Beth Likes It Ch. 08
I was terrified and would've escaped if I could. I was afraid to the point where I couldn't breathe properly. The two bearded men finished their task and stepped away from the bull, the saddle, and the thumbtacks. I glanced at the outcome of their work, terrified. The pins were big, embellished, probably half an inch long from base to tip. They appeared sharp enough to pierce my delicate skin but also thicker than needles.
However, as the two other men, the ones who had just dragged me over the parking lot with my bare bottom, carried me back up to shoulder height, trying to put me squarely on the pin-detailed saddle, their hands accidentally brushed against my soaking wet vulva. Instantly, it was evident to them, me, and everyone else in the room that this situation excited me tremendously. Despite the pain, both the sadist and victim in me agreed that this was something I yearned for. Or perhaps not yearned for... but required.
"Look at this!" cried one of them, displaying his hand to the other men who were rushing into the room to witness the show. They were all gathered to observe. His hands were wet, very wet. However, he and the other guy hoisted my ass up and paraded me around, allowing everyone to marvel at my exposed, wet pussy, effectively showing everyone just how wet I was. This was likely wetter than I had ever been before, as I felt myself literally dripping. The crowd started laughing at me, and then the blond college student stood up on a chair and proclaimed, "This is Bethany Jane Cranston, and she likes this!" Then he reached up and casually pinched my nipple. The crowd roared with laughter, and I was blushing the deepest red from head to toe, feeling supremely humiliated. The college student said, "Are you liking it, Bethany? Tell the men you like it!" And he gently pinched my nipple again, sending shocks through my entire body.
"Tell them," he instructed, smiling at me.
"I like it," I retorted. I could only muster a couple of words due to my immense embarrassment.
"Say it out loud, tell them you like it correctly, you dimwitted whore!"
My God, I was a dimwitted whore. They all knew how dumb I was and how perverted I was for wanting something like this.
"Say it!" he ordered, and then he directed the entire crowd in a conductor-like manner, chanting, "SAY IT, SAY IT, SAY IT!" The crowd joined in, causing the two burly men holding my ass aloft to slap and squeeze my swollen labia, presenting everyone in attendance with the disgusting, viscous fluid seeping from me. The college boy grabbed me by the hair and leaned in, whispering in my ear, "You have to tell them."
Even though the two men weren't vigorously rubbing my vulva enough to urge an orgasm out of me, instead just poking at my labia whenever they felt like it to illustrate my very wetness, I almost came from the humiliation. It made me sweat profusely and caused me to blush from the tip of my head to my toes. I suddenly remembered an incident from my childhood when I had done something naughty and wanted to be punished. And it was so difficult to tell my dad. Not just about what I had done, but also about what I thought should happen as a result of my actions. It was almost impossible to tell him.
I had suppressed this memory until this particular moment, but upon its sudden reemergence, I remembered that it happened frequently. I was stunned by this revelation, yet it freed my tongue - or, more accurately, the little girl's tongue, who spoke up with her whiny little girl's voice, admitting, "My name is Bethany Jane Cranston. I grew up in this town, so there are people who know me and my parents. They'll find out about this. They'll find out how perverted their daughter has grown, and so will all their friends. And my friends, and my brothers' friends. It's all going to come out. I looked around at the crowd, grinning my suggestive grin through my tears.
"I know, I'm sick," I admitted. "I'm disgusting." Tears flowed down my cheek as my lips arched in a wide, perverse smile. I felt like a clown.
"You nailed it!" one person in the back shouted, followed by muffled assent. "Give the girl what she craves!" shouted someone else. They were enraged at me for wanting it, I realized, but I could also see the bulges in their pants.
When they put me down on the nails, there couldn't be more than half an inch without a sharp point. There were probably 20 or 30 just for my vagina and crotch, more for each butt cheek, and countless others poking everywhere - belly and thighs. The men tied me to the bull, with my wrists to the horns so I had to lean forward during the ride, with most of my weight on my sensitive pussy, making it the main contact point with each sudden return; my ankles were held with leg-irons around the bull's belly, making my thighs cling to the sides, repeatedly impaling themselves on the nails specifically placed for them.
Then it began.
The bull came to life, and I knew I was in deep trouble. It was a true, classic mechanical bull, designed to throw full-grown cowboys off their saddles with just a few powerful jerks. The nail-covered wooden saddle pushed between my spread legs with violent force, instantly jamming many big tacks straight into my swollen, dripping twat, along with a bunch more into my thighs and ass. A few even pierced my butt crack.
