Chapter 1
The young woman was tied to the pole and was sitting on the box. Of course, that was not the worst part of her ordeal. The steel points attached to the wheel, the steel points that went into her pussy, that was the worst part.
But there was nothing that the young woman could do about it. She knew that she deserved this punishment. She had broken rules and laws by which mankind lived. She had been in and out of prison and yet prison had done nothing for her, to her, except make her more angry.
Now she was the subject in a new, secret study, a study to see if harsh treatment, sadistic treatment could cure female repeat offenders, could lead them back to the straight and narrow path to virtue. Perhaps such treatment could help her. She hoped so.
Her name was Jan. She did not like being a criminal, but it was all that she knew. She had been a hooker since she was fifteen. Now she was twenty-two and she did not know what else she could do with her life.
And she was drawn to crime. She had been caught this time stealing clothes from a department store. She did not really need the clothes, but she had stolen them just the same. She even had money in her purse, enough money to buy those clothes. But there was something about the thrill of theft that attracted Jan, something about the anxious rush she got in her blood when she knew that she was doing something wrong, something that she would be punished for if she were caught.
She had been caught and sent to jail for a short stay. That was no punishment for her. She did not mind jail at all. She had been there so many times that she had begun to think of a cell as just another room, perhaps a motel room, like the ones that she often visited with men who came to the city for a convention.
Jan had been very popular with those men, popular because she was pretty and had big tits and a sweet pussy. As she lay in her jail cell at night, she remembered her favorite men, the two or three out of the hundreds that she had fucked for money that she had truly enjoyed. Those two or three had given her warmth and a good and mighty fucking. But she had not seen them again. She had known when she fucked them that she would never see them again.
That was part of the thrill of the sex, even when it was bad. She knew that she and the man that she shared the motel room with would remain complete strangers even after their lust had been fulfilled.
And Jan never fucked for anything except money. She never fucked for love. She did not believe in love.
And she had never really believed in pain either, until now.
She had been in the cell the night before when the men had come and taken her to the new place, the big house on the outskirts of the city. It was surrounded by green and rolling lawns, big lawns. She wondered why they were taking her to this place, and then she had been taken inside and she had met Mister Blackstone. Harry Blackstone. He was sitting in his office in the front of the big house.
When the men from the jail had brought her into the office, Harry Blackstone had nodded to them. The men turned and left Jan alone with the man.
He was a handsome man with light-colored hair and a muscular build. He wore a patch over his eye and he smiled at Jan and introduced himself by name.
Then the young woman could stand it no longer. She had to know why she was here in this house, far away from the jail where she had been comfortable, where she had felt at home.
"What am I doing here, Mister Blackstone?" she asked, her voice quivering with fear, for, although the man looked handsome and cultured, Jan also sensed in him a brutal quality, the kind of quality that she had sometimes sensed in her customers, the one who had wanted to beat her with whips and knock her around motel rooms for their pleasure.
"What are you doing here?" Harry Blackstone said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands together. He looked up at the ceiling and seemed to be praying, seemed to be trying to think of a good way to explain all of this to Jan. She waited anxiously while he did that.
And, while she waited, Jan studied his patch. That patch gave him his brutal look. She wondered how he had lost that eye. But she knew that it would be a long time before she would be able to ask him such a personal question. He was taking his time answering that first question, that question that she truly had the right to ask.
"What are you doing here?" he said again, repeating her question for the second time.
Then he turned and looked at her and smiled.
"You are here to be helped, Jan," he said. "Helped?"
"I have read your personality profile, the one that was written by the psychologists who work in the women's prisons. According to that profile, you want to be helped."
"Helped with what?" the young woman asked.
She remembered all of those psychologists, the ones who had interviewed her at length the last time that she had gone to prison. They asked her questions about her family and about her feelings, but she had never thought that they were really interested in her. To Jan, it seemed that these people were just doing their job, just asking the questions so that they could draw their weekly checks from the state and say that they helped the prisoners to adjust. But adjust to what? That was the question that Jan always asked the psychologists and that is the question that they never answered, that they always ignored.
But she had to admit that Harry Blackstone was correct. She did want to be helped. She did not like being a criminal.
Suddenly, the young woman found herself crying, weeping out all of the shame and pain that she had suffered in her life. It had been years since she had cried and she found herself enjoying the feeling, enjoying the emptying of her soul.
Harry Blackstone sat there patiently while the girl cried. He seemed to be used to such sudden displays of sadness and frustration, she thought as she looked at him through her tears. She glanced at him and she cried. He did not seem to be sympathetic really, just patient, like a doctor who knew that he would be able to cure his patient just as soon as she got over her shock and her grief.
And then, a few minutes later, her crying was over and she looked at the man behind the desk with a feeling of refreshment in her body.
"I can help you to change your ways," he said softly.
"You can?" she whimpered.
"Yes. I can help you to be a good woman, the kind of woman that you want to be."
"How?"
'By hurting you," he said calmly. "What?"
