Cybersonic Hell

by Darkroom last modified 2020-08-03T20:26:25-04:00 — Total 2.7 K words
first published on 2020-07-14T14:20:38-04:00
A man delivers his cheating girlfriend to a gang of thugs, who delight in tormenting the whore through precise and agonizing means.
No rating set

If grown men couldn’t push Big Bill from the seediest Texas bars, there was no way Dominika was going to do it. Big Bill filled the doorway with his broad shoulders and a barrel chest, dwarfing my former girlfriend, who tipped the scale at 115 pounds.

Dominika pushed but Big Bill didn’t budge. Her face flushed with frustration as she tried to reach the door. Bill – that hulking leader of a South Texas motorcycle gang – just stood there with crossed arms. The rest of us, including me, stood back laughing.

I almost felt guilty for setting Dominika up like this, but my pity was replaced by rage. I’d offered her up as a sacrificial lamb by inviting her to the party, never mind she dumped me two weeks ago without cause or explanation.

“I don’t think she’s going anywhere tonight,” I said, laughing. Even if Dominika did get past Big Bill and reach the door, she had no hope of opening it – not with the combination lock in place. “She might be pretty, but she can’t be very smart thinking I invited her to our party out of kindness.”

Big Bill grinned and pushed Dominika into the room. The poor bitch looked flustered and angry. The first wave of shame tickled her brain and her cheeks flushed red. She wanted to leave but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Bring out the throne,” Big Bill said. His words were casual and easy. “It’s time we offered our guest a place to sit.”

Big Bill didn’t budge but his orders sent his posse scrambling to another room. The men returned moments later hauling two duffle bags and a shipping pallet. The pallet was heavy and homemade, resembling and apparatus designed for anything but relaxation.

Dominika saw the device and began to panic. She tried again to push Big Bill, but this time he grabbed her wrist and spun her around. His posse set the pallet in place, and while Big Bill didn’t need the help, they joined him in dragging my screeching ex-girlfriend towards the device.

“Don’t look at me,” I told her, noting her pleading glance. “This is you’re problem now. And believe me, if I know Big Bill – and I do – you’ve got a big problem.”

I wasn’t there to help. I watched with pleasure as they stretched Dominika’s arms and legs. She bucked wildly, but it was no use. She resorted to desperate shrieks as they pinned her against the pallet.

Dominika twisted under the grip of their meaty hands. They easily tugged her wrists and ankles out to the pallet’s corners and strapped them in place with leather ties, jerking the straps numbingly tight and locking them in tarnished buckles.

With her wrists and ankles stretched, they moved to her elbows. Despite her protests, they strapped them tightly against the wooden slats. Dominika tried to scream, but Big Bill caught her by throat.

“Get her fucking legs,” he hissed. “Split the bitch down the middle nice and wide. Let’s see how flexible she is.”

The gang didn’t need any coaxing. They pressed her knees apart and buckled them flush against the pallet. She looked like a frog on a dissection table; arms and legs stretched to the corners, knees and elbows bent at 90-degrees, tied flush against the pallet.

“Get the cameras set up and cut her fucking clothes off,” Big Bill sneered, stroking Dominika’s teary cheek. “It’s time to see what our little whore has to offer our video fans.”

Dominika twisted against the straps. When she saw the scissors, she nearly lost her mind. She screamed NOOOO with new desperation, a flash of fright twinkling in her eyes. Her struggles were comical. Strapped as she was, she could only move her head. The immobility terrified her.

Big Bill’s posse enjoyed stripping Dominika, cutting little snippets of cloth here and the there to prolong her unveiling. A smooth underarm, her pierced belly button, the curve of an inner thigh; they revealed all the things she’d denied me.

“You can thank your boyfriend for this,” Big Bill said, tearing open Dominika’s shirt. “He said you were a catch. I’m starting to agree.”

Dominika screeched, He’s not my boyfriend, but her words faded into sobs of humiliation. The last of her clothing was cut away and the men circled her, whistling and licking their lips.

I couldn’t blame them. She was a sight to behold – long limbs, small breasts topped with large nipples that swelled beyond belief. But their focus fell on something else and I couldn’t help but grin, knowing exactly what it was.

“She’s got the meatiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” one of the men said.

“Those lips must flap in the wind,” said another, clutching his sides with laughter.

“She could milk a horse cock with that pussy,” another said.

Big Bill looked down at his sniveling prize. “The miserable cunt will bring enough cash on the market to repaint our bikes. Remember when you fuck with her, no permanent marks.”

