SEX CAPTIVES OF TERROR PRISON [Tim]

SEX CAPTIVES OF TERROR PRISON

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The prison at the Palacio Zorilla was a squat building of two storeys surrounded by a high, spike-edged wall. But that part above ground was mostly admin and staff accommodation. The main work of the prison was carried on below, in a vast underground network, dynamite blasted out of the hard rock that Veragonza was built on.

Guardнa Tabora had never visited all of the prison. Some parts were out of bounds to junior staff.

In any case, blindfolded, led through the twists and turns of the corridors, pushed into an elevator to descend many floors, she soon lost track of where she was in the prison.

Only when they stopped and she heard one of her captor bang on a steel door, did she know she’d arrived. She heard the door open. Dread froze her stomach. For a moment she stubbornly refused to enter. But she was dragged in.

The steel door slammed.

Blindfolded, she could see nothing. She heard voices and laughter. She turned her head this way and that, trying to make out who was were.

She heard a chain rattle. She felt cold metal links encircle her neck. The chain rattled again. The links tightened, closing around her throat. Tabor began to panic.

How many times had she seen this happen to prisoners? How many times had steel chains tightened around slender throats, and young girls been drawn up until they stood on the tips of their toes? And how many times had she, Tabora, watched with tightening nipples and a pleasant tingle between her legs, drawing the leather whip through her fingers in readiness for whipping soft flesh.

And now…

Her hands were unbound. “Don’t touch the blindfold. Just strip!”

It was a woman’s voice, and even in those few words she recognized Capitana Ana.

“Please,” she wanted to say, “please don’t humiliate me. Please don’t hurt me. I’m a guardia.”

But she was gagged, and the words were just squeaks and made the other people in the room laugh: men’s laughter and women’s laughter.

Something like fire encircled her thighs just below her skirt. Someone had struck her. She heard the hiss of the whip again and reached out her hands to fend the blow off. Again that circle of fire around her thighs.

“Strip, slut!” Capitana Ana’s voice sounded impatient.

Tabora held out her hands imploringly, shaking her head.

“Give me that cane.”

Tabora, half-choking with fear, unable to move from the spot, unable to see or to speak, heard the swish of the instrument through the air. She tried to jump away, but between the constriction of her neck-chain and the tips of her toes she couldn’t move far. The cane caught her squarely across the front of her thighs. Almost before she had time to squeal, she felt the sting of it across the back of her thighs.

Then she squealed as loud as the heavy gag would permit. Which was surprisingly loud. But then Capitana Ana’s arm was surprisingly strong.

Tabora’s hands flew to the fastening of her skirt. In moments she had unzipped it and pushed it down her legs. She fumbled with the buttons of her tunic-shirt, at last ripping them in her haste to get the garment off.

All the time the cane sang through the air, and smacked home somewhere on Tabora’s bare skin. The more she exposed her body the more targets it seemed to find. Common sense told her that the more she stripped the worse things would get for her. But in the face of Capitana Ana’s anger, she could do nothing. She unclipped her bra and dropped it to the floor. In the same instant the cane whacked home across the fullest part of her breasts, almost beating the breath from her body.

In the hope that this torment would stop, if only for a moment, she pushed her panties down, sliding them as far as she could down her thighs, and then working them down with alternate shimmying movements of her legs until they dangled over the chain between her ankles.

That brought a round of applause from the others in the room.

But no respite from Capitana Ana. Six more times that cane sang. Six more times she was struck on some vulnerable, soft part of her body. Tears flowed from her eyes under the pads of that blindfold.

And then she remembered. The cap. Even her cap with the badge of her beloved guardia unit at the front, even that had to come off. She flicked it off, throwing it aside in a desperate gesture to make her officer stop.

And so she did.

She felt someone’s hands at the back of her head. The blindfold came off. She could see where she was.

And she wished she wasn’t there…

“What are you going to do,” Angelita asked. She was shaking.

