RUSSIAN ROULETTE [Norgil]

RUSSIAN ROULETTE

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Russian Roulette
by Norgil. All rights reserved.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is an extreme story not for the faint hearts. Please do not read further if you don’t like these sort of material. Thanks.

One

Vladimir Alexander Koniev was a clever man. Clever, and ruthless, a very powerful combination in a land of opportunities, such as the post-Communist Russia. Ten years after the fall of the Communist regime, Koniev was running his own little empire with as strong a hand as the feared Communist leaders of the past. As strong a hand, but a better vision of the outside world

His business empire was a clever combination of legitimate businesses, most of them related to the entertainment industry (night-clubs, movie production, artists management), and underground enterprises, all sex-related (from soft escort-services to hardcore slave trading and snuff movies).

Unlike most of his competitors, Vladimir Koniev strongly believed that small is beautiful, and this belief was one of the many reasons behind his success. He had never tried to be the biggest dog on the block; on the contrary, he had specialized in providing expensive services for wealthy customers, keeping a rather low-profile in order to avoid the attention of the government authorities.

On this Saturday afternoon, Vlad was standing in front of the large windows of his summer residence, some 200 kilometers southeast of Moscow, and staring at the three limousines that stopped in the courtyard. He turned slightly to dump some cigar ash in the ashtray resting on the small table near the window, and stepped towards the center of the room to greet his visitors.

************

The young girl opened her eyes and looked around her in complete dismay. She did not know where she was. The room looked like a cell: a simple bunk, on which she laid, a steel toilet bowl and a washbasin, and nothing else, but a large door that seemed solid enough. What was she doing here? How did she get here, to start with? She had a hard time remembering what had happened to her.

She closed her eyes again and concentrated. Some images came back to her, a little bit foggy, but slowly clearing up.

She had just returned from the University to her small apartment, in the middle of the afternoon. The men had been waiting for her inside, and she had stood no chance against the three of them. Her apartment had been thoroughly searched, and all her clothes, including the sexiest ones, were arranged on her bed. The men had played with her for a little while. They had ordered her to undress, and then to parade for them in complete nakedness, to strike obscene poses for their pleasure. Since one of them always kept his gun pointing at her, she had had no choice but to comply with the humiliating instructions. Having found her small blue vibrator in the drawer of the bedside table, they had made her masturbate before them, the vibrator playing with her clit while a high-heel shoe was rammed up her tight asshole, and she had to play with herself until climax.

The man with the gun, who seemed to be the leader of the trio, had then selected a bra, a pair of stockings, a nice-looking dress and a pair of shoes that he handed out to her, instructing her to get dressed. She also remembered the other two men holding her firmly while the leader injected some kind of drug into the vein of her right arm, and of being carried out of the building to a waiting van. And then, nothing else until now

She examined herself. She was still dressed as when she had left the apartment; her dress was all crumpled up though, and her stockings had runs in various places. She stood up on quivering legs and went to the door. There was no handle on her side of it, just an electronic keypad. She pushed a few buttons randomly, and of course nothing happened

She leant against the door, and slammed her little fists at it, screaming for attention. By which she only achieved hurting her hands

************

Vladimir opened his arms in a large greeting gesture, and smiled broadly.

Welcome to my dacha, my friends. It is a pleasure to meet you! His English was near perfect, even though a bit accentuated. He shook hands in turn with each one of the visitors, having a nice word for each one of them. These were customers, and Vladimir knew the value of good service in order to get repeat business.

Each one of them had paid him 15 000 Euros to be here today. 30 000 Euros made in just a couple of hours, with practically no overhead cost And that was just the tip of the iceberg: this amount didnТt include the distribution sales and profit

Vladimir looked at them, burning as many details as he could into his memory. He was good at reading people, and in addition to his computer files, he liked to keep personal files, in the privacy of his own mind.

Jack Leary, the American, had been a football player in his early years. At more than 50, he still showed a muscular stature, with broad shoulders under the expensive dark suit of the successful financier that he had become. Vladimir had already been in business with him once, and Leary had proven to be an inventive customer.

Kurt Meister was a Swiss citizen, a thin man with large spectacles. This one didnТt look dangerous at all; another proof that looks can be deceiving. Vladimir had already seen him at work, and that was rather scary Like Leary, he was a repeat customer, but the two men had never met before.

After rapidly doing the introductions, Vladimir came to the heart of the subject.

You all know the rules, but I shall repeat them one last time, my friends. We have one girl today: she is 23, very nice-looking, great tits, and as far as we know she is very resilient and in good health Apart from any unforeseen weaknesses, she should last long if you men prove just a little careful

The action will take place in studio number 2; some of you have already visited here. All the necessary video equipment is in place, along with the crew to operate it. The whole action will be filmed, as usual, and you will receive a complimentary copy of the film, on DVD. In order to protect your identities, the masks that you have requested are awaiting you in the anteroom of the studio. No name will be pronounced during the session. Try to respect that rule, so that we donТt have to loose time and money on editing the soundtrack in the end This is a difficult constraint imposed by the direct sound format

Vladimir smiled at his guest, who all nodded agreeably.

