Lena

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Avery again. It’s summer of COVID-19 and I’m still fucking broke even though there are some jobs now but not enough. There’s less pressure finding work now as some of the Irish girls have gone home because after all they came here to work and there were few jobs. A lot of them are virgins so they couldn’t pay the rent by fucking their landlords. A lot of the local girls won’t do it either, of course. But some will. I haven’t and I won’t.

Anyway I am lucky to have a good job, considering my situation, selling coffee and donuts down at the docks mornings six ’til ten. I wear my string bikini, have a decent body and, partly in consequence of my working almost naked, business is brisk. I’ve done a few other things, one has to find some ways to get money, but nothing too terribly compromising. Unless you consider standing out on the pier practically naked, freezing your ass off every morning while guys insert dollar bills in your bra compromising.

I started work back in March and worked seven days a week until the Fourth Of July, the American Independence holiday. My bosses were well aware that despite my unwillingness to complain (they had after all provided me with the means to keep a roof over my head and food on the table and not surrender my virtue, whatever is left of it) they would need another girl to spell me on a regular basis.

They found one, a German chick named Lena. She was pretty, had a decent body and didn’t mind showing it off. And she had a steady job at the lab outside of town so she only wanted part time work and wasn’t likely to chuck her full time job and leave town. She came on board a couple days while I worked and I showed her the ropes. She was smart, friendly and, as I say, nice looking and didn’t mind showing her stuff. In short, she was perfect. She came on board right after the Fourth and worked every Saturday and any odd day I asked her.

I had seen Lena before, she was a regular at the main beach in the park. She was rather noticeable because, like many German girls, she usually did not wear a top. I didn’t either, but pretty much only when I lay on the sand. I would put it on to walk to the water or the bathroom or when talking to boys who stopped to make polite conversation. Lena, on the other hand, routinely walked down to the water, waded, swam and walked back to her towel, confidently displaying what God gave her and also sat, talked and sunbathed with boys and some older men she knew while wearing only her bottoms. I finally met her one day when I clambered out on the far rocks to sunbathe in the nude. She came out too, after a while and, after politely asking my permission, stripped naked and joined me. She was fun to talk to and just viciously attractive, tallish, thin, pretty, lightly muscled, self-assured. And, I noticed, her bottom and boobies carried thin reddish welts that looked to me for all the world like the marks of a whip.

I talked to her at the beach a couple times more before she came to do coffee duty. She was nineteen, one year older than I, and worked during the week at the lab on the way to the park. She had come from Germany after high school and spoke unaccented English when she wanted to be friendly and very little English when she didn’t. She was unattached but, along with two other German girls, lived with a group of German men she worked with. She knew who I was before I met her, me, the girl who sold coffee and sandwiches on the dock each morning, rain or shine, winter or summer. I was taken with her before she ever showed up to work and ecstatic when she took the job and showed every prospect of working out at it. And not just because I needed the rest one or two days a week. We were soon good friends and I met the men she lived with who were polite, friendly and free of the lecherous attitude a lot of local men took with me given my willingness to stand out there each morning just about bare ass.

So July passed and I saw Lena often. She was a perfect companion for me, friendly, warm and open and seemingly oblivious to the fact she had a car and money and nice clothes and I had none of these. There was one thing that remained mysterious about her. As I mentioned, the first time I talked to her, lying on the rocks, she was completely naked and I could plainly see these marks on her breasts and behind. I did not see her naked again for a while but she routinely showed marks on her wrists and ankles and her neck which made it look as if she had been bound. Then one day she came after work to my apartment and while there she stripped to take a shower. Again she bore marks which looked for all the world like she had ankara masaj yapan escort been whipped.

Anyway, while I took my shower she had an opportunity to look around my place. Now you may have read the version of the Commando story my brother published here under my account in which I got re-acquainted with a fellow named Bob Hatch who had been my first really serious boyfriend. I was not going to start another full on romantic relationship with him but as my sex life was poor to non-existent and I trusted him implicitly I proposed to Bob that he help me pursue my various odd sexual interests and in return he could pursue his more conventional sexual interests by screwing me on a regular basis. As he was already familiar not only with my naked body but my various sexual interests, like getting tied up or handcuffed or lightly beaten, we began to enjoy each other’s company again on a friends with benefits basis. Which meant that there were handcuffs on the four posts of my bed and various other artifacts of my kinkiness scattered about the apartment. And while I showered Lena noticed said artifacts.

After my shower I put my bikini back on, both parts. Out in the main room Lena had on only her bottoms. Just as at the beach she displayed her bosom with all the innocence of a child. She smiled.

“Why do you have handcuffs on your bed?”

“Because Bob is a cop.” She knew about Bob. “He’s not really my boyfriend but he has pussy rights and I like to be tied down for sex. And other stuff.”

“Pussy rights?”

“Yes, he can fuck me when he wants to.”

“Oh, I envy you. I mean not that I want Bob, just that you get to do it when you want it.”

“May I ask you something then?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you have those marks on your body?” I asked.