Jan was shocked by the man's calm words. She did not want to be hurt, she thought. She had been hurt too much in the past. In fact, it seemed to Jan at that moment that she had spent her whole life hurting, with the pain coming from some indefinite place inside her spirit. Now this man with the patch told her that he was going to help her by hurting her even more. That did not make sense to Jan. It made even less sense than the other things in her life had.
Harry Blackstone waited a few seconds, waited until the words that he had said to the young woman had rooted themselves deeply into her brain, and then he explained what he meant.
"I have a Ph.D. in psychology, and I have a theory that women like you can be helped by pain. You see, you have felt a lot of inner pain in your life, but you have never really felt that much pain that you could identify, and you crave that pain, whether you know it or not. I would say that you have never had an orgasm in your life. Is that correct, Jan?"
How did he guess that?
The girl nodded her head as her mouth fell open. She had fucked hundreds of men in her career as a whore, but, even with the two or three that she truly enjoyed, with the two of three that she remembered fondly, she had "never had an orgasm. She had never felt that rush of fire on her cunt that she had heard other girls talk about.
"You have never had an orgasm because you have never been able to realize where your pain was coming from," Harry Blackstone said. "It has been just a vague feeling in your soul, right?"
Again, the girl nodded her head. Now, it seemed to Jan that Harry Blackstone was making sense, that he knew her better than any other human being had ever known her.
"My theory is simple, really," the man with the patch continued. "If we can direct your pain, if we can hurt you so that you will know why you feel pain and how that pain affects you, then you will able to get rid of it. You will know how it feels to really hurt and that will make you lose all of that vague pain that you carry around with you all day long. It is baggage, Jan, excess baggage. If we can put all of the pain that you feel into one huge bag and let you lift it, let you throw it away, then you will be back to normal and you can make something of your life. The state has offered to let me work with some young women in the jails and the prisons, young women who are repeat offenders and who seemed to hate themselves for their criminal acts. If I can help those young women, then we will make our findings public and we will change the way that prisoners, some prisoners at least, are treated. We will understand that pain is good if it is given correctly, if it is given in large doses so that the inmates can truly lift all of their pain out of their bodies and throw that pain away." -
Suddenly, a question came to Jan.
"Why just women?" she asked.
"Good question," Harry Blackstone said, nodding his head. "You are obviously a very intelligent young woman. We have discovered that females feel more vague pain and can more easily be adapted to the real pain than males. If the system works with women, we will then try it on selected men, but it will take more punishment to make a man reform."
Then it was Harry Blackstone's turn to ask the girl a question, but, before he asked it, he prefaced his question with some remarks about her civil liberties.
"You do not have to go along with this experiment if you do not wish to, Jan. If you say that you don't want to have anything to do with pain, I will just call the guards from the jail back into the office and they will take you back to your cell and you will serve out your time. Then you will get out and you will probably be back in jail within a matter of a few days. If, however, you decide to go along with this experiment, you will stay with me and my wife for about a week, and you will suffer the worst physical pain possible. Then we will see if you have changed any of your attitudes, if you feel better once that pain is gone. You will be released after that week in any case. You will not have to serve out the rest of your sentence. And I hope that the experiment will make you into a better woman so that when you leave us, you will not return to jail. We will also counsel you on training for a regular job in the outside world, but that is just a minor part of our service. I am sure that you have been counseled before. And it has done no good, because the prison system in America is not yet equipped to deal with the vague pain that you feel inside you."
The man leaned forward.
"Are you willing to try it, Jan?" he asked.
And before she even realized what she was doing she heard a voice-her voice-say, "Yes, I am willing to try anything."
That is how Jan wound up tied to the pole with the spiked wheel in her pussy. She was experiencing the pain, the pain that she hoped would make her into a better person.
And the pain was bad. The spikes were not moving, but they were cutting deep into the soft folds of her cunt, into that soft skin where so many cocks had been.
And Jan was surprised to find that she was being turned on by the feeling in her cunt. She was being turned on more than she had ever imagined. She hurt, yes. The pain was almost unbearable, but, somewhere, deep in her soul, Jan realized that, if she just had a little more pain, a little more punishment, she just might come, just might experience that heated rush to her cunt that her friends had often talked about.
And she wanted to experience that heat, even if it was brought about by pain. She was willing to endure the pain if it would only change her, would only make her come with delight.
She looked toward the door of the little room in which she was tied. She knew that her punishment had just begun really, and she wondered what else would happen to her, what would be coming through that door.
It was as if Harry Blackstone could read her mind, for, as she wondered what would be coming through that door, the door opened and Harry Blackstone came through it.
The man was naked and he carried something in his hand that looked both terrible and wonderful to Jan.
It was a metal rod with a ball on the end. Around that ball were spikes, like the spikes that invaded her pussy.
Jan gasped with fear and then sighed with pleasure as she saw Harry Blackstone approach her. She hoped that this would be it, that this would be the added pain that she needed in order to feel good and in order to have an orgasm, the first orgasm of her life.
And Jan was glad that Harry Blackstone was naked too. That added something to the sexual tension of the moment. He was a very handsome man and he had a long, thick dick that swung between his legs as he marched toward her.