The session will start with our own expert, Tanya Bogdanova, an ex-KGB interrogation specialist. Then in turn, you will each be given some time with the subject. Now, remember: there are no limits as to what you can do her, except that she must still be alive at the end of your time and able to endure more at the hands of the next one This also stands true for the last participant, ok? The subject must still be breathing at the end of the session She may be critically injured for all I care, but she must be alive!

Are we clear on this, gentlemen?

Vladimir gave a circular glance around the room, and noted a unanimous nod from his customers.

Very well Any questions?

No one had anything to ask.

Then I guess itТs time to draw for the order in which you will use the subject. We will leave that to luck, of course.

Vladimir placed a deck of cards on the table, and spread the cards, face down. Each one of the two men stood up, selected a card and turned it over for all to see The game had begun

LetТs proceed then Have fun with your film star of the day. Her name is Katia, by the way This is the only name allowed to be spoken during the recording!

________________________________________

Two.

Katia was pushed into a room that was quite dark. It seemed to be large, and she could not make out the far walls because of the poor lighting. She could sense the presence of several people in front of her, but she could not see them other than dark shapes in the shadows.

Two men had taken her out of her cell and brought her directly into this strange room, without speaking a word to her. After throwing her inside by a side door, they had silently disappeared, leaving her alone, shivering in the dim light, wondering what was going to happen to her.

Stepping out of the shadow, a woman approached her. She was taller than Katia, and was dressed in a perfectly ironed Russian Army uniform. But the most surprising feature of it all was the leather mask that covered the top portion of her face, just under the brim of the military cap.

Katia stepped backwards as the impressive figure came forward. The woman stopped a few feet away from the young and terrified girl. She made a sign with her hand, and suddenly powerful overhead lights came on, bathing Katia and the stern-looking woman in their illumination.

Looking past her, Katia could see a lot of movie equipment all around the room, which had to be a recording studio for movies. Behind the lights, cameras and sound grips, a few men were running the show. But what retained her attention was the small group of men standing in the middle of the room. Each one of them was wearing a mask, entirely hiding his facial features. From where she stood, Katia could make out a hockey mask and a very common ski mask.

KatiaТs mind had barely registered these images when the woman in front of her slapped her in the face, violently and suddenly. Katia fell backwards on the floor, and brought her fingers to her lips: a drop of blood was smearing the fingertip. She was still too surprised to be able to utter a word, when she heard the woman shout to no one in particular:

Start rolling!

The woman towered over her, and explained in a voice that was ice cold.

Listen carefully, bitch! You are here to be tortured Tortured and filmed! The woman made a large gesture towards the equipment filling up the back end of the room.

As you can see, we are well equipped for shooting films. The only thing that we lacked was a star Now, we have it. ThatТs you, my dear!

Still clouded by the sudden strike, KatiaТs mind was desperately trying to cope with the situation. In a feeble voice, she asked:

What do you mean? I donТt understand What do you want of me?

It is very simple. We are going to make a movie of you being tortured, in various ways, by different persons This is going to be extremely painful for you and extremely pleasurable for our viewers not mentioning our participants, of course!

Katia was starting to understand. She gasped:

Please, donТt hurt me Please

You can beg all you want, slut! In fact, the more you beg, the better the movie. You donТt imagine how much people are ready to pay to view a real torture show Not some silly bondage film where the whips donТt leave any mark This here is the real thing The whole nine yards and you are the star! ArenТt you proud?

Katia, still lying on the floor, eyes bulging in horror, could barely breathe. She kept gazing incredulously at the tall woman who was now straddling her and looking down at her. Even through the small eye-slits in the leather mask, Katia could make out the evilness in the stare that fell upon her. She did not notice the cameras being rolled forward towards the place where the two women were standing, filming the scene in a slow forward travel.

Enough small talk Take off your clothes. All of them, and right now!

Tanya Bogdanova punctuated her order with a vicious kick in KatiaТs ribs. She stepped back a little, to leave a clear field of vision for the cameras that concentrated on the young girl. Katia, without really thinking about what she was doing, slowly stood up and let her dress slip down past her and fall into a heap at her feet. She unhooked the clip of her bra and liberated two nice globes, not extremely large but very nicely shaped. It only took her a second to get rid of the stockings that were already ruined, and she stood naked in the crude light of the camera crew, trying to cover her intimate parts with her hands, shivering from fear more than cold in the well-heated studio.

Tanya came to her again, holding a large leather belt in her hand. She expertly fastened the belt around KatiaТs waist, and buckled it in her back, locking the little padlock with a key. She took the girlТs wrists and locked each one in a leather cuff that was attached to the side of the belt, above KatiaТs hips.

Katia stuttered:

What What are you going to do to me?

You will see soon enough, donТt worry about that! Tanya turned her back to Katia and pointed toward the men with the hockey mask and the ski mask.

You two come and hold the bitch still.