“Did you not see that group of men working beside the road back there. Prisoners, I think, out on a working party. Fine beefy men, they looked. But the poor fellows haven’t had the opportunity to fuck a woman for months, years probably. They should be just in the mood for a little convent-reared virgin, don’t you think?”

“You can’t mean this!”

“Oh but I do. A first fuck is very important for a girl. You will remember this one, I’m sure. Get yourself ready. Take your panties off for a start. I suppose convent girls wear panties?”

The guardia laughed. The driver had halted the limousine, and was backing it slowly to turn it round. Angelita dived for the door and pulled the handle. She wasn’t staying with these women a moment longer.

Of course the door was locked.

The guardia seized her and pushed her roughly back to her seat. The woman’s eyes were gleaming with excitement. She was remarkable strong, and in the scuffle Angelita noticed for the first time that she carried a coiled whip at her belt.

“Now, take those panties off. Do it, or the guardia will do it for you.”

Angelita had no doubt that the woman would. But she said, as defiantly as she could, “No. Leave me alone. If my father hears of this–”

“Your father, little slut, has disowned his daughters to save his own neck. You are ours now. Ours to do what we want with you. And I–” her voice was little more than a hiss “–I want to see you fucked. We’re nearly there. So get those panties off and hitch up your skirt.”

“No-o-o…”

Guardia Isabella reached forward and flicked up Angelita’s skirt. Angelita pushed her away, curling up on the mauve seat cushions and holding her skirt down.

Comandanta Melosa clucked her tongue. “Tie her hands, Guardia. Such disobedience! I’m sure Mother superior wouldn’t have tolerated it.”

The guardia grasped Angelita’s arm and dragged her forward to twist her round. Angelita fought back, pushing the woman away. “Leave me alo-o-ne,” she wailed. She felt her arm being twisted painfully and her other arm was seized. In spite of her efforts she was forced face down to the floor of the limo. Melosa’s boot came down on her neck, pressing her face to the mauve and pink carpet. In a moment Guardia Isabella had produced cord and crossed Angelita’s wrists and tied them tightly behind her back. More cord pulled her arms high up her back and was looped around her throat three times before being knotted off. It took several more pieces of rope before the guardia was satisfied that she was secured. All the time Angelita lay screaming and sobbing into the hideous carpet.

“Get those panties off her. Mustn’t keep those men waiting.”

Angelita realised the limo was slowing down. At the same time she felt her skirt jerked up and a hand reaching under it to grasp the waistband of her panties. She wriggled and squirmed and tried kicking back with her legs, but nothing helped. Her panties were drawn briskly down her legs, tangled with her shoes for a moment, and then were gone. The comandanta lifted her boot from the back of her neck.

With difficulty she twisted herself round to glare up at the two women. “You pigs,” she screeched. “Stop it. I don’t want to go with any men. I won’t go with them!”

“You will do just what you are told.”

“Pigs! Leave me alone. Pigs — ow!”

Melosa Sandoval had slapped her face. She looked in shocked amazement at the comandanta. No one had ever done that to her before. Not even the most bitchy of the nuns.

Melosa pulled her up into a sitting position and slapped her again, harder than before. “Listen, slut,” she hissed, you do not call Comandanta Melosa Sandoval a pig.” She slapped the girl again, and then once more. “Gag her. Use her own panties, and stuff them well in.”

“No-o-o, umph!!” The guardia was very skilled in her work, cramming the really quite ample white cotton garment — trimmed with non-regulation lace — between Angelita’s jaws and fastening it in place with a band of leather buckled tightly at the side of her head. It hurt.

A moment later Angelita found herself back in her seat. She had lost her hat, her convent blazer was half off her shoulder, her skirt rucked up. Melosa brushed her hair loosely back in place with her hand. “Must have you looking good for these men,” she said, and ripped apart the girl’s white blouse, revealing her bra-less breasts. Her eyes opened wide with admiration. “Such sweet nubs, my dear. Such a sweet morsel for those unfortunate men.” She stroked the tears from Angelita’s cheeks. “Think of it as charity, Angelita querida. Didn’t the nuns teach you about charity? Your good deed for the day.”

