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Sammi's Ordeal at the Gun Range
by D. Rigger
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© Copyright 2011 - D. Rigger - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/f; bond; chain; cuffs; gag; guns; bdsm; crop; climax; cons; XX
jpn
Sammi's Ordeal at the Gun Range D. Rigger M/f; bond; chain; cuffs; gag; guns; bdsm; crop; climax; cons; XX
This story is presented as a fantasy only, under no circumstances should you repeat the actions depicted.

Saami heard the report of the single shot fired from the MP5 submachine gun.  Though she was blindfolded, she could visualize the muzzle flash as the charge rapidly exited the barrel, headed for her tender flesh, though she didn't know where exactly. As the projectile traversed its path, time seemed to slow down and she considered how she had gotten into this predicament.

Perhaps it all started when she read a book by Andrew Greely called Virgin and Martyr, where the nun Catherine is raped, stabbed, and finally dismembered with a chain saw by revolutionaries in a South American country. Saami identified with that girl, and what she was feeling, though she had no wish to share her outcome, and was pleased when she read further in the book to find that the rumors of Catherine’s attack and demise had been false.

The charge struck her right thigh, blasting her out of her reverie. Her arms and legs pulled against the chains and leather cuffs that held her in a vertical spread-eagle, as she screamed wildly into her leather ballgag. As her screaming stopped, the room became silent. But for how long? The most maddening part was not being able to see, not knowing when the next shot would be fired, when she should tense her body for the inevitable impact.

In the brief interval before the next shot, she thought of how she had become a Police officer, her time at the Academy, her good record, and how she had struggled to get on the SWAT team. The SWAT team was the force's elite, but it was also the most macho bunch of guys on the force, the crème de la crème of machoness, or perhaps the macho del macho of machoness. She had had a hard time fitting in. She could do the work all right, but getting the respect of the rest of the team was a real challenge. She was not really accepted until an operation where they had to serve a high-risk warrant on a drug dealer. One of her teammates was badly wounded when the suspect fired a shotgun through the door just as he knocked. She had pulled him to safety, taking a couple of rounds herself, but not collapsing until she had moved him to safety. After that, the men on the team realized that she could pull her own weight, that she was not just a weak sister hired to meet a quota, and they treated her with respect.

She tensed as she heard the MP5 go off, and milliseconds later, another round slammed into her thigh. Again she pulled against her chains and screamed into the ballgag.

Panting as she hung in her chains, she thought again of Catherine, the martyred heroine. No, she would not want to follow in her path, or meet her demise. But in fantasy, she found her fate terribly exciting. Taken, completely helpless, at the mercy of men who could do whatever the desired to her, including remodeling her body, or even snuffing the life out of it. And she could do nothing but helplessly experience whatever they chose to do to her. Catherine had her revolutionaries, but it was Tom who had done this to her, and was now peppering her body with shots from the MP5.

Another shot hit her just below her naval and, even as she screamed, she wished it could have been just a few inches lower.

Tom had been her fiercest opponent on the team. He just did not believe that women belonged on SWAT teams. Boy had his attitude changed after she dragged his wounded ass out of danger. Turned his attitude right around, and the next thing they knew they were living together.

But the fateful day was when the department sent them together to a training class. There they practiced SWAT operations all day, using guns loaded with Simmunitions. Simmunitions were similar to the paint ball guns that kids used to use years ago, but with one important difference: they hurt like hell when they hit you, and they left a welt for several days. Saami and Tom had been impressed with these weapons, the way they left their gooey mark on the clothes, so you couldn't just wipe it off and pretend you hadn't been hit, and left a nasty welt on the skin underneath, to remind you that putting yourself in a position where you could get shot was a very bad thing. They had been so impressed that they had convinced the department to purchase several of the modified guns for training. They were quite a hit.

Saami's big mistake was confiding her twisted fantasy to Tom during one of those warm interludes after sex, as they cuddled just before falling asleep in each other's arms. She never suspected anything when he suggested that they should go to the gun range that weekend for some extra practice. He hadn't told her about renting the whole range for the day, paying the attendants extra to make sure they were somewhere else. All she knew was that she was standing at the counter, waiting to pay the range attendant, when suddenly a blindfold covered her eyes, followed immediately by a leather ball gag stuffed in her mouth. Heavy leather cuffs were wrapped around her wrists and ankles, she was dragged into the range, and was spread out, standing, with her cuffs fastened to chains attached to the side walls of the range.

