iwantkylietowalkonme
03-26-2010, 7:54 PM
Meeting Jill, M.D.A few weeks ago, I started dating this stunning Medical Doctor named Jill. She’s an exotic auburn-hared, beauty, with long, curls, strong legs. She’s 28, 5’9", 135 lbs., with a truly incredible tan, athletic curvaceous body. She’s brilliant and she knows it, so she’s got a huge attitude. And she gets rather bored with any one man because there’s always three more waiting in the wings. She’s the kind of woman who truly doesn’t even think about the bouquet of roses some guy sent her, or a man waiting two hours in the rain for her to come out, because it happens to her all the time. She’s also very cold, efficient and heartless…more of a biological entity, than a human being. It is unbelievable to me that she chose medicine, but she is more interested in the cold science of it than the actual healing. Kind of like a Coroner can slice up a body without a thought about who is used to be. As I grew to know her, I found that, while she is a very capable physician, Jill is also the most sociopathic personality I have ever encountered. I have never known anyone who simply did not identify, in the least, with the plight of another person. She can dress a wound in the most efficient way possible, because that is her job, but she feels no concern, at all, for the pain someone is experiencing, even if she is the one causing it, because, ultimately the body will heal and it will not have mattered. The other night, I watched her carry on a phone conversation from a patient’s hospital room, with her girlfriend, about going dancing this weekend, when the patient began gagging on his failed breathing tube. He was clearly in great discomfort and fear, but Jill told me she would get to him when she got off the phone because, "He’s not in danger of dying. He’ll be able to get enough air to survive through his continuous gagging." (She actually said that!) She went back to her conversation for a few more minutes. I met her in a dance club. I noticed her because she was sporting five-inch heels with metal tips and trying to crush a piece of ice with her heel, as the ice slid out from under her shoe until she finally smashed it. The night I met her, fifteen minutes after I’d first spoken to her, she said, "Look, I know you probably want to spend some time charming me and making me swoon, but, the fact is I’m really tense and I need to have sex. So, let’s get out of here." Just like that. Twenty minutes later, she made good on her promise, using me until I was totally spent, and giving me some wicked scratches with her nails, in the process. At about five a.m., she woke up and kissed me lightly, saying, "I’m outta here, babe, thanks." I said, groggily, "You just scratch me all up and then you leave?!" "You’ll heal," she said over her shoulder as she walked out of the room. She said it like she knew I was trying to get her to have a conversation with me, but, since she was done with me, there was no point in that. I was totally enthralled, but didn’t think she’d see me again. But, to my surprise, when I called her the next day, she invited me to a party she was throwing for a friend that weekend. I picked her up at the hospital on Saturday evening, and was waiting in the hallway while she treated a guy with a broken arm. As she set his arm, the guy cried out, saying, "God, you’re hurting me." She replied, "Yes, but I’m not DAMAGING you…and that’s all that really matters." He pleaded, "Can you just give me some anesthetic?" Jill, replied, without looking up, "You don’t need any anesthetic. If people would just get past the pain, their bodies can take a lot more punishment than they think." She seemed to have no sympathy at all, which intrigued me. Later, while watching T.V., I asked her about that comment. And, the ensuing conversation, started an unbelievable progression of events I couldn’t possibly have planned or manipulated, one flowing seamlessly and perfectly into the next. It was as if God, himself, had allowed me my most perfect, unimagined fantasy. I will try to get each word and feeling exactly right. She said, "I’ve done quite a bit of research on the human body’s tolerance for pain. Your body sends powerful pain signals to the brain well before you are truly damaged, but that’s all they are…signals. So you don’t need to be concerned with treating pain as much as everyone thinks. There have been whole surgeries done where the patient was paralyzed by one drug but, accidentally, not anesthetized by the other. So, he couldn’t scream to stop the pain and the team couldn’t tell he was feeling every cut. They calmly removed his appendix. He felt everything! The pain would have been horrible, but the patient is fine today. No harm done." "In fact, sometimes, you can learn more about a patient’s condition by deliberately causing him rather substantial pain for a few moments. It’s a technique I use often. If I push down hard on a person’s inflamed appendix for a few moments, I’ve confirmed his diagnosis, even though he is in great pain the whole time. So, in the end, he’s better off. I’m gonna flunk ‘bedside manner’ for saying this, but there is a certain efficiency about it." I asked, "Is that why you didn’t care about scratching me the other night?" She held up her hand and said, "Look, the truth is, if you could ignore the pain, I could take these nails, dig them as deep into you as my strength will allow – until I’m sweating from the effort -- and rake them down your chest until you bleed; and, as long as you didn’t get infected, it wouldn’t really do any harm. You’d heal. The whole notion of learning to ignore pain