WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician [email protected].
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It was approaching 12:30 when I finally yelled up the stairs for Missy to join me on the back deck. She came down wearing a terrycloth robe that was well above mid-thigh. I had a pretty good idea that there was nothing under that robe but her.
We sat out on the deck eating sandwiches and watching the birds. There are two squirrels who live in the tree next to the deck. They are pretty used to me and will sometimes come right up onto the table and steal food. Usually, they consider a bag of potato chips as their invitation to the party, and today was no different. It was good to watch Missy laugh and smile as she watched the little thieves sneak their paws into the bag and scurry away with their prize held tightly between their teeth.
“Are you ready to continue your story?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “I need something first.”
“I thought that she might be going to suggest sex, but I was wrong.”
“I want to experience some of your machines,” she began. “No…, I need to experience some of your machines. I want to be helpless and totally at the control of something that isn’t human. Something that will give me pain and allow me to pleasure in that pain and won’t betray me or consume me or leave my rotting body in the desert for the vultures to feast on.”
Her voice had gotten louder and faster as she spoke. She looked and sounded like she was on the verge of breaking totally apart. She was hinting at what was troubling her – more than troubling her, but she wasn’t ready yet to name it out loud. She needed to tell me what it was, but now was not the time to push for that. For now she needed exactly what she said she needed. She needed to find her source of warmth and squishiness. She needed pain.
After a moment’s thought I said, “I may have just the thing you are looking for.” I got up and started down the stairs from the deck toward the barn. “I don’t usually show people items that I have specially constructed for someone else, but this is a special case.”
We arrived at the barn and I pushed open the door. From the outside, it looks like an old barn with a large brick silo attached to one end, but from the inside it is a modern workshop complete with hoists, welders, cutters and anything else you would need to construct something really big. Down at the far end of the large open space, nestled within the fake silo was something really, really big.
It was a clock tower with a four sided clock that barely fit beneath the towering roof of the barn. I was pleased to note that it had the correct time. “I built this as a special order for a customer in… well, overseas. He wanted it to punish one of his wives or harem girls. And he wanted all of the other wives or harem girls to know exactly when and how the wayward woman was being punished, but at the same time no one in the village could know what was happening in his house.”
I flipped a switch and a huge pendulum began to swing under the clock. The pendulum wasn’t a single shaft like on most grandfather clocks. It was a huge triangle with a rounded bottom, like on a old-fashioned rocking horse, or like a pie-shaped wedge cut from a circle. In the bottom center of the curved triangle, two pieces of thick metal stuck down and out slightly from the sides. They were rounded like a large pipes cut in half lengthways, but the edges were polished and rolled so they were smooth rather than sharp. On the top of the rounded bottom of the triangle, two small shafts stuck up, a few inches apart. Hanging from the top apex of the triangle was a much thinner shaft that ended several feet above the bottom of the triangle. Beneath the rail was a large metal device about three feet long and, in width, slightly less than the width of the rail. Its top was curved to match the arc of the rail.
I pointed upward and said, “The clock itself is actually electric. And the bells are computer generated. They are all rather stock, clock tower devices.”
My timing was exquisite, because just then the clock sounded with the Westminster chime marking the hour followed by a deep sonorous bell striking once for one o’clock. The chimes and bells could be turned on and off with the pendulum.
“What is special,” I continued, “is the pendulum.”
We walked over to beneath the clock and stood as the pendulum whizzed past us with a muffled buzzing noise marking every ten seconds. “It moves through dead center six times a minute. Three hundred and sixty times in an hour. And each time it moves through, a linear induction motor built into the base gives the pendulum another push to keep it moving. And each time the magnetic pulse of that motor activates, it generates high voltage across the induction rail which makes up the base of the pendulum.”
“You will notice that the two shafts are insulated from the pendulum itself, and the two leg holders are also insulated from the main rail. I came up with this design in consultation with several electrical engineers and, of course, the Sheik.”
“His unfaithful wife or hapless slave would be impaled naked on the two shafts. Since one is slightly larger than the other, it is pretty apparent which way she is supposed to be facing. Her legs are spread out in the leg holders with her ankles tied up and back with leather straps to the rounded bottom of the rail. Her hands are strapped to the shaft above her head. If desired, wires can be attached to special connectors on the rail and attached to nipple clamps.”
“Once in place, the pendulum is started and with each swing, the rail and the two plugs press into the woman’s sex and ass. As the induction motor pulses, a slight electrical pulse flows through the rail, through the woman’s body, and out through the insulated plugs and leg holders. It is a very minor pulse, but it is six times a minute, three hundred and sixty times an hour, four thousand, three hundred and twenty times in a twelve hour period, eight thousand six hundred and forty times in a day. And everyone who sees the hands of the clock move, knows that a naked woman is swinging in punishment beneath the tower.”
