When they played back the recording of my responses to that night’s fuckings, they showed their displeasure at the way I had attempted to persuade him to take pity on me. My pleas had been entirely ineffectual - I couldn’t tell from the total lack of any response whether he had understood one word I said. But I was going to be punished for it whatever response it had evoked.

  It still brings me out in a cold sweat to think about it. It began when I was taken, naked, to a different room. There was no bed, just a few armchairs at the sides and a soft carpet in the middle. Lying on the carpet I saw the young girl who had shared my journey. I felt instant pity for her, she looked so obviously abused. Her back showed the marks of having been beaten, marks which continued over her bottom and down between her legs. She lay there, entirely submissive, expecting nothing pleasant apparently but unwilling to, or incapable of, offering any resistance, her only covering a leather belt tight around her waist. I didn’t realise my part of her performance even when it should have been obvious. I watched as the older of our two female guards squirted baby oil into her entrance. While this was being done, a strange glove device was being fitted on my right hand. It had only two short fingers which were fitted on to my middle fingers. On the outside of each one was a metal ball which looked rather like the gem of a ring. Wires from these two balls ran down my wrists and the device was strapped firmly to my arm, just below my elbow. When it was secure I was instructed, with a lot of signs as well as a few words, in the next stage. My hand was also made oily and I had to put a finger into the girl’s entrance. Then they wanted another finger inside. Almost as soon as I had two fingers embedded in her quim I was shown how to squeeze up my fingers and thumb so that my whole hand could be slid into her. The oil made her so slippery that her vagina seemed to offer no resistance. I was reluctant, sensing the hurt I was imposing as my hand stretched her so wide. But my reluctance was overcome as one of the women pushed on my elbow, forcing my whole hand inside. Once it was inside, I had to find a way to clench my fingers around my thumb to make a fist inside her. Once they were sure that I had clenched my fingers the strap around my arm was connected to the belt around her waist, at the front and behind. To accomplish all this, I had been kneeling on the floor beside her but now I was stretched out beside her, my feet close to her head and my head near hers. I realised as soon as they brought that bottle of oil that they were going to push her right hand inside me!

  At first her fingers slipped in easily and quickly but as more and more of her hand came into me I began to feel stretched. I guessed that her hand must have been much smaller than my own and the worst part, when her knuckles first stretched me wide, was in fact less difficult to accommodate than I had expected. After that it seemed as if my entrance closed around her wrist with her hand so hard inside me. Then there was the horrible feeling of being stuffed as her fist clenched and the women forced her hand as far inside me as they could manage. Her arm was also attached to the belt around my waist. I knew that she must be feeling even more stuffed than I was myself since her hand seemed so tiny compared with my own. I know that the hand I had plunged inside her was far smaller than the hands I had possessed as Martin but even so my fist felt so tight rammed up into her as it was. As for me, I felt stretched and stuffed, the fist inside me filling my every being, penetrating as none of the pricks which had been pushed into me until then had managed. The tension was unrelenting, every tiny movement of her fingers and hand sending surges of pain up into my very soul. It had never occurred to me until that night that a woman’s sex could be so stretched as to accommodate another’s fist. When I had overheard men talking about ‘fisting’ and ‘fist fucking’, I had always believed that they were talking about masturbation. And yet, as I lay on the floor with her fist deeply embedded in me, seeing her lower arm protruding from between my legs like an enormous prick, I realised the degree of stretching necessary during childbirth. That was when I also realised that my own fingers must have been touching the entrance to her womb as I had first forced my open hand into her. At least clenching my fist had prevented me from penetrating that most private place.

  We lay on the floor, waiting to find out what other indignity they would impose. We didn’t have to wait long. The wires attached to our arms and fingers were stretched across the floor and plugged into four separate sockets set into the floor close to the ring of armchairs. One of the women threw a switch and the other demonstrated the effects. I felt my arm being pulled so that my fist started to slip out of the girl’s quim. I felt a sharp pain in my hand and the girl seemed to convulse around my hand, a high pitched scream forced from her mouth. And when they did the same with her hand I understood. Tightening the links between our arms and waists triggered a surge of current through the wires which was delivered through the metal studs on our fingers. The pain was execrable, unbearable, especially being delivered just there. It triggered an involuntary convulsion and an instinctive attempt to expel her fist, an attempt which just heightened the pain. To avoid inflicting such pain on the girl, I had to keep my fist as tightly embedded inside her as I could - and perversely hope that she would do the same for me, despite the discomfort her fist imposed. It was a question of balancing that discomfort against the greater pain which the electric charge delivered.

