young man who had turned the crank the wrong way came and apologised. 'I'm so very sorry, ' he said, 'I never intended to do that. I just wasn't thinking.'
I smiled and gave a little roll of my eyes.
Put her in position for a body flogging, ' Barry instructed, after allowing me several gulps of water from a bottle to ease my parched throat.
My hands were bound above me to the beam as a homemade spacer bar was placed between my feet. I was then hauled up until I was standing in the spread-eagle position, similar to that on the St Andrew's Cross.
'We intend to use this flogger front and back until....' Barry couldn't seem to work out when the until was.
'She passes out, ' one of his employees added playfully.
'Not quite. We do want lots more screaming and begging for mercy, though, don't we lads?' Barry responded with a smile as he addressed the audience.
'Yes, ' they answered back almost in unison.
As I braced myself for this next challenge, I was surprised to see two men holding large leather floggers. I had already felt the results of one, but two?
The men stood opposite each other, one slightly in front of me and the other behind. It did not take a genius to appreciate that one would lash my back and the other my breasts.
Suddenly, some classical music started playing very loudly. 'We got this idea from 'The Story of O, ' Barry announced above the cacophony of sound. As the music speeds up, so will these men, and your suffering should become much more intense.
The two builders removed their tops, standing like Roman gladiators with bare chests, arms and rippling muscles. I had little doubt that they meant business. I also knew that these floggers were nothing like the cheap affairs I had previously experienced. These were big, long, multi-strand heavy leather affairs. I already knew they could hurt, as my tummy and thighs testified.
As the music played, the two men worked almost in symmetry, seemingly timing every lash across my back or breasts to perfection. It was only after the event that I discovered that they had practised this routine for several days before my arrival.
My body felt as if I had been lying naked in the sun all day without sunscreen. Each time the men unleashed their power, my skin felt it would blister and burst. As I looked down, I could see my tits were turning bright pink, and I knew from the pain in my back that a similar fate was also befalling that.
The music mostly drowned out my screams, squawks, shrieks, squeals and shouts as its rich but loud tempo filled the basement and seemed to echo off the walls. I am sure the distressed look on my face told the story of the suffering I was enduring, even though my calls of affliction were lost to the trumpets, tubas and trombones.
As the pace of the music increased, so did the number of strikes with the floggers. The only thing in my favour was that the men using them could not keep up the ferocity of their power if they worked in time to the music. That said, I did not know which was the worst, more force or more floggings.
Suddenly, as the music reached its zenith, the two men stepped back as another with a leather belt took his place. As the cymbal crashed, his belt twice uncurled between my legs, giving me a short but painful pussy whipping.
I was literally in so much pain all over my body that I lost my footing. I ended up hanging by the ropes as the belt struck home with a vicious slapping noise as it passed between my legs, concluding its upward trajectory against my reddening bum.
Thankfully, the music stopped, and so did my torture. I thought I would pass out or die or both as my arms took the total weight of my body. My breathing was, once again, deep and laboured. My legs were unsteady as the men untied the ropes around my wrists.
I collapsed to the ground, not knowing where to put myself for the most comfort. As I looked up, I could see several men standing, working vigorously at the cocks. I watched one after another relieve themselves, and I knew that my present suffering was not in vain.
'Would you three go to my van and bring the item that's waiting in the back?' Barry asked some of his workforce.
'Did you finish it?' one of them enquired eagerly.
'Yes. I completed it at three this morning, ' Barry replied with another of his almost sadistic smiles.
I guess everyone was almost as eager as I to see what would be carried into the room. When it did arrive, I had little idea what it was. It looked like a smaller version of a gymnastic pommel horse I knew from my school days. As it came closer, I could see that this too was made from oak with four sturdy legs linked by timbers into which 'O' rings had been screwed.
It was some sort of bondage equipment I had never seen.
'Do you like it?' Barry asked, looking at me.
I was still nursing every part of my aching body from my position on the ground.
'What is it?' I questioned with some trepidation.
Barry looked a little crestfallen when he realised I did not recognise his new addition.
'It's a Wooden Pony, ' he replied, 'and we can use it in several ways.'
He then graphically explained to his naive young Scottish pain slut the various ways to use his newly constructed contraption. Some were obvious, while I thought other ideas seemed a little far-fetched.
When Barry said, 'We want you to sit on it, ' I realised, to my horror, just what it had been designed to do. My pussy was already burning as though covered in a liberal splattering of Tabasco sauce. I knew that this further punishment would feel as though it had received an additional red-hot polka.
'We will lift you onto the beam and sit you there, Rachel. Then we will enjoy the sights and sounds that should follow.'
Two men assisted me to my feet, and for what seemed the umpteenth time that day, my arms were attached to the beam. As it was cranked up, I realised that I would have to take the full weight of my body with my arms to rise high enough to sit on the rounded wooden top of the 'pony.'
