Torturing & Tutoring the Family
Copyright© 2025 by Ted E. Bear
Chapter 3
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 3 - All get tortured to pay for college by a dad's sadistic employer.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Fa/Fa Fa/ft Mult Blackmail NonConsensual Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Cuckold Wimp Husband Incest Mother Father Daughter BDSM Humiliation Rough Sadistic Torture Gang Bang White Couple Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Sex Toys Voyeurism Big Breasts Transformation
Three weeks passed quickly at college, and Tiffany left for home, for her appointment with her torturer. She would never have thought of herself as a prostitute. It seemed to her she was doing something noble, saving her family from bankruptcy and earning her way through college.
The three of them waited, anticipating the ordeals to come. Her father, comfortably dressed in a tee-shirt and running shorts, visited the bathroom one last time, hoping he wouldn’t wet his pants while tied to a post. Her mother wore only a bathrobe, knowing she would be naked for the next twenty-four hours or so. She had turned up the thermostat; at least she wouldn’t be so cold. Tiffany was dressed as her father was. She had hated having her favorite jeans cut from her body the last time she had been home.
“The waiting is what is getting to me,” said Tiffany. “Last time it was a surprise. I didn’t have time to worry. Now -- can you imagine, I’m actually wishing he would get here sooner!”
“Tiff, dear,” her mother said. “It might help it you tell yourself it isn’t happening to you. He calls you Slave Two. Try to imagine it’s happening to a girl named Two. And when it’s over, forget it. It never happened to Tiffany. I find that’s the only way I can stand it. Oh, and if you close your eyes, so you can’t remember visual images, they don’t come back to you as nightmares.”
“Thanks, Mom. Call me Two. OK, One?”
They heard a key turn in the lock. Their torturer, dressed in his “police” uniform, came in. They went to the front hall to present themselves, and he motioned them to the basement, which was his domain. He came and went, storing things there, but the family was not allowed to look before the appointed time, usually a Saturday afternoon.
They knew what to do. Tiffany’s father stood against a supporting column and allowed himself to be bound to it, where he would be forced to watch the torture of his wife and daughter. Slave One, his wife, took off her robe and hung it up. Tiffany peeled off her tee shirt and dropped her shorts, leaving herself naked. Her body was lean and shapely, her breasts full and firmly upstanding. She knew she looked good.
She tried to remember that it was “Two” who stood there naked, her cunt naked, fully exposed to her torturer’s view. The day before, Tiffany had waxed her pubes, to make sure there would be no more hairs to be pulled out. Being plucked with pliers was not pleasant.
Tiffany -- no -- Two had not been in the basement since the previous session, her first. She did not realize the amount of equipment which had been stored there, out of sight. It surprised her when the “policeman” erected a saw horse on wheels. “Slave Two,” he commanded, “stand there.” He pointed to the floor next to the horse.
Two stood as she was ordered. He strapped one ankle to a leg of the horse, the other ankle to the leg at the other end. Then he strapped her wrists to the legs on the far side, which forced her to bend over, with the crossbar of the horse compressing her belly, and making her hip bones, the front of her pelvis, support her weight, grinding against the hard bar.
Her head hung upside down, and she found herself looking between her far apart knees at her father, Tiffany’s father. I’m not Tiffany. I’m Two, she kept telling herself.
“Slave One,” the torturer said, “thirty strokes.” He held out a bamboo rod. That older woman, One, “not really” Tiffany’s mother, stepped between Two and the man bound to the post. Two waited for the first blow.
But the torturer stayed One’s hand, until he rotated the wheeled horse a quarter turn, so that man, One’s husband, could see better. One again stood behind Two. Two, looking out between her own spread legs could see the still attractive legs of One, could see pink inner labia showing between One’s hairless outer lips.
The first blow landed squarely across Two’s taut buttocks. The initial sting took her breath away, and an instant later, the pain began to radiate through her. “Harder!” she heard, and the second blow seemed to make very nerve in Two’s body scream for relief. Three, four, five ... Two’s screaming, the victim thought. Poor Two. She can only mindlessly react to the pain. Don’t let Tiffany know this is happening. Yes, a sense of mental detachment helped.
Then the blows stopped. The torturer ran his fingers over Two’s ass. Both cheeks, and her bruised labia, too, were pink and tender, burning with that steady pain that injured nerves supply for quite a while, even after the source of the injury stops. Two could feel every finger on her tortured flesh. But he soon stopped that, and Two came down from her heights of pain and was again aware of time and place. Perhaps endorphins in her brain, natural analogs of opium, were having an effect.
