worthless lil painslut
my submissive life
Interrogation
“If you want to do an interrogation scene, there has to be genuine disincentive, otherwise it won’t seem real. You have to be trying to avoid something you really hate and would never normally agree to, right?”
“Why not do the opposite, give me something I really want if I win?”
“Because people don’t get prizes for surviving interrogation. It’s not a game show. Interrogation is about avoiding something – avoiding giving something up you can’t live without or getting dead. If you want to do it, you have to agree to something terrible at the end if you fail.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, there are a lot of things I know you hate, but many of them I could do to you anyway, like forcing you outside in the snow and cold naked. You’d be miserable and bitch and cry, but I could do it. Then there are things I know you’d hate but wouldn’t agree to because of the long term repercussions, like shaving your head bald. So it has to fall into the soft limit category, something you hate and would normally never agree to, but not for safety or other similar reasons. Just a soft limit because you genuinely hate it and are completely turned off by it.”
I was starting to get nervous. “Hmmm, I’ve got it. Okay, here’s the deal. For the disincentive to work, you have to know all the details so you can truly know what it is you’re trying to avoid. You have to know just how bad your punishment will be for failing. So I’m going to tell you exactly what I plan on doing to you if you lose. You will then write it down, but in letter form, asking me to do those things to you. You will hide the letter somewhere in your house. The location of the letter is what I will be trying to get out of you during the interrogation. If I win and find the letter, you will have to read it to me out loud. You will then submit to it. Understand so far?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Good. Now pay attention, because you will have to write this down later and really imagine how you would or will feel accepting it. Write it in graphic detail. I already know how much you’ll hate it.
“If you lose, I am going to put you on your knees and start by wiping my cock and balls all over your face. I am going to do it for a long time so we can both really savor the feeling. Then I’m going to put you on your knees and jack off and cum all over your face and in your hair. You will not be allowed to wash it off right away either. I will make you stay like that for a nice long time and I’ll make you look at yourself in a mirror so you can see what a filthy whore you are. Of course you will be completely turned off by this. Ready or not, I will then fuck you hard and cum all over you a second time. Finally, no matter how much you don’t want to, you will masturbate while I watch. Until you manage to cum, you will not be allowed to shower or wash.
“Those are my terms. What do you say?”
His “disincentive” was absolutely nauseating to me. I’d probably cry sooner from that than from any amount of pain he could give me. But I knew he was right about giving me something I truly wanted to avoid in order to lend a feeling of authenticity to the scene. “I will agree, as long as we agree on rules for the interrogation itself. My hard limits will be respected. You can’t do anything that causes me to bleed or be seriously injured or risk death. You can’t give me bruises or other marks in places not concealable by ordinary work clothes. You can’t threaten me with public exposure. And there has to be a time limit.”
“That’s agreeable. Of course, there will be no safeword. If you want it to stop, the only way will be by telling me the location of the letter. There will also be no safeword during the penalty phase, since you will have already agreed to it.”
We negotiated a time limit of three hours. I agreed to write the letter and have it stashed away by Saturday night at 7pm. We agreed that I would start naked and handcuffed, but otherwise would not be expected or required to be cooperative in any way during the interrogation. I could struggle and stuff, but not kick or hit him.
Saturday night we set the timer for three hours and the interrogation began. He made it a point to tell me what he was going to do to me before he did it, knowing the anticipation would make things worse. He was extremely rough with me; dragging me around by my hair, shoving me to the ground and yanking me back up again. He held my hair tight and slapped me repeatedly across the face, harder than ever before, causing redness but no bruising.
He tied me bent over the dining room table and put the paddle and cane in front of me. “I’m going to give you ten swats with the paddle, then ten lashes with the cane. There will be no warm up. Every single hit is going to be harder than you have ever taken before. Ten from the paddle, then ten from the cane, then another ten from the paddle, then another ten from the cane, and back and forth and back and forth. You won’t want to sit for weeks. Save yourself the pain and tell me where the letter is now.”
“Fuck you.”
