When I have my blind dates, I usually have the option to put in a wish or two about something I’d like to try, and I suspect that my friends who arrange things add a few more dos and don’ts in their instructions, to make sure I’ll really “enjoy” it. I’m not blonde enough to think it’s just coincidence that I e.g. often end up having my breasts tied tight or my pussy stretched hard, which happens to be a couple of my major “fetishes” when I play. The end results have so far been very satisfactory, and even if it’s been real rough at times, bringing both severe pain, tears and marks that last for many days or even weeks, it’s still OK with me.
My friend have told me that if I’d like more control at times, they can set me up so I have the ability and right to direct things as they happen, but that would take away one of the major charms of playing with others, to not have control and not know if, when or how something will happen. Still, there are times when my imagination has managed to come up with scenarios balancing perfectly between the insane and the impossible that it is tempting to try how they would play out in real life.
This session really started with one of those nightmares that leave me in a state of panic, scare, nausea, real agony, a pounding heart but also strangely aroused, where many elements were way past what I would like to experience in real life, because the almost certainty of real and permanent injury or even death. Despite I don’t consider myself a masochist, pain is not so much an issue, as long as I know I will get through it alive, unmaimed and without any permanent marks, and I’m tied up so I’m really helpless to resist it but can just try to accept and endure it.
Anyway, in that nightmare, there was one detail that sent my mind spinning, very scary but also strangely arousing, balancing on the edge of what should be possible without any severe injury. When it comes to new things, I really am quite the fraidy-cat and a bore, often testing new ideas and devices in safe situations until I’m sure they will work, at which time they have usually lost most of their novelty and thrill. This idea was one of those, making me do a lot of research, even if I never tried it in reality.
Originally, I found some pictures and videos on the web many years ago, showing variants of the idea and that it was obviously doable. I got in touch with a physician I knew was into kink and asked her about it, and she said she couldn’t recommend it because it definitely wasn’t “safe”, but that she would guess the risk for serious complications if one person tried it once was not very big, and that she would probably not have me committed to a psychiatric ward in case I showed up in her ER after trying it. The thing she was most worried about, as with most injuries, was infection from the inevitable injury it would cause, so she advised me to be real careful with hygiene if I ever decided to try it.
Still, even after that slightly reassuring assessment, the idea stayed in my fantasies and I didn’t feel any strong urge to really try it. But in retrospect, the fact that he idea became increasingly frequent in my fantasies should have told me something, and after several years I also found myself wondering every now and then what it would be like to experience it in real life.
When I eventually mentioned the idea to my friends, it would have been one of those grand understatements to say they were a bit hesitant about it. I think “mentally insane” was one of the mildest way they expressed themselves about it. I was still hesitant myself, so I didn’t push it. Later the same day, the girl got in touch with me again and told me she really didn’t like the idea, but having known me for may years, she doubted I would drop it just because of their opinion, so she thought it was better if they tried to find someone borderline sane than that I tried to arrange things myself, ending up in one of my usual disasters.
We didn’t talk about it for several weeks, and I still didn’t push it, since I was still pretty hesitant about it myself as well. Eventually however, my friend brought it up and told me they had found someone they believed could help me with the idea in an as reasonably safe way as possible when it came to something that crazy. There were some possible complications though, but after discussing it a bit more, I decided I should be able to handle it. So, plans were made, instructions given and a date decided.
I didn’t know how long I had been standing there, arranged according to the specifications in my instruction, but I guessed it must be at least an hour. I was standing naked, save for my ties. My hands were cuffed together behind my back and my feet also cuffed together, both with snug pairs of hinged metal police handcuffs. A rope was noosed around my neck, the end of the rope passing over a sturdy metal beam under the ceiling and tied to a knot above my head, forcing me to stand straight and remain poised, unless I wanted the noose to restrict my breathing even more than the restrictions already imposed by the soft dildo shoved into my mouth and down my throat, held securely in place by many turns of duct tape wrapped tightly around the lower part if my face, sealing my mouth totally.
I had tied my breasts painfully tight as instructed, with 5 mm flag rope wrapped turn after turn around the breast base, the swelling, glistening and purple bulge at the end of the roped stalk making each breast look like some strange kind of mushroom sticking straight out from my chest. My pussy was also tied tight, with a few turns of rope around my waist and a double strand between my legs, deep between my labia and ass cheeks, passing over my handcuffs rear and preventing any waving around, pinching my folds and clit between the strands, and holding the large head of a buzzing magic wand deep in my vagina.
I had lost count on the number of orgasms long ago, but they kept coming and were enough to transform the initial fear of what was to come to arousal and anticipation. The wand didn’t let me come down between the orgasms, so I had been in a sexual frenzy of arousal and almost continuous orgasms for quite some time now. The only focus I managed to keep besides the intense pleasure was my posture, not to strangle myself with the noose around my neck.
My waiting was over as the door opened and my handler for the afternoon stepped in. She casually put a briefcase on the table, next to my bag, removed her coat, and slowly walked around me, gazing me from every angle. She stopped behind me, and I felt her tightening the noose around my neck and stretch the rope until I was up on the balls of my feet to be able to continue breathing.
She moved to in front of me, reached out and casually cupped one of my tightly tied and bulging breasts, looked me in my eyes and asked calmly “Does that hurt?” I felt confused. My breast was aching from its tight tying, but her touch was pleasant, almost soothing. Hesitantly I shook my head, slowly not to provoke the tight noose around my neck. She kept looking me in my eyes as her grip hardened, squeezing hard, her surprisingly strong fingers digging deep into the swollen and aching flesh, her nails feeling like they were about to puncture the taut, glistening skin.
A whimper of pain made it past the dildo gag down my throat and she asked again, exactly the same tone as the first time “Does that hurt?” I nodded, again slowly because of the tight noose. She continued, still as calm “I remember requesting your breasts to be tied painfully tight, so it seems the work was not done according to instructions then, hmmm?” I think I would have been less nervous if her voice had been upset, but her total calm made me afraid and very attentive. I slowly nodded, and was surprised to see a small smile on her face. “It is OK to do things wrong, as long as you stand up for it and try to correct it. Now, since you seems to have gotten the rest somewhat right, including your helplessness, I will help you to correct that mistake, since I see your problem to do it yourself.”