  When the women were satisfied that their devices were performing properly we were introduced to another refinement. The power was controlled by a series of switches on the floor around us which glowed red or green. When one of them glowed red it indicated that within the next minute, when it turned green, we would receive an electric shock whatever the state of the tension in our bonds. The only way we would be able to prevent it would be by moving ourselves across the floor and flicking the switch to deactivate it. And that was made even more difficult when our left wrists were chained,, one to the other. The women made us play their game a few times, delighting in the sight of us scrambling across the floor, mostly on our backs, struggling to coordinate our legs to move in the right direction, desperately trying to keep our fists plugged tightly into the other’s cunt as we sought to reach the appropriate switch. Satisfied by the effectiveness of their torturous devices, they switched everything off and left us. Apart from the stuffed feeling which her invading fist generated, I have to admit that it was a relief to be left alone. But since this punishment was the result of talking too much, we were neither of us willing to engage in conversation!

  The night which followed was the worst until then. A group of six men were shown into our torture chamber and clearly already knew how to operate the devices which controlled us. At first it was humiliating to be forced to scramble about the floor for them, giving them such pleasure as we occasionally failed to keep the wires slack and so shot those painful jolts through our most tender places. But as the night went on the only important thing became that of avoiding the extra pain which failing to throw a switch in time imposed. We did accidentally find a slightly more efficient means of locomotion when one of the shocks caused us both such agony that our paroxysms threw us on to our fronts. Then at least we were able to use our knees, although coordination was a big problem at first and my left arm ached from the strain of supporting my upper body whenever we had to move. Crawling around the floor on our knees and elbows while those fiends enjoyed our pain did reinforce our need to cooperate fully in later fuckings! And their enjoyment of our discomfort and pain was just an extra bit of excitement as they gambled on our ability to reach the next switch in time.

  The morning light was beginning to penetrate the thick curtains by the time they had lost the will to gamble on our responses. They wanted something new, something more exciting. There was no escaping them, we were too securely attached to each other, too restricted in our movements to have any hope of escape. They started by progressively shortening the chains between our arms and waists so that it became almost impossible to avoid those agonising shocks. They seemed so amused by the way we were forced to thrust our fists more and more deeply into our fellow victim’s sex, causing both of us greater discomfort as we sought to prevent the shocks. Her hand was so deep inside me that I felt sure that nothing could ever get deeper. But of course it did. And my hand was pressing so hard against a seemingly impenetrable barrier that I knew I was hurting her even more than she was hurting me. They had us moaning and begging as we struggled to accommodate the fist inside us. And there was worse - at least for her.

  They decided that my fist was too small to achieve the effect they wanted. As we lay in helpless pain it was clear that they were trying to decide which of them had the biggest fist. So clear that we were both terrified of what was to come. There was a short period of respite as the electrical connections were removed and then the chains keeping our arms so deeply plunged into our partner’s body. For me, having her hand dragged out did offer some relief, although the suction as it came out was dreadful. My own hand was also dragged out and I could see how white and shrivelled it had become through its long immersion. Then, as I was sat on successive laps and penetrated each time, my breasts clasped and massaged while they fucked me, the girl was made to suffer even greater torment. Two of the men held her upside down, holding her by her ankles and forcing her legs wide apart while a third poured more of the oil into her wide open crevice to ease the entry of his hand. When he was satisfied, he started to force his clenched fist into her. She was so small and his fist was so big. She was screaming, kicking so violently that another two men left me and helped to hold her steady against him as gradually he forced more and more of his fist, wrist and upper arm into her poor stretched passage. She was so small and he was so big, so strong. Once he was fully inside the other men turned her upright and then, using his great strength, he held her off the ground, impaled on his fist. When she tried to take some of her weight with her arms they were grabbed and tied behind her. She had to hold her entire weight with her sex as he held her aloft, like a trophy, his fist being forced even deeper as she slid further down his arm. Her face was contorted with the pain and I recognised that being fucked, as I was, represented the easier option.

  I lost count of how many times I was fucked while she was being so abused but eventually there was a pause. The men talked excitedly for a few minutes and then another form of abuse began. They had decided that we deserved a special reward from those who had made the most money from their gambling. So each of them screwed up some of the money which had changed hands and one by one took their turn at thrusting it up inside us. My tunnel was already sore from having her arm inside me for so long and the repeated shocks had made me very tender so having their fingers pushed inside caused great discomfort. But the sharp edges of the folded notes were even worse. We weren’t allowed to remove the money and the poor girl suffered even more than I did when they added a lot of coins as well, thrusting them up into her as if they wanted to stuff her full. She was clearly in pain as the coins and the notes filled her but still they weren’t satisfied. She had to walk around the room and perform a very active dance for them, always with the threat of more money being stuffed inside if any fell out. And as she danced, I was made to lie on the floor as one by one they jerked themselves off over me, their disgusting mess spraying over my face and body as they came.