He grabbed my hair and yanked my head painfully back, “you have no idea how seriously fucked you are.” He started with the paddle and, true to his word, laid into me with more force than ever before. The very first swat had me yelling in pain. He quietly counted the strokes and then calmly switched to the cane. Long before ten, I was screaming. He continued his quiet count and calmly continued. Ten and then switch. Ten and then switch. He didn’t respond to my screams. He didn’t ask me about the letter. He just continued beating my ass as if he were content to do this for the full three hours.
I lost track of how many swats and lashes my ass had taken. I figured he’d have to stop eventually to avoid risking serious injury or making me bleed. I was screaming and crying in pain with an intensity I had never experienced before. He demonstrated not the slightest bit of concern or hesitation. The beyond vicious paddling/caning lasted until I was hysterical. He said he stopped only because his arm was getting tired.
I was given little reprieve and almost no time to compose myself. Before I could muster up the strength to struggle he released me and retied me standing spread eagle against a wall. He took clover clamps and put them on my nipples, right on the end where they hurt the most. I gasped from the pain, but knew it would lessen in a few minutes. Of course, he knew that too.
He let me take the pain for a little while and then went to work making it worse. He pulled the clamps, making them tighter. He slapped my tits around. He slapped them right on the clamps. He twisted them until my nipples wouldn’t twist any further. He continued until it seemed like the pain was starting to dull. He then removed the clamps and watched the pain return with the blood rushing to the nerves. He then grabbed my nipples with just his thumb and finger and began to simply squeeze them, hard, right on the exact spot the clamps had been. This had me screaming and crying and thrashing around violently.
“You can tell me where the letter is and all this pain will stop. Or if you don’t, I’m going to continue to work on these nipples. The next thing I’m going to do is put plastic clothespins on them, the plastic ones with the little teeth that hurt so much. And right when the pain starts to ease, I’m going to yank them off like a zipper. I think I’ll do that, oh, five times in a row. You think you’re nipples are sore now, think about how much that is going to hurt.” He squeezed my nipples extra hard to emphasize his point. I was sobbing. “You can avoid it. Just tell me where the letter is.”
I managed a pitiful “no.”
He laughed, “You asked for it.” Always true to his word he took out two small, tight, plastic clothespins with the teeth and put them right on my nipples. I groaned as they went on. He slowly tied rope through them and held it firmly in his hand like a handle. He made sure I could see what was about to happen. Without warning, he yanked it off. I screamed louder than I ever had before and would have collapsed to the ground without the restraints holding me. I thought for sure he had ripped the skin off my nipples, but when I looked down, there was no blood.
“Ready for number two?”
“No. Please no.”
“Want to tell me where the letter is?
Crying, “No.”
“Okay.” He reattached the clothespins to my nipples, ignoring my sobbing and pleading. He waited just long enough to make sure I’d get the full effect before yanking them off again. I again screamed at the top of my lungs. I screamed for him to stop. But every time he asked about the letter, I refused to give in. He continued the torture. After the fifth time, I barely had the energy to scream.
He took a quick break to get something to drink. To help revitalize me he threw a large glass of ice-water in my face. I was thirsty but he only laughed when I asked for a drink. He reached out and started squeezing my now raw nipples again, “shall we continue?”
I quietly cried. He took several lengths of rope and started binding me. First he wrapped the rope around the base of my tits. He did it as tight as possible so that my tits were quickly purple and bulging. He then wrapped it around my stomach, also as tightly as possible. It cut deep into my stomach so I felt like I was being cut in half. Lastly he took it and ran it from my back, between my legs and up the front. When he pulled it tight, it went tight between my ass cheeks and pussy lips. He pulled it harder and ran it again, this time front to back. He pulled it as tight as possible before tying it off.
“Now, unlike other types of pain, this won’t get better over time. The pain and discomfort will only increase as your body fights against it. And the torturous ropes are going to stay on for the rest of our time together.” I soon learned that moving with the rope bondage was even worse. He cuffed my hands behind me and began to drag me around by my hair again. He shoved me to the ground and began to punch me. Not full force, but firmly, drilling his fist into my bulging tits, stomach, ass, and thighs. Every time I moved to try and shield myself, he just switched to punching me wherever I was exposed. I couldn’t escape.