She untied the cord around one breast, unwound it, and started re-wrapping the cord. She really was strong, and she knew how to use it. Her way of tying, keeping the cord stretched hard to tighten the turns and tightening it even more with small yanks every half turn or so, resulted in an incredibly tight and unbearably painful tie. My arousal and the distracting wand still buzzing in my pussy were the two things that prevented me from breaking down from the almost agony.
When she was done and tied the cord off, I could see the difference to my own tie on the other breast, hers giving a substantially more narrow, long and firm stalk, and the remaining bulge being bigger, rounder and firmer as well. She cupped the already purple and gleaming orb in her hand and asked the by now familiar question “Does that hurt?” I nodded, a bit more intensely than what was good for my neck, considering the noose. “So, is that better?” I hesitated. Better in what way??? But yes, it was better, in many ways, so I again nodded. The small smile was back on her face and she continued “Good, so then we just need to fix the second half of your error as well.”
While she was wrapping my other breast, at least as tight and painful as the first, I tried to distract myself from the pain by pondering on why I though her way was better. First, someone else was doing it to me, second, I was helpless while it was being done to me, third, it was a bigger challenge to endure her far more brutal tie than my own comparatively meek, fourth, the increased pain balanced the overload of stimulation and pleasure from my pussy better, and fifth, the result from her tying looked a lot more strict and arousing then my own comparatively sloppy one. When I was done with my ponderings, so was she with the tying, and she took a step back, inspecting my now extremely mushroom-shaped breasts. Her comment was concise. “Better!”
I realized my orgasms had stopped somewhere during her re-tying of my breasts. The wand was still buzzing away in my pussy, just as pleasurable as before, but the pain from my breasts was simply to great to permit me to keep cumming. Still, the pleasure from my pussy was enough to mitigate the pain some, probably the one thing that prevented me from breaking down from it. The sensation with the pleasure and pain balancing each other was both frustrating and maddening, but also arousing and desirable in the same odd way I had experienced quite a few times before.
My handler didn’t let me enjoy the improvement for long before continuing, digging into my bag and coming up with four more lengths of cord that I had brought according to instruction. She adeptly tied hangman’s nooses on two of them, fitted the nooses around the base of each of my mushrooms, formerly known as breasts, with painful force managed to tighten them just inside the existing wrapping, at least as tight and painful as the wrapping itself, before stretching and tying the free ends to the top of heavy metal shelves bolted to the floor on either side of me, alternately tightening them until my mushrooms were pointing upwards and to my sides, leaving me agonizingly more or less suspended by them, with just the tips of my toes adding some support to mitigate the strain.
She couldn’t help but noticing the soft whimpers from pain and suffering managing to get past my gag, smiled at me and commented cheerfully “Don’t worry. The strain will ease as your weight tightens the nooses, but it will take a little while.” In the situation I was, feeling like the already very tight nooses were slowly garroting my mushrooms off my chest, that didn’t give all that much comfort, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
While I was busy with standing suffering, amazingly feeling how the pain in my mushrooms seemed to slowly fade a little, my handler was busy with the remaining lengths of cord. She wrapped each around one of my ankles and tied it off leaving a long, free end, which she stretched to the bottom supports of the shelves on either side of me, before unlocking the cuffs around my ankles. With a few hard yanks she pulled my legs wide apart and made me drop so the noose around my neck tightened enough to cut of my air supply completely, making me start to panic. My handler noticed and mercifully eased the noose slightly so it was still tight but I was no longer strangling. The changes had me almost dangling by my mushrooms again, as my new position took up whatever slack the tightening of the nooses around my mushrooms had left.
My handler still wasn’t done, as she brought out a few more lengths of cords from my bag. She tied each end of one length around each of my wrists, pulled the intermediate cord up over my shoulders and let it dangle down my front, before unlocking the handcuffs around my wrists. One hard pull on the dangling cord front forced my hands high up my back, helped by her other hand pushing them until they were strenuously resting between my shoulder blades. Then she tied the cord off tight around my neck, so any attempt to lower the hands would start strangling me.
She continued wrapping more cord around my wrists, lower and upper arms until my hands and arms were secured in a tight and strenuous reverse prayer tie, my lower arms joined together from elbows to wrists and my hands forced so high that my palms were pressed together just below the nape of my neck, the cords tied around my neck no longer tight. She fixed that by retying the original wrist cord entirely, wrapping it around wrists and neck until they were securely joined, tight but at least not strangling. The strain in my arms was excruciating, feeling like my shoulders, elbows or upper arms could snap at any moment. Her final touch was a roll of black electric tape from my bag, which she used to wrap my hands into a tight cocoon from wrists to the tip of my fingers, rendering my hands absolutely useless.
My handler tried the cords around my wrists, arms and upper body, ankles, waist and through my crotch, retying the already tight crotch cords even tighter so they cut even deeper and painfully into my ass crack and pussy, pinching my folds and clit even harder. Then she seemed satisfied and stepped up in front of me, the small smile on her face again. I couldn’t do much more than just stand there, helplessly and painfully tied and suffering, panting best as I could past the dildo gag down my throat. When she reached out and groped my mushrooms, formerly known as breasts, squeezing and kneading them hard, making the pain explode in them and roll out in wave after wave through my entire body, I discovered the five-point anchoring of my body prevented me from even squirming or thrashing without hurting my breasts and neck further, despite the mindless reflex to do so to get away from the incredible pain.
She kept playing, pinching, pulling and twisting my nipples hard and painful, squeezing, kneading, slapping, punching and whipping my swollen orbs with a flogger and a small but biting cane she got from her briefcase, leaving burning, darker stripes and welts across the purple, taut and glistening skin, alternating with softer, teasing, soothing fondling. After a while, she extended the courtesy of the flogger and cane to my belly, thighs, ass and pussy as well, the burning pain telling me they were striped and welted as well, even if I couldn’t see it. Eventually she took a break, stepped away from me and sat down on the table next to her briefcase and my bag, the small smile on her face again.
I couldn’t do more than just stand there, panting half choked from the gag and shivering from pain and exhaustion. Tears from sheer pain were running down my cheeks, even if I wasn’t really crying, and I felt embarrassed from it. The pain in my breasts, and from the stripes and welts all over my body, seemed to slowly fade though, and my strained and hurting arms were also slowly numbing. I had actually been adding exercises to my yoga since several months to make my arms more limber for the reverse prayer position, something that thrilled me because of its severity, but this was way beyond that.