Missy was breathing heavily as I continued, “At the quarter hour, each note of the Westminster chimes sends a powerful jolt through the leg holders and through the plugs. When the bell strikes the hour…, ‘Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.’ The pulse timed to the bell is ten times more powerful than the pulse for the chimes.”
I flipped the switch again and the pendulum began to slow down. “Unfortunately, the Sheik wasn’t quite as discrete as he should have been.”
Missy looked at me with a smirk on her face, “Oh, not with his women. In his country, who cares if you torture women. No, he was caught drinking in public. And it was discovered that he had a wine cellar hidden in his home. Someone in his family made a public complaint to the local religious authorities. It seems his son had made a deal with one of the local Mullah’s to take over his father’s throne… and business… and wives and harem. I had a great deal invested in this, and was only paid half in advance. Maybe I can find some other potentate to unload in on someday, but for now, it just sits in my barn and gathers dust.”
I looked over at Missy. Her robe was open and she was rubbing herself across her stomach. “Please let me try it,” she pleaded.
“With a few conditions,” I replied. “First, I will not put it above setting eight. The Sheik wanted it to be capable of being ‘almost fatal’ if he so desired. I don’t want to test how close to ‘almost’ you can get. Secondly, you can only be on it for a few hours at the most. Thirdly, I will have to come down and check on you on a regular basis. And lastly, if I let you ride the pendulum, afterwards you will tell me the real reason why you are so upset.”
“Put it on setting eight,” she answered. “And you can come check on me as often as you want. And afterwards, I will tell you exactly what it is that is bothering me But please, let me stay on this machine for as long as I want today.”
“Maybe,” I replied. “Let’s see how you do for the first hour or so.”
The pendulum came to a complete stop and Missy dropped her robe and straddled the rounded rail just ahead of the two plugs. Her legs barely reached above the rail and the smooth metal rubbed against her between her legs.
“Help me,” she asked, and I swung one leg over the rail to stand facing her. The Sheik had planned to have a couple of beefy servants do this part of the task, but it was only me and Missy, so I reached beneath her arms and lifted her up slightly and slid her back. I set her down on the plugs a little harder and faster than I had intended, but then I wasn’t the Sheik’s beefy servant.
The larger dildo slid easily into her dripping pussy, but she had to wiggle and grunt to get the anal plug to slide home. I felt a little bad about not having lubricated it, but I was a bit distracted by her naked body, and the original design was purely for punishment so the subject of lubrication had never come up.
I centered her legs in the curved leg holders and strapped them in place with a leather strap across the thigh. Then I placed a cuff on each ankle and drew her feet up behind her so they would clear the ground. Her weight was now totally on the rail between her legs and the dildos in her pussy and ass. She held her hands high above her head and I wrapped her wrists in the cuffs that hung from the center shaft.
“One final thing,” I told her, and walked over to a nearby workbench. I came back with a set of butterfly clamps with long wires leading from each of them. Missy moaned as I clipped each one in place and sighed and wiggled against the rail as I inserted the wires in the proper connections on the rail in front of her.
I stepped back and started the pendulum. At watched the control panel as it slowly came up to speed with Missy’s weight now added. After several minutes, I was satisfied everything was working like it should, and walked back over to where Missy was swinging back and forth. I looked up at the clock high above me and could see that it was now 1:29. “I probably should have told you that the bell also strikes once on the half-hour.”
Again my timing was impeccable and the bing-bing-bing-bing of the Westminster chime sounded just as I finished speaking. Missy gasped with each bing of the tone. Then the bell struck once. Missy threw back her head and groaned aloud. I wasn’t sure if it was a groan of pleasure or pain. I don’t think Missy knew for sure either.
I stood in the doorway of the barn watching Missy swing back and forth on the pendulum for quite a while. She was sighing softly and her face had that dreamy look you sometimes see on heroin addicts. The clock chimed the three-quarter hour and she just bobbed her head slowly back and forth as the pulses tore through her body. Missy not only liked it. Missy was, as she said, addicted to it. I have never seen a purer masochist than her.
I went back up to the house and worked in my workshop for two hours. When I came back down to the barn just before 4:00, Missy was still in her pain-induced dreamy-high state. She didn’t even notice that I was standing right next to the pendulum. When the clock struck four, her head bobbed with the chimes and then she threw back her head and grunted long “Ahhs” with each strike of the bell.
“Missy, are you all right?” I said, loudly. When she did not respond, I yelled, “Missy, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she answered, sounding like someone who was regretfully being awakened from a deep sleep. “Please let me stay a little longer. I need this. I really do.”