As my feet left the floor, four men placed the pony between my legs. When it was in position, the beam was slowly lowered until I could feel the wood touching my already sore and throbbing pussy.
I winced and cried, 'Ohhh. Noooo. No more.'
I could feel the cruel, round wooden pole that topped off this new implement of cruelty as it pressed hard against my vulva and pubic bones. I pulled myself up on the ropes to relieve the pressure between my legs. Everyone knew, including me, that I could not stay in such a position for long. After only a minute or two, my arms tired, and I gently lowered myself again onto the pole that felt to me to be on fire.
'Ohhhh. Aarrrrrgh. Fuuuuuuuuck.' I screamed as my pussy lips took the weight of my body.
Someone lowered the bar above me to stop me from lifting myself to relieve the biting, burning pain. My cunt lips were swollen and sore as I teetered, balancing myself on this deviously effective device.
'What would you do if we let you off?' Barry asked with evident enjoyment of my predicament.
'Anything, ' I gasped, tears flowing from my eyes as I attempted to relieve the pain.
'Really? Absolutely anything?'
'Yeeeesss.'
'You heard her, lads, ' Barry announced. 'You wouldn't be a lying bitch would you?'
'Nooooo. Please?' I begged, 'Let me off.'
'Why?'
'Please! Please, Please.'
Then, inextricably, once again, I realised that the pole on which I was sitting was becoming wet. Some of those enjoying my intense and painful discomfort had noticed this phenomenon, perhaps even before I had. The wetter the wood became with my pussy juices, the slippier it was.
I fought with the ropes to keep from sliding too much, but the more I fought to control my predicament, the more pain I inflicted on myself and the closer I came to what I knew would be the inevitable outcome.
I grabbed at the ropes as my body convulsed painfully in yet another unexpected orgasm that brought more merriment to my inquisitors and further deep but sore joy to me. It was evident to all that pain was one way to get my body to respond in a sexually charged manner.
I was left sitting very uncomfortably perched on the wooden pony for another five minutes until Barry gave the word that my present torture was to end. The beam was cranked up just enough to relieve the pressure between my legs. Quickly, the wooden pony that had caused me such agony was removed.
'You made a promise, young lady, ' Barry reminded me as my feet once again touched the ground. 'You said you were willing to do anything, absolutely anything if we stopped your torment. We all heard you, and we intend to keep you to your promise!'
'I think, ' Barry announced, 'That Rachel here has entertained us more than enough today. If she's happy, we will perform one more act on her and close out the session.'
Surprisingly no one complained. I certainly wasn't going to object.
My hands were bound above me to the beam as a homemade spacer bar was placed between my feet. I was then hauled up until I was standing in the spreadeagle position that I had been on the St Andrew's Cross.
'How do you think everyone wants to see you suffering next?' Barry questioned.
I had no idea.
'It seems that the majority want to see you endure more electrical torture. Are you up to it?'
I was just relieved it was not the cane once again. I had found that and the force used so painful. I felt this was a kinder option that I was being offered. I was not, however, expecting what extra little surprise lay in store. The extra set of smooth clips used during the night appeared along with what I knew was a cattle prod.
The more serrated clips were attached to the fleshy part between my thumb and forefinger. The smoother clips were again placed on my toes.
Barry asked the audience, 'Shall we place the probe up her fucking cunt or filthy shit hole?'
My bum won.
Just then, someone shouted out from the audience, 'You should bind her in a more exciting position than that!'
Barry stopped and asked the man what he meant. The man came and stood next to me. Untie her, then bind her hands behind her back and attach them to the beam. As you raise that, her hands will come up higher, and she will bend over. It will be painful for her but great fun for us.
I did not fully comprehend what the man had suggested, but it was clear that Barry had. He ordered that I was taken down from my spread position and my hands bound behind my back. A rope from the beam was then tied to my bonds, and the beam cranked up. As it did so, it lifted my hands, and I started to bend to relieve the pressure on my arms and shoulders.
'This is what the Germans used to do to their prisoners in Russia, ' the man explained.
As the beam was raised, I realised just how painful the position was. My arms went higher as my face went lower. Eventually, after I had made many grunting, groaning, ooooh's and ahrrrrghs, the beam stopped.
I was bent almost double with my bum prone, my tits hanging like two tiny udders below me, my legs apart to provide stability, and every muscle in my body taught seemingly to breaking point. I now understood just why the man had suggested this position. It was excruciatingly painful and left me totally helpless and completely at the mercy, or otherwise, of those using me.
The vicious crocodile clips were now reapplied to my hands, bent up and behind me. To the delight of all, the probe was shoved with some force into my rectum whilst the smoother clips were now placed on my dangling nipples.