As my brain started to function somewhat again, I realized my handler had really pushed me to my limits, balancing on the edge to really break me, but not beyond, and that it could hardly be just a coincidence. I had no doubt she was reading me, and reading me very good, but she kept the margins a lot tighter than I usually experienced. One thing which was rare but which she executed with perfection was the way she kept me totally helpless even while re-arranging me, not expecting me to meekly wait for her to finish re-tying me, but making sure any attempts from me to fight her would be futile. That thrilled and aroused me quite a bit, despite the suffering.
The immense pain had acted as a wall against the waves of pleasure from the buzzing wand in my pussy, those waves breaking against it before they got anywhere, but the break in my torture had lowered the pain level enough for the waves to suddenly reach over that wall, and the first orgasm for some time hit me with surprise, immediately followed by a second, much stronger surge, making my entire body tense and shake, gurgling around the dildo down my throat.
It seemed that was what my handler had been waiting for, since her smile widened and she made a small giggle, giving me a wink. “It seems you have recovered enough to continue the fun and games.” Still smiling, she brought out a small plastic box, a box of Kleenex, another with surgical gloves, and a pump bottle with clear gel from her suitcase. She put on a pair of surgical glove and pumped some of the gel into the palms of her gloved hands, then stepped up to me and started smearing the gel all over my breasts, somewhat less than tenderly. The smell, the general tingling from the gel and the burning in some of the whip-marks told me it contained quite a bit of alcohol, probably intended as an disinfectant. When she was done, she took another handful of gel and grinned watching my face as she worked it in between my labia, soaking the crotch cords and ointing my clit and folds, making my pussy tingle and sting pretty painful.
I still couldn’t do much but just stand there and let things happen, feeling an urge to do a small tap-dance from the sensations between my legs though. My handler didn’t give me much time to practice that show number though before she opened the plastic box. She picked a long needle from it, pumped a good squirt of the gel onto a Kleenex and wiped the needle thoroughly with it, before holding it up before my eyes to let med have a good look at it, smiling a bit more sweetly than that small smile she exhibited much of the time. The needle was maybe 10 cm long, 1.5 mm thick and with a round head from glass or plastic, maybe 1 cm in diameter, looking much like a hatpin, which I suspected was exactly what it was. Glancing down into the open box, I saw at least a dozen, maybe more of them there.
She was still smiling sweetly as she let the sharp point of the needle scratch across my quickly hardening nipple, a very intense sensation, both painful and arousing, but helped by the buzzing in my vagina, it quickly sent me over the edge to yet another orgasm. She continued to scratch my nipple, obviously waiting for my peak to fade. The sensation became more intensely painful as I was coming down again, and my suspicions of what was to come made me stay as tense as from the orgasms just before. She said in a low, soft voice “I think you’re getting my point on this, hmmm?” I was afraid she was much to right and tried to somehow brace myself.
She put the sharp tip of the needle against the taut skin of one of my areolas, standing close and looking me in the eyes as she slowly increased the pressure on the needle, making an increasingly painful indent into the bulging flesh. With a burst of pain, the taut skin broke and I felt the needle slowly skew into the swollen and sensitive flesh. She kept pushing until the entire needle was in my breast, its head making a small indent in the skin and flesh around the entry point. She flicked the head a few times with her finger, making the needle stir painfully inside my breast and me almost choke myself when desperately trying to gasp from the pain.
She continued the same way with needle after needle, alternating between my breasts and alternating between the areola and the surrounding bulge, while my nipples became more and more sore from the scratching and the increasing pain making it harder and harder to reach orgasm. She persisted though, and kept scratching, even when I wanted to scream from the agony and was sure I would never make it to another orgasm, but cum again and again I did. Finally, after 18 increasingly painful orgasms, there were nine needles in each breast, three in the areola and six in the surrounding bulge, and both my nipples felt like someone was burning their tips with an open flame. I had kept count, in a morbid attempt to keep some kind of control, and I didn’t need to glance down to see there were two needles left in the box, and the symmetry of those already buried in my flesh made me pretty sure where those two were going, straight into the natural bull’s eye.
The second last needle was picked, wiped, held up for my inspection and then starting to scratch my burning nipple. Again, the pain was so intense, making tears roll down my cheeks, that another orgasm was unthinkable, but again, after an eternity, I felt the throbbing heat-ball in my lower belly start to grow, before it exploded in yet another orgasm, sending waves of painful pleasure through my entire body. This time, the scratching stopped as I cummed, and I felt the needle pressing more and more painfully straight into the tip of my burning nipple. It felt like the skin on the nipple was more resistant than the skin on the rest of the bulge, and it was almost a relief when it eventually broke, with what felt like a small pop, and the needle started to agonizingly sink into my flesh, definitely with more painful resistance than with any of the previous needles.
Eventually, the needle was in all the way, its head pressing against the sore tip of my nipple, but when my handler let go of it, it was pushed out a cm or two again. She repeated the process once more, with the same result. Her smile was gone now, and she seemed frustrated. The next attempt, she put a finger on the needle head, but instead of pushing it in, she tapped her finger hard with her other hand, hammering rather than pushing the needle in. That did the trick, and the needle stayed all the way in, its head pressing against the burning tip of my nipple.
The last needle scratched my other, very sore nipple, again much too painful to bring an orgasm, but again, the orgasm eventually came, and before it had faded, the needle went into the tip of the nipple, but this time she used her hammering technique all the way, taking both longer time and causing a lot more pain. By the time the head was pressing against the tip of the nipples, tears of pain were flowing so abundant that they blurred my vision.
My handler didn’t leave me much time to adapt, but groped both my breasts hard and started kneading them brutally. The pain would have been bad enough from just the mauling of the swollen, sensitive and hurting flesh, but now the abuse caused the long needles to stir and shift deep in my flesh as well. It was too much and I just couldn’t take it, but she just went on, and just as I thought I was going to pass out, she let go of one breast, squirted more gel on her fingers and slipped her gloved hand into my wide open pussy, found my clit, pinched it and started rolling it between her slick fingers, the alcohol in the gel making it tingle and burn while the brutal massage incredibly started building another orgasm. Not even her change of torture of my breasts from the painful kneading to an even more brutal punching could stop it, but I cummed hard and stayed high while she continued her abuse on my clit and breasts.