is fascinating to me. Martial Arts Masters overseas can take blows directly to the face and ignore it completely. Why can’t we. I’d love to do a study on it. Though I don’t think too many students would volunteer for something like that." My mouth went dry. I said, "I’ll volunteer! Here and now! Try really raking me with your nails and see if I can ignore the pain." She laughed, "Really?" I said, "Yes, and don’t hold back at all." She replied, "Honey, if I hold back, it’s not scientifically valid." Without further hesitation, she calmly opened my shirt, and began to press her long, nails into me as hard as she could, watching me to see if I was able to take it, waiting, I’m sure, for me to say, "Uncle." She dug them into me very hard, sending shivers of pain up my torso. But, when I didn’t object, she raised her eyebrows, acting mildly surprised, gripped my chest tightly, looked straight into my eyes, and then methodically tore my skin from the top of my chest down to my navel, slowly, in ten separate, very deep, bleeding lines, while gritting her teeth, and without letting up on her nails at all. Sweat broke out on my forehead and my teeth started chattering from the pain, but I didn’t make a sound!. She stared at me the whole time, calmly and detachedly watching my eyes to see when they started watering. When she finished, without giving a thought to what she had just done to me, she hopped off the couch and said, "Wow! Not bad! Let me get some Betadyne for those scratches and we’ll see how much more you can take." I knew I’d found my dream. It was time to go out on a limb. After she swabbed me with Betadyne, I, as casually as I could, suggested that, since I could take her fingernails full-strength, the only way to make more painful scratches was with her, more powerful, leg muscles. She replied, "Won’t work, my toenails are certainly not as sharp as my fingernails." Then, the master-stroke: "Oh, yeah, well…what if you used….your heels…." She looked at me for a beat. I was straining to see what she was thinking…if she knew. Just when I thought she was going so say something like, "This is getting a little weird," she answered, "Hmm, I’d have to clean them first so you don’t get infected…" (Oh my God.) "Plus, I have really muscular legs. If we keep to our rule about not holding back, I’d really, really be hurting you." (OH MY GOD!) "Are you sure you don’t mind doing this for me? (Doing this for YOU?!!!) Guys are always doing things for me to keep dating me, but this is really beyond the call." She said this last comment with a tone that told me: ‘I really could care less about you; I’m certainly not going to keep seeing you over this; and, I’m giving you an ‘out’ to absolve myself of responsibility or obligation, afterwards.’ I said, "No, I’d really like to increase my tolerance." You have to understand. During this exchange, though I was trying, as hard as possible, to keep my voice matter-of-fact, inside, my heart was racing, and my stomach was getting that unbelievable, queasy feeling it used to, when I first laid my hand in a position to be stepped on by a woman in a club. I just couldn’t believe this was happening to me! And, all without her knowing my fetish, and genuinely and completely unconcerned about what she was about to do to me! She was getting excited about it now. "You understand, I’ll have to really hurt you quite badly to learn something from this. I won’t give a thought to limiting how far I go. The only rule will be that I will try not to seriously damage you, and, if I do, I will treat you for free." I agreed, my eyes locked on her hands, as she expertly ran her evil-looking spikes under warm water, washing them with soap. I tried to imagine her weight on those spikes. "Okay," she replied, "this should be fun…more for me than for you, though, I expect." She asked if she could rake my back with her heels, since my chest was marked so badly already. I said okay, but I didn’t know if I could keep from crying out. Jill told me, "Actually, I could get a better idea how difficult it is to control the pain, if you do. I won’t stop unless I think you really can’t take it." I was savoring each moment, as she sat down in a chair, wearing her short, black skirt, halter-top, and sharp pumps, and I laid down on the floor, in front of her, on my stomach, my bare back exposed to her sharp heels. I felt the corners of her spikes press into my flesh, and the pain was great enough that I thought she was really pressing down hard on them, until I realized she hadn’t even begun pressing at all. She said, "Okay… first we press and then we rip!" The angle was such that she could put an incredible amount of pressure to the corners of her heels. When she finally drove them in, it was like she was standing on them. Picture a woman driving her heels as hard as she can, into just the carpet, and scraping them forward over and into the floor. That’s what she did to my back. I didn’t understand how completely she had meant "no holding-back" until that moment. Then, she started driving them down my back. I gasped. The pain came in waves. My skin was actually tearing and bunching up ahead of her silver spikes as she ripped them down my back, starting at my neck and pushing forward and down. You don’t know how strong a woman’s legs can be! And she was flexing her full muscular strength even though she could clearly see what was happening to my flesh. She did it slowly, too. I stared at her the whole time, trying to look defiant, but my eyes were watering so badly her amused face was blurring. She watched me, in obvious pain, seeing my eyes watering, and hearing my