Extreme Pleasures

Tara Knyveton-Soames was the Head of the Dealing Room at under thirty years of age and her reputation within the bank was awesome. Whatever target came down from above Tara would ensure that it was met; she was ruthless and had an incredible mind for detail so her finger was on the pulse of everything which happened in her little empire. Hardly anyone knew what she was paid but she was the darling of the top floor so her salary would certainly be huge and more than enough to cover the cost of her luxury flat with its panoramic views of The Thames. She did not seem to have any kind of private life; someone who works twelve hour days has little time for any life outside of work.

She knew that she was known behind her back as the Ice Maiden and it was said that the only thing which caused her pulse to race was a computer screen showing all figures in green. But everyone needs a safety valve and someone living in Tara's high pressure world certainly needed a release.

The Friday before Bank Holiday Weekend Tara left the office at seven PM much later than anyone else and, as she sat in her Porche in the office car park, she dialled a number on her cell phone. The voice which answered had a slight foreign accent. Tara gave a code number and some brief details and the voice gave a curt response.

"The usual preparation." Then the call was cut off.

Back at her flat Tara began to make the usual preparations beginning with a scented bath and then taking great care with her makeup and her hair. She was at the appointed meeting place ahead of time wearing a thin summer dress which showed just enough cleavage to be alluring without being tarty. She wore pearl drop gold ear rings and white high heeled sandals. As per instructions she carried no bag and her flat keys were in the pocket of her dress.

Her heart was pounding as she stood on the busy street corner looking around her. Looking just right had been important because if they came to the meeting and saw that she did not look her best they would simply drive past. The dialogue inside her head was intense. She tried to tell herself that she was an adult simply engaging in recreation but another voice cancelled that one out.

"You are standing on a street corner hoping that you have done enough to make them stop and pick you up. You are nothing more than a cheap hooker desperate to attract what you need."

Suddenly a camper van pulled up beside her and the side door slid open. It was dark inside the van and she could just make out the two large men clothed all in black with black balaclavas over their heads. One of them gave an order.

"Get in bitch."

As soon as she placed one foot inside the van things happened very quickly. Her hair was grabbed pulling her forward onto her face on the coarse carpet of the van, a black hood went over her head and she heard the door slammed shut as the van pulled away. Her hands were yanked behind her back and cold handcuffs were snapped into place.

While she was still gasping for air inside the hood she felt the straps of her expensive dress cut away and then the cold steel blade was against her skin and her bra straps were severed allowing her dress and bra to be dragged down almost to her waist so that her naked nipples were being ground into the floor. Her head was now crushed between the floor and a large shoe and she heard the harsh voice threatening her.

"You make one sound or one move and you get a whole world of pain."

As the man kept his foot on her head the other must have knelt beside her as she felt hands go under her body and viciously maul her sensitive breasts before yanking her dress up and painfully groping between her legs. The pickup was always the same but, once she was in their hands, she had no idea what they would do. It changed every time and there was no safe word, no way of making them stop. She was playing by grown up rules and she just had to trust them (she had only a sketchy idea of who they were) that they would ensure that she survived and that they would not hurt her so badly that she would not return for more. Her only guarantee was that if they did hurt her too badly she would not come back and they would lose a good customer. She knew that probably at this very moment a large debit was on its way to her credit card account bearing the innocent narrative "Personal Consulting".

It felt like a very long drive with many stops probably at traffic lights where other vehicles must have been very close to the van but no-one had the slightest idea of what was happening behind the blinds in the back of the camper. Tara was not mauled constantly but this somehow made it worse because she had no way of knowing when they would start again or where their coarse hands would go next. The men were experienced at what they did and were able to build their victim up to a state of sexual arousal and keep her there with every nerve screaming for release. And all the while the dark voices inside Tara's head were telling her that she deserved this; she needed to be punished for all her short-comings which she kept so well hidden from the usual world in which she moved.

When the van came to a halt the door was slid open and hands under her arms dragged her out so that her feet were on the ground and she was dragged half walking, half sliding. One shoe had come off in the van but she could not manage to dislodge the other one so she was adopting a strange hopping gait as she was forced into a building where she felt the hard concrete floor beneath her feet. All sight was blocked by her hood and her hands were still firmly cuffed behind her back.

Eventually she was pulled to a stop and left to stand unsteadily by herself as her hood was pulled away and she was blinded by spotlights from close in front of her. She knew this place from past visits; it was a huge space which might once have been a factory. The bricks in the walls were black possibly due to paint or perhaps just from decades of grime and filth. At odd places in the walls and floor were sturdy metal fixings which may once have anchored huge machines and iron gantries ran overhead. Up very high were small windows which were so filthy that they let in little light even in daylight and most of the light came from neon strips suspended from the gantries.

The space was partitioned by brick walls which divided the building into large areas but the walls did not reach all across the floor so the tormentors could easily move between spaces to work on many inmates. Tara had only ever seen other victims when both she and they were masked but she could hear them all the time. There was never silence here because everything which happened in this place ran to the sound track of screams and of the orders and obscenities shouted by the tormentors.