Eventually the punching stopped and the pinching and kneading stopped, but the orgasms from both the buzzing wand in my vagina and the tingling in my clit did not stop. I barely registered how she grabbed the heads of the needles in my nipples and pulled hard on them with small and painful yanks making them work their way out maybe half their length, before she started to push them in again, not steadily but with just as painful shoves. The pain from her fucking my nipples with the needles like that was immense, but still not enough to stop my cumming or enough to let me sink into blissful unawareness.
I don’t know how long it lasted, but eventually it stopped, everything but the orgasms, but their intensity faded as well when the severe pain no longer strangely enhanced them. Glancing down, I realized my handler had pulled the needles entirely out of my nipples, both metal demons lying bloody on the table, and the tips of my nipples were adorned with big drops of blood as well. She wiped her bloodstained fingers with another Kleenex and pulled a small, transparent plastic bag out of her briefcase, and I winced when I saw the contents, several large eye screws with sharp tips, having no doubt why she had evacuated my nipples just before.
She picked out one screw and carefully wiped it with yet another Kleenex soaked in the alcohol gel. She then used the same Kleenex to wipe the blood from one nipple, and probably below the nipple as well, down to the bottom of the bulge of my breast. She took more gel and rubbed it on her gloves, then held up the eye screw before my eyes, her usual small smile playing as she watched me intently and again spoke very concisely “Screwing time.” The screw was at least 5-6 cm long in total, a bit less that half of that the eye, and the metal thickness was maybe 4-5 mm. I tried to brace as she lowered the screw and put its sharp tip to the hurting and very sore tip of my nipple.
She took a firm pinch on my nipple and started turning the screw. Through the pain, I could feel when the sharp threads caught my flesh and started sinking the screw into the nipple as it was turned. The pain was even worse than from the needles, but I could do nothing but just stand still as I was, since my instinctive attempt to escape the new onslaught just hurt my brutally noosed and stretched breasts and firmly pinched nipple more. Despite the pain, the anchoring of the screw in my flesh was somehow smooth, and it didn’t take all that long before the base of the eye was pressing against the tip of the nipple.
She stood playing with the eye screw for a while, pulling and weighing on it, making it stir and hurt in my abused flesh. However, she was not smiling but looked a bit unsatisfied, wiped her gloves and picked out a roll of string and a pair of scissors from her briefcase, cut two maybe 20 cm lengths of the string, took more of the gel and smeared it onto the strings, before taking one string and tying it around my nipple, pulling it painfully tight before wrapping it turn after turn around the nipple base, creating a kind of miniature mushroom similar to the larger one the tight cords around the base of my breast had turned it into.
When she had tied the string off, she again grabbed the eye of the screw, now pulling harder on it, forcing both my nipple and the tip of the areola to follow, pain increasing with the stretching, and she looked more satisfied now, the small smile back on her face. I guess she had worried that the screw might actually be pulled out of the flesh if the load had been high enough, but I had no problem seeing and sensing that would hardly be any major risk now, with the entire tip of the breast probably being ripped off before the screw came out.
My handler picked out another eye screw, prepared it and executed its anchoring in my flesh the same way as before, except for tying my nipple with string before starting to play with and test both the anchored screws quite painfully. With the small smile back on her face, she seemed satisfied with the result as the screws proved securely anchored despite her agonizing pulling, yanking and twisting on them.
She collected all the used Kleenexes, wiped off the two bloody needles before putting them in their box, wiped off the table with some more and then put all the used wipes in a plastic bag, together with her gloves, before diving into her briefcase again and coming up with a couple of very sturdy padlocks and a short chain. The shackle of the padlocks were actually so thick that it just barely fit in the maybe 1.5 cm big eyes of the screws in my nipples, and if it hadn’t been for the end eyes of the chain, most probably a chain dog collar, the shackles hadn’t fit with that one neither. As was now, she could fit the padlocks to the nipple screws and join them with the chain, each padlock weighing at least half a kg or so when she let it dangle from the eye screw after locking it. It was painful, both the pulling on the screw anchored in my flesh and the attempt it made to tilt the screw, since the very tight tying of my breasts didn’t permit them to tilt down and adapt to the pull.
My handler reached into her briefcase and brought out a sturdy chain leash, reached over and clipped it to the chain between my nipples, the added weight increasing the pain, and her playfully making it swing and dangle increasing it even more. She reached up and untied the noose rope, loosened the noose and removed it from my neck, then untied the crotch rope and pulled the wand out of my vagina, turning the eternal buzzing off. I had been too busy suffering the last few minutes to notice it, but now I noticed its absence all the more, when its mitigating effect on the pain disappeared. She bent down and untied the cords pulling my ankles apart from the shelves, instead forced my feet closer together and tied the cords to form a maybe 20 cm hobble between my ankles, brought the free ends of the cords up to the chain joining my nipples and tied them off after tightening them so the stretch and pain forced me to assume a crouching position.
She reached down and grabbed the leash and with the small smile on her face stated “Walking time”. She took a few steps towards the door, and the first yank on the leash, making the pain explode in my nipples, convinced me I really really wanted to follow her, despite the hobble and the cumbersome and humiliation position. She opened the door and led me through it, out into the long corridor outside, then through the corridor to one end. I followed, doing my best to keep the leash slack, but just my stressed, crouching, minced walk was enough for the heavy padlocks and chains to swing and torture my nipples, making the tears of pain blur my vision. When she reached the end of the corridor, she waited for me to catch up and stop at her side, then held up an object before my eyes I really couldn’t make out, until she spoke “Right padlock key. Remember!” and dropped it on the floor with a clinking sound.
I didn’t get it, but I was in no position to ask her to explain, and she again started walking, back towards the room, and I again followed, the pain from the stretching leash convincing that was the most important thing in my entire world right now. She walked past the open door to the room and continued to the other end of the corridor, where she again waited for me to catch up. She held up another object I couldn’t see with my vision blurred from tears and again spoke “Left padlock key. Remember!” before dropping it to the floor.
She again backtracked through the corridor, but this time stopped at the open door and stepped into the room, me following. Once inside, she stopped, and I again caught up with her and stood next to her, trying to pant past the deep throat dildo gag, shivering from pain and exhaustion. As she reached out and unclipped the leash from the nipple chain, she again spoke “Good girl. You deserve a small reward.” Putting on a new surgical glove and taking a good glob of the gel on her fingers, she reached down between my thighs and started rubbing my clit and folds, the gel making them tingle and sting, and both that and the pleasure soon had me performing a miniscule tap dance, despite the pain it caused my screwed nipples.
