She's young and cute, riding her bike for a day out in the country when her bike gets a flat. Mei heads toward the first house she sees. Before the day is out, she's bound in a farmhouse basement, unable to escape, unable to scream.

When he drags her into the basement room, she's unconscious. He lifts her onto a metal frame, all that remains of a chair. Cable ties secure her wrists and ankles to the frame. When she wakes, she struggles, slowly taking in her predicament. This is when she starts screaming.

He tapes her mouth and laces a leather hood tightly to her head – a hood with an oval that leaves her nose and eyes free so that she can see. Anticipation is important to create in a subject of torture. It increases her terror.

A pair of scissors. His teeth on her nipple. A thick, heavy, tight leather collar – to keep down the noise, he says as he cinches it tighter around her throat. After he cuts off her clothes, he asks her how her boyfriend fucks her. Fascinated by her pussy, he fingers her clit then rubs a white cream onto her pussy, cunt, and asshole. She tries to scream, but all that comes out are little squeaks. It's because of the special cream on her tender skin – hot twat.

A whip. A cane. He strikes her wherever it hurts the most. And after that, he inflates a cock inside her cunt, pumps it up until it's huge, ballooning out of her cunt. He vibrates her to orgasm, keeping the vibrator against her pussy afterward. What will you do for me if I stop? he says. Suck my cock? And she nods yes, making her little squeaky screaming sound. So he stops vibrating her. He walks away, disappearing up the stairs. Her eyes widen. She tries to scream again. Because everything so far has been horrible, unthinkable. But this is the worst.

Now she's all alone.

There's always a price for love, especially love for this kind of intense Play. In the case of kali, she's in way over her head.

Kali's shackled motionless inside the pivot cage. Just ask any torturer. Force a person into an impossible position and don't let her move for hours. Something snaps in the mind. J shocks her with a taser. She screams, but what's the use? Kali begs for water. He pivots her - face up. A dog bowl full of ice sits on the cage. He slips each shard of ice into her cunt, one after another. Tears run down her face. As the ice melts, it pours out her pussy back into the dog bowl that he's placed on the floor below her. He makes her drink.

A fucking machine waits. The Fucker looks like something from Giger, as though when you enter here, you're crossing a line into an alien darkness. Kali is caned, vibrated, and fucked, all at the same time.

Now strapped spread eagle to PD's elegant Spider, kali's large breasts are ballooned. PD tickles her. She doesn't quite laugh, doesn't quite scream. He tilts her head down, pressing his crotch in her mouth. Whipping her pussy, he gets the pleasure of her screams rippling against his cock. He tightens her further, as easy as tightening a screw. Her arms, her legs, her neck. And he canes her as he vibrates her. She begs to come. He says, I don't care if you come or not. As for kali, she's slipped into some crack right at the edge. And she's sliding, dropping. She knows it. She's fucked.

Afterward, she's shaking all over. It was intense, she says. Crazy intense. She's got a thousand yard stare. The dark side of ecstasy.

The jewel in the crown.

Earlier this year, Emily did a great shoot at Hardtied. So for Attitude Adjustment, PD locks her in tight metal bondage and creates torturous positions that push Emily to the edge of her limits. But Emily sticks it out and never once hints at an old Insex euphemism she probably doesn't know - “Canada.”

She's hogtied with cable ties as though PD snatched her off the street and dragged her to some dank basement. On the floor beside her, he lays out the metal for his victim. When we see Emily next, PD's tightening the bolts of her chastity belt. He screws down the wing nuts of the tit squeezer. PD rubs her pussy, but she's so miserable, it has no affect. She won't answer his questions. So he canes her. He was going to anyway, but this way he can make it seem like she brought on her own suffering, as though she can affect her predicament. But she can't. She has a single choice, between one misery and another.

