Category: BDSM Stories

Born Again

by billie babka©

I am a young woman, traveling with two of my friends. We are in Amsterdam, walking in one of the shopping streets just off the main plaza. Amsterdam is full of porno shops, what they call "Sex Shops." We have walked past several of them, each time daring each other to go in. Finally, we see one sort of down a narrow little alley off the main street, and decide to go in.

The shop is divided into several rooms, the first of which contains magazines and books. There are several people in this rather large room, both men and women. In a booth next to the door, raised about a foot off the main floor, a scruffy looking clerk sits next to a cash register, his bored eyes watching the potential customers. There are posters on the wall, all of them depicting women and men in various bondage poses. Immediately I feel myself becoming excited, the crotch of my panties becoming moist. My two friends begin looking at the magazines as I wander on into the next room.

I draw in my breath sharply as I gaze around me. The scent of leather fills the air. This room is filled with bondage devices, some fastened on life-like manikins, demonstrating their use. I move deeper into the room almost in a trance. There are fewer people in this room. Cruel mouth gags, penis gags and ball gags, fastened over the manikins' mouths. One dummy, a woman, has rather exaggerated breasts. A vice-like device is fastened around them making the simulated flesh bulge out. My panties are getting wetter as I think of the pain such a cruel device would cause. Male manikins sprout wicked looking cock rings around their impossibly sized erections, or have tight bands around their testicles.

My friends are still in the first room as I move into the third, and apparently the last room. This room is even busier than the first room had been, again both men and women. I'm a little disappointed to find that there are only displays of video tapes here. The videos look interesting, all with a BDSM theme...this appears to be the specialty of this shop...but I was expecting more of the bondage devices. As I am about to leave, to retrace my steps and rejoin my friends I am almost hit by a door opening between one of the display racks. A man, an African, comes out. Over his shoulder I catch a glance into the room he is exiting, and I catch my breath in shock. My eyes widen at the view framed by the open door. A woman, a dummy I am sure, but amazingly life-like, is bent over, her head and arms imprisoned in a medieval stock. She is naked, and her white buttocks stick out prominently. Deep red welts crisscross her cheeks, welts caused by the whip held in the hands of the enormous, equally naked, black man who stands behind her. The whip is raised, ready for the next blow to the women's rump.

I stare, mesmerized by the scene. The man holds the door open and I realize he expects me to enter. I move forward, and he closes the door behind me. I turn, my panties now sodden with my arousal. There are many other little tableaus around the room. I have never seen anything like them outside my own fantasies. Each tableau shows a woman in bondage and in pain, each one life-like down to the smallest detail. In each, the woman is white, her torturer, or torturers in many cases, are black

One in particular attracts my attention. In this one the woman who looks surprisingly like me, is stretched out on her back on a very uncomfortable-looking table. As I move closer I see that the tabletop is studded with tiny needles, very sharp looking needles. She is strapped down, her legs raised and spread, so that all of her weight is on the needles. A man is between her legs, his enormous black phallus imbedded in her sex. Her head dangles back off the other end of the table, and another man stands there, poised to push his equally enormous tool into her open, screaming mouth. Her breasts are captured in one of the vices that I had seen in the second room, her tit flesh bulges out around the tight claws of the vice, purple and inflamed. Her nipples are clamped..

It is impossible for me to move away. I study the tableau intently, my panties drenched. Is the woman's mouth open in pain, or in pleasure? A mixture of both, I decide, each feeding on the other. What would it be like, to be her? Helpless, ravaged, filled with the counterpoints of pain and pleasure. I shiver.

Suddenly, I jump. A hand has touched me on the butt. For the first time I realize the African man had come into the room behind me. His hand now is hot on my rear. I know I should protest, move away, get out of here and find my friends, but I make no move, continuing to stare in rising heat at the perverse tableau. Encouraged by my lack of protest, the man moves closer to me, standing directly behind me, both hands now openly caressing my ass. I can feel the heat of his body. My thighs are by now coated with my excited juice, I can feel it dripping down my legs.

His breath is hot on the back of my neck. He presses himself against me, his hands sliding around my waist. He is hard. I can feel his erection pushing my skirt into the crease between my buttocks. I am panting now. One hand slides under the waist band of my skirt and I moan out loud at the touch of his fingers on my bare flesh. His other hand moves under my blouse rising up until he is cupping my breast through my bra.