She stopped just short of my cumming, leaving me frustrated and on fire in every sense of the word but the literal one, even if my warped mind for a second had played with the dark fantasy of her actually setting the possibly flammable gel in my pussy on fire. She didn’t, but leaving me as I was, extremely aroused and at the same time in agony, was almost as bad. I managed to produce a low whining from pain and frustration past my gag, and I saw her small smile widen some.
My handler pulled off the glove and put it in the bag with the rest of the trash, signaling no more pleasuring, at least not for now. She then sat down on the table, reached out and grabbed the leash, just where it connected to the chain between my tortured nipples, and agonizingly pulled me close, her sitting position and my crouching forcing my face to just a decimeter from hers, looked me straight into the eyes as she spoke in a low voice “Get the keys for the padlocks. First the left, then the right. If you get it wrong, we’ll do it again. Go!” With that, she put a small kiss on the tape sealing my lips, painfully released the leash and sat back.
I turned and started my Golgotha walk, every minced step making the heavy padlocks swing and torture my nipples more, the heavy chain leash dragging behind on the floor not helping. As I got out into the corridor, I realized I didn’t have the faintest idea in which direction which key was. I remembered she had told me and to remember, but at the time, my mind had been too busy suffering to really grasp it. I hesitated, trying to remember, but it was futile. Her voice behind me made me grasp the 50 percent chance to get it right “Today, unless you prefer me to leave you as is.”
I started my minced and hobbled walk towards one end of the corridor, hoping and praying I got it right. When I got there, I realized I had no way to pick up the key, with my hands fixed up between my shoulder blades and taped into a cocoon, and my mouth sealed by tape. I stood hesitating until I figured the only way was to dribble the key with my feet while I hobbled back. The improvised game of football made me torture my nipples even more on the way back, tears of pain blurring my vision so I could barely see my goal, the open door. But I made it to the doorsill, and stood there, shaking from pain, exhaustion and sobs. I could barely see my handler waiting inside, but her voice was clear “Here.”
I tried to somehow kick the key over the doorsill, but it was no go and just tortured my nipples more. Finally I managed to somehow grab the key, or rather the ring connected to it, with my toes and lift it across the doorsill, then shuffle it to the feet of my handler. I stood waiting, not sure if I should go for the next key or wait for her command. Her next request almost made me break down “Give it to me.” Again, I managed to grasp the key with my toes, wobbling and almost falling over when I lifted it as high as I could, the heavy padlocks and chains anchored in my nipples feeling like they were about to rip them off. She mercifully reached down a little and freed me from the key. “Next.”
As I hobbled away for the other key, I kept hoping and praying that I got the order right, because I was sure I wouldn’t survive another round of the fetch game. When I got to the other end of the corridor, my vision was so blurred, I could only find the key by sensing it with my feet. I started back, pushing the key rather than kicking it, not to lose it. This time, I didn’t hesitate but lifted the key, both over the doorsill and towards the hand of my handler, and she accepted it. I kept my breath while I felt her fitting the keys in the padlock, and even if the heavy yanks when the shackles snapped free tore at my nipples, it let the heavy chains rattle to the floor, and my heart leaped with joy and relief. I had got it right, and I more or less basked in the overwhelming praise of my handler “Good girl.”
My heart sunk though, when she left the open padlocks still tearing at the screws in my nipples, but at least I could straighten from my cumbersome, crouched position while she bent down and untied the hobble from the dropped chain. She made me straighten even more by fitting the noose around my neck again, tightening it and pulling me up by it, permitting my heels to stay on the floor though. Next were my breasts, the previous nooses re-fitted and again pulled tight to the shelf tops on either sides of me. Finally, she forced my legs spread wide again, using the cords still around my ankles to anchor them to the shelves, at the same time taking up any slack in the nooses around my neck and breasts.
I was pretty much back to where I started now, but far more worn and exhausted, in much more pain, and without the mitigation from the vibrating wand in my pussy easing the suffering some. She seemed to be thinking the same thing, as she retied the cords around my waist, tight, leaving a long tail of cords dangling down between my buttocks, and giving me a little hope. The hope grew when she pulled on surgical gloves again, stood in front of me, holding the wand and lubing it up with gel, even if I winced at the thought of the stinging, burning gel on my sensitive inner walls.
With the large head of the wand glistening from the generous application of gel, she took another big glob of gel on her gloved fingers and shoved it into my pussy, rubbing it on my clit and folds, making them sting and burn, but at the same time arousing me again. While she was playing with me and building me up, she grabbed the wand and turned it on, and I tried to brace for the no doubt intense sensation of the alco-gel on my inner membranes.
I was totally unprepared for when she pressed the large head of the buzzing wand up from behind, against my tight anal sphincter, again proving her strength by almost lifting me off the floor, the wand pressing painfully against and into my rear opening. It still took some time of mixed stimulation and agony before the combination of the strong buzzing and my handler’s playing fingers made my muscles relax enough, and my own weight forcing me down onto it made the large head force its way past my sphincter and pop into my rectum, leaving my sphincter painfully burning both from the brutal violation and the gel.
My handler took more of the gel on her fingers and drove them deep into my vagina, churning them around while the gel inflamed those sensitive inner walls as well, then yet another load that she massaged onto my already burning clit and folds, wiping the excess on the cords dangling between my buttocks, and then a final load she worked into my rear by forcing her gloved fingers into my rectum together with the narrow neck of the wand, setting that part of my anatomy on a both painful and tingling fire as well. She then grabbed the soaked cords dangling behind me and wrapped them tight around the neck of the wand, securing it deep in my anal, before making a hard and very deliberate knot in front of the wand, making it press painfully hard into my engorged, already sore and sensitive clit as she yanked the rope tight, then tighter still, and yet a bit tighter, until it felt like it was going to split me up my middle to my navel, before tying it off around the waist ropes front.
She stood back and watched me with a satisfied smile on her face, while she pulled the gloves off and tucked them into the bag with the rest of the waste. I stood trembling on my toes not to strangle myself with the noose around my neck, with legs spread wide and my breasts stretched hard and aching numbly, my nipples tortured by the deeply anchored screws and heavy padlocks, while the hatpins deep in the bulging flesh hardly hurt at all any longer, but my entire crotch, including vagina, anal and clit, was on fire from the gel, and my pussy was hurting bad from the very tight rope pressing hard into it, especially the hard little knot on my clit. But the same knot was also vibrating intensely from the wand buried in my burning, aching rectum, somehow amplified by the intense torture I was forced to endure in my total helplessness. The result was somewhat predictable but nonetheless very intense.
