Butterflies of Lust

(Part Two)

“Three Hours.”

A metallic voice broke the patternless burble of the white noise in her ears, something like what old fashioned computer generated voices sounded like; “You've got mail.” wrote evil. That tinny, inhuman, sound shattered the delirium that Dia had been floating in. Her ribs burned from the strain of drawing breath, and her throat was scaled and gritty. Sweat coated her body, threatening to trigger those vicious electrodes. Her bladder now bulged painfully against the broad strap that held her hips to the bed.

She could arch her hips ever so slightly, driving the strap harder into her bladder, but offering a moment of relief when she backed off. When she did this, the wires of the electrodes attached to her clit and to the lips of her cunt would pull, bringing a torrent of sexual excitement. The lack of air, the constant burn of her straining bladder, and the moonshine proof lust that flashed through her nervous system at every roll of her hips was quite simply more than her conscious mind could process.

Instead, after a moment of brutally vivid reality, her mind found a long hidden, and absently  forgotten if it was honest, safety switch. The switch sent her consciousness floating off into a world of grey haze, where pain and pleasure had no meaning. Her subconscious kept the hips writhing, desperate to find a release of the unbearable tension, drawing the skin of her cunt up and down in a futile attempt at orgasm. The wires attached to the electrodes pulling and relaxing against her sweaty skin in a slow rhythm of mindless lust. The knowledge of the pain sure to come should her bladder release, as it must if she came, had penetrated to the core of her being, a strong push up of her hips might bring her off, but it would bring with it an accompanying shower of pain that her body would not willingly cause. Only her mind could commit to such self-damage.

There was nothing for Dia to grab onto, just a grey murk. Somewhere she knew her body was strapped to a bed and wired for torture, that her lungs could only just pull down enough air to keep her alive, that her bladder was now painfully distended, and that she should be terrified of what was coming so very soon. But she could not find the fear, this odd inner world, the neonatal void, was somehow more comfortable, more real, than the glitter edged physical world where she'd never been able to fit. Instead of fear, all that came to her was gratitude to her master, and a wanton, vicious, desire for even greater punishment and desecration.

Dia was home. The long years of self-doubt and shame over her nature now seemed a silly, petulant child's tantrum over nightfall, with even less of a point. Despite the frustration, pain, and deprivation that her body felt, she was at peace, truly, for the first time as an adult. She came to a realization, rather than a decision, that when the voice again broke the grey mist, she would release her bladder and welcome the pain, and the orgasm.

“Four Hours.”

The haze lifted. Dia sucked as much air as she could down her gritty throat and arched her back and hips into the strap just as hard as she could. The electrodes pulled on her lips and clit, sending a thrill, a growing throb, through her. Straining against the strap, Dia forced the air from her lungs and released her bladder, feeling an immediate torrent of piss splash against her legs and pool under her ass. The simple release of piss brought the world back to full clarity, and her hips pumped against the strap as she pushed piss out at full force, the pulling on her cunt driving her nearer and nearer to orgasm. And then the pain came.

It was a shock. Her body was being blown apart, the electricity tapped directly into her nervous system, starting with the piss drenched flesh around her cunt and the delicate bud of her asshole as it clenched the burning plug. Her breasts turned to fire. Deep inside a convulsion began, building into something close to a seizure as an orgasm rolled through her body. She came in waves, each one more powerful than the last, itself an agony and a sensation that she had never felt.

She may have blacked out from lack of air and pain, or her mind might have found yet another purloined safety switch, either way she knew nothing until suddenly she could breathe. There was no pain, but her body shook and a watery high wrapped around her like a warm glove. She could feel the rubber sheet loosening over her sweat and piss slick body, allowing cool currents of air to touch her skin with a grateful chill. The gag in her mouth suddenly became smaller, her jaw burning as the muscles felt blood return after their hours of stretching. The white noise stopped, leaving a silence that seemed too loud. She could hear her own breath in the blind quiet, along with rustling and crackling as someone did something to her bindings and attachments. Her mouth felt strange as the gag was withdrawn.

“You did well, I'm pleased with you.” his voice startled her, but a warm blush spread across her shuddering form. She had failed, true, but she had failed well in an impossible trial.

“T-t-thank you, Sir.”

“You held out for four hours, much longer than I suspected, and judging from the way you were rocking your hips you actually enjoyed it, didn't you, whore? Did you cum?”

“Yes, Sir, I'm sorry I could not hold out longer for you, I want so much to be your slave, your thing. Tha-a-ank you, Sir.”

“My thing, eh? That will not be a pleasant existence. :Pain will be the norm, you will be abused and used until your body is to scarred to interest me any longer. I'll then sell you to whoever will buy the broken and twisted creature that you will then be. The rest of your life will be a nightmare of pain and desecration. This is your last chance to get out, simply say the word and you may go, otherwise ask for pain.”

