WARNING: The following is about the unwilling abduction, nonconsensual
torture (primarily with hot metal), and sexual abuse of a woman.  If this
is not to your tastes, please do not read this.

DISCLAIMER:  This is all fantasy.  It has no purpose or agenda other than
to get some people "hot".   I do not recommend play with hot metal, and
it would be extremely unwise to imitate anything in this story.  If one
wishes to play with hot metal or fire, one should do so only after careful
consideration, and only after one has found careful and caring people
experienced in such techniques to play with.  I also do not entertain any
thoughts that anyone would enjoy involuntary abduction and torture in
reality, and such are most certainly not the practices of the BDSM

WARNING II:  Since you've read this far, you presumably want to read the
kind of story described above.  I should warn anyone familiar with my
other NC stories that this is a little different, quite cruel (I hope;
but I'm sure this one will seem tame to some players), but not *as* evil
as most of my other NC stories were meant to be.

The Lady is for Burning

The woman was squirming futilely in the back of the van, her restraints
relatively comfortable but quite inescapable.  Fortish, elegant and
attractive, with pale skin and collar length blonde hair, Mrs. Redchef
had been seized in her home, gagged, placed in leather restraints and
forced into a van for the drive to a remote warehouse.  After parking
the van within the warehouse, free from the eyes of any passing travelers,
Cheryl and I pulled her from the van, and Cheryl placed a leash around
her neck.  Our facilities were in the rear of the warehouse, and we had
all the time we wanted, so Mrs. Redchef could walk to her fate.  I took
the leash and began leading her as Cheryl prodded her sharply between the
shoulders with a stiff cane and said "Walk".  Of course, with the padded
leather ankle restraints connected by only a few inches of chain, our
guest couldn't move very quickly, but after a few strokes across the
shoulders and buttocks she gave it her best effort, shuffling her feet
in delightful little steps.  She could have hopped faster, but in 3.5"
French heels, she didn't want to test her balance, and that suited me
fine.  I observed that Cheryl was continuing to strike her and obviously
enjoying herself, and much as I hated to spoil her fun, I had to say
"Don't hit her as long as she keeps moving at this pace" - which while
quite slow required a lot of effort from our captive - "we want it clear
to her that she should obey, and if she gets treated the same whether she
obeys or not, that's an unproductive signal".  Cheryl looked a bit glum,
but kept an eye on those white pumps, looking for any sign that Mrs. R
was slowing down.  Given the size of the warehouse and the level of the
captive woman's effort, Cheryl would certainly get to swing the cane again.

When we at last reached the section of the warehouse we had prepared,
we closed and locked the door behind us.  There was no place to run
now, so we removed our guest's restraints, and ordered her to strip off
her ivory raw-silk suit and peach-colored sueded-silk blouse.  She didn't
think much of the idea, but Cheryl gave her a sharp poke in the ribs with
the end of the cane, and she reconsidered.  It was something of a
revelation to see our guest in her garter belt and stockings, and the bra
from which her pink nipples poked through holes in the cups.  After a few
photographs, I told her to take the rest of it off, leaving her naked save
for her two rings and the tasteful gold bands dangling from her ears, and
Cheryl snapped a few more photos.

"I'm sure the PTA will find these interesting", she said.  Mrs. Redchef,
who was still gagged, gave no indication she had heard.  She was admirably
composed, obviously frightened but in complete control and showing no
embarassment at being forced to strip for total strangers and photographed
in the nude.  Not that her body was anything to be ashamed of; a little
loose here and there, as no one can violate the law of gravity, but very
nice.  Not nice for fortysomething mother of adult children, but nice for
anyone.  Well, Cheryl did make some catty comments, but we'll see how
nicely her firm 21 year old form holds up in another quarter century.

"Time for some fun, Mrs. Redchef, for us, at least", I told her as I took
her arms and pulled her to a large board securely mounted on multiple
columns of pallet.  She neither resisted or complied, perhaps because of
the large knife Cheryl picked up and started idly cutting paper strips
with.  I lifted her up onto the board, and forced her into a kneeling
position.  She was positioned so that her bare feet stuck off the end of
the board, and Cheryl and I used a series of cloth strips passing through
rings in the board to fasten her widely spread legs firmly in place w/o
cutting her circulation.  Cheryl tied her wrists together behind her back
while I cinched her elbows (Cheryl tends to pop a prisoner's shoulders when
she binds the elbows, which causes too much pain for her to appreciate our
other treats; no matter how much I punish her, I can't seem to break Cheryl
of that habit), then we attached the rope from her wrists to a pulley above
the board and pulled till she bent forward, her breasts dangling below her.