Angelita shook her head, her eyes begging the woman to stop this game. But already the limo was drawing to a halt and Guardia Isabella was opening the door.

Angelita shook her head violently and screeched “NO-O-O!” through her panty-gag. The sound was so muffled and her trammeled movements so comical that the men laughed. But there was a nervous, excited expectation in their laugh. Did this woman mean them to fuck the little girl?

“Now I can’t promise to shorten your sentences, but I can promise to lengthen them if you don’t perform energetically enough.”

The sergente protested, “But Seсora — Comandanta — these men, they are animals, beasts. The poor girl, you can’t mean…”

“Just obey orders, Sergento. Just obey orders. You wouldn’t want any trouble, would you?”

The sergento bowed his head. “No, ma’am.” He knew better than to get into trouble with the Sandovals.

“Good. Does anyone else have any objections?” Clearly, judging by the rampant bulges in the men’s ragged trousers, they did not. But poor Angelita tried to twist away. She was convinced now that the woman meant to carry this charade through. Melosa turned and stroked her cheek. “Not you, querida, not you. We know what you think about it all. But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it, men?”

“Let’s have her!”

“I’m first.”

“I’m first. I’m first in the chain!”

“I should be first. I’ve been in jail the longest. I haven’t had a woman for longer than any of you.”

“Don’t quarrel, men. You’ll all have your chance. This little bitch needs a thorough fucking. One she’ll never forget. Guarda, tie her to that derrick. Legs apart. Wide apart. I can see these men are going to need plenty of room between her thighs!”

Melosa stopped at last. Glanced briefly at the livid blue-black stripes down the girl’s pale thighs. Then she pressed the tip of her middle finger against Angelita’s crinkle-tightened ass-hole, and pushed the finger slowly inside as far as the knuckle. “Just here, prisoner. Fuck her here.”

Angelita’s shrieks began again. She knew now what was coming next.

And it wasn’t long in coming. The chained prisoners closed in on her, and the tall, thin one laid the tip of his long, thin cock against the girl’s finger-violated ass-hole, and forced it inside her. She tightened herself as hard as she could, fighting its entry all the way. But first the tip disappeared inside, then, grinning with a less sardonic pleasure, the man eased himself into her inch by so slow inch. He held her ass cheeks roughly apart, letting everyone see the depth of his penetration.

Long his cock may have been, but this little convent girl, this little innocent, took it all, every inch and millimeter until his hips were hard against her buns and his balls rested on the opened slit of her cunt. And thin it might have been, but not so thin that her tiny rosebud was not stretched to its limit. Indeed, the longer the man stayed deep inside her the more it seemed to thicken, so that when he began to make his move, to slide in and out, to pump into her, she felt almost torn apart. There was nothing she could do about it, her ass-hole was locked around his cock, she could not move, so firmly was she bound, and must endure him pistoning into her, pounding her soft buns so hard that one of the other prisoners said, “Hey, guys, we don’t need this pile driver. We’ll get this guy to drive the posts into the ground with his cock!”

At last, not even this man could prevent himself from coming. With his hands on her hips, holding her body in the best position for him he rammed hard into her, pulled almost totally out, then pounded into her, battering her buttocks in a frenzy of violent jerks, and exploded inside her.

What had happened to Dulce Cardenas had been a bit upsetting, but if that was the worst that could happen, then she, a true Monterey, could cope. She fervently hoped that that was the worst thing.

McTeague stepped out into the corridor at the sound of their approach.

Cuca almost fainted. She had never in her twenty years seen anything like him. He was stark naked, his body was knotted with muscles so pronounced he looked like an illustration in an anatomy textbook. He was big, and ugly. His head was shaved, his eyes were the eyes of a predator, almost reptilian, and his mouth was set in a smile half mocking and half menacing.