She's chained between two posts and blindfolded. She can either stand on her tiptoes or step up onto a bar, which forces her into a stooping position. As he canes her – at first single strokes, but then a succession of rapid stinging blows – she moves back and forth. He orders her to stand on the bar and spread her legs. Her ass sticks out, perfectly displayed. A cattle prod touches her body, first here, then there. She jerks with each shock, never knowing where he'll hurt her next. Then he shocks her pussy. A nasty jolt. He canes her again, whacking away at any inch of flesh that suits his fancy.

Emily's shackled to one of the fantastic Insex torture chairs, her legs spread, her nipples tied outward. When PD speaks to her, she still won't answer him. Mr. Pogo goes deep in her mouth, then in her cunt. A vibrator soothes her pussy. While she's coming, PD orders her – look at me when you come. And afterward he reminds her that she forgot to ask permission. It's just his way of taking everything, even her pleasure.

Just a little attitude adjustment.

Rusted walls and a hard floor. She huddles in the corner, ankles, wrists, and neck locked in bilbos along the length of a single steel rod. Overhead, a light swings, throwing strange shadows across her face. Yet her fingernails are manicured. She still wears her skirt and heels, so he hasn't had her very long. Calling out into the darkness, she asks for water. A bottle is tossed onto the floor. She can't reach it. Falling to her side, she nudges the bottle with her forehead, sucking water from the nipple.

The sound of footsteps, and a light goes on. We see her as his eyes see her, roaming her body. His hands drag her away from the wall so that he can slip his fingers between the cheeks of her ass, fondling her pussy and cunt. He fucks her hard with a dildo. Don't put it in my ass, she says, suddenly hysterical. Please fuck my pussy. Please. He orders her to crawl toward him but she can't. The bilbos won't let her. Not even the shock from the taser can make her move.

She's naked now. Shackled, chained, and collared, she walks carefully, delicately, so she doesn't trip. He makes her kneel and clamps her breasts between two metal pipes. A dildo, screwed in place between her knees, immobilizes her cunt. A very large ring gag forces her mouth-hole wide. One man whips her with a singletail. Another canes her breasts.

Metal pincers bite each of her nipples. A cord from one tit, through her tongue ring, and down to the other tit is tightened. Vibrator on her clit. She begs to come but explodes into orgasm before permission is granted.

Now she lies on the floor in shackles, her tongue chained to a heavy metal ball. She's ordered to pick up the ball and stand up. But she can't. The men are bored. They leave her. Maybe they'll come back later.

Maybe.

It all started with her interrogation a few weeks back, the way he destroyed her. But it's always about more than just torture, isn't it? He can't stop thinking about her. In the underworld of his mind, he searches for the perfect machine, a symbiosis of metal, gears, and female flesh.

The machine is pristine, sleek, diabolical - highly crafted for its purpose. Some machines are intended to terrorize by their appearance. Not this one. It insures accessibility.

Like certain species of spiders, the limbs are kept in line with the body. That's how it is when he straps down her ankles, neck, and wrists. She's made faceless by rubber – a blindfold that smears out her eyes and cheeks. The rubber gag obliterates her mouth. He spreads the arms and legs– click, click, click. Using an electric drill, he increases the tension on her limbs, pulling them painfully tight. In the same inexorable, mechanical fashion, he tightens the collar at her neck. She emits a strangled gurgle. In the war between metal and flesh, the living always loses.

Now he whips her with wire. She grits her teeth against it. She hasn't learned how to let the pain flow from the point of fire, up through the spine, and out the top of the skull. A vibrator and cane stimulate her simultaneously. She's trapped in both heaven and hell. When she begs to come, he whacks her harder. It's all about balance, this teaching. Eventually, she begs to come again. In a bored voice, he allows it. And afterward he says he's tired. Let the machines do it, he says.

The sound of a fucking machine. It revs in her cunt. A vibrator hums against her glistening clit. Her hands open as though beseeching, as though raised in prayer. But it's no good. She's in the grip of the machine – no nerves, no wants, no needs. It couldn't care less about this girl strapped to its back. It just keeps fucking.