I waited, tensed for the pain to start—first, a throbbing in my hands followed by a pulsating burning sensation deep in my bum. I took in a sharp breath before yelling out, 'Ohh Nooooo, ' as the shock waves increased. I danced and jumped, causing intense pain in my position. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation was gone.
'Why don't you plait her hair into a ponytail and also tie it to the beam?' the new torturer suggested.
Barry thought for a second or two before replying, 'We can plait her hair, but I think I have a better idea.'
He went into the kitchen and came back with a little metal U clip with two small balls angled in at the bottom.
'Nose clip, ' Barry explained to the man from the audience. 'Never used one before; however, there is always a first time.'
I had never seen one either, but I had little opportunity to object from my position of pain and torment.
The balls were placed into my nostrils, leaving the U to come up and rest on the bridge of my nose. A piece of string was threaded through and attached to the beam after it had been lowered, providing me with a few moments' respite.
Once I heard the beam being cranked back up, I realised that my suffering had just doubled. As my hands went higher, I could not lower my head, as that too was pulled up by my nose.
'Fuck you, you bastards, ' I blurted out in my agony.
'Oh, she's getting feisty now, isn't she?' one of my tormenters commented.
'Pull it tighter, ' Barry ordered.
'Ohhhhhh.Nooooooo. Please!' I screamed.
'Scream on, honey, ' the guy from the audience replied. 'The more you scream, the more you turn us on.' He then undid his fly to release his dick and stroked it inches from my face. It provided me with a close-up of the pleasure my pain was giving.
Suddenly, without warning, my tits began to tremble as pulse after pulse of electrical stimulation shot through them. I tried to jump, but my restricted position made it impossible. The only thing I could do for relief was scream blue murder!'
'Fuuuuuuuuuuuck Meeeeee. Noooooooooo!'
'Fuck you, yes!' the reply returned as my bum started to feel something stimulating it. The guy operating the electrical machine enjoyed himself, switching the various pulses, waves and shocks from hands to tits to bum.
I was once again sweating buckets as I tried to second-guess where the next sensation would come.
Finally, the probe was pulled out of my bum, and the clips were removed from my hands and nipples. I was so relieved until I saw two cattle prods being held for all to see.
'You're going to dance slut, ' one of Barry's men stated.
The two builders holding the devices moved behind me, so I could not see where they intended to inflict further pain. My arms felt as though they would pull clean out of my shoulder sockets as I waited in tense expectation for the subsequent painful encounter to commence.
A sharp pain around my left ankle caused me to shout and lift the foot quickly off the ground. A second similar sensation followed in my right ankle. Then my left knee followed by the right. I was like a soldier on parade following their left-right, left-right drill. Every lift of my feet brought me more pain in my arms, back and shoulders.
Finally, the two men came to either side, and I could see the prods moving towards my chest. The position of my head stopped me from seeing exactly where they intended to poke me, but I knew soon enough as a sharp, piercing feeling shot through both breasts simultaneously. Once again, I lept as far as my painful bonds would allow.
That was it. To my relief, I felt the beam slacken as Barry removed my dreadful nose hook while others worked quickly to release my hands.
'Wait a minute, ' one of Barry's men said, 'We haven't really pussy whipped the bitch yet. We just gave her a couple of strikes with the belt.'
'I think Rachel has endured enough for one day, ' Barry replied with a degree of sympathy.
'Awww. That would have been such a great position to crack the leather hard up her cunt. I think we should.'
Barry turned to me with a pleading expression as if asking, 'May we?'
'If you leave the nose hook off, I may just about manage.'
'We want it to stay on. It's so fucking sexy, and we get to see the expression of pain on your face.'
I had no real choice. I could have refused, but I felt that I would lose face with everyone, whereas enduring a little more pain (or maybe a lot more) would be considered a heroine of sorts. I chose the pain!
Up went my arms and head as I faced the audience, who were paying rapt attention to what this twenty-one-year-old was about to endure. I planted my feet, still held open by the spreader bar, firmly on the ground.
Without warning, a 'thwack' struck home right between my legs. I felt that some vicious, sharp-toothed creature had bitten me. I screamed at the onlookers, but almost immediately another then another harsh strike shot up into my reddening pussy. My screams merged into one continual ear-splitting screech of pain as the leather end of the crop hit home time and again. I even noticed, through my tears, some of the guys covering their ears as the noise I was making reverberated through the sparsely furnished basement.
Just as suddenly as it had commenced, the whipping of my pussy stopped. I was in too much pain to notice the lowering of the beam, the unbinding of my wrists or the removal of the nose hook and spreader bar. I collapsed, sobbing onto the hard tiled floor, holding my red and incredibly sore pussy. As I did so, I felt the dampness once again issuing between my raw cunt lips. I had subconsciously reacted positively again to what I had endured.