“Ja…Ich wurde ausgepeitscht.” (She was whipped.)

“I thought so. Who does that to you?”

“Das Erwachen. The men I live with. It’s our club. They do things to me.”

“They whip you.”

“Ja. Often it’s me, also the other girls. And each other.”

“And you let them?”

“Ich sage nein, ich meine ja.” She said no but meant yes.

“Do they do other things to you like that?”

“Die Kitzelfolter. Tickling me. That’s fun. Und ich wurde gekreuzigt. That was hard.” She meant she was crucified. She showed me the marks on her wrists, which I had of course already seen.

“Crucified. Where?”

“Nackt im Wald, oder in der Folterkammer.”

“Was ist das Folterkammer?”

“The torture room. The dungeon, you say.”

“Nackt im Wald I got. Naked in the woods.”

“Ja, ich bin immer nackt. Always naked. In the park somewhere sometimes, mostly near the lab or by the ocean. It’s beautiful by the ocean near the house across the road. In summer we do things at dawn sometimes. You should come and watch. You can come and see me whipped and still get to work on time.” I knew just where she meant, off Schooner Head.

“I will come watch.” She just gathered me into her and we hugged. I lightly touched her bare breasts. She was incredibly beautiful, her hair still wet from the shower. If she had said boo I would have let her fuck me any way she wanted.

“Do they make you have sex?”

“No, they don’t really make me. Sometimes I do it to make the game. Now they want to do me in my ass. Do you do that?”

“When I have a real boyfriend. If he asks me. Sometimes.”

“You know the guys I’m talking about?”

“Yes, you introduced me. And I’ve seen them watching me on the dock.” When I was selling coffee in the mornings in my bikini.

“They think you are very pretty. They say you have a nice body. They will do you, if you want. I mean the whip or the cross or tickle, not doing you like you say here like fucking.” She hesitated. “But they will, if you want.” I laughed, she was so straight forward about things. I hesitated about undergoing the same kind of whipping she did by some strange Germans. Das Erwachen. The awakening. I was already awake enough for an eighteen year old.

“Nein. Not right away. If you want to tie me up I’d like that.” That might get me a piece of her gorgeous ass.

“OK, I will do that.”

“OK.”

“Then let’s go now. I will do it nice. We will go to the barn at the safe house. There will be no one there in the day.”

“OK, let me change.” I went into the bedroom and took off the bikini I had on, a thong with a bra designed to stay on at work among the men. I changed into another string suit with ties. We both knew what it meant, she could get it off when I was mecidiyeköy escort helpless.

I convinced her at least to put a cover-up over her bare boobs and, similarly attired, albeit with a bra on, we drove across town in her car and out and down past the lab. We turned down the second fire road and into the driveway of what she called the safe house where she and the other girls lived along with at least some of the German men. She had to open the gate at the head of the driveway with a key and locked it behind us. Whatever we were going to do we would not be interrupted.

“Is this where der Folterkammer is?”

“Ja, but I can’t show you. But I can tie you to der Marterpfahl.” I laughed.

“Was ist der Marterpfahl?”

“Very good, a whole sentence!” She meant my attempts to speak at least a little German to her. “It’s the torture stake. I’ve been on it. You’ll enjoy it. I’ll enjoy seeing you on it even more.”

She’d been on it. I felt like I was in a B grade movie. At the end of the long driveway there was a house and a barn. You could smell the ocean but not see it. She stopped the car, we got out and she motioned me toward a path that lead toward the water away from the house.

“Come, I’ll show you where I was gekreuzigt.” Crucified. We went maybe fifty yards and there was a clearing and there was the cross. Just like I pictured. I had dreamed about this. Kind of aged wood, high off the ground. A footrest so it wouldn’t be impossible for a girl. I got wet just thinking about it. Also a little scared. This was real.

“It was very difficult. I cried. They left me on it a long time. At first they let me use the footrest but then they tied my ankles together behind the cross and I had to stay up by squeezing my legs against the post. After a while you can’t squeeze any more and you just hang by your arms. At least they tied my whole arms. Then you just hang there and it gets difficult to breathe and after a while longer you pass out. But I survived. I felt proud later that I had done it.”

We walked back in silence and left the cover-ups and our shoes and socks in the car. In a moment we were in the barn. It was hot inside. It was eighty-five outside and the middle of a sunny August day. Coming in out of the bright sun it was pitch black inside.

“Are you frightened?”

“A little.”

“I’m always frightened when they bring me here.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

“Not really. I like what they do to me mostly. Only sometimes they like to do this Scheinhinrichtung thing where they do things that could kill you and those frighten me.”

“Like what?”

“Like the crucifixion thing or like tying my hands behind me and putting a rope around my neck and letting me hang.”

“I’ll get some rope.” It gave me time to look around the barn as much as I could. Much of it was dark, there were no windows, but bright light shown in the barn door and filtered back a few yards. It was immaculate, nothing out of place. Certainly no rope lying around. If they tortured Lena here they had left no evidence except the marks on her bare skin. There were a number of posts supporting the ceiling and cameras mounted at regular intervals high up on the walls. Anyone tied to any of the posts would be in direct view of at least one of the cameras. Along the side there was a wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. Lena came back carrying enough soft, white cotton rope to tie up six girls.