There was fear, but it was a phantom emotion, it no longer held the draw that it once did. Had he asked this before the ordeal, she would already be running into the streets in terror. Now, though, she knew that there really was no choice being offered, the way forward was clear. The life she had known, the unhappy, drab, and frustrated existence of a misfit individual was at an end. This had already happened, the pain and scars to come would only be the physical evidence of the complete destruction of her ego. The only emotion that still held any relevance was her sexual lust, and her gnawing, insatiable, craving for abuse. There were no more butterflies, but an entire being shuddering with lust. He had given her a gift, an escape from the poorly scripted fantasy of reality.

“Sir, make me yours, give me pain, turn me into an animal, scar me and mark me. Please Sir, I can be nothing else now. I want no rights, I have no rights. Break me, make my body yours with scars, since it already is yours in fact. I'll accept all pain, and will deny my owners nothing. Thank you, Sir for this chance.” Her voice surprised her with it's steady clarity. There was no wavering, no hesitation, simply an honest expression of will, though that will died with the statement.

“Very well. You are no longer Dia, but simply “D”, you will no longer speak unless given specific instructions to do so, and those will be rare. Over the next several days you will experience great pain, you will be scarred, and if you do well, you will be branded. If you fail in the slightest way you will be cast out, never to be considered again.”

Hands were at work on her bindings, the sheet was removed, and the electrodes were pulled from her flesh, the adhesive pulling painfully. She was brought to her feet, her arms pulled out at right angles and shackled in place with a sharp click. Her legs were stretched wide and locked. The hood was pulled from her head, leaving her eyes staring into intense light. Hands gripped her chin, and pulled her eyelids open. A finger came toward her right eye, a glistening black circle on the tip, she felt it contact her eyeball bringing darkness. An opaque contact lens was placed in her left eye as well, leaving her in total darkness.

A handful of her wet hair was pulled to the side. A buzz sounded in her ears, and she felt the hair being cur from her scalp. The clippers made quick work of her sweat and piss slick hair, to be replaced by warm suds. She could feel the cold steel of a razor making its way across her scalp. She was surprised that that she felt no real anxiety over the loss of her hair, something that she had been so proud of for so very many years. Finally, the tantalizing edge of the razor left her skin.

Icy water splashed over her. It was all that she could do to not gasp at the sudden shock of the frigid water as it seemed to find every crevice of her body, and coated the newly exposed skin of her head. Another bucketful splashed across her body. She next felt stiff, almost bony, bristles begin to scrub her skin in painful scratches, like a thousand sharpened fingernails gouging into her by a thousand lovers all at once. She was certain that the brushes must be digging through her skin, so stiff were they and so hard were they used. Not a square inch of her body was left un-scoured. Every bit of her skin was alive with pain and open nerve endings. Another bucket of water poured across her, this one fiery hot, causing an unwilling intake of breath as her overworked nerves overloaded from the sensation.

She hung in silence. The water cooling on her bare scalp was new and oddly thrilling. She shivered as the water evaporated despite the warmth of the air. Time passed, she felt the muscles of her shoulders tighten, and traced the flow of individual rivulets of water as they followed the contours of her body and slowly evaporated into nothingness. Time lost its meaning yet again as she stood, bound, in the silent dark.

She felt, rather than heard, a footfall in the room. She could sense someone near her as anticipation grew. Suddenly, a line of fire cut across her upper thighs, landing with such force that she could feel the skin separate as she fought to maintain her posture and silence. A second line, as hard as the first followed, this time slicing into her fleshy ass, then her back, her sides, and the front of her legs. Between the blows, she could feel blood welling in the fresh gashes. This was no token whipping, she knew as the whip danced its razor tongue over her body, this was intended to mark, to scar, her as property. There was no escape into her masochist's wonderland this time, this was not that sort of pain. She felt every stripe in bright, glittering, wonderful, agony.

She lost count at fifty, but the whipping went on much longer. Her sweat mixed with the blood oozing from the weals, making her skin feel sticky. To her surprise, finally, there no more strokes. Her arms were released, and she was pushed to her knees. She felt something hard and cold against her back, some sort of a block ending at her neck. A cold strap of what she assumed must be steel was placed around her neck, closing behind her head with a clink. There was some lighter clinking and jingling of metal, then a massive clang. The strap bounced painfully against her throat, breaking skin itself, and another blow fell, and then another. Her collar was riveted on, it would not be coming off anytime soon.

There was the unmistakable snick of a padlock, and she was pulled by the collar, her head was pushed down and she was made to crawl. She heard hinges, and then the sound of another lock. She was on cold cement, her hands reached out and could feel bars all about her. There was not room to stretch out, but she could lie curled on her side, her body wrapped pathetically around the open drain in the floor. As her hands stroked the sticky welts from the whip, all concern left her. She lay grateful for her steel and concrete womb, hoping to be used again.