But that wasn't the worst of it: this bull was made to throw the rider, and since I was tied in place, I couldn't be thrown. And the way it was designed to do this was to thrust wildly not only up and down, which it did quite fiercely, but also forward, backward, and sideways, each with the same insane force. Its special move was to thrust aggressively up into my crotch, then, at the peak of its thrust, while my poor pussy was full of freshly sticking tacks, it would lurch in any direction, ripping the half-inch tacks horizontally through my delicate girl flesh.
Oh god, my legs were so far apart! And the upward thrusts of the bull were so fierce! Each thrust would certainly jam my labia into multiple places, dragging it along as it shot out forward or to the side. My outer labia was ripped and torn almost instantly, the sadist in me thrilling at the thought of what was happening to me; the masochist knowing that this excruciating experience was exactly what I deserved; and the crazy, mixed-up part of me beginning to respond to the pain as if it were unbelievable pleasure. But another part of me knew I was being harmed. And my outer labial lips were not the only part of me getting pierced, torn, and ripped apart by these nails.
The upward thrusts were so fierce and my legs were so far apart that often two or three nails would catch me right between my spread pussy lips and force their way up to pierce my inner labia, which had been fried like bacon that morning and were essentially two blisters just waiting to be punctured and popped. And popped they were, and the pain caused me to convulse, going into spasms of insane pleasure. I was shaking like crazy, having out-of-control tremors that triggered the release of both my bladder and my bowels, which I did. I was screaming loudly, honking like a car horn with each spasmodic scream, but the guys could see I was pushing my bloody, swollen vulva towards the nails.
Because I was coming. Just as I'd imagined, the pain of having my hurting inner lips pierced, dragged back and forth, and ripped apart by these nails was strong enough to remove the boundary between pain and pleasure, and I couldn't tell the difference between pain and orgasm. To my mind, pain was just a more powerful type of orgasm.
And at that moment, when I was experiencing this revolting, terrible, marvelous, weird, and disgusting physical ordeal, the bull jerked up into my crotch again, right while I was slamming back down, and that's when the first nail hit my clit.
Everything became silent to me, and time stopped. My clit was pierced right through the center by this thick, rough-edged nail, and I could feel the entire shape of it with incredible clarity. It penetrated right at the tip, the spot on my clit I usually avoid rubbing because it's too sensitive, preferring to stroke the less sensitive underside. And this particular nail wasn't that sharp either, but I could feel a tiny jagged edge on its point, almost like a barb, but not straightened like the one that keeps a fish hook stuck in a fish's mouth. This barb went to the left, or to my left when seen from the barb's perspective, but it protruded to the right. And that barb made all the difference.
I'm not sure if I was shouting or not, I'm not sure what my body was doing apart from reaching a treacherous orgasm. Every nerve in my body must have activated all at once, every hair on my head must have stood on end. I'm sure a bolt of electricity went through me and lit me up like a light bulb, and it's possible that I resembled a cartoon representation of this, allowing everyone in the room to see through my seemingly see-through skin and catch a glimpse of my bones. The whole universe had become a predator, and I was its ultimate prey. And then the universe had me exactly where it wanted me, where it had been chasing me for years, and it was biting down like an alligator devouring its willing prey.
And while the bull lunged forward, the tack tore out of me, scratching the inside of my clitoris with its deceitful, left-facing hook. It scratched me, but it didn't rip my clit off, and although each part of my vulva, my thighs and buttocks, and even my delicate anus was punctured, torn, and bruised beyond recognition, I wasn't in too much danger down there. Or, as one might say, my wounds were just skin deep. The men eventually removed the bull and splashed my blood-soaked genitalia with rubbing alcohol, enjoying how it made me scream. A few of them even held my legs open to spank my shredded cunt while I screamed due to the stinging enjoyment.
That's when they hoisted me once more, my bottom over their shoulder, and carried me, still wearing my blood-soaked silver miniskirt and heels, into the main room of the bar, where there was ample space for all my sex-hungry admirers to gather. They set up a table at the perfect height, and then tied me down tightly on my back with my knees drawn up and spread apart, my poor shredded vulva and blistered cunt-hole exposed and helplessly ready for the merciless, unrelenting pounding it so desperately and tragically longed for... The pounding and rape needed by me, Bethany Jane Cranston of Sonora, California.
Read also:
- Peeping Tom Spanked Publicly
- No desire to debate
- To Be Used or to be Spoiled
- World Fetish Convention Pt. 01
Source: www.nice-escort.de