Here Tara knew that she was not Tara; she was whatever the tormentors wanted to call her which was usually a variation of stupid useless cunt. And that was why she kept coming back. She knew she was somewhere in London but she might as well have been a thousand miles from that other world where everything was her responsibility and her mind was constantly juggling a thousand small details. Here she had no responsibilities except to endure the pain and the humiliation. Life here was simpler because nothing was under her control so it was like being as she had been so many years before when her Daddy had punished her for falling short of his very reasonable standards. She understood punishment and here every short coming was punished and a little of her deep seated guilt could be taken away by the pain. Here she is finally liberated from the shackles which make up her world outside.

She tried to imagine what she looked like to the men whose dark shapes she could see moving just beyond the powerful lights. Her hair was in disarray, she was naked down to her belly with her torn dress and bra around her waist and she was still tottering awkwardly upon one shoe. A man came from behind her and stood with his face an inch from hers. He was dressed like all the tormentors in black jeans and a black t shirt with a cowl covering his head so that she could see his mouth and his eyes were only visible through the eyeholes in the cowl.

"Do you know how fucking disgusting you are you slut? Do you?"

She whimpered something and his hands darted out to squeeze and twist her nipples causing her to twist her body in a futile attempt to ride with what he was doing and to ease her pain.

"Am I hurting you Slag?"

"Yss Sir."

"NO I AM NOT HURTING YOU. I am going to hurt you but I have not even started yet."

His hand crashed into the side of her face sending her crashing to the hard, cold floor where it seemed several men fell upon her dragging every last stitch of clothing from her body. Then they pulled back leaving her curled up in a cold naked ball on the floor and a sergeant major voice ordered her to her feet.

It was not easy standing up while still handcuffed but she pulled herself to her feet aware of how pathetic she must look to the watching tormentors. As soon as she was on her feet once again squinting into the spotlights she was hit by a high pressure jet of freezing water from behind the lights. The jet crashed into her belly winding her and then it played across her body and face making her once again lose her footing and crash to the floor where the water continued to assault her.

Suddenly the water stopped and she remained in a foetal position shivering on the floor until hands from above grabbed her and pulled her to her feet where she stood unsteadily facing the harsh spotlights. The lead tormentor came and stood in front of her then he began to slowly walk around his victim intimidating her with his size and closeness. She knew from the way that he had spoken that this man was not simply a thug, he had been educated which made him more frightening as he understood the psychology of stripping away a person's dignity piece by tiny piece and when he used violence it would be calculated and clinical.

Without warning a stinging slap landed on her left buttock and she stumbled forward.

"Stand Still Bitch."

She pulled herself to a sort of attention despite her hands still being cuffed behind her. A second slap stung her right buttock but she managed to stand more or less still. In her mind's eye she saw herself as he was seeing her with her hair which had so recently been perfectly arranged sticking to her face and cold water running down her body which was still shivering. Her lip turned inwards as she fought to keep from crying. The man was beside her now and she felt his hot breath in her left ear then his hands were removing her earring and he went to the other side and did the same. The ear rings were real gold and it was unlikely that she would see them again; they could take whatever they liked while she was here. Her clothes lay scattered around her on the floor and most of them were ruined and unwearable. She hoped that someone would retrieve her flat keys from the pocket of her dress and give it to her when she was released but she knew that nothing was guaranteed.

She had not eaten since a hasty sandwich eaten at her desk at lunchtime but the tormentors knew that a body can live without food for up to two weeks and no-one here cared about the hot bile which kept rising in her throat or about her hunger pangs and stomach cramps. Her mouth was parched and dry but she told herself that she could do this. When she had been at her convent school the nuns had refined humiliating punishments to an art form and she recalled two events in her sixth form year when the schoolgirl had turned into a woman but was still subject, despite her eighteen years, to school discipline.

On one occasion she had been horsing around on the field at morning break and torn her skirt so she had been made to spend the rest of the day in just her knickers despite the presence of male staff. At another time she was judged to have been insubordinate and had been sentenced to spend a whole afternoon lying face down in the corridor in her gym pants and singlet while the business of the school went on around her. She keenly remembered the burning humiliation of these events but she also recalled how she had not been able to keep from becoming very aroused at the same time. Humiliation had become a drug and, although it hurt, something kept drawing her to experience it again and again.

He was in front of her again now and he shouted another order.

"Get your legs apart."

When she obeyed he landed a slap directly onto her most sensitive part. It was nothing like as hard as the slaps on her behind but it hurt sufficiently to draw a scream from her dry throat and she hated the grin which spread across his face as he slapped her again in the same place. He put his hand into his pocket and she saw the metal items which he withdrew. She could not keep from moaning and shifting her feet as he put his hand between her legs and began to tease out her most sensitive little folds of flesh before she felt the cruel teethed crocodile clips bite into her flesh. She was sucking in her breath and breathing out rapidly through her nose in an effort to control the pain as he slowly held up the small lead balls with the little hooked chains attached.

