Superb tit whipping for those who love to see women screaming in pain!

http://www.bdsmstreak.com/video/5170/tit-torture-heavy-tit-whipping-and-punishment
Fucking love it!

To The Cunt Across the street and her shitty kids.

I don't believe in hitting women, but god damn it Paula one of these days Im gonna bounce your fucking head of a car wind shield. Sorry you got knocked up by every Nigger west of the Fucking African Continent, sorry that your husband finally saw the light and left you for learning none of your shitty kids are his, both of you being white and with monkeys for children should have been his first fucking sign you spread your legs for any Gold Tooth Monkey with a criminal background, and it pains me to no fucking end Unemployment cut you off after learning you were selling acid on the down low and your current Nigger boyfriend is doing time for a kid sex beef.
But the next fucking time you slam your rusty piece of shit car into my mail box, I am gonna kick you in the fucking tax rebate box you call your pussy! And for fuck sake, clean up your god damn yard, tell your shitty kids to stop setting fires on this block. And dont give me that, 'aint my kids' THERE ARE NO OTHER FUCKING HALF BREED KIDS ON THIS BLOCK! THEY DON'T EVEN MAKE THE EFFORT TO RUN AWAY, I KNOW, I CAUGHT LITTLE ASPIRIN OR TYLENOL OR WHAT EVER THAT LITTLE SHITS NAME IS SETTING FIRE TO A TIRE AND ROLLING IT DOWN A HILL.

I HOPE TO CHRIST, SOCIAL SERVICES TAKES THEM AWAY FROM YOU. FUCK IT, EXPECT THEM IN THE MORNING, ONE LOOK AT YOUR SHITTY HOUSE AND 9 MONKEYS, I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL FINALLY SEE MY TAX DOLLARS AT WORK!

now i feel better

I confess to having an amazing weekend. The lady and I had a nice day out and about. A bit of shopping, a movie, sushi, wine, and a nice big doobie to finish things off. She had her "monthly visitor" but I wasn't worried, she's very diligent in making sure I'm taken care of. So, when she asked me to come up to the shower, I knew I was about to get my cock sucked...
We went up stairs, I started the shower, she stripped down. Her sexy tiny frame and sweet little a-cups exposed to the air and my eyes got me instantly aroused. One of those sweet little bodies that I could stare at, rub on, and lick for the rest of my life. We started kissing as we entered the shower. The steam was no match for the heat radiating from my body as I knew that it was "me time," and I was about to receive the amazing oral skills of a woman who's spent years honing her skills on me. Needless to say, I was already getting hard.
She gently cleaned my cock, stroking it with the perfect speed and grip that only one who truly knows you can. Then, she slipped her hand into the crack of my ass and began washing it, rather feverishly. I knew she was getting ready to shove her face in there, and my body began to tingle. It was far from the first time she'd use her skilled little tongue on my ass. She loved it when I did, and happily returned the favor... often.
But, what happened next, I didn't see coming. After using her mouth on my now fully erect cock, she turned me around. I brimmed with anticipation of that sweet tongue working my ass. She slowly stroked my cock, now dripping with precum, as she worked wonders from behind me. Tongue licking up and down, poking just barely inside of me. Fast, then slow, slower, than too fast. Every change of her tongue matched by the opposite with her hand. It was heaven.
Then, out of nowhere, her fingers slipped from playfully rubbing my cheeks, to the inside of my crack. The anticipation of a new sensation was almost too much. Her finger slowly slipped inside of me. At first, I was suprised to find that, thanks to our silky bodywash, there was no pain. It was awkward at first, but as I began to feel shivers run through me, I knew that I had begun to enjoy it.
She started slowly moving in and out of me, quickening subtly over time. When she fully inserted her finger and pressed upward... I felt as though I was cumming on the spot. But, to my surprise I did not. She began to move her finger on that spot over and over again, while ever so slowly stroking my raging hardon. She whispered, "does it feel good?" "Oh my God, Yes, Don't fucking stop!," was all I could muster as my body began convulsing with pleasure. And as she quickened her hand and her finger, I simply couldn't stand it any more. I came with the force of a thousand suns, and watched my cum fly out of me in spurts that I haven't seen since I was a teenager. She spun me around and suckled on my pulsing cock until I told her that if she didn't stop, I wouldn't be able to catch my breathe.
Needless to say, I can't wait until our next shower...
So friends, how was your weekend??