voice catch in my throat, and, for the first time, I realized she was trying to break me. It wasn’t about how much pain I could take, anymore. Not directly, anyway. Now, it was about her winning – making me cry out, no matter how strong I was. Proving, I could not control extreme pain better than anyone else. She managed to get almost all the way down my back the second time, before I whimpered involuntarily. She called, "Hey, don’t quit now, you’re really learning to control the pain." She, then, began spiking me very fast with both heels, in little scratching stomps to my back, saying, "Can you take it when I really jam them into you?" Trying to keep my voice from cracking, and truly wanting the pain to stop, I planned to cry out and give in. But, instead, quite without really controlling it, I heard my voice say, quivering, "Jill, you aren’t getting enough of your weight on them to really jam them into me." I knew there was only one possible response she could have to that, and I couldn’t believe I’d just said it. I was honestly, truly afraid of what I’d just set in motion. She didn’t miss a beat. "Oh, really? Well, how about if I put my full, 135 pounds on them?!" She stood up, stepped a quarter-inch from my face, and then, onto (or more into) the flesh of my back, right below my shoulder blade, forcing all the air out of my lungs in a loud grunt! She spun on her heel, leaned back onto the spikes themselves and asked, "Okay, how does that feel, tough guy?" I couldn’t answer. My mouth hung open, but no sound came out. The pain was so exquisite – so powerful – I felt if I tried to make a noise, my back would break then and there. I focused on an indention Jill’s heel had made, in the hardwood floor, right next to my face. I was being crushed into the same floor by Jill’s full weight, as her heels concentrated her whole, 5’9" frame on two, thin, sharp, metal stiletto spikes, and bore that weight into my back. She began walking hard, up and down my back on her heels. She assumed, since I hadn’t cried out, that I was fine. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I just couldn’t get a breath with her powerful legs and ass carrying her tall, frame over my yielding flesh, her full weight bouncing on those killer heels like that. After a couple of minutes, I managed to draw enough air to moan, "Stop," between clenched teeth, but the TV drowned me out. And she kept on. I began a long, continuous moan of absolute pain, between clenched teeth, as she continued to trample me beneath her feet. In the past, when I’d been trampled, the woman would always test a spot with her heel, and, slowly, apply her weight, in case she heard a really terrible expression of pain. Jill didn’t concern herself with this. And, consequently, she sunk her heels into parts of me that just made me scream -- but without enough air to make a sound -- helpless to stop this torture -- and continued on, casually looking down at me. Not a few times, she stepped too far to the side of my back, and her heel slid off, ripping my side as she sliced into me with her spike. After about ten minutes, as she stopped walking, she stood still, fully on my neck, leaning on the spikes… penetrating me… and thought a moment, "I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you to be enduring this level of pain. To have a 135 pound woman actually stepping all over you in high heels…God, I could never take what I’m doing to you!" She laughed, "I’m actually making HOLES in your BACK!" She said this in a completely calm and detached way. It was not as if it even occurred to her to stop hurting me because of the pain she knew she was causing. It was, simply, an observation. "Can you describe what this is like for you? What you’re going through, right now?" She ground her foot back and forth. "I mean it! Tell me what this is like for you!" I tried to describe the sensation to Jill, my teeth chattering, through glassy eyes, as she continued to stand on me; the burning and cutting, as her heels sunk more deeply into my flesh than I thought was possible; the fear, if she took a step, of where she would smash down on me and the damage she could do, if she unconsciously crushed a bone or organ without even knowing or caring. The unbelievable intensity of the new pain, when she so much as unconsciously shifted her weight; and the all-consuming knowledge that this was effortless for her – that she could continue to cause this unimaginable pain all night long without so much as a thought. She could talk to a girlfriend on the phone, do her nails, or just watch TV, and the pain would continue, never abating, never acknowledged, never appreciated, and I was helpless to stop her from inflicting as much as she chose. More than anything, I told her I most feared that she had no way of conceiving of just how much pain I was in – the severity of her torment, and that that one fact would cause her to think I could continue to endure this, when every minute seemed like an hour. Jill shifted her foot to the side of my neck, causing my face to contort to the side, at an incredible angle, against the front of her shoe, as she said, "That’s interesting." Unmoved in the least, she said, "This is fascinating to me. Even though you are enduring all of that…the fear and pain…you aren’t screaming…you are able to control it to some extent." She didn’t know that, sometimes, pain can be too extreme to scream – that you can be afraid screaming will make it unbearable. She flexed her heels for effect, sinking them even deeper into an especially soft spot she had found near my ear. My voice caught in my throat. She seemed to know