Big Bill passed around a box of latex gloves. I watched the men pull them over their hands. He then produced a bottle of baby oil and poured the contents generously over Dominika’s quivering body.

The gang knelt down and began smearing globs of oil across Dominika’s chest, her belly, her underarms and legs. She despised their touch and she squealed miserably, begging them to let her go.

Ignoring Dominika’s cries, they traced her nipples with their fingertips, coaxing a disparaging groan from her throat. Five men, ten hands, 100 fingers; they slid across her breasts and I laughed, knowing how sensitive her nipples were.

Their fingers lingered at her tits and tickled her nipples. They traced the gentle curve of her underarms. Fingers circle down between her splayed thighs and when they reached her pussy, she stiffened instinctively and howled miserably.

Their treatment was not by accident. Big Bill and I had consulted days earlier, discussing our little plan. When he learned how sensitive Dominika was – how much she hated precise and prolonged touch – he grinned and slapped my back, saying he knew exactly what to do.

I lit a second cigarette and took a seat, checking the cameras to make sure they were focused on the screeching bitch splayed crudely across the pallet.

Dominika begged Stop and Pleeeeease. The men only laughed and continued their game, enjoying their twitching prize. Big Bill’s fingers were thick and large. He brushed them like a broom over Dominika’s long nipples. She responded sharply, sucking air and choking on a scream. Goosebumps covered her body and she shivered against the straps holding her displayed in the awkward position.

I wanted to jack off in her face when she lifted her head, crying PLEASE STOP TOUCHING ME, her head falling back and lulling side to side, her mouth screeching STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT over and over again.

Dominika’s pussy swelled against the tickling. She sobbed for them to stop, losing her breath before gaining it with a shock. She couldn’t push their hands away. She couldn’t close her legs or cover her sensitive nipples, which had swelled to enticing, chewable lengths.

“We’re just getting started little lady,” Big Bill sneered. He flicked and traced Dominika’s nipples with cruel persistence. “Your boyfriend said you’d enjoy this. You’re lucky he’s so nice. If I had my way, I’d hang you upside down and shove my cock down your throat. I still might try it, so don’t get you’re hopes up.”

I laughed from the sidelines knowing it was true. Big Bill had already showed me a video of his gang’s handy work. In one clip, a tearful, busty stripper stood upon a bar stool with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her giant tits had been noosed tightly with rope. They were purple and bulging.

Big Bill – the sadistic fucker – he kicked the stool out from under the dancer. He then stood back and toasted shots of whiskey with his men. Behind them, the woman swung by her ballooning tits, thrashing and screeching, unable to reach the floor with her toes.

In the second segment, Big Bill and his men had a limber yoga instructor tied bent over a saw horse. Hanging from her perky nipples were two copper clamps. The clamps were attached by red wires to a pulsating electrical box.

Making matters worse for their unwilling star was the inflatable dildo filling her cunt. Every time she screamed – inevitable given the electricity – Big Bill gave the dildo a pump. It expanded to a ridiculous size, stretching the woman’s open pussy to grotesque proportions.

“We sold two dozen of that video,” Big Bill said. “But I think hanging the stripper by her watermelon tits was a fan favorite. You should have heard the way she screamed.”

It was only a matter of time before Big Bill turned his sadism on Dominika. But for now, he was content in torturing her with overstimulation. Her fingers clawed at the air and her toes curled. The cords in her neck stood out like ribbons of steel and her muscles tensed.

Dominika was beside herself with despair. In one short hour they had driven her mad with precise touch. They teased her nipples and tickled her pussy. She could do nothing to stop it and her eyes ran a river of tears, her cheeks flushed hot and red.

In the time I turned away to light another cigarette and steady my trembling hands, Big Bill and his team had shifted their attention to Dominika’s swollen clit. I heard her scream like a wounded dog, which got my attention.

When I turned around, all five men were between Dominika’s legs. Two of them used their fingers to spread her swollen pussy lips. The others pulled back the hood of her clit to expose the sensitive pink nub below.

Big Bill stroked it softly. Faster than lightening strikes, he had Dominika’s full attention. He fired up a cybersonic toothbrush with a special rubber tip. Despite Dominika’s hysterics, he applied it to her thickening pink clit with a smile.

“Say hello to the world’s fasted vibrator,” Big Bill laughed. “Forty-five thousand strokes per minute. I can’t do the math, but in the next six minutes, that’s like a million strokes, and we’ve got all fucking night.”