Wearing a tight cockring today. Pain, really wanting to cum but unable due to the rope tied around my ball sack, balls split apart

A painful cycle for a couple of hours now returned and my cock rendered in a position where it can’t be used
Now a rope around each leg, pulling my balls apart.
Looking at all of you in here isn’t helping though

Chapter 9
The guards have come to the realization that you enjoy most of the abuse they've been heaping on you. That led them to start searching out more and more depraved ways to torture and use you, in hope of finding your breaking point.
One of them stumbled across the work of Dolcett on the internet and wondered if they could do it to you.
As much as the idea of impaling you on a spit and roasting you alive sounded like fun they decided they have to keep you alive. Too much paperwork if you die. And besides they're having far too much fun torturing you to have it end so soon.
Instead, they decide that they are going to impale you in the spit and roast you but only for half an hour.
There's a company picnic coming up for the 4th of July so it's the perfect time to barbecue you.
The picnic is being held in a clearing in the woods. It's warm and sunny and all the guards are relaxed, drinking, and happy. It would be a wholesome scene except for the naked sissy slut bound to the trees at the edge of the clearing. Standing, spread eagled, wrists and ankles tied to two trees.
The fire pit has been lit. They're just waiting for the fire to burn down and the coals to get hot.
While you're waiting to be "cooked" the warm summer breezes caress your naked, slutty, thicc body. Your nipples have grown hard, and your pathetic little cock is starting to stir too.
As the fire starts to die down your untied and led to the picnic table and told to climb up onto it. On your hands and knees, ass in the air, they start to prepare you for roasting.
Your hair is soaked and tied up. Herbs and onions are shoved into your boipussy. For flavour. An apple is pushed into your mouth. Not so much for flavour but only to make you look a like a roasting piglet.
They make you lay flat on the table and a large, round, stake is laid the length of your body. Ropes soon secure you to it. A wooden Frame is laid across your shoulders and you're soon bound to it as well. Lastly, a thick, long wooden stake is pushed deep into your gaping cunt and attached to the spit.
The entire time they're preparing you the guards talk about you in the 3rd person. They refer to you as "her" sometimes, but usually, "it".
Two burly guards grab each end of the spit and hoist you off the table. It's uncomfortable, but not quite painful. More than anything it's humiliating. You're a piece of meat, yet again, for their amusement. This time quite literally.
The heat hits you immediately when they put the spit in its rack. A small motor is going to rotate you over the fire, just like a fucking animal to be consumed.
It doesn't take long for the heat to start making you dizzy and light headed. It's also turning you on.
The heat licking at your useless cock with each rotation. The guards laughing at you and enjoying the spectacle.
After a few minutes they break out the barbecue sauce and start pouring it all over your limp body. Covering you, head to toe in sticky sweet sauce. A bottle gets shoved up your ass and the sauce pours in to mix with the other ingredients already inside you.
You've lost track of time. You're hoping you don't have to endure too much more. You can feel your cock and balls starting to singe. Your tits are glowing hot. The pain is becoming almost too much to take. Your screams and pleading are muffled by the apple in your mouth. Not that any of them would take pity and offer you relief.
The last thing you remember hearing, before you passed out, is one of them saying "Three more minutes and then we'll take the meat off the fire."
You're awakened by a bucket of cold water being thrown on you. Every inch of your body feels like it's been sunburnt. To make matters worse you're covered in sticky sweet barbecue sauce.
The guards want to get you cleaned up a little before the next stage of the festivities bit there's no hose to spray you down with. Then a brilliant idea emerges.
You're tossed on the ground, still tied to the spit, and the four dogs that have been hanging around are called over. They quickly begin licking the sticky sweet sauce off of you. Their rough tongues dragging across your burnt body is agonizing. Because you're a sick fuck, you like it. You start to moan and wiggle around to give the dogs access to more of you. Especially your pathetic little cock.
A couple of the guards notice what you're doing and start to laugh. They point out to everyone that you're fucking enjoying it. Everyone agrees that you're the most depraved, filthy, amoral, piece of fuck meat they've ever seen. They're excited about it. It means they can do anything to you. No matter how depraved, degrading, disgusting, violent, or taboo.
While they are chatting about what to do next, one of the dogs lifts his leg and starts pissing on you. The hot stream feels scalding on your burnt skin. It splashes across your stomach and chest. Some of it gets up around your neck and you open your mouth, hoping to be able to drink some of it to relieve your incredible thirst.
Everyone has gone silent, watching in amazement. When the second dog starts pissing on your chest you wiggle around to take it in the face. The hot dog piss in your mouth giving you relief from the thirst and a fantastic thrill at being able to be so fucking filthy. It's at that moment that the last 2 dogs start pissing all over your hard, but pathetic, cock. Your moans of pleasure leave the guards, and their wives, laughing and cheering.
Because it's the 4th of July the guards have brought along a bunch of flags, firecrackers and decorations to celebrate the day.
The dogs have licked you clean and lost interest in pissing on you so everyone is looking for a new amusement.
It's time to do some decorating.
You're untied from the spit and another bucket of ice cold water is thrown on your limp body. As you lay there, dazed, aroused, humiliated, you wonder what fucked up thing they could possibly have in mind.
A kick to the ribs gets you on your back. A couple more kicks and you're spread eagle in the grass.
One of the wives has brought a bunch of small flags. The paper ones with a wooden stick. She wants to shove them in your piss hole. The only problem is you've gone limp. It would be much easier if your clit was hard. It only takes her a moment to figure out how to get you hard again. She drops her panties, lifts her dress, squats over your face and starts to piss. It works like a charm. You can't help yourself. You open your slut mouth and drink it all down as quickly as you can. The shame and humiliation does what it was intended to do. Your useless cock is nice and hard again.
With her cunt still firmly pressed to your face she begins sliding the stick of the flag down into your cock. You're so embarrassed and ashamed at how much you're loving this treatment.
She manages to push two more flags into your pisshole. As she hops off your face she tells you to get the fuck up. You're exhausted and hesitant. A quick kick in the head and a slap across the face gets your moving. Your struggle to your feet.
She instructs you to show everyone how patriotic you are and to start waving the flags. Your efforts aren't even close to what she wants and she kicks you in the ass, over and over, making you stumble around, and making your faggot clit wiggle. The laughter from the crowd is so fucking humiliating and you wonder what the fuck is wrong with you that you love it.
That's when someone suggests that they should tun you into a proper flag pole.
Chapter 10