exactly where to step to inflict the greatest pain. "I hadn’t thought of that…even unconscious things I do, like shifting my weight, are major events in your life, when every fiber of your being is just praying for some reprieve from the pain. Everything you ever wanted, everything you ever dreamed of, is completely forgotten right now…all you want in the world is for me to stop doing this to you. Am I right?" I couldn’t answer. She had placed her high heels right next to one another and was slowly shifting her weight from one to the other, back and forth, in exactly the same spot beneath my ear, sometimes crushing my ear lobe with her heels. I could feel them penetrating me, and a pool of blood forming around them as she looked down at me, thinking. Jill stood for another couple of minutes on me, standing on one heel, scratching me with the other to try to break me. My eyes were bugging out of my head, and I had stopped talking, and all but stopped breathing, devoting my entire focus to unwavering concentration on enduring the searing pain. I was absolutely motionless, locked in frozen shock, at what was happening to me, as I heard the occasional creak of her shoe leather, as she now stood motionless in one spot, sinking ever deeper into the side of my neck. Still crushing me, she finally said, "Well, I give up, you have the highest pain threshold I’ve ever encountered. But you see my point? Even after everything I’ve just done to you, all the pain you’ve been in, your body is not substantially damaged. Your ribs aren’t broken, they flex." She punctuated this point by bouncing heavily on my back a few times…springing up and down on my compressed ribs. "Nothing is really damaged that won’t heal. And, I promise I’ll help nurse your scratches and stuff back to health. I don’t know why you agreed to let me do this to you, but it shows me there’s promise for learning to do this. And, as it’s obvious you are able to ultimately endure this, if you’d be a willing participant on a regular basis, I’m sure I could learn a lot more about what the limits of the body really are. Would you mind? I know it’s quite unpleasant for you, but it would really help me out." She punctuated her words by placing her stiletto heel into my ear and stepping down powerfully. "Please say ‘Yes’." I did. As she stepped off my back, she deliberately brought her heel down onto my hand. Since I did not expect it, I really cried out in pain, like a puppy, really yelping. "Oh, so you do have a chink in your armor," Jill said. "Let’s do one more experiment. Put your hand on the floor, and, this time, see if you can keep from yelling when I walk over it. I swear you can quit after this." I couldn’t move my body to resist. I placed my hand on the floor where she said. She lined up, looked severely at me and said, "This is where you really have to concentrate. Here I go." With that, she walked forward, stepping squarely on the back of my hand with her spike heel. As her weight went over the heel, I screamed in agony. I could never take that for more than a second. I was holding my hand when she told me to put it back down. It was obvious I couldn’t endure her standing on it, she said, but how about walking over it repeatedly? I laid my hand at Jill’s feet, as she started to pace back and forth, stepping on it with her heel. Sometimes, she would crush the back of my hand, sometimes my fingers, and once or twice, she pinched the flesh at the side of my hand under her sharp heel. She saw my eyes watering and heard me gasp in pain each time she crushed my fingers under her foot, but calmly kept asking me how much it hurt and could I take more. She spoke as a doctor would ask if you were allergic to something. After several passes, my hand began to ache so much I asked her please to stop. I said this was something I would have to work on to raise my pain threshold over time. She seemed satisfied with that, and asked if I really wanted to do what it took to increase my tolerance. I said I did. She answered that she would try to put some sort of methodology together and that maybe her roommate would be interested in working on this sort of thing, too. She added they would have to have rules, though, so they wouldn’t get carried away. "Don’t worry," she said, "we might hurt you, but we won’t truly damage you. We’d know from our training, exactly how much you could really take, even if you thought you had reached your limit. And it really would help you learn to raise your pain threshold." Since that night, I’ve found out that Jill and her roommate are true sociopaths. They have taken turns torturing me on a number of occasions, using medical instruments, fingernails, and lots of high heels to raise my tolerance for pain. I have had flames held close to my nipples until I screamed and screamed for it to stop while one or the other of them calmly ignored me, making notes as I begged them to stop the pain. They dug their nails into my balls to wake me up, and practiced vicious slaps to my face. At one point, Jill brought four young female medical students over to repeatedly practice checking my prostate. Three of the four tore me, inside, with their fingernails, as they were getting the hang of it. It has been an intense few months. -- I'd probably need to explain a little more of the personal dynamic to let you know why I'm hesitant to approach Jill about other "volunteers." Partly because of her arrogant personality (I don't mean that in a bad way), Jill really believes I don't at all like what she does to me. She thinks I endure it so she'll be my girlfriend. To this end, she performs certain "girlfriendly