And he carried a heavy, many-fronded whip.

But that was not where her gaze was transfixed. It was his cock. Cuca had seen men’s private parts before: her brothers, one or two boyfriends. But this was surely different from the appendages of young men. It stood almost vertical, fully erect — she hoped it was fully erect — rearing from above a ballsack that would have not looked out of place on a horse. And it was ringed; all down the underside gold rings had been inserted. But the upper side was worse. It glinted with jewels: the whole length was studded with rows of sharp cut diamonds.

Beside her Rosinante laughed raucously. “CUCA’S LOOKING AT MCTEAGUE’S DICK, WHAT A MONSTER, A SHARP-TOOTHED PRICK,”

McTeague knew all about Rosinante, knew how to humor her. He gave her a mock bow, and said, “SEСORA ROSAMUNDA HAS ALL THE WIT, BUT CUCA WONDERS WHICH HOLE IT WILL FIT”.

Rosinante’s coarse laugh filled the corridor, and McTeague took the snatch-stick from Fabio and drew the wide-eyed girl into his lair. Rosinante made one last lunge at Cuca’s plump bottom with her steel-pointed wand, and turned away.

McTeague shut the door and Cuca stared around. She was shaking. Glad to be rid of the old woman, she was terrified of being in the same closed room as this fearsome figure of a man.

He waved his whip in front of her. “So come on, get on your knees, and get those lovely lips around McTeague’s mighty member.”

Cuca looked at the whip. She rolled her eyes and got to her knees. The sight of McTeague’s cock in close up was much worse than from a distance. It was big, too big to go in her mouth, she thought — and much to big to go anywhere else! And those rings and studs!

She closed her eyes, but when she felt the fronds of the whip brushing over her breasts, tickling her nipples, she opened her mouth a little. Even so she knew she couldn’t do it. “Please don’t make me do that, senor,” she begged.

For answer McTeague grasped a thick bunch of her hair, pushed her head forward, and guided the tip of his cock into her mouth.

And then she found that she could do it. The massive ogive of his cock slid into her mouth, forcing it wider and cramming itself right up to her throat. Her tongue was pressed down, and her cheeks puffed out. His grip on her head was so powerful she couldn’t get away from it. And the worse thing was, it was not like anything she could ever have imagined. It was alive! She could feel it throbbing, it was like an animal burrowing itself down her throat.

She was gurgling her protests: Stop it! Stop it! she wanted to say. But the words could not be spoken. Her mouth was invaded by an alien being.

She opened her eyes and saw that 101 was kneeling beside her. Her chained hands were at work on the gnarled shaft, forcing the head deeper into her mouth and pumping ardently. There was a gleam of malicious amusement in her eyes, as if she wanted to punish this newcomer for being the same kind of fool that she had been.

But that wasn’t true. That was something McTeague had made up about her family disowning her. They would never do that. And in any case, right now she was terrified that the horrible man would come in her mouth, and that she couldn’t stand.

But he didn’t do that. Instead he slid his cock out of her mouth and 101, without being told, simply continued pumping, all the time carefully aiming the tip directly at Cuca’s face.

Even so, when it came Cuca was quite unprepared for what happened. The stream of white cum splattered hotly between her eyes. It cascaded over her nose and down her cheeks, it splashed up into her hair, and some dripped down into her mouth, over her chin and onto her breasts.

Cuca was horrified. 101 was highly amused. McTeague shook his head.

“You got a lot to learn, baby. A long way to go. That was real bad.”

He dragged her to her feet. She stared at him uncomprehendingly. She’d sucked his cock, he’d come, grotesquely all over her face — would no one wipe it off? — he’d had his pleasure, what more did he want?

A lot more, dear innocent Cuca. A lot more, as she will surely find out.

Tabora’s stomach knotted with fear. And with good reason. The next thing Sandoval did was to hold up in front of her a pin. Not quite an ordinary pin. It had a broad head, it was about three inches long, and the first half-inch was thin and pin-like with a sharply pointed end. But the rest of the length of the pin to the head thickened until the last inch or so was about five millimeters thick.