A metal cage is locked around her head, her wrists shackled to it. She bends and straightens, trying to cope with all that heaviness weighing her down. She's so small and petite, you get the sense the cage weighs more than she does. Shackles around her ankles make her legs look tiny. He sits on a stool beside her, so kind. Next to her, he looks huge. He fingers her pussy. She can't stop herself, the rocking of her cunt in time with his fingers.

He blindfolds and gags her. He straps her arms to her sides and ties her hair into a pom-pom like she's some kind of pedigree dog. He makes her mouthfuck a cock on a post. Then he sits her on it, strapping her legs outward. He canes her - the wire cane - very sharply. Then he rubs her pussy. Cane. Pleasure. Cane. Pleasure. A taser sparks all over her body. She squeals in distress. Once a vibrator arrives, she comes so fast it makes your head spin. She comes again and again. He canes her as she comes. And now she could almost weep and you can't ever tell whether it's from pleasure or pain or the way it's everything all at once.

Now she's collared, shackled, and chained kneeling. The cane smacks her thighs, her ass, her breasts. Then a big fucking Mr. Pogo pushes into her cunt. She gasps, fucking herself as he canes. He orders her to open her mouth and stick out her tongue. He fucks her devouring mouth. She comes again. He canes her as she comes, as she fucks herself, as he canes her, as she comes, as she fucks herself, as he canes her, as she comes. . .

Step 1 – The Setup
She looks confident, maybe a little smug, strapped the length of her body to a metal grate. It's an easy position for a bondage pro like Wenona, known for her musclar, flexible physique. But this is PD we're talking about. He starts with a thin wire cane on her ass. Wenona's a screecher. It's girls like Wenona that lead one to appreciate tape and a muzzle. He lectures Wenona on the means of inducing terror as he tapes her eyes. Embedded within the idea of terror, one finds terror itself. A singular example of the merging of cause and consequence.

Step 2 – Over-stimulation as Preparation
Start with a car jack, two pipes, and stainless steel anal beads. Add Mr. Pogo and a vibrator. Strap the girl's head upward to restrict movement. Use a heavy cane on her ass. She comes with a howl. He slides her over to the side as though bored. The lights go dark.

Step 3 – The Payoff
The Hackle – a PD creation. Wenona rests within its grip delicately, afraid to move. A metal bar connects her neck, wrists, and the sensitive flesh of her inner ass vis-à-vis an ass hook. The Hackle - perhaps the ultimate posture collar, transmitting every movement of the spine directly to her inner ass.

Steel spring clamps dangle bells from her nipples. A gag screws into her mouth to keep down the noise. She's made to walk, lifting each beautifully sculpted thigh high. The strain is clear. She moans and groans. A film of sweat dampens her skin. She takes on a blush. A string of drool hangs from mouth to floor. A vibrator hums in her pussy. She comes, barely able to stay on her feet. But of course, she must. The Hackle won't let her off that easy.

Epilogue
Locked in the Chinese cangue, we see only a head, two hands, and two legs from knee to toes. She's lifted this way and flogged. He sets her swinging. . .

Her neck is locked to a vertical beam, her wrists cuffed behind her. Two short pieces of steel have been welded to extend out from the beam. This is where she sits, her feet dangling down. He fondles her. She allows it simply because she must. Embarrassed, she keeps her head turned. She won't look at him. Not at all. He removes her pants. Now there's nothing between her ass and the steel. He canes her.

Stoic. This is what he calls her. Because she makes no noise. Though she moves her ass this way and that when the cane is too much. He pulls down her sweater and bra. Still, she won't look at him. She barely speaks in answer to his questions. Now he whips a wire cane against her flesh. Finally, she cries out.