Every one of the men who had spent the time watching my torture came and thanked me for the entertainment they had witnessed. I was still in a daze as they left, but I knew that I had provided a lot of wanking pleasure during the day. I was sure that the majority were going home with their pockets full of damp and sticky handkerchiefs.
Finally, just Barry and his crowd were left alone with me, their willing pain slut. They kindly assisted me onto the mattress and commenced to rub my various sore and swollen parts with a concoction of creams and ointments. I did not object as I opened my legs to receive their ministrations willingly.
'Before we leave you, ' Barry said, 'How do you feel about your breast slapping tonight? I know you have taken a lot, and I don't want to push you beyond your limits.'
I played as though I had not entirely understood. Barry came closer and asked again. As he did so, I exploded like a coiled viper and spat with all the force I could manage directly into his face. The suddenness of my attack caught him and his colleagues by surprise.
One of them laughed uproariously, 'I guess that's a yes, Barry, ' he spluttered.
Barry smiled as he wiped his face. 'You're a fuckin brave little cunt, ' he responded with a smile.
'I tried to smile back and answered, 'I think thirty and not sixty slaps will be all I can manage. I'm sorry.'
'Good grief, girl, ' Barry replied, 'I never expected you to agree to any after what you have endured today.'
I was strung up to the beam, hands above my head, while Barry and his friends slapped my breasts with their bare hands as they counted out loud. After thirty hard, stinging smacks, my breast pussy and shoulders felt like they were a raging fire.
As I was untied, I collapsed back onto the mattress to enjoy further applications of soothing lotions from willing hands.
Barry arranged for Chinese takeout, and I think I ate more than anyone. I was famished.
That night, I was given several blankets and told I could sleep on the mattress without any discomfort. I confess that I was mightily relieved. The only stipulation was that I stay naked and would be left in total darkness.
I ensured that I used the loo before everyone left. I did not fancy trying to negotiate the bondage room, kitchen and into the shower room in total darkness. I was surprised to discover that I needed an audience as I sat on the loo. I have always found it strange that a girl sitting on the toilet can be of such interest to so many men.
After the builders had left and I was alone with my thoughts in the darkness, I pondered my options. I had agreed to a weekend of suffering at Barry's hands. I knew, however, that I had reached my limits. I could not face another day of the sort of intense pain I had just endured. I knew I would, on this occasion, have to lose face and concede defeat. I was battered, bruised and broken and I hoped that when the men turned up the next day, they would not be disappointed.
I passed a rather uncomfortable and lonely night in my darkened prison. I was in physical pain from the whippings and floggings I had endured, and I was also in deep emotional pain, knowing I was going to fail on my promises. I had thought I could fulfil these men's desires but had discovered, to my regret, that I had limitations.
Finally, the lights came on, and I heard the key turn in the lock. As my eyes adjusted to the light, Barry and two of his employees came in and helped me up. I had no idea how I was going to explain my situation to them.
'We have had a little discussion, ' Barry said, looking at me seriously. 'Even for someone who can endure what you can take, we feel that we did enough yesterday. We had a great time and feel there is no point pushing your limits. Are you happy for us to pamper you around Manchester all day?'
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I was so delighted I nearly leapt up and kissed them all. Then I played my ace card.
'That's fine by me, but I don't want to ruin your weekend just because you feel I can't take anymore? I'd be happy to continue.'
'No. Yesterday was the day of our lives. Today we want to say a big 'Thank you.'
After showering under the interested gaze of Barry and his workers, I dressed. I realised that trying to put on any underwear would not be possible as I was so sore. It was five days before I could wear either bar or knickers pain-free.
Sitting in the rear of Barry's beautiful Mercedes, I struggled to get comfortable between the two men on either side of me. They delighted in allowing their hands to roam freely under my loose-fitting dress and onto my sore breasts and pussy. The leather seats seemed exceptionally hard on my well-reddened bum as I squirmed to find a new position every few minutes.
In the afternoon, having been shown the delights of Manchester, had two new outfits kindly purchased for me at the Trafford Centre, and seen several places for some reason football-related, I said farewell to my builder friends and got into my car.
Barry handed me an envelope. 'That's from us. We want to say a big Thank You for coming. We hope you might return sometime?'
'Yes. I might, ' I smiled back.
'You promised yesterday that if we let you off the Wooden Pony, you'd do anything for us. We all heard you.'
'Yes, I did, ' I replied thoughtfully.
'So can we arrange another event sometime soon?'
I smiled and nodded as I drove away, still sore and a little aggrieved that I had not managed to endure the whole weekend.
I opened the envelope after pulling into a service station for coffee and the opportunity to relieve my sore bum. Inside was a lovely card signed by all seven of Barry's workforce, along with £ 1, 000! I could hardly believe it. I don't think I had ever held so much money in my life.
The card invited me to return anytime and reminded me of my promise. I did return, but not to use the basement for its intended purpose. That, though, as they say, is another story.