The first orgasm was brutal, making my entire body thrash and shake involuntarily, despite the extra pain it brought to both my nipples, almost yanked off by the heavy, jumping padlocks on the deeply embedded eye screws, my breasts, as the tight nooses felt like garroting their way through the incredibly tightly constricted flesh of their bases, and the noose on my neck cutting my air supply as I slumped semi-conscious, before self-preservation instinct forced me up on my toes again.
The second orgasm followed before the first one had faded, not quite as intense but longer, and this time my exhausted legs gave in completely and left me hanging by my neck. I tried to rise up on my toes again, but my legs didn’t comply. Strangely enough, I didn’t panic when my lungs started burning and my head went light, while I struggled to get some air through my constricted throat. Just as reality started fading, I felt the noose on my neck suddenly ease, and a strong arm wrapped around my waist held me up. Slowly, I got my legs to comply and stood trembling on my own two feet again, heels mercifully back on the floor, while I just breathed best as I could past the dildo down my throat.
Even if I guess it was just a functional support, there was something very intimate and comfortable with the arm embracing me and pressing me against the warm body behind me, and I felt much better, even when the embrace ended and left me standing on my own again. I was still in severe pain, but I felt it easier to handle knowing that my handler also cared enough about me not to just let me hang to my death. I know it sounds crazy, but in the frame of mind I was then, it made perfect sense to me.
Even if the noose on my neck was still taut enough to force me to stand very straight, my wide spread legs made the standing quite cumbersome, and my lowering from my toes cost me more pain from the stretching of my breasts, it was still a desperately needed relief to have my heels back on the floor. Despite all the pain from nipples, breasts, pussy and anal, the persistent buzzing from the wand in my ass started to build me up again, the vibes rattling my entire crotch, but especially that hard knot pressing painfully into my clit and seemingly focus the vibrations to it.
While my body started to climb towards another peak again, my handler was otherwise occupied, picking up the chain leash and nipple chain off the floor, placing them neatly on the table, then getting some kind of large, padded towel in medical blue and placing it between my spread feet. She turned to me and casually picked the heavy padlocks from the nipple screws, then put them too on the table, neatly next to the chains. Even if my nipples were still hurting badly, the relief from the weights gone was immense. She put on a new pair of surgical gloves, greased them with gel and then with some difficulty untied and unwrapped the strings on my nipples. As circulation returned to the nipples, I realized the constriction had probably saved me from a substantial part of the torture from the heavily weighted screws by numbing my nipples, but now it hit me, and hard, making me whine low past my gag and tears run down my cheeks again.
The explosion of pain in my nipples broke the charm of buzzing vibrator, but as the pain slowly faded, the vibes started to build me up again. My handler was sitting on the edge of the table, watching me with that small smile on her face again. When my body started tensing from the approaching orgasm, she stood and took the few steps over to me, gazing into my eyes as I felt her take a firm and painful grip on one nipple with one hand, just barely balanced by the pleasure from the wand, and a grip on the protruding eye screw with her other hand. She was still smiling and looking into my eyes as she started to turn the screw, slowly and excruciatingly painful, making tears continue to run down my cheeks, and I couldn’t help but feeling a bit ashamed from my weakness.
It became a kind of tug of war between pain and pleasure. Every time she slowly turned the screw, the pain drowned the pleasure from the wand, but every time she stopped to get a new grip, the pleasure from the wand broke through again. I think she saw in my eyes how it affected me, but she kept that small smile and her gaze into my eyes all the time. Eventually, I felt the sensation change, and glancing down through the tears, I mesmerized watched how the last few turns of thread grew out of my bleeding nipple on the bloody, tapered point of the screw. My nipple was hurting so bad that even her releasing it from her pinch brought another wave of tears from my eyes. I looked up to meet her eyes again, but she was busy with thoroughly wiping the blood from the screw and then placing it neatly on the table next to the padlocks and chains.
She disposed of the gloves and then again sat down on the edge of the table, watching me with that eternal little smile. I don’t know how long it took, but eventually the pain in my nipple had faded some and I felt the vibe starting to build me up again. When my orgasm started approaching, she put on a fresh pair of gloves, greased them with gel and stepped up to me. Just seconds before my orgasm, she gripped my nipple and the screw, and started to slowly screw it out of my flesh.
I don’t know if it was that I had been closer to orgasm or that I had somehow become accustomed to the pain, but this time the arousal and pleasure stayed with me despite the pain. The pain was still enough to prevent me from climbing that small last fraction, but when we reached the point where the last, tapered part of the screw started leaving my flesh, I cummed so hard I didn’t care about how I hurt my breasts when I thrashed wildly against the taut nooses around their bases. I somehow managed to catch the eyes of my handler in the middle of my throes, and she looked pleased, her small smile a bit wider than usual. That made me feel something that is hard to describe, but I think it was a kind of pride, that I had managed to please her somewhat.
I was standing trembling and trying to pant past my gag after the violent orgasm, while my handler calmly was cleaning the bloody screw and placing it next to the other items she had already collected on the table. She then disposed of the gloves again, put on a fresh pair and greased them with gel, just as before, and then took a Kleenex with a good glob of the gel. Then she again sat down on the edge of the table waiting, I guessed for me to become hot enough again.
Sure enough, when my body again started tensing, she stood up and stepped close to me, grabbing the head of one of the needles deep in my flesh and slowly pulled it out. It hurt, but nowhere near as bad as the screws, despite it felt like it was stuck in my flesh, trying to rip fragments of the flesh with it as it slid out. Only seconds after the sharp tip had popped free from my breast, I cummed again, but a more ordinary orgasm than the cataclysm that came with the second screw. She wiped the needle with the Kleenex and put it on the table, then turned back to me and started with the next needle. After seventeen more needles and orgasms, my breasts were free from intruders, bleeding some from the punctures but still surprisingly little considering the thick and seemingly rough needles.
I had two more orgasms just standing there while my handler carefully wiped the needles with Kleenex and gel, before putting them into their plastic box, but she seemed totally focused on her task and not very interested in my pain or pleasure. When she was done with the needles, she turned her attention back to me though, unwrapping my hands from their tight tape cocoon before she started untying my hands and arms. They were almost totally numb after the long, tight and strained reverse prayer tying, but were still hurting with an intense, deep and dull ache. That changed when the tying and strain started to ease, slowly returning circulation, making the pain in long strained muscles and locked joints become a lot more acute. Again, my vision was blurred by tears of sheer pain, and I couldn’t help but screaming, even if it just came out as a gurgle and moan past the dildo gag down my throat.