Two watched, turning her head almost dreamily, as One pulled down the bound man’s shorts. Curious. He had a hard on. Two felt the wheeled horse moving, and she could see, between her spread legs, that huge prick. There was a condom on it now, a bright pink thing with rubber fingers on it, like a bottle brush, almost. She hardly heard fingers being snapped, but she responded with a conditioned reflex, becoming dreamily aware that her sex box was getting juicy. Oh, yes, Two had been conditioned, the last time.
One pressed on Two’s back, where the bruising beating had not reached, rolling the horse until the rubber tickler touched Two’s bruised vulva. The torturer spread her labia and guided the penis into Two’s vagina.
Two felt her inner lips and tight vagina being stretched, felt the little rubber fingers pop-popping past her sensitive labia and poking the walls of her tunnel like burrowing worms. “No! You can’t make me fuck my own daughter,” she heard. Tiffany would have gone insane, to be fucked by her father, but Two, detached, unrelated to that strange man, accepted it matter- of-factly, as if someone was stuffing a vibrator into her. The horse rolled back and forth, the penis went in and out, the rubber fingers dragging her inner lips back and forth with them. Two got no pleasure from it. She was mostly aware that, with the deepest thrusts, her sore ass was pressed against the man’s belly, and it hurt. She even thought to herself, how prickly pubic hairs are, when your skin is so sensitive.
Two’s head swung back and forth, as the horse was wheeled to and fro with faster, harder movements. She closed her eyes, imagined she was on some wild, stomach sickening ride in an amusement park, and tried to ignore the pain from her bruised bottom, which pressed against the man, every time that rod plunged into her, banging on her cervix.
“OH! God! No!” she heard, as from afar, “I’m coming.” The stiff rod within her shook and softened. She felt the rubber fingers pop-popping out of her one last time, as the horse was wheeled to the other side of the room. Two opened her eyes, saw Tiffany’s father weeping, and closed them again.
Time seemed to lose meaning, as Two hung bent over the horse with her eyes closed. The bar pressed painfully on her pelvic bones, and her bruised ass ached, but she tried to put that out of mind. Two tried to remember her past, but she had none, except for that last session, three weeks earlier. Two only existed to be punished. She had no past, no childhood, no recollection of why she was being punished. That was all she was, a body for her torturer to abuse. But since she had no other life, when Two tried to distract herself with pleasant memories, she could only remember the nicer parts of the previous sessions, the delicious orgasms which had come, again and again, when her holes were stuffed with vibrators and One licked Two’s overstimulated clitoris. Just remembering made Two feel sexy, wish for attention.
Then she heard One, crying out in pain and sobbing between explosive screams. Two opened her eyes and saw One, suspended from the joists above, hanging from her wrists. One’s legs were spread, and her cunt gaped open, for One’s perforated labia were pulled apart by hooks on taut rubber bands. The torturer was applying the bamboo, front, back, and sides, from One’s shoulders almost to her knees. Two wondered, in a detached way, how One would be able to sleep, if she was bruised all over, with no untouched place to lie on.
One’s full, pendulous breasts bounced under a blow, and One screamed especially loudly. Another whack on One’s backside made her pelvis jerk forward, and the rubber bands yanked her stretched labia even more. At last, when One’s body was covered with red weals, the beating stopped. The torturer put down the rod and approached Two.
Two was unstrapped from the horse and made to stand. But very soon she was pushed to her knees in front of One. “Lick her cunt,” the torturer said. Two raised her face to the gaping pink membranes and began to lick. The sweet/salty taste was very subtle. If she tipped her head back, practically put her chin into the funnel opening of One’s stretched labia, Two could just get her pursed lips around the nub of a clitoris, to suck on it and rub her rough tongue against it. One moaned and writhed, forcing Two to press harder, to maintain contact. Two wrapped her arms around the bruised flesh of One’s thighs, the better to steady the target of Two’s tongue.
One was quiet for a long time, as Two used her mouth the way One had done her, so long ago, it seemed. Two’s jaws and tongue began to ache with fatigue, but One began to cry out, kittenish noises at first, then, “Oh! I’m coming!” Two rocked back on her knees, careful to keep her bruised backside from resting on her heels, but her torturer, standing behind her, forced Two’s face back against One’s cunt. Two continued her efforts, trying to forget her fatigue as she had already forgotten the individual strokes she had received. It helped to make her mind a blank, to not remember. If you don’t think about it, and if you don’t remind yourself how it happened, you soon forget.