  At last their time with us came to an end and we were both deposited on the floor when they left. Neither of us had the strength or energy to do more than crawl together and offer the other a sympathetic cuddle. My tunnel was leaking spunk as I lay there. My insides felt torn and abused, sore and sensitive to every movement, every beat of my heart sending more pain through me as the blood surged past tender places, places which I knew I shouldn’t have, made even more tender by the notes still packed inside. Then we were collected and separated.

  I was taken back to my cell like room and allowed to rest on the bed. My hands were still fixed, this time to the bed-head so that I couldn’t touch the places deep inside me which felt so tender. Everything in there felt so injured. And I felt so sick, so ill. They obviously knew that the men had put money inside me and the two women took great pleasure in removing it, counting each note as they divided the spoils between them. Surely I had been injured. Being given so many painful electric shocks in such a sensitive place had probably burned me in there. My imagination was going wild. My head was spinning. Sleep wouldn’t come. If only I could hold myself there, press my hands against the pain to make it bearable. Then there were pains in my head as well. The room was spinning, each turn making me retch. If only I had left Linda alone, exercised more self-control then. How had they done this to me? I felt so low. And as the pain in my lower abdomen intensified I realised that I was getting wetter down there. This wasn’t more of their gunk leaking out. I looked down. I was bleeding! I had been torn open. her hand must have burst something inside me. At first it was just a little trickle. I tried to console myself. But as the trickle grew stronger and became a flow I knew that I was seriously injured. I called out for help but no-one came. Hour after hour went by. The blood leaking from my wounds dripped down, running along the crack in my bottom and then on to the bed beneath me. I could feel it more than see it. I struggled to sit more upright. The bloody patch was clearly visible. I was still bleeding. And the flow was getting faster. I felt so sick. I guessed it was my imagination again as I imagined the effects of this loss of blood. They had abandoned me to die here. I would die alone, watching my own life dripping away as my blood leaked from these wounds.

  The blood changed colour as I watched it flow. There was an awful smell as well. Her hand must have torn through into my anal passage. I needed help. I know that I was crying out, screaming hysterically for help before weakness and panic overcame me and I passed out.

  I felt so foolish when I came round. It was only then that I realised what had happened. My insides might feel as if they were dropping out but this was only the natural cycle for any woman. After three weeks in this body I was experiencing my first period as a woman! I could look forward to this every four weeks for as long as they kept me in a female body. However it was achieved, everything about me was now female.

  After that night I was allowed a period of rest, during which the extent of their power over me and the even more agonising punishments they could inflict was made very clear. One evening I was even allowed to walk along the corridor outside my presentation cell to see what the visiting men could see as they made their choices. There were about a dozen of us. The first two cells were occupied by fully and elegantly dressed women, one dressed in traditional C****** clothes and the other, who looked half Indian, half European, in a white evening dress. The next group of cells contained women wearing less clothing and more bondage. Further along the corridor I saw the girl who had shared that night. She cowered in a corner of her cell which was bare and made more cell like by the decoration - stone effect walls set with heavy rings and chains and with a glass cabinet in which there was a display of whips and canes. The next cell looked even worse. The woman inside was hanging by her wrists from rings in the walls and all around her was a collection of instruments of torture - heavy manacles, studded collars, hoods and helmets resembling the scold’s bridles I had seen in museums, sharp instruments whose purposes I had no wish to know, racks and wheels reminiscent of medieval punishments allegedly used by the Inquisition. There was also a very young looking girl, dressed like a Japanese schoolgirl who danced around her room bouncing a balloon, showing her white knickers as she jumped up in the air. Right at the end of the corridor there was a woman dressed entirely in shiny rubber and another dressed in a leather skirt, thigh high, stiletto heeled boots, a leather bra and swishing a leather whip.

  As I looked in on the women displayed in those cells I wondered how many of them were like me. How many were really men being punished for indulging in just the sort of behaviour which this place seemed to encourage? Or were they willing? Was this just a way of earning a living? Or perhaps they were real women who had committed some offence. But I knew that I would get no answers by asking my captors and felt too subdued to risk asking any of the other women.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11