Once the cat was out of the bag, the need for un-straining my arms became desperate, but it took time to unwrap the elaborate tie, and even after that, my handler supported my arms and only slowly let my hands down from their position between my shoulder blades. I cursed her for it then, even if I somehow realized that the pain if she had just let them drop probably would have made me faint. Eventually, I was standing shaking from pain, with my arms hanging useless along my sides, while she was slowly working life back into them by forcing them to painfully bend, stretch and twist at shoulders, elbows and wrists. After a while, I was able to control some of the movement myself, and the pain slowly eased.
Just as I was beginning to really come down from the peak of suffering, relieved that I was able to move my hands and arms without biting down on the dildo gag from the pain, and the buzzing from the wand in my ass started to make me tingle again, my handler, still standing behind me, suddenly and unexpectedly forced my elbows together behind my back and tied them tightly there. Normally, I’m limber enough to bring my elbows together behind me on my own, but after the long, strained tie, it was not one bit comfortable, and I groaned into the gag, barely audible.
She continued with slapping the handcuffs onto my wrists, one pair on each wrist, forcing them front and up to lock the other shackle around the taut nooses stretching my abused breasts apart. She then took the bottle of gel and squirted a good glob of gel into each of my palms, before reaching down and flipping the switch of the wand to off. She sat down on the table and watched me intently. The small smile was back on her face as she spoke. “Your breasts need and deserve some attention and reward. Massage them with the gel and give yourself 4 orgasms.”
I was standing dumbfounded for several seconds before the message sunk in. Then I felt I started to blush furiously. To stand exposed in front of someone the way I was and forced to please myself on command, that felt really humiliating. My breasts and nipples are usually so sensitive that it’s no big effort to make me cum from playing with just them, but as I hesitantly started to probe them with my fingers, I discovered they were in one way pretty numb from the extremely tight tying, in another way very sensitive, making even light touches strangely uncomfortable, and that the gel burned painfully in some wounds, tingled in some other, sore parts.
Even if it was humiliating and kind of mockery, I couldn’t help but getting aroused from feeling the very firm and taut bulges of my breasts in my hands, and the kind of rubbery flexibility the tightly constricted bases gave them, even if they were hurting whenever I nudged them. Finally, I found a way to massage and caress them that seemed to bring slightly more pleasure than pain, starting to build me up. As my arousal grew, my hands became less tender and careful, the pain I caused myself blending with the pleasure and making me even hotter.
My handler was still sitting and watching me intently, the smile on her face a bit wider now, making her look amused and pleased from my performance. I was still blushing from the embarrassment, degradation and mockery, but at the same time feeling strangely happy and proud that she seemed to enjoy it. The latter also made me enjoy it more and increased my arousal faster.
The first orgasm came as no surprise since I had worked hard for it, feeling it slowly build, and it was not very intense, but still satisfying. The following orgasms grew in intensity and came a lot faster, despite the pain my increasingly brutal abuse on my breasts brought. The last one may not have been quite earth-shattering, but it was intense enough to leave me standing shivering, drained and trying to pant past my gag, both relieved and a bit disappointed it was over.
When I heard my handler’s voice, I raised my head enough to look at her. She was still looking amused, as she commanded “Good girl. Now, spank your breasts for me. Hard!” The option to refuse or even hesitate the cruel order didn’t even exist for me, but I lifted my hands as far as the cuffs permitted and brought them down hard and fast onto my aching, bulging breasts, making a loud, wet smack and pain exploding in the bulges, rolling out through my entire body. Again, another smack and explosion of pain, and again, and again.
This time, the orgasm hit me like an express train, totally unexpected, transforming from one of the intense waves of pain changing into an even more intense wave of pleasure as it rolled through my body. I tensed, shook violently and collapsed, again and again, eventually slumping, hanging by my breasts and neck, not even caring when my lungs started to burn from the lack of oxygen, but like in a dream feeling a supporting arm around my waist holding me up, enabling me to breathe again as reality slipped away from me.
When I slowly became aware again, my first realization was that I was hurting all over, the second that I was lying down, the third that what I was lying on was hard and cold, and the fourth that I could move my arms and legs. I slowly opened my eyes and blinked at the searing light, slowly adapting as the surroundings appeared from the glowing, white haze. I was still in the room, lying on the floor, and my handler was still sitting on the edge of the table, looking down at me seemingly amused. I was free, from both ties, cuffs and gag, but still naked, save for a number of bandaids covering much of my breasts.
My arms hurt when I tried to use them to support me sitting up, but I eventually was sitting on the floor. My handler still sat watching me amused, not making any move to help me while I painfully struggled to my feet. The floor was clean, and so was the table, save for my bag, and her bag and coat. She had obviously not just been sitting on the table waiting while I was out. I looked down at my still hurting breasts and realized they weren’t quite as badly plastered as my first impression had been. I looked up at my handler and managed to croak a “Thank you”, despite my throat still being pretty messed up from probably both the long time deep-throat gagging and my repeated hangings. Her smile widened slightly and I thought I saw a bit of warmth in it when she replied “You’re welcome, sleepy head. I couldn’t really leave you the mess you were, bleeding all over the floor. I hope you had a good nap.”
I couldn’t help but smiling a little myself, despite the pains, and answered in a low voice, feeling myself blush a bit “Yes, even if the prelude was better than the nap. Thank you!” She grinned and responded with a bit of laughter in her voice “Yes, I enjoyed the prelude better too. Glad you liked it.” I stood there hesitating, feeling a bit exposed and embarrassed in my nudity, and finally asked her “Are we done here?” Her smile turned a bit mischievous as she responded “Do you want us to be done?” I felt my cheeks start blushing furiously as I realized she already knew my honest answer would not be the expected and simple “Yes, I’ve had enough”, and that her simple counter-question alone had already got my mind spinning.
I decided to try and be honest, and hoped she would make the right decision for me. “No, I don’t want us to be done, but I think my body can’t take any more now. If I had still been tied up and tormented when I woke up, I would have been fine with that, but as is now, I don’t think I can handle a restart. I’m sorry, truly sorry.”