“Am I going to be on camera?” I angled my head toward the nearest camera.

“No, certainly not. We’ll go upstairs.” We ascended the stairs and it was just the same except at the front there was a room with walls about eight feet high but open at the top. The only light came through the door of that room, from the opening that at one time gave access to the hayloft right above the main door. We went into the room.

“There are no cameras in here,” she said. But what there was der Marterpfahl, the torture post, about seven feet tall, eight inches square in cross section, solid wood. There was a small cabinet near the wall and a small table next to der Marterpfahl. She put the rope on top of the table. It was deadly silent and very warm. Lena closed the door but didn’t lock it.

“They tie me here and leave me for a long time. Nackt, naked, and they do things to me, things that hurt.”

“Now I AM frightened.”

“You want to be frightened then come, I show you die Streckleitern, it’s good for all sorts of things.”

We walked to the back of the barn. It was pitch dark. There mersin escort was another room, this one with floor to ceiling walls. She unlocked the door and flip a light switch. Two spotlights mounted high on the front wall about ten feet from the back wall went on. Beneath the spotlights were more cameras. What the lights were pointed at made me REALLY frightened. It was the first real torture device I had ever seen. A large vertical board bolted to the back wall, about nine feet tall and five feet wide. At each of the four corners of the board hung heavy black cuffs attached to the wood by shiny silver chains. The top two chains went through screw eyes which were attached on either side of the board and then each to a winch just like one would mount on a boat trailer which could be used to tighten the chains bit by bit. It wasn’t hard to imagine what could be done when the winches were tightened little by little to a girl spreadeagled against the board, her wrists and ankles held fast by the heavy black cuffs.

“This is die Streckleitern, the stretch ladder. I’ve spent much time on it and so have other girls. It’s only used for the girls. At first it WAS a ladder but they wanted to be able to spread our legs wide so they made it a board. They use it like a torture rack and stretch us with a timer and they do one click a minute until we can’t take it any more. And sometimes while they are doing it they fuck us, but only if we let them and we do. And they do die Kitzelfolter, the tickling because the girl’s whole body is exposed. And sometimes they do electricity. Sometimes a girl will be here all night. I have.”

“OK, I think it will be all right, it has to be tight so you can’t get free. OK now raise your left arm up.” I did and she repeated the same procedure. This one was tight too and when she was done I was as helpless as I needed to be if she did nothing else, each wrist bound tightly and my arms spread up at forty five degree angles with my hands fixed a foot above my head and I could feel the wet inside my pussy and no matter what was going to happen to me at least the expectation was going to b pleasant.

“OK, let me tighten you just a little bit so you’re hands are up a little higher. Each click tightens you a centimeter.” She needed a stool to reach the handles on the winches and she had to turn more lights on to find one so I got to see the rest of the room. There was almost nothing, a bed with a twin mattress and a toilet and the stool and almost nothing else. “This is where we’re kept when we are in isolation. There is nothing here except a bed you can be tied to and a toilet. They sometimes keep a girl here all weekend with no food or water and no clothes and sometimes she’s tied to the bed most of the time and she’s put on the Streckleitern for much of the time too and left there so see you’re lucky, you get to go home.”

She brought the stool over and set it right in front of me and clicked each of the winches up about five centimeters or about two inches and I was pulled up a little tighter but nothing was uncomfortable except the tightness of the cuffs themselves.

“Now we have to do your feet and I want them to stay on the ground as long as possible. We just want to stretch you, not have you hanging there.” Which introduced the possibility I might end up hanging by my wrists. “Will you spread your feet as wide as possible?” I did and in turn she attached my ankles to the ankle cuffs.” They were tight too and got tighter. “Now I have to shorten these chains so you won’t come off the floor.” And when she did each foot was pulled out to the side a little and down so the cuffs became tighter but she was happy with the result and by now I was sure the wet in my cunt must be showing through my bottoms and she must be able to smell me as she was down there working.

She stood up and looked at me. I was indeed frightened. She could do anything she wanted to me. No one knew I had come here. I looked at the cameras and felt the lights that shone brightly on me.

And I chickened. I had her let me go. I put my bikini back on and we left the barn and looked at their house. After a time we got in her car and drove up to the scenic overlook and just sat there for a couple hours. Then she drove me home and she kissed me gently and left me off.

Next day was her day to work. I was happy we had done what we had done. I was happy to be with a girl and be able to let myself go and give myself to her both physically, to put myself completely in her power, and sexually, a girl’s touch is so different from a guy’s. And I longed to find out more about her and what strange things they did to her and the other girls at that strange little enclave only three miles from where I lived.

Around nine I walked down to the dock to visit her at the coffee stand. I felt the warmth of her welcoming smile. And the warmth of the coffee she gave me. And it was free, a good thing since I had not thought to bring any money.

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