Sandoval tucked the bar under his arm and gripped Tabora’s right breast tightly — tight enough to hurt even if she hadn’t been so thoroughly whipped. Then he jabbed the point of the pin into the side of her dark nipple, just at the base where it rose from the dark surround of her areola.

McTeague swung his right arm experimentally a couple of times, then lashed the whip across Cuca’s body with what seemed to her like the full force of his muscular arm.

She’d never been struck before by anyone. And certainly not whipped. Was McTeague really such a kindly guy if he could do this to the soft, yielding body of a completely innocent and inexperienced young girl?

Because as soon as the whip contacted Cuca’s body — which was covered in a thin layer of perspiration as a result of her over-stretched ordeal — a blue spark shot from the tip of the whip and blitzed into Cuca’s flesh.

The whip itself, with its metal tip, would have hurt, but the electric pulse along its length was sheer agony. The charge shot through her body from tongue to belly, and she screamed a low-pitched, unearthly scream.

Kindly guy McTeague grimaced and said, “Turn it up, 101. Half way. The two hundred mark. That just tickled her.”

Tickled! thought Cuca. That was hideous. She was shaking, trembling all over. That mustn’t happen again. Ple-e-ease!

But she could see from the corner of her eyes the muzzled head of Prisoner 101 bending over the black box. She could see her long fingers manipulating the dial. She saw her turn and watch, opening her legs as far as the ankle chain would allow, reaching behind the steel ring between her thighs, and parting the lips of her cunt.

The whip struck again, straight across her breasts, digging deep into the tender flesh. The electric jolt jabbed through her nipples, rushed through her body. She jumped, her toes leaving the ground, the neck chain choking her, the tongue rope tightening still further.

How long could this go before she died? Cuca knew he was going to kill her, that was the only possible end to this.

McTeague had turned her over, put his thick finger into her ass-hole. Begrudgingly he said, “Honey, I know you’re longing for my cock up your ass, but I can’t oblige. You’re much too small. And I don’t reckon on damaging my dick on some tart’s ass-hole. We’ll just have to try opening it up.”

And with that he took his whip and pressed the end of the handle against her tiny rosebud. And pushed.

Now this handle had a more or less pointed end, and that slid easily in. But the handle itself was broad, bigger even than McTeague’s vast cock. Cuca’s ass was stretched, and stretched some more. The handle was ringed with ridges to give a better grip, and ridge after ridge slid into her, opening her up still further. Inch by broad inch its unrelenting form entered her, until even McTeague could get no more inside her.

He tested it, tugging it. It didn’t move. “Well, honey,” he said, “you’re going to need help getting that thing back out of you. I guess it can stay in for now. Hey, a few days with that up your ass and you’ll take McTeague’s dick as easy as candy.”

The guardia pushed her into a cell. Its only occupant was another girl, naked, of course, and chained to the wall of the cell in a broad ‘X’. The guardia picked up another snatch stick, made Cuca walk over to the girl, then snapped the extra snatch-stick around Cuca’s calf and jerked her leg away.

Cuca tumbled heavily to the ground. She looked up and saw the wide-open legs of the chained prisoner above her. The guardia pulled on the snatch sticks until she had dragged Cuca just where she wanted her. “Senor McTeague has ordered your face to be washed, slut,” she announced, and nodded to the suspended girl.

The prisoner was fair-haired, with the features of a gringita. How long had she been here, Cuca wondered. She looked healthy and fit, like some kind of Hollywood starlet.

But Cuca didn’t think much more. She was choking and spluttering from a shower of hot piss that struck her accurately in the face, sluicing of McTeague’s cum, some onto the ground, a lot down her throat. It poured over her hair, soaking her, and splashed over her bruised breasts, and seemed to go on and on.

How much more of this treatment could she stand?