It took a huge effort of will to avoid begging with him not to hang the weights from her flesh but she could not prevent her head from shaking from side to side and her eyes pleading for mercy. Of course he did suspend the weights from the silver clips and the pain was terrible but she drew it into herself as the man began to rub her already sore nipples. She knew what was coming and she whimpered as he clipped her nips and again attached little weights to the clips.

The pain was indescribable but things could only get worse as he barked at her to run on the spot and then to jump up and down causing the ironmongery to drag on her tender flesh. As she helplessly carried out the parody of school PE lessons she silently cursed the nuns who had instilled this deep need in her for humiliation.

The body's capacity to adapt to pain is amazing and as she went through her enforced exercise the adrenaline produced allowed her to deal with the pain but it returned sharply when he made her stand still so that he could briskly remove all four clamps which had become embedded into her flesh so each one caused a burst of agony as it was ripped away leaving little smears of blood.

Once again they stood face to face so close that she could smell and feel his breath and he spat into her face. She controlled her instinctive reaction and he did it again and again and again until her whole face was running with blobs of his saliva. She heard the laughter of the other men standing around watching and then her tormentor landed more slaps to her face making her ears ring and her cheeks burn cruelly. With a careless word to his assistants the man delivered a final blob of saliva into her left eye, turned his back and walked away.

Immediately hands gripped her forearms hard enough to leave bruises and marched her across the floor to the corner of the space where something like a jail cell out of a Western movie had been constructed. Two sides of it were the back wall and the side wall of the space and the other sides were made up of black iron bars. She was thrown into the cell so hard that she rebounded from the back wall and landed heavily on the floor and the gate clanged shut. They left her there on the floor of her cage.

She was locked in a five foot cube with a metal grating for a roof and she was on a rough cold concrete floor. The only things inside the cell apart from herself were an empty plastic washing up bowl and a plastic dog bowl full of water. She tried to calculate how long it was since she had voluntarily stepped inside the camper van. It was probably not long which meant that she had many hours of her sentence still left to serve. Would they simply leave her here alone in this cell or had they just gone to set up further tortures for her? She had no way of knowing; all she could do was to slake her thirst from the dog bowl and listen to the piercing screams which were coming from someone in a nearby part of the factory. She wondered what was being done to that other young woman and whether she herself would soon be begging for mercy.

In that far away world where Tara lived it had been a very busy day in the Dealing Room so, against all probability, she actually fell asleep in her small cell and was abruptly brought back to wakefulness when she was grabbed under the arms and dragged out into the larger punishment area. She realised that she was being pulled towards a low table such as might be used for a Japanese Tea Ceremony. The wooden table was long and fairly narrow with legs which kept it about a foot off the ground and the still handcuffed woman was pushed down onto her back on the table with the handcuffs digging into her wrists as they were pressed between the wood and her body.

The three or four tormentors still wore their cowls but jeans and t shirts had been exchanged for black satin gowns belted around the waist. As soon as she was on her back the first man shed his gown revealing his naked body with his manhood jumping to attention. It was obvious what was going to happen but they did not give her time to think about it.

The man came down upon her and clamped his mouth over her small button nose as she felt the solid iron like rod pressing between her legs. He was not in any mood for gentle foreplay and he clearly had no interest in whether or not she was ready to receive him. This was rape plain and simple but she had voluntarily placed herself in a position where she had no recourse at all. His attack was brutal and painful and yet, to her disgust, she realised that she was responding to him. Her body was responding to the attacker as she moistened and her back arched as she came up to meet him.

She had no sense of time but at some point he was no longer on top of her and another took his place. The sad fact was that this was the only way that the woman could have any sexual release -- could have any sexual pleasure. In her early twenties she had a brief fling with the only man who could bring her body alive but he had done it by being rough with her and sensible, proud Tara had broken off the relationship telling him that he had no idea of how a lady should be treated. Since that time she had only ever become truly alive when she was here in this dark place being violated by these skilful masked strangers.

She could not be sure how many they were, perhaps it was five but the attack went on and on as her body was pulled into whatever position they desired so that they could use her pussy, her lips and her anus. The latter was truly a horror for her; to be taken in this way cut her to her very soul and even on a simple physical level the pain was like being cut open with a knife but the true pain, the true agony was in her mind as she faced the fact of what she was allowing them to do to her. It was dirty and she was a dirty girl for needing it. This was all her fault; she had chosen to come here and she deserved everything which was done to her because that horrid dark abnormality in her makeup drove her to need this, to desire this, to crave it. She knew that she truly was the disgusting pervert which her Daddy had once told her that she was.

When it ended she was off the table and lying on her back, legs splayed, on the cold concrete panting with her reddened body glistening with her sweat mingled with their sweat and their semen which even covered her face and was beginning to dry and mat in her hair.

She was barely conscious but they had an answer to that. Two buckets of frozen water were dumped over her and then strong arms pulled her upwards and she dimly realised that her handcuffs were being released leaving ugly purple rings of bruising around her wrists. Broad leather straps were tightened about her wrists and fastened to the ends of a black bar so that her arms were spread wide above her head as the bar was winched upwards and her ankles were placed in straps and anchored to rings in the floor.