The sound of another shot, followed instantly by a searing pain centered in her pubic triangle, brought her back to reality. Then another in the thigh, then the armpit, then just glancing off her breast, then the torso. Again and again the shots came, so quickly that she could hardly catch her breath before she had to scream again. Yet as she fought against the chains that made her a captive target, she found herself getting excited. The muscle sensations of her struggling, the pain of the impacting shots, maybe even the lack of oxygen from her screaming and her stretched-out position--these all conspired to make her hotter and hotter. Her body was drenched in sweat, her hair plastered against her skin, but the wetness between her legs was more than just sweat. She wondered if Catherine had felt this way in the moments before her demise.

As she hung, panting, she heard the distinctive sound the MP5 made when its 30-round magazine was released. She heard Tom mutter to himself, "Where did I put those hollowpoints. Oh, here they are." She heard the click as the new magazine was inserted into the MP5, and immediately started struggling again, yelling into her gag. Was he switching to real ammo? Was he going to fulfill her fantasy by giving her the same treatment Catherine had gotten? She thought she knew him better than that, but she wondered if she had unleashed a snuff fantasy of his own.

She didn't have time to think when the 5-round burst from the MP5 impacted, traveling up her inner thigh, reaching ever closer, but never touching her excited and engorged clitoris. It was almost like those zipper toys they had in the adult stores, a series of clothespins connected by a leather thong, so they could be ripped off by a sharp pull, causing exquisite sensations as the blood returned to the areas that had been clamped.

Another 5-round burst ran up the inside of her other thigh, and she tried to rise off the floor, pulling against her ankle chains, to get away from it. Then another and another, as he raked her inner thighs with 5-round bursts of Simmunitions. It was so intense, all she could do was hang on the chains and scream a continuous "Mmmmmmmmmmmm" into her ballgag.

Then it stopped, and as the echoes of her screams subsided, all she could hear was her rapid panting, as she hung limply from the chains. She was just on the verge of orgasm, so close, but she needed just a little more to put her over the edge. She was so worked up, she would even have settled for a 5-round burst of hollowpoints in the clitoris, just to get off, though she knew she wouldn't like the aftereffects.

Suddenly she felt an impact on her clitoris, then another and another. This wasn't Simmunitions; it was something else. A riding crop! He struck her clitoris over and over as he kneaded her breasts and roughly pinched her nipples with his other hand. This was just the stimulation she needed, and soon she was coming like she never had before. All that talk of orgasms being like fireworks going off. This was fireworks.

He held her closely, supporting her body as she finished coming and passed out, exhausted by her orgasm and her ordeal.

When she came to, she found herself still naked, but wrapped in a blanket and safely belted into the passenger seat of Tom's truck. "Ohhhhhhhhhh," she moaned. "I don't think there's a single part of my body that doesn't hurt.  But, God, what an orgasm. That's the nicest thing you ever did for me, honey."

"I'm glad you liked it," Tom replied. "You wouldn't believe how much trouble I had convincing the range attendants to go home and let me lock up the range when I was done.

"It was worth it, believe me," Saami said. "But when you were muttering about where were your hollowpoints, you had me scared. I thought you had decided to take my fantasy a little too seriously."

"I was just trying to make the fantasy more realistic for you, dear," he said apologetically.

"I get you for that, just wait."

"Well, when we get home, I'll give you a hot bath, and a nice all-over massage, and your body will feel all better in no time," Tom offered.

"That would be wonderful," she said dreamily as she dozed off, thinking about the weekend to come. Tom didn't know it yet, but next weekend they were going to try the fantasy he had confided to her, the one with him tied spread-eagled on the bed and her with a bullwhip. That should be fun.

Author’s note: I’m sure you know this already, but please don’t try this at home.  This is a fantasy.  Thanks.

 

13.10.11

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