duties" to keep me thinking that. Like I said, she's a biological entity...it means nothing to her. We still go dancing every weekend. I heard her and her roommate talking the other day, as I got dressed to leave. Her roommate was saying something to the effect of, "You know,we're using that poor guy as a lab rat until he's in one helluva lot of pain each time, and he keeps coming back and letting us because he's so in lust with you. He actually likes you so much, he lets you tear him to shreds, and instead of being grateful for that, you hurt him more and more each time!" You should, at least tell him he's got no chance." Jill just said, "He'll survive...besides, you're the one that spent the last twenty minutes squeezing his testicles." She had. She shrugged, laughing a little, "Okay, I just thought we should talk about it." Jill's roommate, Karen, is more compassionate...as in, she squeezes my balls with one hand, and caresses my forehead with the other, asking if the pain is too great. Sometimes, while she's stepping on me, or holding a lighter to my chest, she'll look at me is if to say, "I'm sorry, this must really hurt." But, of course, she continues to do it. Like it has to be done. The only time Karen actually hurt me in anger was when I slapped her hand away from my chest as she was holding a flame close to my skin. I just wasn't ready for how much it hurt. She told me "We're not gonna have that kind of crap going on!" And she used hospital restraints to hold my arms back. Then, she brought the flame up to my chest and calmly stood there staring at me as I yelped and jumped, trying to get away. It was the only time she clearly smiled at my pain. Finally, after several minutes, she said, "You've got a long way to go," and walked away. She later apologised, saying, she shouldn't have been so cruel just to be cruel. But, like everything else, the more you do something, the more you get desensitized and it seems totally natural. In fact, Karen will come home from studying, and see me restrained on the floor, and drop her ass onto my stomach, full-weight, in her tight jeans and say, "How's it going, Slick? You ready for another session?" Jill and Karen have become totally at home with tormenting me on a regular basis and there seems to be no end in sight. They think I must be really stupid to let them do this to me, but as long as I am... But, it was Karen that told Jill she could'nt stand on my face with her metal heels because the orbit bone around my eyes might not be strong enough, and she might accidentally step into one of my eyes. She substituted herself barefoot. Though she's not as tall as Jill, I think she's almost as heavy. The latest test they're doing is to find out if fear exacerbates pain (of course this test was my idea, cleverly offered so they think they thought of it). Karen stands on my face while I am laying down, my arms restrained above me with straps from the hospital so I really can't resist; or, sometimes, kneels on my upper arms (this hurts like hell), and cuts off my air (either with her hands or feet) while Jill "administers the test" as they call it. She sqeezes me where it hurts, scratches me, steps on my hand or wrist, or just holds a flame next to my skin and tries to determine if I cry out more quickly or louder than when I'm not afraid of suffocating. (They make 'pain control charts' on me). (I started with 10's across the board...now I'm down to 8's, so I think I'm making progress :-) To me, this has gotten to the point where anyone would be able to see the parties were all "into" this sort of thing. But I really believe Jill and Karen are blinded by their arrogance toward men and their "using" personalities. Jill still cajoles me into letting her try this or that by saying she'll spend the whole weekend with me or do something "I've only read about in books", because she thinks she needs to. Karen can be exceedingly cruel, but, usually acts according to Jill's direction and because she accepts that I am a willing participant, though a misguided one. The other day, she stood on my wrist in boots, and ground one of her heels into my wrist under her full weight continuously for fifteen minutes, to see if the duration made it worse. She calmly talked to Jill the whole time she was crushing my wrist as if I wasn't even there. They've both taken to using their weight to cause pain because it's effortless for them. Although, Jill really likes to slap me as hard as she can across the face while I'm blindfolded to see if I can keep from crying out when I don't expect it, and am already controlling some other pain Karen is administering. You should see the notes and charts! It's freakin' amazing! I really think they want to publish some kind of paper...like they've hit the Holy Grail of medical studies and no one else will be able to gather the data! I'm just sticking with it as long as it lasts! I may ask Jill if she thinks she should test someone else's pain tolerance to see if I'm the exception to the rule, but it would have to be impromptu and in the right environment. I must admit, it would be fun to watch her hurt somebody else the ways she hurts me...I'll keep you advised. I suggested longer duration testing to Jill tonight. Like laying under her desk chair as she studies for a whole evening; or having her stand continuously on my fingers for hours to see what it does to me. I had a phenomonal finger crush a few years ago at a bar in New York that lasted for over an hour and it was deliberate. My hand didn't work for a full week. I'd love to duplicate that! AJ
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