Insex Archives

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There’s certain things. I like certain things. I’m not supposed to, but I do. I like to pretend I’m a little girl. And there’s other things I like to pretend too, about men and about them wanting me in a way that’s wrong. Everybody says it’s wrong. But I like it. My boyfriend knows the way I like to play at being a little girl. So he bought me a T-shirt that says kittie on it. And he watches me from his car, waiting until I’m done with class. Sometimes he follows me home. I see him other times too. Watching.

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A dark beauty undresses herself in an amazying display of flexibility. Her clothes come off as she magicly unzips her pants. He tickles her foot as she sits spread eagle on the floor the while a sturdy metal spreader bar is wedged between her legs. Her tits dangle in front of her and she thinks “wow, piece of cake” until a yellow cloth is stuffed in her full mouth. The gag is secured with tape around her head and straight black hair. He fondles her jiggly tits. Mr pogo gets a turn at her juicy wet pussy, fucking her unforgivingly.

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Her soft flesh is clay to be molded by his skillful hands. Her cries are music to his ears. Her torture is his desire. And his pleasure is her pain. So he covers her pretty, young face in rubber hoods and wraps ropes tight around her limbs. He lifts her to his lap, pulls her close to tug at her stiff nipples and fondle her tenderized cunt. Then he makes her scream, whip lashing hard against glossy, firm skin, breasts bouncing, faceless head shaking hysterically.

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My dreams curdle the night, the heavy, wet November night. Outside, the rustle of corn in the fields, silage of dreams, of a man’s want. And inside, my boner poking up against the sheet. Lightening far off, breaking out the night. The whispering of the house, conversations of ghosts. And the howls. That pack of dogs is come sniffing around the barn again. They always know when I got me another girl. I got me two of them a couple days ago, their pussies ripe and glittery-wet like jewels, nipples as tight and hard as nuggets, cold enough to ripple the skin. November’s got a chill around these parts. When a girl shivers it bones me up fat and hard, strong enough to squirt…

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John never did get it. The sexual stuff, I mean. Like how I wanted him to tie me up. How I wanted to be helpless. I wanted him to use me, use my “holes”, all of them, for his gratification. Put anything you want inside of me, I said to him. Treat me dirty. When we first got married, he tried a few things with me. But then he got disgusted, saying I was crazy. A pervert. John has no idea what I’m doing this weekend. He’s gone for three days on a business trip. I’m on the train to New York.

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The choice was hers. He asked flat out: would she accept his ties, his tortures? And she did, signed herself away. Just one weekend – how bad could it be? He places a collar on her neck, orders her to undress. Hands cuffed, she struggles to wriggle out of her jeans. Kneeling, she presents her smooth bare ass. He removes her shirt and binds her arms. Willingly, she submits as the ropes pinch harshly into her skin.

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An evaluation, he said during the phone interview. An evaluation. He sits her in a chair. “You’ve done this before?” The chair is hard. Wood. She shifts. “A little. You know. With friends.” She doesn’t understand the difference. She’s thinking of rope that remains loose, rope that forgives. And him fumbling with knots. She doesn’t know what she’s thinking.

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I woke up sore and aching. My whole body was a conductor for pain. I reflected on the events of last night. It had started out as fun actually. My school girl clothes put me in the mood for mischief, and I shuffled around, contorting my body and trying to get out of PD’s ropes. PD stood in the corner, laughing at my foolhardy attempts and I grew ever more determined to work my way out. Every success was countered by PD with an adjustment, a larger knot, a rope around my neck pulled continuously higher. Still I kept trying at the ropes, pushing and working at the knots, giggling all the way. PD finally made me sit on my knees and pulled the rope taut. Now I had to struggle to deal with the pressure on my knees, which were quickly becoming sore. I hadn’t realized how much energy I had expended in trying to get out of PD’s ropes earlier, I was getting really tired really fast. I tried to sit back on my feet to relieve my knees, this position put a lot of strain on my thighs, and tightened the rope on my neck further,but I held on…

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For me, the anticipation had been building. I had, for so long, been eagerly awaiting this moment when PD would once again take my wrists and so nimbly apply them with rope. As he continued the binding by tying my elbows, and subsequently securing my arms to the column in an intense, backward stretch I could feel the excitement begin to overwhelm me. The sensation of moisture that had been accumulating inside me since we began had now escalated to where I could feel it begin to run down my leg….

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I walked in not knowing what to really expect. I had no experience as far as bondage, suspension, and torture was concerned. As soon as I was getting ready for the show, I felt my body start to go through a nervous anxiety attack. As soon as I was tied up for the opening act I had become immune to my surroundings. The whole time during the show I was in anticipation to what would happen next. As soon as it was time for the hair suspension, I got sick in my stomach. For I did not know whether or not I could pull it off again. I really wanted to make everybody pee in their pants from excitement and amazement. But I couldn’t bear to think of my entire weight being held by my hair alone. As soon as I was being pulled up, my heart picked up speed and my hands were clammy. I was forcing myself to go further and I was concentrating on anything but the pain I felt. I kept giving it a little more until my neck started to ache…

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