"The pain...can you imagine the pain?" his words caress my ear. "She is helpless, her body in agony, yet the cocks fill her with pleasure to match the pain...Look at her. Feel what she feels. Helpless before their lust, a sacrifice to their cocks, and loving it."

I whimper, moving now, not to escape him, but to press my ass back against his hardness as I realize he is unbuttoning my blouse. I want to tell him no, but the words stick in my lust-clogged throat, and he gives a low chuckle, as if he knows my very thoughts.

"She is where she wants to be. In pain and delight. Where many white women want to be, nothing but an object of pleasure for her black Masters...she is where you want to be, isn't she?"

Again I whimper, and his hand suddenly clamps on my breast, squeezing it painfully.

"Where you want to be." He repeats.

"Yessssss," I moan.

He chuckles again, a humiliatingly snide chuckle that sends a spurt of juice from my excited sex.. His fingers find my nipple through the thin bra and he pinches it, hard, wrenching a groan of pain from me. His other hand raises my skirt until he can cup my dripping cunt. I'm leaning back against him now, without his embrace I would fall, so weak has my arousal made me.

"A bra, and panties. Slut. A slut like you should not be wearing such things. They are for respectable women, not for trash."

As he speaks, he tugs on my bra until the straps snap, digging painfully into my flesh before they part. He drops the garment to the floor, while his other hand claws at my panties, not bothering to push them down, he tears at the material until he rips the crotch to shreds. My cunt flows feely, and the feel of air on my heated pussy is almost a relief.

"Look at her tits," he tells me. "Can you imagine the pain? See the needles she is lying on? There are identical needles imbedded in the vice clamping those fat melons."

He fills his hands with my tits and squeezes, crushing the tender flesh in his grip. My head swims and I am only dimly aware that he is pushing me forward. Bending me over the table upon which the woman lays, forcing me down onto the space beside her. Little sounds, the sounds of a woman in heat, come from my throat as I feel his naked cock between my legs.

He enters me from behind, ramming in balls deep in one brutal lunge that drives the breath from my body. I climax almost immediately, staring down at the woman, at the black cock that is about to enter her mouth, as an equally black cock fills my cunt. I lower myself further, my naked tits falling onto the table as the man fucks me. His hands press me down, driving the needles into my tit flesh, and I cry out in pain, my vagina clenching on his cock. It fills me completely, my juices squeezing out around it, dripping down my thighs. We are both panting, his sweat drips down onto the back of my neck, each drop burning me like boiling water, as I writhe beneath him, rolling my tits over the cruel needles in a deliberate act to increase my own pain as his cock pumps pleasure into my fuckhole. I can't stop cumming.

It seems to last forever, but finally I feel his motions increase. His black cock seems to swell within my slick sheath and I cry out. "Cum in me. Fill me with your cum. Fuck me and fill me." And then I scream. His cock erupts deep inside my sheath, his semen burning me like molten lava, driving my own orgasm, which has never seemed to falter, even higher.

He rests on me for a moment, his weight pressing me even tighter down on the needles. Then he grunts, and I moan in protest as he drags his softening member from my hole. His cum gushes out behind it, to run down my legs mingled with my own cunt slime. He slaps my ass, and my body jerks.

And then he is gone. I hear the door open. He doesn't bother to close it. Still, I can't move. I wonder if anyone is looking in, seeing me spread so lewdly. The thought excites me anew.

I force myself to move. Standing up, wrenching a little at the pain in my back. My tits are dotted with tiny red pricks. The needles haven't actually broken the flesh, just pierced enough to raise the red spots. I button my blouse over the painful globes and push my skirt down. I turn to see another man staring at me, grinning, from the doorway. I stand quietly beneath his leer, and then he moves away. I don't know if I'm relived that he does not take advantage of my position or disappointed. I know that I would have submitted to him.

Moving through the door into the room with the videos, I find my two friends. They stare at me strangely, and I wonder if they know what has happened to me, if they saw me through the open door. If they have, they say nothing, although I catch them exchanging glances as we leave the shop. I feel a warm glow, and a hunger that I know will always be with me, a hunger that will grow rapidly as time passes, grow until it will once more demand to be fed.

Less than hour ago I had entered the shop as a normal young woman. I exit it now as a shamelessly addicted pain slut.

Written by: billie babka

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Story Tags: african man, masochist, pain, table of needles, amsterdam

Category: BDSM Stories