Much more, dear Cuca. Much more. You don’t have any choice.

It was not long before Angelita’s ass left the floor, and then her shoulders, and then her head. Upside down she was lifted higher and higher, until her long hair ceased to brush the ground, until her eyes were at knee height to the Generalнsimo, until her lips were at crotch height to the Generalнsimo, until a pair of female hands held her head and thrust it forward, until another pair of female hands — Melosa’s! — fed the presidential member deep into her mouth.

She wanted to be sick.

She wanted to will her body to vomit this intruder out. But as always her body disobeyed her will, and she could only see herself compliantly being used. Sandoval’s cock slid easily in and out of her mouth, the tip encountering the back of her throat, then, when the female hands of the guardia held her head firmly in position, sliding down into her throat, the massive cock disappearing completely inside her mouth, the Generalisimo’s balls banging against Angelita’s nose.

Could anything worse happen to an innocent young girl?

This was Sandoval country, so the answer was obvious.

As the Generalнsimo caught his rhythm, Melosa released her grip on his prick. Her skirt and legs disappeared from Angelita’s view. Angelita’s whole attention was taken up by the fat cock sliding down her helpless throat, by the ramming of the man’s hips against her sweet face.

And then it was divided. At every thrust of his body she felt the stinging agony of a whip harsh and malicious down the furrow of her cunt. Melosa was whipping her, deliberately hurting her as if every stroke of her riding crop could embody the malice she felt for this aristocratic little bitch who was giving pleasure to her father.

It didn’t make any difference that Angelita would have given the world to escape this task. That the last thing she wanted was this intrusion into her very self. To have admitted that would have raised Melosa’s ire to the highest degree. No-one dare refuse her father!

So it went on. The Presidente took his time. He may not have had youth on his side, but he had stamina, he had experience, he had control of his own body. He would come when the moment pleased him. He was the Generalнsimo, the Jefe. No one made him do what he did not want to do.

But a poor little prisoner like Angelita, she was made to do what others wanted. And at this moment she was torn between two wills, between a woman who wanted only to hurt her there, at the point of her femininity, and a man who desired only to use that femininity for his own pleasure.

The rhythm of the man’s thrust became ever more urgent, just as the whip struck ever more frequently. Angelita wanted to scream, but how could she? Her mouth was blocked. She could scarcely breath. She wanted it only to be all over.

And then it was.

And she wished it wasn’t. The Generalisimo’s hands clasped her head holding her against his crotch. She could feel the pulsing of his cock, the bulbous tip filling her throat. She couldn’t breath. She could only suffer and suffocate while jet after jet of hot creamy liquid squirted far down her throat.

And still he held he there, held her until every tiny drop had gone, and his cock began to soften, and everything had gone down her gullet.

Like all dictators, the Generalнsimo didn’t know where to stop. He had no bounds to his lusts because no one could stop him. He had stipulated just how many blondes, how many brunettes and redheads there should be, how many black women and how many Latinas. It was true he had Latinas in plenty in Paramundo, but Sandoval had a bee in his bonnet about “repatriating” them from abroad.

While he was thus musing, two of his private slaves entered, bringing coffee, spirits, and choice Paramundan El Condor cigars. Randy Ronnie gazed at the slaves in appreciation. Tall in their high high-heels, wearing short tight black skirts that rode up and revealed their naked asses when they bent over, and a hard leather bodice that revealed more than concealed their breasts and left their midriffs bare, the women were marvellously shaped, and their thick massy tresses fell in waves over their bare shoulders. Of their faces he could see little except their dark eloquent eyes. The lower half was obscured by a snout-like muzzle of hard shiny leather with silver mounts, all held in place by straps that disappeared under the raven hair.

Ronnie reached out and slid his hand up the thigh of the nearest woman as she stood beside him. She did not flinch or move away, even when he reached the bare, pantiless lips of her cunt and began to explore between the cheeks of her ass. “I sure admire the uniform of your domestics,” he said.

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