Having grown tired of watching your futile attempts to wave the little flags jammed in your pisshole the wives have decided to turn you into a “proper” flag pole.

A shovel is tossed at your feet and you’re ordered to start digging. They want a hole two feet deep and 3 feet wide. And you had better hurry the fuck up. Your efforts are decent to being but because of all the abuse you’ve endured so far today you start to tire and slow down. A crack of the whip then the sting as it bites into your ass. You dig faster. Another crack and another stripe across your sissy ass. You don’t speed up digging but your clit starts to involuntarily grow. This prompts laughter and ridicule from the guards, and particularly, the women. They can’t believe just how much of a pathetic, pain and abuse craving, sissy slut you really are.

Before too long the hole is complete. She shoves you to your knees at the edge of the hole, facing it. Turning to one of the other wives she says, “Jenn, bring the big flag and pole over here. We’re going to do this up right. Real patriotic.” She shoves you forward, so that you fall into the hole. Because of the size of the hole only your upper body fits. Your ass is in the air, sticking straight up. Completely gaping and exposed.

As she hands over the flagpole Jenn says, “I don’t think it’s going to fit. It’s way to big.” It’s not going to matter if it’s too big or not. One way or another it’s going in your cunt. Lubed, dry. No one cares.

The fat, wooden, flag pole is pushed up against the entrance to your cunt and pressure is slowly applied. It’s starting to work its way in. You do your best to relax and push out, to get the pole in your cunt without too much pain and tearing. It helps, but there is still so much of the huge pole to go.

She starts to lose patience with the progress and starts shoving harder and harder. Your cries for her to please stop are, obviously, ignored and you’re told to shut the fuck up and take it. You’re reminded that you’re only there to entertain them. Your pain doesn’t matter. Besides, she says, your hard clit says you’re enjoying it. She makes you admit you like it. You have to yell, loudly, for everyone to hear, that you like having the flag pole shoved up your ass.

Jenn starts to help. Between the two of them they’re able to force the pole deep into your cunt. Judging by how full you feel, you think there’s about two feet of hard wood up inside you. You’re ashamed of yourself for being proud of how much you can take.

Once it’s firmly in place a flag is attached to pole. It gently unfurls in the breeze. The wind playing with the cloth makes the pole move around in your cunt, pushing it from side to side. It feels like the wind is fucking you.