He stepped on my hair, pinning my face to the ground. He took the riding crop and began whipping me with it. I couldn’t get up and couldn’t protect myself. He focused on my upper arms and calves, areas that he knew would not be pleasurable. The more I struggled, the more the ropes hurt. He continued this until I gave up struggling and simply lay still on the floor, crying and accepting the pain.
He pulled me back up to my knees and slapped me across the face a few times. “Ready to talk yet bitch?”
Mustering my strength, “Fuck you!”
“Ha-ha-ha. Don’t worry; we still have plenty of time.” He continued slapping my face and tits for a while, laughing at my frustration and helplessness. When I tried to move away, he just grabbed my hair and yanked my head back to where he wanted it. “I’m so glad you have this nice, long hair. It makes a great leash. And when you finally cave, I’m really going to enjoy jacking off and cumming in it.” He smacked me hard a couple more times. “Now let’s get back to business.”
He pulled me to the sofa and over his lap for what appeared to be an old fashioned over the knee spanking. He used own of my hairbrushes and turned his attention back to my ass. “I wouldn’t want to give your ass too much of a rest.” He started spanking my ass hard with the hairbrush. On top of what I had received from the paddle and cane earlier, every stroke was hell. He paddled my ass with the hairbrush fast and hard until I was screaming. He stayed calm and simply told me that I could reveal the location of the letter anytime.
When I was properly hysterical, he flipped me over and started back to work on my bulging tits. He took the hairbrush and started paddling my tits, right on the nipples. Also still sore from their earlier rough treatment, I was again screaming and begging. He continued beating my tits until I was crying and begging him to have mercy and leave my tits and ass alone.
He shoved me to the ground on my stomach and pulled my feet behind me, tying them to my cuffed hands – essentially hogtied. In this position, the ropes binding my tits, stomach and pussy cut into me even deeper. He squatted down in front of me and returned to slapping my face some more. “Come on bitch, get away. If you don’t like it, try to worm your way away from me.” I struggled in my bonds, but that only made them hurt more.
I heard him walk away from me for a minute and then return behind me where I couldn’t see him. All of a sudden I felt something sharp stabbing me in the sole of my foot. The stabbing feeling was hard and I screamed. I then felt it stabbing the sole of my other foot. The stabbing continued to move all over my body, my thighs, my pussy lips, my ass, my sides, and finally my tits. I was screaming and struggling the whole time. Finally he showed me the newest instrument of torture. It was a simple wooden skewer. It was sharpened on one end, but not quite enough to actually break the skin. The stabbing hurt, but didn’t break the rules since it didn’t draw blood. It was amazing just how much it hurt.
He laughed. “This is my new favorite I think. It takes so little effort from me and has such a wonderful effect on you. I could do this for hours.” He continued stabbing me while I thrashed in my bonds, futilely. My sore ass, my sore tits, my sensitive feet and pussy lips were stabbed hard and repeatedly. As I struggled for relief, my bonds dug into me more and more. I started crying.
“Stop! Stop! Please!”
“What’s the matter? Is my new little friend bothering you? Or is it the ropes?”
“Both! Please stop and untie me. I can’t take it.”
“You know how to end this if you really want to. Just tell me what I want to know and it will all stop. Otherwise, I think I’ll do this for at least another 20-30 minutes.” I didn’t answer; I just kept sobbing. He took the skewer and held it close to my ass, then pulled the end back and let it snap against my still throbbing ass. It felt like a razor cutting into me. He did it again and again in the exact same spot. The pain was everywhere and it was overwhelming. I couldn’t take it.
“STOP! I give up! You win! I’ll tell you anything! Just stop!”
He stopped and walked to face me. “Well?”
“Please untie me.”
“No. First you tell me where the letter is. Once I have it in my hand, then I will untie you.” I directed him to my bookshelf and told him which book the letter was hidden in. He opened the envelope and once he was satisfied, he released me from all my bonds. I was still sobbing. He gave me a glass of water to drink and sent me to kneel facing a corner for a few minutes to compose myself. When I was finally calm, he ordered me to crawl to him and kneel in front of him. He handed me my letter and told me to read it to him.