She was still watching me intently with a both amused and mischievous smile as she responded with another question “So, if I offered to cuff your hands behind your back, tie your breasts up arousingly tight, force your legs apart and tie your clit up tight before caning it until you peed your pants that I intended to shove and tape into your mouth, soaked your deep throat dildo with algo-gel before I shoved it deep into your pussy and tied it in there with tight crotch-ropes, marched you to my car stark naked and belted you on display in the front seat with your tied and bulging udders in the air on display for anyone and everyone passing by, drove you home and escorted you in covered by just your coat, and subjected you to some more arousing torture until you were so hot you’d do anything for an orgasm, before leaving you helpless on a timer with no hope or chance of relief, you would say No thank you?”.
My low and embarrassed “No” was not enough for her, but she had me beg her for it, spelling out everything she had suggested, and maybe something more from my mind. But it played out just as she had promised, and despite my exhaustion and pains, I couldn’t help but love every second of it, even the humiliating ride home when I was sure several people saw me spotlighted in the lit front seat of the car, and the frustrating wait after she left me alone and helpless at home. She was wicked, but not nearly as brutal as under our first session, and I didn’t regret violating my own rules when I gave her my address, my keys and even the code to my phone to text a time extension to my “spare key”, the informed friend who would come to my rescue if she didn’t hear from me before a certain time.
When my timer release was finally due and I had freed my hands, I did as I had promised her and massaged my tightly tied, sore and sensitive clit with lots of burning alco-gel, until I had managed four orgasms, before freeing the rest of me. I desperately needed a bath or shower, but she had told me it was best if I left the bandaids on my breasts until the day after, so after a fast dinner, I crashed into bed reeking from sex, arousal and a few other things, having decided to save the report writing for the day after.
I slept poorly, because it seemed every time I moved, renewed pain woke me up. The times I accidentally rolled over on my breasts, especially if the still bandaided nipples rubbed against the mattress, I almost bounced up with a scream. When I slept, I had wild and brutal nightmares, with elements from the day before, but pushed much further, to real torture, mutilation and death. I tried to focus on the gentler and more pleasant second round, but that didn’t control my dreams, so again and again, pain woke me up in panic, agony and cold sweat, but still strangely hot and aroused.
Finally, I gave up and got out of bed. I really desperately needed a shower, so I carefully removed the bandaid my handler had wrapped my breasts up in the night before. Except for the tip of my nipples, which looked and felt like raw meat, it didn’t look too bad. Even if there were bloodstains on most of the bandaids, there was no bleeding. Some of the punctures from the needles were almost invisible already, while others were purple spots. The welts from the cane no longer stood up, but there were still stripes and sore skin all over. My nipples weren’t bleeding, despite the bandaids on them were lumpy from coagulated blood, but their tips were extremely sore to the touch, probably both from the needle scratching and the brutal screws, and I guessed it would take many days for them to heal at least somewhat.
The shower was torture. My arms were still very sore from the long reverse prayer tying, so just maneuvering the showerhead and washing my hair were quite painful. Water on my pussy hurt as well, after both the chafing crotch ropes and the generous use of alco-gel, but the real no-no was water on my nipples, where the pain from the raw tips almost had me screaming when the water hit them. Drying them was out of the question, and I have spent the rest of the day like some Minoan priestess with my breasts hanging out from my semi-open housecoat to avoid any contact with my raw nipples.
After the shower and breakfast, I sat down to write this. I know it became quite lengthy, even despite I cut some parts pretty short, and there are still some experiences and things going around in my head that I would like to write about. But I will just add one rather brief point.
When I’m set up on these blind dates, I can decide how much control I want over the session, anything from a full manuscript detailing everything, to accepting anything, usually with the limitations that I get through things alive, un-maimed, without severe or permanent injuries, permanent marks or need of hospital care. I never tried the full manuscript variant, simply because it would be about as predictable and boring as tying myself up. On a few occasions, I have asked for a helping hand to try some things that would be hard or impossible, at least for me, to arrange myself. But in most cases, I have suggested one or more “themes”, things I have desired to experience, but left the rest up to my handler or handlers.
The theme of this session was screws in nipple, something I found some pictures and video clips of on the Internet, first many years ago, and which thrilled me, even if I originally thought it was much too hard, painful and dangerous for me. The rest of what happened was not my idea, even if I suspect that my friends who set things up had given a few hints to my handler, based on what they know about my desires.
This is what both thrills me and scares me, when I don’t know what to expect. Some of what happened, I wouldn’t even be able to come up with myself. In all honesty, I think this was one of my over-all hardest sessions. I know for sure I never had tears from sheer pain flow so much during any session before. I don’t like crying, because to me, being tied up is sexual, and sexual is supposed to be fun, and crying is the opposite. That doesn’t mean I dislike the things that make me cry, but more my own weakness, that I can’t stop myself from crying.
With the theme I had chosen, I knew the session was going to be really painful and most probably tearful as well. I wasn’t prepared for all the other things though, and they made the session extremely hot, even if they also meant a lot more suffering and tears than I had tried to brace for. But no, I don’t regret any of it. I even think the pain and suffering made the end and “debriefing” a lot more intense and pleasurable then it would have been otherwise. Excuse the poor pun, but I think the way my handler screwed my mind added even more than the way she screwed my nipples. I’m usually a lousy submissive, but to her, I really wanted to submit, in every sense of the word.
I know I really should be a bit off now, after the intense session and sensations yesterday, the poor sleep, the remaining pains today, plus I just discovered my monthly started. No surprise really, because I knew it should be coming, both from the calendar and from the way I’ve felt the last few days, but it’s no clockwork, and I was worried it would come even earlier, yesterday, and spoil the planned session. But despite all that, I’m still tingling a bit, helped by the sensation in my abused nipples, which is actually strangely exciting as long as nothing touches them, my forced exposure of my breasts to spare my nipples, making me feel both a bit sexy and slutty, and memories from the session, both physical sensations like the extremely tight and painful, but still very hot tying of my breasts, and psychological impact like how my handler was playing with my mind, being both disturbing and desirable.
My main worry now is work tomorrow, not knowing if my nipples will be able to handle a full day of pressure and rubbing from clothes, not even if I padded and bandaided them. I’m not sure it would be considered appropriate sitting at my desk with my breasts hanging out. I think it would be possible for me to work from home if nothing else goes. Hopefully I will be able to sleep better tonight than last night, or else I might have problems with the sleep deprivation as well. But I will handle those problems somehow when I need to.