Leaving the dignified lady in that undignified position (which, interesting
enough, failed to diminish her dignity), we began our preparations, setting
up several grills, all where Mrs. Redchef could see them, and lit them,
placing a variety of implements in them to heat.  Checking the restaints
on our toy de jour, I observed that her blue eyes (wonderfully made up
with just the right amount of eyeshadow and mascara to enhance their
loveliness) were wide and frightened, and she was hmmmphing into the
lipstick and blush stained towel in her mouth.  But we paid her no mind
as the implements heated slowly and her bondage became steadily more
unpleasant, except at one point when I walked over and slowly stroked her
nipples with my fingertips.  Then, wetting my finger, I rubbed her nipples
some more, moistening them, then lit a match and passed it quickly under
her left nipple, then a couple times more under her right nipple.  Shaking
the match, I asked "Does that satisfy your curiousity, madam ?", and
returned to tending the grills.  As the fires burned down a bit, I dropped
a couple steaks on the grills; we had plenty of time, and our gracious
guest would await our convenience.  After a pleasant lunch, it was time
to move to the day's main event.

I tickled our captive's feet for a bit to verify that she had feeling and
to see how much range of motion her feet had. It was more than I
wanted, so I tied her big toes, and fasten the other end of the cord to
rings on the board.  The I took a bucket and sponge, wet and wrung out
the sponge, and moistened her left foot.  "I suggest you hold as still as
you can, Mrs. Redchef", I said, then brought a hot poker very close to the
ball of her foot.  It was tilted ever so slightly away from the left side
of her foot, so the small involuntary twitch didn't bring her flesh in
contact with the hot metal.  I moved the poker around her foot, in front of
and above her pedicured toes, along her instep, over her heel, then to the
tender arch of her foot, moistening as required with the sponge in my left
hand while my gloved right hand manipulated the poker.  By maintaining the
moistness and moving the poker at right pace and distance, I made the heat
terrible, a fact attested to by her squealing and squirming, w/o burning
her flesh.

As the poker had begun to cool and the glove had begun to heat, it
seemed a good time for a change.  I replaced the poker, changed gloves,
and moistened her buttocks, then moved the hot metal along the curve of her
ass.  She wasn't as securely restrained in these parts, and her attempt to
move away from the heat backfired when her taut arm restraints forced her
backwards causing her soft skin to brief touch the metal, and she screamed
into her gag and slumped in the ropes.  Putting the poker back in the coals
for a moment, I studied the small burn for time, then walked around to
take her by the hair and pulled her head up.  She was crying, her tasteful
makeup ruined by her tears, but she was conscious and aware.  "I told you
it would be best if you held still; try a bit harder from now on".
Allowing her some recovery time, I sat down with a cold drink to cool off
from this hot work.

Neither of us needed all the recovery time I allowed, but as she had
been burned and now knew how much it can hurt, I wanted her to think about
what was to come.  Returning to the task, I moistened her ribs and belly
and passed a fresh poker under her.  She sucked in her breath from the
pain and sucked in her tummy to get it as far from the heat as she could.
The ploy did her little good as I just moved the poker closer, and she
then had the additional difficulty of keeping her gut sucked in while
trying not to scream.  Relenting, I remoistened her buttocks and passed a
fresh poker over them, the task slightly complicated by the welts rising
from the caning.  "Let's try to get this right this time, Mrs. Redchef",
I told her, and she displayed admirable self-control, keeping reasonably
still despite her whimpers.  She jerked some when I lowered the poker to
the softness of her thighs, but that was expected and I managed to avoid
marring her pretty legs with another burn.

I took another break for refreshment, not really because it was needed but
because Cheryl was getting a bit glassy eyed from watching the torments and
I didn't want her coming just yet.  After letting Cheryl cool down a
little, I went back to heating up our guest, and moved on to her
soft, sensitive breasts.  I opted to moisten these by placing my hand in
the bucket, then rubbing her breasts all over, repeatedly.  I then began
quickly moving a fresh, and very hot, poker, around her breasts, holding
the hot metal just above her ribs, then just below her breastbone,
thrusting it into her cleavage, holding it just below her dangling nipples,
and passing it very quickly, and very closely, by the sides of her breasts.
For the rest, her inability to hold still while experiencing such pain, and
the way her dangling tits shook with each twitch required me to keep the
metal a bit further from her skin than I'd like, but I managed to make
several complete circuits of her breasts without burning her.  Checking
her agonized eyes and contorted features, I could see that she was close to
the limit of her endurance, so I put aside the poker and fondled her
delightfully hot breasts for a few minutes.  Then I stroked her hair, and
told her "There's one more event.  Do you want to do it now, or wait ?  Nod
for 'now'."  She nodded her head once, and I placed a mirror on the board
in front of her, then moved to the rear of the board, and retrieved a new