Your told that you cannot let the flag fall. It’s disrespectful. If it falls you’ll be beaten unconscious.
The group goes back to drinking, snacking and playing games, leaving you there. An object to amuse them.
After about half an hour you notice the dogs are sniffing around you, curious as to why you’re there. Realizing you’re not moving much they conclude you’re not a person and start pissing on you, like they would any tree, bush or shrub. At first they piss on your ass, because the flag pole is a natural place for them to piss. Eventually though they piss on your shoulders, back and face. Because you’re in the hole it’s really convenient for them to piss all over you.
Everyone sees it happening but there’s no way they’re going to stop it. It’s way too funny. Hell, not only are they not going to stop it, they’re going to join in. For the next hour you endure an almost non-stop rain of piss. All over your back and ass, all over the back of your head. In your face. So much in your face. Each time someone pisses in your face you open your mouth and drink in as much as you’re able. You try to be subtle about it so they don’t see you drinking it but eventually you’re caught. It’s decided that if you’re going to do that you might was well be a urinal for them for the rest of the evening. From that point on all of the piss, and theres so much because of all the beer drinking, is aimed at your mouth.
The sun is starting to fade from the sky. The coming darkness signals the next stage of the days festivities. The fireworks display is going to be amazing this year!

Hey Motherless, I’ve  lurked here on the boards for a long time and wanna make a confession! I’m 31, athletic build, good looking and been with my girl for 9 years but honestly…. There is just something that draws me to cock😍 something about a thick, long, hard, vein covered dick gets me so turned on. I like watching straight or gay porn, doesn’t matter, but it’s gotta be a big dick. Especially if it’s painful who ever is on the receiving end. I have sucked a few cocks but never gone all they way. I know I will eventually, just gotta have a little time alone and find someone on Grindr or something. I leak like crazy when I think about being forced too. Like in the shower at the gym where I don’t wanna be embarrassed so I just bite my cheek and take it and wait eagerly to feel him spasm and unload in me. Or break in and jump me, pin me down and force it all balls deep while I buck and scream into my pillow and feel my rock hard cock leak as he pounds me until I cum and then be ridden in my puddle till I can’t feel my toes and filled to the brim with hot searing cum. I just want to be used and abused😍 anyone feel this way? Chat with me and I will post pics of whatever you wanna see

I confess that I�m a horrible father. It seemed to happen so fast and yet so slow at the same time. What was even going through my head? Gotta touch him, gotta have him, gotta love him� My own son. I know what he�s been through, how could I do that to him? He went through hell. Being held captive by that man for so long. No one really knew� that�s why we never really looked for him. It�s my fault. I made the decision. I�m the one who said �No, leave him be. He�ll come back when he wants to.� It�s my fault he stayed there for so long. And then he gets back not even two weeks ago and I can�t keep my hands off him?! I can�t respect his pain? I can�t respect HIM? He needs time to heal himself and be okay again and come to ME when (if) he wants to have sex again. When he�s comfortable enough with himself and the other people around him. When I can hold him again and let him know I love him. Not like this. Not coming into his room while he�s crying, trying to make things better. Not getting handsy and forcing his clothes off. Not holding him down when I feel like I can�t take it anymore. Not covering his mouth when he cries to hard. This isn�t how I want him at all. This isn�t how I want to be.

My girlfriend says she likes giving me head better than her ex became was too thick for her jaws to open without pain and she could barely get halfway down his shaft. That doesn't make me feel good. 

Motherless has gotten me into some pretty hard porn. I'm starting to enjoy the torture stuff, anything where they scream just makes me blow a huge load. There's something so sexy about them in pain that turns me on now. I fucking love it.

I confess...

... that I am still wildly in love with my ex-girlfriend, even though she has moved on. I am so addicted to the pain and jealousy that I've done my best to stay in contact with her, and we still talk. I am now firmly in the friendzone and it fucking destroys me that she has just started dating a new guy, a hockey player to boot. He is good looking, and way more in shape than I've ever been. She's happy and doesn't think of me, she doesn't answer my messages for long periods of time.

It drives me fucking crazy and I both hate and love it.

Beyond the Horizon

Part 1

One of the lessons you learn after years of driving is that at some point or another, you’re going to experience the pain of repetition and predictability. Even when I first started off on the journey, I never had a destination in mind. It’s like as soon as I sat down and closed the door, it was getting hazy. It’s apparent to me now that from the moment I turned that old key and fired her up I was totally unsure of to exactly where I thought I was going. Driving is one of my greatest pleasures. There’s a sincere innocence in the act of driving. I lost sight of much of that, and from time to time I wasn’t sure if I was even in control. From a certain perspective the relationship between the machine and it’s controller breaks down, and it can become objectively difficult to distinguish which is driven by which.