She did not realize that she was speaking to him until she heard herself call out to Harry Blackstone in lust and anguish.
"Come to me!" she yelled, tossing her head from side to side as she moved on the spikes and felt them work even more deeply into the soft flesh of her cunt. "Come to me and hurt me, you wonderful stud."
The man with the patch over his eye just smiled and strolled toward her, taking his time, letting the anguish build in her lusty, ripe body.
He knew what she wanted. He was experienced in these things, and he understood. But he also knew that it would be better to make the sexy girl wait for just a little while. That way, her sexual tensions would increase and her chances at an orgasm on this first day of her ordeal would be made even better.
Harry Blackstone was a trained psychologist. He knew what kind of girl liked pain, even if the girl herself did not realize that this was what she yearned for. And he had known the minute that he had seen Jan that she was the just the type that he was looking for, just the type to make his experiment work.
The psychologist with the patch over his eye stood in front of the young woman and smiled down on her.
"Are you ready, Jan?" he asked as he smiled. "Are you ready for the most terrible physical pain of your life?"
She worked her body over the spike as she moaned to him, as she felt the spikes go deeper and deeper into her wet, throbbing pussy.
"Yes, I am ready," she said.
And the girl knew that she was ready. She felt her pussy quiver and moisten with joyous, passionate juices. She had never felt this way before, so sexy, so lusty, so yearning. It seemed to her at that moment that all of the good things in the world, all of the things that she wanted most dearly, were centered in Harry Blackstone's naked body and in the spikes that came out of that ball on the end of the metal rod that he held in his hand, centered in that and in the pain that she could feel in her cunt. It was a good pain, although it hurt her. It was good because, finally, she thought, she knew where the pain was coming from. She could concentrate on that pain and know that it was coming from her bleeding pussy. And she knew that, when the spikes left her pussy, when the bleeding stopped, her pain-all of her pain-would be over and done with. That knowledge that there was an end to her pain, an end that she knew would come when she was finished with her ordeal, made Jan very happy and very lusty too.
"Give me more pain," she begged. "I want a lot of pain and then I want it to stop and make me feel so much better."
Harry Blackstone grinned, beamed with professional joy. This girl was very intelligent, he thought. She understood exactly what was going on in her body. He was lucky to have such an intelligent young woman for his first subject in his first human experiment.
The naked man moved behind the pole, moved behind Jan. When she tried to follow him with her eyes, she hurt her neck and that new pain added more juice to her bleeding, throbbing pussy.
She turned around and faced the door and let the pain rush through her like fire and whispered to Harry Blackstone as if he were a lover, as if they were in bed together for the first time, as if he were about to take her virginity.
"Beat me," she said softly. "Give me the pain that I need."
Harry Blackstone reached around her and raised his arm up high. Then he brought the arm down and the ball with the spikes protruding from it smashed into her tit. The girl yelped and then gasped and then sighed. She looked down at that bare breast and saw that her flesh was bleeding. She felt the pain rushing to her head and she knew that she would feel like a brand new girl, a good girl, after this pain was over.
"Hit me again," she begged, sighing with her pain and her lust building together in her sexy body.
And Harry Blackstone did hit her again. He brought the ball down on the other tit and then he held the ball to the tit, let the spikes cut into her deeply as he rolled that ball of metal around.
She screamed in pain, but that did not bother the psychologist. He knew that she was getting just what she needed, and he knew that this intelligent girl would agree with him when the pain was done.
Jan looked down when Harry Blackstone finally pulled the ball away from her tit, and she saw the blood rushing out of her breast. She closed her eyes and tensed her body and felt the pain coming to her brain from all over her body, from her bloody tits and her bloody cunt. She sighed with a long, soft sound.
And then she came.
When the orgasm started to move through her body, Jan knew what was happening. She knew what the thing felt like, although she had never felt anything like that before. She hunched the spikes that were embedded in the flesh around her pussy with an animalistic eagerness and she yelled in pain and sighed with pleasure, making one kind of sound and then the other as the orgasm matched the pain and swept through her like fire, bloody and beautiful fire.
Harry Blackstone studied the young woman as she worked on the spikes, as she bled with new emotions filling her head and new feelings filling her body. He knew what was happening to her. She was coming, and she was on her way to being cured.
Harry Blackstone was a professional. He understood it all.
And he smiled because he sensed that his theory had been correct that this woman was proving that it was correct, proving with her pain and her pleasure.
When the orgasm was over, Jan watched as the man with the patch over his eye moved in front of her and stood there and smiled at her, smiled at his first experiment coming to lusty life before him.
"Thank you," she said, still bleeding profusely and still feeling a little bit of pain and biting in her body. "I feel better already."
"Good," the professional psychologist said. "We will take you up to your room now and we will dress your wounds."
The man leaned forward and kissed her cheek, thanking Jan for being such a good subject for his experiment, thanking her for helping to prove that he had been right all the time.
And that kiss made her feel warm and wanted for the first time in her criminal life. Jan relaxed on the spikes and looked down at her own blood and knew that her criminal life would soon be over.