The little toy vibrated Dominika’s hypersensitive clit. Her agonized shrieks sounded off the walls. Tears flowed a constant stream from her blurry eyes and her tongue curled. Uncontrollable spasms racked her slender body.

I took particular delight in her screams. Long ago they’d been reduced to babbling cries. Her fingernails, painted Champaign red, curled achingly for the straps. She couldn’t reach them and she couldn’t close her legs. She couldn’t lift her hips off the pallet to apply more pressure to the cybersonic torture tool, and she couldn’t escape its constant message.

Twenty minutes later and poor Dominika was hysterical. Her body convulsed from the effects of a dozen forced orgasms, each more painful than the last. Only then did Big Bill switch off the cybersonic. The men stood up and stretched their arms victoriously.

“There’s no sense for five of us to do the job of one man,” Big Bill said, going to his back of tricks. He produced a strange contraption and held it up like a trophy. “With this, we can play our game while focusing on other … ”

He paused and shook his head, grinning down at Dominika. She shook her heady miserably from side to side, caught in the clutches of something that resembled a seizure. Big Bill knelt at her side and grabbed her hair. He forced her to look at the thing he held in his hands.


Big Bill grinned. “I call these my irons.” He swung the device slowly over Dominika’s glassy eyes. “This will open that juicy pussy right up. You’ll see. We’ll stretch those fat folds from that twitching little cunt.”

The very suggesting sent Dominika into a panic. She had no idea what he was talking about, but the look on her face said it all. She couldn’t possibly comprehend the tool’s application and what, exactly, it meant for her.

But I could, and my fingers began to twitch with anticipation. I took one of the cameras in my hand and asked if Dominika was enjoying herself. She gulped down breaths of air and pushed out a piercing scream, as if it would change Big Bill’s mind, or win my sympathy.

The camera in my hand was the least of her worries. She was bawling hysterically and staring in disbelief at the irons, not to mention the men standing around her. PLEASE DON’T PUT THAT ON ME! She tried to shape the words and convince Big Bill not to do what he was about to do.

Big Bill was already between her splayed legs with the irons. It was a solid steel ring, about a foot in diameter with eight flat-nosed clamps dangling toward the center on individual piano wires. He positioned the ring over Dominika’s still-twitching pussy and grinned, saying he’d designed the contraption himself for cunts like her.

Dominika tried to lift her head, her face a mask of fear and desperation. Anticipating her reaction, one of the men pinned her by the hair and stuffed an oversized sponge into her mouth. He finished the job by wrapping duct tape over her lips, winding it around her head, over her lips, under her jaw, over her lips, until her lower face was encased.

Her eyes bulged and she tried to scream, but this was no longer possible. She gagged instead with fresh tears streaming from her eyes. Big Bill had already affixed the eight clamps to her pussy lips, placing them at equal intervals along the swollen folds.

He then invited me down for a close-up shot. With me at his side and Dominika shrieking through the sponge, he began drawing the wires away from the center of the ring. Nothing but pink, he said, tugging the wires.

He worked around the ring one wire at a time, drawing them taught until Dominika’s pussy was splayed open. Her thick lips stretched in opposite directions, revealing the glossy pink smoothness below. The tug also revealed her clit. The little nub stuck up like a pencil eraser with nowhere to hide.

“You want to go first?” Big Bill asked, pointing out the little pink button, as if I hadn’t noticed it. He passed me the cybersonic toothbrush with an evil grin. “You brought her here. She’ll be singing the Devil’s song in no time. I’ve got plenty of batteries.”

With disbelief and sheer terror, Dominika watched me take the tool. Her cheeks bulged and her nostrils flared. She pleaded something desperate with her glossy eyes streaming tears. Her inner thighs strained against the straps that held her legs splayed.

I switch on the tool, noting its intense vibrations. Big Bill let out a holler and Dominika’s head fell back in defeat. Her lungs filled with air and her cries rang out, garbled though the gag and tape.

It was too easy touching the lubricated tip of the pulsating cybersonic to Dominika’s swollen clit. She groaned sorrowfully and nearly choked before shrieking into the gag. Her body twitched and trembled out of control, her muscles straining.

She pulled frantically at the leather straps. She didn’t move an inch and nearly dislocated her joints trying to escape. Within minutes she was hysterical, screeching and quivering like a lunatic. The cybersonic hummed and I worked like a painter, stroking it over her clit, up and down its swollen length, ensuring the tool remained in constant touch.

Big Bill was right. We had all night and plenty of batteries. And we were just getting started. We’d work like painters all night long.

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