Are you a cunt? he says.
Yes.
Say it. I'm a cunt.
I'm a cunt. She says it in a low voice, barely audible.
What kind of sex do you like?
All types.
Which do you like the best?
And now she doesn't answer. Now he canes her harder and locks her ankles spread wide. He whips her pussy. Sound tumbles out of her. Metal clamps bite her labia, tied down to her ankles. She must bend her legs to keep the pain at bay. Her cunt is wide, like a mouth can be wide when a girl screams.

She kneels on the floor. Bilbo joint hobbles force her knees and elbows into set positions. He canes her again and pushes her face to the floor. He ties her hair backwards. Mr. Pogo takes her from behind. A vibrator rests against her pussy. Of course she comes. We knew she would. But her sound and the look on her face are the same as before. When it was pain.

She's locked onto a cart with wheels, her neck in stocks, her wrists and ankles in restraints. A bell helmet encloses her head. A dildo on a pipe pins her cunt in place. He plays with his new toy, spinning her about. Then he makes his toy move of its own volition. He does this through the use of a cattle prod. The evil red horns of the cattle prod touch her pussy. She cries out from fear. Because fear is now greater than pain.

An inflatable gag holds her head in place. He clamps her nipples. A vibrator nestles in her pussy.

He leaves her.

Spooky serial killer hood. Wrists and neck locked to a post, the stretch in her arms just a little long. All of her weight rests upon her ass and thighs, settling onto a bed of spikes. What predominates is her heavy breathing. He reminds her that today it's about suffering, not sex. And he cinches a belt snug about her waist. More than tight – extreme. Because, he tells her, pressure around the torso has the same affect as around the neck. She goes glassy-eyed. He slaps her cheeks. Not much response.

He relents.

She's ordered to undress. It's difficult. She's still half-gone. A triangle of sweat wets her T-shirt between her neck and breasts. When he rubs her clit, she's soppy with want. Whether he gives her pain or pleasure, the lines in her face look like disaster. He tells her to get herself off. Her fingers flick and circle her pussy. She comes, but never once does she smile.

With wrists and ankles locked in double stocks, she could be dismembered, no hands or feet. The bed of spikes braised the skin of her ass. Angry red welts. He flogs it – her ass. He fucks her mouth-hole with a handheld cock. Her legs shake. She's fucked in her cunt. He torments her pussy with a vibrator. Her clit goes pointy and stiff. And after she comes, she's soaked at the cunt like some crazy slut trapped in a dense cloud of misery, giving anything for a single moment of release.

The Grand Inquisitor sits at his desk. The self-abuser is carried into the room locked in double shackles, a bag strapped over her head. The metal collar holds her in place where all the girls are held for interrogation – directly in front of the Inquisitor. And as she's measured – her neck, breast, the depth of her cunt, the width and depth of her face hole – she is constantly under the control of metal. The Grand Inquisitor allows no resistance.

Her training begins, the teaching of her innocent cunt. She must masturbate for him. She must learn to take pain with her face frozen, blank, the howl of pain stuck inside, in the isolate of some unguessed endless space.

He designs for her a construct of irritation and pleasure, using the tools of his trade. A primitive chair – a square post for her ass with wrists and ankles locked away from her. The repeated sound of a cane striking flesh. It's nothing, a little discomfort, then a little more. A metal bit locked into her mouth holds her head in rigid stillness as she comes for him.

The bars of the narrow standing cage compress her flesh. Her neck is locked and still. He pokes and prods. He terrifies her with alcohol and a lighter. He lights a fire beneath her feet. He stabs her tight innocent cunt from behind. In every moment, the fact of her helplessness is made plain – the metal about her neck, the cage, and the vibrator buried in the flesh of her enfolded pussy.

Bilbos locked at her elbows and knees force her joints into one position only. Pulling her chain, he drags her mouth to his crotch. She learns to suck cock, how to use her lips and tongue. He leaves her then, locked this way, with her not-so-innocent cunt speared as she lies helpless on the floor.