At last, the torturer pulled Two away from One’s crotch. Two’s face was wet with cunt juice, and One’s body was soaked with perspiration. Her breasts bobbed up and down, as One gasped for air.
The “policeman” led Two back to the horse. This time he made her stand with her back to it, as he again fastened her ankles to the legs. She did not resist; it would be useless. He took out an enema kit, a two-quart pink rubber bag with a hose and a tip. Two tried to relax her anal muscles, so the tip would slide in easier. Her torturer pushed it far in, way past the connection between hose and tip, and then she felt a balloon inflating inside her, filling her lower rectum, so she felt as if she had to defecate. But, of course, she couldn’t. She looked over at Tiffany’s father, still tied to the post, his shorts around his ankles and his penis standing tall again. He seemed to stare at her. So what? What was he to Two? A stranger.
The torturer filled the enema bag with something that smelled strongly alcoholic, but he did not release the flow. He bent Two backward over the bar of the horse and pulled her arms down behind her, securing them so that the bar pressed against Two’s lower back. She was thankful that the pressure, supporting most of her weight, was just above her bruised buttocks. She let her head loll back, and she closed her eyes. She knew Tiffany’s father could see right up between her splayed knees. So what else is new? Two felt no shame.
Again, there was a period of just lying there, bent backward over the horse, trying to make her mind a blank. Then she heard the snapping of fingers, a steady, repetitive sound, like the amplified sound of a dripping faucet. Snap, snap, snap, snap, ... Two knew her exposed cunt was getting wet. She couldn’t help it; it was a conditioned reflex.
She felt a tongue on her suddenly very sensitive labia, which parted before it, as it probed for her love button. OH, yes, One, right there. She couldn’t see, but she had no need to look. One was kneeling between Two’s widespread thighs, eating her out as she had just done to One. The continuing snap, snap, snap sound dimly registered in Two’s brain, but her attention was focused on the delicious feelings which centered on her clitoris and radiated through her belly.
She lost track of time, as she became more and more sensitive, and the stimulation of her vulva excited her more and more. While she didn’t care to open her eyes, she knew her torturer was standing beside her head, snapping his fingers near her ear and, no doubt watching carefully as her body built up for an explosive orgasm. Two realized her nipples were swollen, and her breasts gleamed with sweat, as her chest heaved with passion. The expert tonguing of her clitoris had driven her right to the edge of a thunderous orgasm, when pliers pinched a swollen nipple, breaking the spell with pain.
Despite Two screaming and writhing, One continued her relentless stimulation, and soon Two felt it would be only seconds before she would achieve an orgasmic release. Again, a vicious pinch put a stop to that, and, as Two recovered from the shock, she was crying with frustration. She wanted to come! She needed to come, for her overstimulated nervous system had been pushed far past the threshold, building up to an explosion, but the safety valve of orgasmic release had been denied her by the well-timed short circuits of pain.
Two was writhing and thrashing as much as she could manage, bent back as she was, like a drawn bow. Her head bobbed uncontrollably, and she screamed unintelligible obscenities. And then, experiencing a nervous overload, agonies of exquisite sensation, she had a real earthquake of an orgasm.
She saw lights before her eyes, heard a roaring in her ears, felt her womb leaping in her belly as her vagina spasmed like a snake swallowing a rat. The earthquake rumbled through her belly, churning her insides for an incredible length of time before her nervous fuse finally blew, granting her the most profound relaxation.
Still, snap, snap, One continued, snap, snap, to send shivery waves of delight racing from Two’s vulva, and, after a few delicious aftershocks, there was another major earthquake in her pelvis.
As the aftershocks of the second thunderous orgasm reverberated through Two’s exhausted body and delirious brain, she noticed that One had stopped licking her. She felt both relief and longing, for the sensations which had driven her to ecstasy were addicting. She hated for them to stop, but she didn’t think she could stand another second. Her womb twitched within her. Her sopping vagina seemed almost to ache with the effort of rapid-fire contractions, and her chest heaved, as she panted for air, as if she had been running a race.
Her mind was fogged, and she entered another of those dreaming states when time has no meaning. She heard a pop and opened her eyes to see that her torturer had lighted a portable propane torch, quite close to her. Suddenly frightened, Two looked for One, but she couldn’t see what had become of her. She did see her torturer heating an ice pick to red heat in the flame of the torch.
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