Fondling her pussy, I remarked that "I believe we can do this without
additional moistening", but decided her inner thighs need some moistening,
and very liberally sponged them.  Then the hot iron darted between her
thighs, in and out, quickly, many times.  The sizzling sound of her own
juices striking the hot metal and her loud if muffled moans made the event
an awful auditory experience, but she wasn't burned, as I verified during
breaks in the activity when I rubbed and visually examined her pussy.
Though it was hard to see her eyes as well as I hoped in the mirror, her
flushed face showed her agony, but she could handle more, I thought, and
retrieved a new iron and brought the glowing rod up from the board,
letting it slowly approach her wet flesh, letting her feel the heat on
her thighs as it slowly approached the place between her thighs, slowing
the approach as it neared her flesh, bringing it oh so close as it sizzled
from her juices and the heat built to unbearable levels and she began to
scream, then I withdrew the hot poker and quickly moved my left hand to
her pussy, but this time it contained not a damp sponge but a pair of tongs
tightly gripping a dildo covered in a smooth layer of ice which I rubbed
over her hot pussy, making her shriek from the sudden shock, and then slid
the wet, icy dildo into her wet, hot vagina, sliding it in and out until
her moans changed, and I kept sliding it in and out after the ice had
melted away and the friction increased and the warmth of her body had
warmed the dildo and she began moving her hips to increase and alter the
friction she felt, and soon her whole body was moist and glistening as
she moved as quickly as she could and her moans took on a pleading quality
and I thrust faster, and at last she screamed into her gag and went into a
long series of convulsions, and then slumped and hung unconscious in her

Mounting the board, I knelt beside her and supported her weight while
I ran a wet sponge over her face until she awakened, then asked Cheryl
for a stool, on which I positioned myself before the bound woman, loosening
my trousers to reveal my cock, and then removed her gag.  She looked up
at me, and I said "Yes, you have to", and without further discussion, she
moved her blonde head to my crotch and took my cock in her mouth and began
running her lips along the length of my shaft, back and forth until I could
stand it no longer (which, unfortunately, was not very long in my excited
state) and thrust deep into her mouth and came in her throat and she
swallowed it all.

I'd have liked to have savored the moment a bit longer, but I could see
that poor Cheryl was in a bad way, so I got down, and positioned a cot
in front of our plaything, which Cheryl somewhat impertinently, but
accurately, took to mean I decided she could remove her clothes now
(I must do something about that, I hate when a slave can anticipate
me so well) and started tearing them off, then hopped up and stretched
out on the cot, and I pushed Mrs Redchef's wet blonde head down to
Cheryl's dark wet bush, and told her, "If you want to leave, my lady,
you have to make this woman come".  Whether because of Cheryl's extreme
excitement, or because of the nimpleness of the captive lady's tongue,
which I briefly admired as I watched over her shoulder for too short
a time, this proved not much of a hurdle, and when Cheryl's spasms
ceased I grabbed a handful of blonde hair and pulled Mrs. Redchef's
head back, admiring the wonderful mess of blush, sweat, tears, and
pussy juice on her face, then pressed a cloth over her mouth, and
turned her world to blackness.

When she awakened, our guest was sitting in a metal chair bolted to
the floor, straps across her ankles, knees, waist, wrists, elbows, and
shoulders.  Her head was locked in a padded metal frame that allowed no
motion.  A rubber mouthpiece hung in front of her open mouth.  A gridwork
of bars was in front of her blue eyes, and several clamps above them.

Seeing that she was awake, I told her "This was expected to be the final
event of your stay with us, Mrs. Redchef.  A metal bar, this one, in fact"
I said as I picked up a glowing metal bar with a pair of tongs, "would be
inserted into the gridwork in front of your eyes, after your eyelids were
clamped open, and left there until you were blind, and could not indentify
us.  But they're such pretty eyes, and you've been such a delightful guest,
that I'm loathe to do such a dreadful thing.  If you'll give me your
promise never to report this, we won't hurt you any more today, and all
the records of this session will remain our secret.  Can I rely upon your
silence ?", I asked.

She blinked a couple times, not nearly as frightened as I had expected her
to be.  "Yes", she said.

After releasing her from the chair, and washing her (a set of padded wrist
and ankle restraints more than sufficing, as she offered no resistance) and
attending to her burn, we allowed to dress in a small private room, then
blindfolded and restrained for her return home.  Before inserting the gag
between her lips, I told her, "I think we'll be seeing you again, Mrs.

"I'd like that....", she said, before the gag silenced her, and we led
her to the van to take her home.