Preposterous CBT VI

She began to rummage through her bag once more, and produced a small fishing weight, about an inch long and as big around as a ball-point pen. “Let’s see what we can do about this problem” she said as she put the item against the opening of his urethra, then began to work it down into his cock. The pain was severe, but bearable. after she worked it about an inch down his urethra, she retrieved a needle and some thread. Slowly threading the needle while he watched, there was no doubt what she had in store. The stitches didn’t hurt nearly as much as he feared the might; slowly, methodically, carefully, she worked back and forth. Soon, ten stitches—five on each side—were drawn tight, and his piss-hole puckered and was sealed. Over this, she applied a liberal amount of super glue, to ensure it was fully closed, and for good measure, took a short length of adhesive tape and afixed it over the sealed opening. …

He suspected that what he had thus far felt was just an introduction to the pain he was about to feel, and she proved that notion correct when she pulled an electric train transformer from her bag. “I did some research after we talked” she said. “I found this little trick on one of the newsgroups.” The device had two wires coming from it, and a knob to turn to control the amount of voltage. She took two pieces of sponge, went to the sink, and wet them. The then spread some salt lightly on the sponges, rubbed them together, then shoved the exposed ends of the wire into the sponges. She took some more tape, and taped one of the sponges the the underside of the base of his cock, close to where it was still tied off, and the other was attached to the top of his engorged cock head.

He wondered what she would do to follow up on that; his wondering was short-lived. She held in her hand a pincushion, shaped and colored like a small tomato, and sporting a number of sewing pins with brightly-colored, round heads. He tried to count them as she moved between his spread legs and made herself comfortable, but could not. Once again reading his mind, she responded to the question he was thinking: “There are ten pins here, darling. And yes, I will use all of them. I think this cock head here is a far more appropriate place to store them than this old thing, don’t you?”

… When she returned, she was carrying a length of wood, about two feet long, with a metal arch at on end and a small post at the other, and a length of soft cotton rope, which had been been tied into a sort of noose at one end. She slipped this noose around his cock, settling it around just behind the head, and pulled it tight. Using the rope, she guided his cock through the arch on the piece of wood, and pulled on it tightly. The arch pressed against his body, his cock lay against the wooden board, and the board set securely on top of the dresser. She pulled the rope as tightly as she could, stretching his cock to its limit; she then tied the rope off on the post. …

She took on the nails in her hand, and carefully positioned the top against his cock head in one of the two small relatively untormented spots of purple, taught, glistening skin. Holding it there with one hand, she look at him as if to say “get ready”, but only paused a moment. She brought the hammer down with assuredness, driving the nail most of the way…but not all of the way…through his cock head. The pain was extreme. He gasped, but did not cry out. She hit the nail again, two, three more times. She had done it, but she wasn’t finished yet. The other nail found a spot on the other side of his large, distended cock head, and she repeated the procedure.

She walked closer. “Is that what you wanted, my dear? Is that what you craved, what you needed?” She cooed into his ear as he stood there …

Alt.torture: In Due Time