To be fair, the warning signs were all over the place. It felt like I couldn’t go more than ten seconds without some sign, a precaution, a rule, a rule of thumb, a word of advice whispered in confidence. I always did my best to be a responsible driver. For the longest time I did my best to obey all the rules of the road, back before I knew better, or perhaps until I thought I knew better. Experience is the greatest teacher, not to mention the harshest. It’s common knowledge that to learn from experience makes even the worst decisions worthwhile. Sometimes it’s simply the only thing that one can take away from the curveballs so often thrown one’s way. The problem for the unwise lies in working out what lesson the accused is to take away from his crime. For the introspective the problem is rarely not seeing the problem at hand. They can even take precautions to make sure that one accident is never repeated, by not repeating whatever lead to disaster the first time around. For the experienced, and by that I mean the scarred, the disfigured, those drivers who possibly still hurt every waking day of their lives, there are an entirely different set of problems, regardless of their ability to learn from past experiences. The problem faced by the salty, by the ones who well and truly drove around that block more than they care to admit, is the inability to disengage from what they think they know best, and in doing so they find themselves sat exactly where they were before they even released the handbrake. One cannot escape his past, cannot escape the stupid things they did. But to make matters worse, they begin to see that so many of the reflective, glaring, fluorescent signs they are bombarded with as they hit the highway begin to contradict each other. They blur, they all look the same, sound the same. It seems impossible to follow one highway code without breaking another. At first, one particularly thoughtful individual might find, there seemed to be one over-arching Way. The irrefutable Tao of the road. The one true way. I miss that idea. I’ve reached a point where no matter how hard I try and see things as I used to, either I changed, or the rules did.

And so those rare unfortunates may find the signs begin to undermine each other. Slow down, but speed up. Be cautious, but never so more than you’re being brazen. Make sure to flaunt every last thing you have and haven’t ever done, because nobody likes It when you brag. And so experience fails you. It begins to lie to you, and even when you’re aware that there is clearly deception afoot, you become a man looking at a map with no reference as to where in the fuck they actually are. It’s at this point in my career as a driver that I also realised that for all the years I had been driving, I could not remember where I was going. I knew that I had been driving for a very long time, and I think at certain points I had stopped off at places, and I still remember the people I picked up. Some of them drove with me for the longest time. I always liked having passengers, but sooner or later, the destination is reached, and the journey has come to an end. But I digress. At a certain point, I found myself lost. It was the worst kind of lost, in that not only did I not know at all where and when I was, but in that I had totally forgotten where I had originally intended to go. I could not even remember at what point I had forgotten everything about myself. All I knew was in looking in the mirror, I was sure I didn’t recognise myself. I could not even describe the person who stared back at me. The Driver was a man about which you could say so much, but I’m quite certain that none of the obvious things you could gleam from that countenance were objectively correct. Nothing I’ve ever experienced has been quite so simple as that. First impressions are hard to resist, however. In a way it didn’t matter that I’m sure in some ways I recognised the Driver’s face, because from the moment I met his eyes with mine, I knew he’d always be a simple mystery to me, destined to be my enemy, the one who knew me the best.

He had the look of the man who has learned from experience as he lit that cigarette. The glow from the lighter revealed a face older and more weathered than I’m sure my own face was. He looked bad. I was certain he didn’t have the slightest good intention in mind for me, and yet everything in his eyes and in the tone of his voice struck me as sincere and well meaning. He spoke to me as if he knew me. We’re on the road now aren’t we? I’ve always loved these warm nights, the heady smell in the air. He grinned, and his eyes lit up. I suddenly felt thirsty. Thirstier than I’ve ever felt in my life. There was adrenaline coursing through my body now, and most of my worry had suddenly receded. As he rolled down the window, an old and child-like excitement crossed his face, as a child who is told on Christmas day that the best present has been saved to last. What does it even matter where we’re going? The pleasure’s in the driving. It’s also in the uncertainty. We passed a strange scene by the side of that long road. This struck me because until now it had all been so blank. There was a cow being led down the road by two men, one in front, and one following up from behind. We passed so quickly that the image struck me as an old black and white picture would have, fixed in my mind without the suggestion of fading. It was like some grim scene from a foreign abattoir, and I felt my spirit drop, knowing where the cow’s destination lay despite all his ignorance. He looked complacent if not slightly confused as to his predicament, being lead by his handlers as he was. For some unknown reason, I honestly felt very sad for him. Then I laughed. Fucker should have evolved faster. I couldn’t but help show the slightest disapproval, even if deep down something in me knew it was true. It would be pretty much the same if the boot was on the other foot. Or hoof. You get my drift. I laughed again, and I wasn’t sure if it was humour or desperation I heard in that laugh. It sounded strange to me, but laughs always sound strange when you really listen to them. Everyone knows what a laugh means, but that shit can’t be found in any dictionary I ever heard of.