“I’ll check back every two hours,” I answered and left the barn. That meant that I wouldn’t come back to the barn until six, but as soon as I got up to the house, I made sure that every monitor I could see was video feed from the cameras in the barn. I was worried, but I knew that I had to let this play out on her terms.
At six she again begged me to let her stay. I was starting to worry about damage between her legs. I told her so and she replied, “This is nothing. Did I tell you about the contest between Sharon and I with the cooks?”
I shook my head, “No.”
“It was the summer after I graduated from High School. One day at supper, Sharon was bragging loudly that she could handle more pain than anyone else in the camp. I called her on it and we sort of got into a loud argument. It was loud enough to attract the attention of the head Master’s table and especially her mom. A couple of the Masters pulled Sharon and I up to by the fireplace in front of everyone. Mrs. Curie looked at us both and said simply, ‘Let the cooks sort this out.'”
“One of the male cooks came out of the kitchen with several of his naked assistants. He told the naked servers to tie us up tight and in no time we were hanging from the mantle side by side with our arms and legs spread wider than I had ever seen them tie someone there.”
“Then the cook started swinging. He had a tawse in both hands and he really knew how to use them. Sometimes he would strike both of us at the same time, sometimes he would concentrate on one of us and slam both tawses onto the opposite sides of our legs or asses. He was even able to bring both into the sides of our breasts at the same time so that it felt like our breasts were on fire and our nipples were going to explode. For a while he started bringing a tawse up between each of our legs the same time and demanded that we count each stroke as he delivered it. Somewhere around fifteen, Sharon started adding ‘Thank you, may I have another?’ after each count. I couldn’t let her get ahead of me, so I started saying it with her.”
“Finally the cook stopped and gave a series of short shrill whistles. Two of the naked, female servers came running out of the kitchen. He handed a tawse to each of them and said, ‘This is getting to be too much like hard work, and for hard work I have naked slaves. You put each stroke up between their legs and you keep going until they break. If you don’t break them, I will put you up there tomorrow after I have rested up.'”
“I had never been beaten by a slave before. I don’t know if they were afraid they would have to take our places or they were just taking full advantage of the chance to beat another slave, but they lashed into us hard and fast. It was almost impossible to tell when one blow stopped and the other struck. Sharon and I didn’t have time to ask for another. We didn’t even have time to count. The pain was tremendous, and the thought of a naked slave beating me in public caused the heat to boil in me like never before. I had already orgasmed several times while the cook was beating us, but as the two slaves whaled away at us, I felt myself going higher and higher and higher. I yelled over to Sharon, ‘Volcano time! Come with me!’ And we blew together.”
“It was the deepest, most earth shattering orgasm I had ever experienced. I could hear Sharon wailing along side of me and the lava just kept flowing. I was flying through the air and swimming through the sea and jumping out of airplanes all at the same time. Time collapsed and then expanded. I was buried in snow and then drenched in flaming oil. It was as if I was outside of my body watching the tawse slam upward between my legs. I could see the naked female server finally stop swinging and reach between my legs to jamb the handle of the tawse deep within my cunt. At that point, the entire world exploded and went to black.”
“When I regained consciousness, Sharon and I were both hanging limp from the mantel by our wrists in pools of water. Our legs were no longer strapped in the spreaders. The dinning room was empty, and it was nearly dark outside. I heard the voice of the cook say, ‘One more,’ and suddenly we were both drenched with ice cold water. We snapped our heads around to see the two naked female servers standing on either side of the cook with empty buckets.”
“‘It was a tie,’ he said sarcastically. ‘And don’t go disrupting my meals again or I will think of something that you won’t enjoy quite so much.’ He waved his hand to indicate that the naked slaves should release us from our bonds. As he walked away he yelled back at us, ‘With you two, I would probably have to force you to eat ice cream in order to punish you. You like pain way too much for anything I could do to stop you.'”
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Missy looked at me and the dreamy smile cleared for a moment. “He was right,” she said. “Sharon liked pain way too much. Missy likes it way too much.”
That was the second time that she had referred to Sharon in the past tense. I was about to push that point with her when she suddenly got that begging puppy dog look on her face and said in a very pleading voice, “Please let me stay longer. I want to feel the clock strike twelve. Let me stay until midnight and I promise I will tell you everything tomorrow.”
I looked silently at her for several moments. Then she added, “And don’t come back until midnight. I need to be alone with my pain…. It’s all I have now.”
There was a great deal I wanted to say, but I didn’t say anything. I just turned and walked slowly back to the house. It was going to be a long six hours until midnight, and I would be watching her on the monitors every minute of it to make sure she was as strong as she thought she was.
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END CHAPTER FOUR OF FIVE
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