Skid Marks

“I look forward to both of you destroying me there together soon.” ~me, May 24th

Be careful what you ask for slut…

Then came a day Sir needed to stop by the welding shop. He’d already been working his magic with my mind for several days. I love how wet I get when he makes me squirm.

I was soaked by the time we got there. The men started to discuss business. I love playing with the two of them together. I looked around. The shop is a Sadist’s playground. The very real fear began to kick in. I grinned. I love it when that happens.

Unfortunately, I was told this wasn’t going to end up being a play date. Apparently some things in life are more important than a slut in heat. The disappointment must have shown on my face.

Well, there’s no reason why we can’t make the slut dance a little.

And that’s when Sir pulled out something that had caught his eye. In his hands, they were terrifying enough. He attached them to the hoist. That was even scarier. He had me pose for this photo.


These are log skidding tongs. They are designed to drop over, then bite into really big trees when pulled. They were trying to bite into my head, and I had to use my hands to keep the jaws apart.

There was much discussion between the men, and much laughter. They had me lean through the jaws to see if the tongs would be a suitable restraint for spanking. Oh, they were…


All of my focus was on not letting the hooks pierce my abdomen and hook my rib cage. I smiled on command again for another photo, but in my mind I was visualizing a swinging, bloody carcass. I definitely did not want any of these skid marks.

Let’s just try one more thing.

Oh shit. I knew it was inevitable. These tongs were no joke. They terrified me. They REALLY could tear me apart. I balked. Sir ordered me into position. It took every ounce of willpower to obey.

They placed the tongs into position. My underwear was still in place, but fabric wasn’t going to help if those jaws closed any tighter.  I used both hands again to prevent just that. This was just for another photo, right? I smiled nervously and waited.

Sir grabbed the chain. Ever so slowly, one link at a time, he raised the tongs. The discussion between the Doms continued.

My nervous laughter quickly turned to pleading as the jaws tightened. I fought them with my hands, trying to pry them apart. The tips entered me, fabric and all. I stood as high on my toes as I could.

I think maybe she can go higher.

No, I couldn’t. Another link went through the winch. I was begging him to stop. One leg came off the ground, and I let go of the jaw with one hand to grab the chain. The jaws bit in more. That eliminated my escape plan of using both hands to climb up the chain.

Another link passed. The very tip of my shoe still on the ground threatened to lift up. If that happened, I knew my full weight dropping would cause the jaws to snap and dig in.

Logs are much harder to pick up than sluts.

The screaming began. I pivoted on my shoe, no longer capable of words. I held on for dear life.

The men watched. They waited, and savored the dance as fear and pain worked on my mind. They held me there on that edge for what seemed like a very long time, all without effort on their part. Then Sir took his photo.


Yes, I should be careful what I ask for. But now I am looking forward to that play date even more. And I am already afraid of it as well…

Sinful SundaySee who else is being sinful with me this week.

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