Just doing something inspired by a picture I saw. I hope I captured what I was imagining.
The worst part wasn't the drool covering her breasts, or the tears and snot dribbling in through the holes in her ball gag.
It wasn't the fact that the hogtie she was in bent her body so much that her heels banged her shoulders whenever the vibrators on her soles tickled too much.
It certainly wasn't that she'd come so much from the ceaseless sensation of the other vibrating eggs dancing merrily against her nipples and clit that she'd crossed over, through the agony of overstimulation, back into submissive exhilaration from the pain.
Or that the dusty wooden edge of a broom head ground deep into her gaping pussy, wedging in place a final vibrating egg directly against her g-spot.
And actually, the fact she was jammed so tightly into the broom closet that she couldn't even turn her head might have saved her from hurting herself in the throes of the more intense orgasms, though her neck ached.
It wasn't even that bad that they'd covered her in a thick tarp, so that her world was a humid, suffocating darkness full of the smell of her copious sweat.
And in a way she could be thankful that she wore no clothes, only thick layers of duct tape holding her rigid. The adhesive directly contacting her skin had long since melted from her bodily fluids, but the rest of it barely even stretched in response to her struggles, keeping her trapped in a sticky, wet inferno.
No need for a blindfold when she had to squeeze her eyes shut to protect them from her long bangs plastered to her skin.
Ughhh...she was so thirsty after cumming so much, and there was even a convenient hamster water bottle connected to her gag, but she didn't dare take a sip.
A cluster of beads was jammed up her urethra and probably up into her bladder, preventing her from wetting herself. She already felt a small need building up, and didn't want to drink more water that she wouldn't be able to piss out later.
Not that she expected to empty her bladder ever again. Her bound body lay atop a hardening concrete block, in which were setting loops of heavy chains, connected to the ones wrapping her body.
That's why they'd left her there on Thursday night, in a place no one would check far from home, and promised they'd come back after the weekend.
The worst part of it all was the constantly awareness that her concrete companion was her one-way ticket to heaven, or more likely hell. Its corners and rough edges dug into her chafed skin, scraping her taut muscles, another thing keeping her from dozing off. Her consciousness frayed with an urgent need for sleep. Existence was pain, and here in the darkness she had no way of knowing how much more she had to endure.
For the first hour she had been filled with adrenaline, with panic, but exhaustion had long since set in. There was nothing she could do. The buzzing on her raw, aching genitals kept distracting her, and why not, there was no hope anyway.
Trapped, clad only in the chains that would be her funeral gown, helplessly enduring the final tortures her captors had appointed for her, she would be dragged onto a pier, her bare skin picking up painful splinters, and full of goosebumps in the morning air. The sun probably wouldn't even have risen yet so she could wish it goodbye.
They would push the block over the edge, and the chains embracing her would snap taut, following it faithfully, taking her unwilling body with them.
She would dance in the cold water, bubbles rising from her ballgag, eyes darting hopelessly around in the murk, wishing she could just piss once as her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen and her pussy burned from a final orgasm...
She heard the padlock snap open, and the door creaked. Was it Monday already? Was it time for her end? No, this person was alone, moving with a limp, she could even make out cigarette smoke.
The janitor maybe? She was saved!?
A thick arm groped about in the darkness, nudging her breasts as it brushed against the top of the tarp. She mmphed as loudly as she could into the gag, begging he would notice. She heard something unhooked on the wall above her, maybe a hammer or screwdriver, and then the door closing, the padlock shut.
Silence. Horrifying, unwanted, unbelievable silence, except for her strained gasping.
Maybe he was deaf, she despaired, and steeled herself for the coming unimaginable hours.
For a moment, I was tempted to search all the drowning threads for your inspiration image. But somehow I doubt it'd have the same impact as you conveyed with your slow escalation, your agonizing piece-by-piece reveal. Call me infatuated ;)
Thanks for the praise! Ironically, I didn't use a picture from the drowning thread as inspiration, so perhaps it's a good thing you didn't look there ;)