Knowing what it said, I dreaded saying the words out loud. But I had no choice.
“Sir, I beg you to please put me on my knees in front of you and take out your cock and balls. Please wipe them all over my face, firmly and slowly for your maximum pleasure. When you are ready, please jack off and cum all over my face and in my hair. Enjoy how I look with your cum all over me, like a common whore. Make me look at myself in the mirror so I can see myself cover in your cum. When you are ready, please fuck me. Fuck me from behind so I can continue to stare at my cum-covered face in the mirror. Fuck me hard so that it hurts. When you are satisfied, please cum all over me a second time. Please cum again on my face and in my hair, or maybe my tits. If you like, command me to rub it into my skin while you watch. Finally, command me to masturbate for you. Grant me the use of my vibrator if you wish. Do not allow me to stop until I cum for you, long and hard. Please aid me in this by reminding me what a painslut and a whore I am. Only when you are fully satisfied by my humiliation and degradation, should you allow me to shower. Please Sir. All of this I beg of you.”
By the time I was done reading, I was almost in tears again. I hated what was about to happen and was disgusted just thinking about it. I knew I would receive no mercy. He would savor my suffering and misery to the fullest.
He set the letter aside and told me to clasp my hands behind my back. He undid his pants and pulled out his cock and balls. He laughed and smiled as he began to wipe and drag them across my face. I immediately cringed, hating the feeling. He continued, telling me how good it felt. He made sure to wipe them over every inch of my face. Eventually, he told me to open my eyes and look up at him while he jacked off.
When he came, he came hard and right in my face. He squirted all over my face and head and in my hair. I was thoroughly disgusted. He laughed and told me I finally looked like a proper whore. A few tears escaped my eyes as he marched me into the bedroom and bent me over the dresser so my face was near the mirror. “Look at yourself. Look at what a filthy, disgusting whore you are. And this is what you asked for, what you begged for. It’s a special kind of slut that begs to be beaten, tortured, and humiliated. What would your friends and family think if they saw you like this? Go ahead and cry if you want, you deserve every second of this. And remember, we’re not done yet.”
I did cry. And he held the back of my hair firmly so I couldn’t turn my head away from the mirror. I could only look at my cum-covered face and know that what he said was true. Ready or not he was ready to fuck me. I was not particularly turned on, but he didn’t care, he didn’t have to. Standing behind me he rammed his cock into me hard. I tried to brace myself on the dresser but his pulled my hands behind my back and held them there with one of his hands. The other he kept in my hair, pulling it hard and forcing my head up. My already sore tits slammed against the top of the dresser. I was again forced to look at myself in the mirror and see what a whore I was. He fucked me long and hard, making it hurt. At the last second he pulled out of me spun me around so he could cum all over my face and tits.
Finally, he put me on my knees in front of the full-length mirror. He ordered me to rub my tits, rubbing his cum all over my body. He then handed me my vibrator and told me it was my turn. I turned it on high and pushed it to my clit. I was sore from the rope digging into me earlier. He reminded me that I would stay there, covered in his cum, until I brought myself to orgasm. I pushed the vibrator against my clit harder and tried to focus on the usually enjoyable vibrations. He stood behind me and kicked my ass, reminding me to keep my eyes open. He wanted to make sure I was looking at my cum-covered body while I masturbated for him.
“Go on bitch. Show me what a whore you are. You filthy cunt. Show me how much you really do get off on the pain and humiliation. No need to be shy now, I see you for the pathetic cum-loving whore you really are.” His words worked. Through the pain and the tears I felt the throbbing growing until I was shaking and cumming hard. He bent down beside me and held my hand on the vibrator, pushing it to my cunt harder. Even when I was done and ready to stop, he held it there, forcing me to ride it out and cum harder and harder. He didn’t let me stop until I had nearly collapsed, sobbing. My torture was complete.
He turned the vibrator off and set it aside. He told me that he would be leaving for the night. He pulled my hands up and put them behind my head. He ordered me to remain on my knees, staring at myself in the mirror for another 15 minutes before I could finally go shower and go to bed. That wasn’t part of our deal, but I obeyed just the same. It had been a wonderful night and I was happy to savor it a little longer.