Her wake up call had been a swift upwards strike from a crop against the back of her thighs, as she was reminded when it was repeated a second and third time on the drowsy mousie. Finally though her sleep fogged brain got the hint, and she jerked her legs up into the air. A few somewhat lighter swats were used to guide her legs into the proper position and keep them there as the seat back was elevated and locked in place. A moment later she heard the sound of a pair of linked spring-driven winches unwinding as a bar was drawn out past her feet then allowed to retract back till it hooked against the backs of her knees. That was when things started really getting unpleasant.
First came the cords tethering her labial piercings to the outer edges of the bar and stretching her wide open. Next two thinner lines apparently made of the same material were tied in snug but not constricting loops around her toes and then the ends were tied to either side of the barbells through her nipples. Finally the worst was when her tongue ring was linked to the stud that had been pierced through her clit. The tender flesh holding all of those piercings was forced to stretch until she squealed and her eyes watered.
She never really got a proper feel of the material used in the tethers, but whatever it was, it was stretchy like rubber but too strong to snap easily, and it had been pulled just tight enough to hurt but still be bearable. At least, that was true if she held perfectly still, just as she'd been positioned. It didn't take long to learn that holding that position wasn't going to be easy. A swat of the crop to the pad of her foot had her toes reflexively curling before she could stop herself, and the squeal elicited by the crop went up an octave from the painful tug of her nipple. The crop switched back and forth between her feet, landing at irregular intervals so she never knew when it was coming, and she learned to keep her legs apart since putting them together was an invitation for an especially hard blow to both feet.
That continued for a while until she heard a click and felt some of the tension go out of the bar behind her knees. Naturally, her legs had grown tired being forced to hold that position, and as soon as the force pushing against the back of her knees let up, her legs started to go down. They didn't get very far though before the squealing mouse girl managed to pull her legs wearily back into position letting the pressure off her nipples, tongue, and clit. Sometime later after still more tormenting from the crop, she heard another click and suddenly felt her legs jerked back towards her chin. While this wasn't bad for her nipples or clit, she squealed this time as her labial piercings were jerked hard.
These were only the start of this new phase of torments visited on her. Sometimes there were others who came and ran their hands across her body, toying with her most intimate places, pinching, swatting, and threatening her with various toys. Always her fingers were just out of reach of being able to protect her, though they were in the perfect position for when she was forced to spread her rump open for inspection. Of course, she always failed inspection even if a previous tormentor had recently cleaned her out since inevitably she'd also have cum at some point. She hated the pain, and yet she couldn't stop the feelings of arousal.
Was she being dosed with aphrodisiacs and conditioned to be a masochist, or was she picked because she was a natural masochist? She never did figure that out, but there was no question her time as a captive did condition her. Whenever the reclining back was dropped, she'd scream as her tethers went taut, and she'd fight to lever herself into a position that minimized the strain on her piercings once again. Of course, the very next thing that usually happened was for one of the women to straddle her muzzle and the moment she tasted pussy, her tongue started moving. Even when it tugged painfully on her clit, she couldn't stop herself from licking the woman to orgasm unless ordered to stop.
Often such sessions were combined with other torments - more stinging blows, sharp claws, or other things tormenting her paw pads and all manner of painful things were done to her tender cunny and tailhole. Almost as often though, she'd have someone taunt her by being 'nice' and tickling her or forcing massive amounts of pleasure on her. That inevitably made her kick and squirm which always ended in agony, of course.
It was a miserable time for the young mouse. So why was it years later she still sometimes dreamed about it? Dreamed about how helpless she was, how much it hurt, especially that frightening spiked dildo that had been used to threaten her almost from the start and hurt every bit as much as she'd feared when it was finally used on her. Why was it she woke from those dreams wet between the legs and aching almost like she missed it...or needed it? And why did she have a strange urge to follow a path from her dreams, one where she knew it wouldn't end well for her? An urge so strong she actually found herself sleep walking along dark city streets...
Artwork © @Skunket
Arle © \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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