The two men came forward and took hold of KatiaТs elbows in their powerful hands and made sure that she would not move too much. Tanya foraged into her uniform jacket pocket and produced a few medical needles in their sterilized plastic containers. She opened one package and removed the needle that she held just in front of KatiaТs eyes.

IТm going to start with a few needles into your nipples. Then, the rest will come as a surprise

TanyaТs left hand cupped KatiaТs left tit and played with the nipple until it stood large and erect. She pinched the nipple with her left fingers and pulled on it in order to elongate it. Katia started to groan, but was cut short by the sharp pain when the needle went through her thick bud. With a precise push, the needle had sliced through the delicate flesh, from side to side. Katia had to suck in her breath: surprise, pain and horror made an overpowering mixture of emotions that she could barely stand.

The other side now! said Tanya, already preparing another needle identical to the first one.

A few seconds later, KatiaТs right nipple was similarly pierced by the needle, and Tanya stepped back to admire her work. Both nipples were pierced in the exact same way, in a perfect symmetry that could only be achieved through sheer practice.

From another pocket, Tanya produced two short lengths of chain, each terminated at one end with a pair of S-shaped hooks. She took her time to fasten the little chains to the needles going through the girlТs nipples: one chain for each tit, one S-shaped hook on each end of the needle protruding on both sides of the tortured nipple.

Tanya tugged viciously the free ends of the chains, causing Katia to yell in pain as both her nipples burnt with the horrible pull on the delicate flesh. Still pulling on the chains, Tanya led her victim forward and slightly to the right, where a little wooden stage was waiting. The cameras and lights followed the movement, always focused on the girl whose face was now a mask of sheer terror.

On the stage, now in plain sight under the bright lights, was a horizontal round and smooth metal bar, standing about waist high on two vertical poles planted in the stage. Tanya moved to the other side of the bar compared to Katia and pulled her against the bar, making her bend forward at the waist while she stepped back still pulling on the two chains and therefore on the tormented nipples. Katia let out a groan and a feeble plea for release while her boobs and nipples were being extended beyond anything she had thought possible.

When KatiaТs chest reached a horizontal position, Tanya fastened the free ends of the chains to a metal ring buried into the wooden stage, a few feet ahead and under KatiaТs chin. KatiaТs boobs were now obscenely extended; making them look like cow udders, and the pain in her nipples caused her to shriek horribly.

Working a little lever on the side of the stage, Tanya raised the horizontal bar a few inches, so that KatiaТs feet were no longer touching the floor. The two masked men then secured her ankles in such a way that her legs were kept straight and wide apart, and her whole body ended up precariously balanced over the horizontal bar. Every move, however small, generated more pain in her nipples which started bleeding, the blood dripping along the chains, catching the light in an interesting way for the camera.

Tanya turned towards the camera crew and made sure that the framing and the lights were perfect. In the underground market for snuff movies, KonievТs productions were famous for their quality, far surpassing their competitors. Upon receiving a silent nod, Tanya grabbed a small bench and set it in front of Katia, right between the bleeding boobs. She also pulled up a wheeled cart, carrying a variety of medical supplies and instruments. All the surgical steel was gleaming in the bright light, and Tanya knew that the visual effect on film would be good: surely a nice close-up shot!

Tanya sat down on the end of the bench closest to Katia, keeping the tray on her right. She gently, almost lovingly, took KatiaТs chin in her hand, and pulled it up slightly, so that she could make eye contact with the tortured girl. Her left finger slowly erased a tear on KatiaТs cheek.

How do you feel, baby? Are you still with us?

Katia could barely speak. In a whisper, she pleaded:

Please DonТt hurt me any more Let me go, please

Well, IТm afraid we canТt do that yet In a while, maybe But we need to shoot a full-length movie, dear, and weТve barely started

Tanya let go KatiaТs face and started sorting through the equipment on the tray. On the top shelf she arranged a small bottle of clear liquid, a few cotton pads, a couple of scalpels. She put on surgical gloves, under the horrified gaze of Katia.

This is not what you expect, Katia. IТm sure youТre going to be surprised. I will leave the scalpels unused for now Just a cotton ball and this little bottle

She picked up the unlabelled bottle and brought it in front of KatiaТs eyes. She unscrewed the lid and asked:

Do you know whatТs in here, dear? Smell this, and tell me if you have any idea

She brought the bottle under KatiaТs nose and left it there for a few seconds. Katia sniffed a couple of times, expecting an alcohol smell, but could detect nothing she recognized.

With an evil smile, Tanya said:

No idea, little girl? ThatТs fine, you will find out soon enough

Tanya nodded towards one cameraman who came forward and set his portable camera very close to KatiaТs left breast, whose terror was ever growing. Tanya was busy carefully pouring some of the liquid on a cotton ball.

Very slowly and very deliberately, she swabbed the nipple with the liquid, from top to bottom, perpendicularly to the needle insertion, and then from side to side, apparently cleaning the whole button. During the whole time, she kept on smiling.

At first nothing happened and Katia, who had feared the worst, wondered what this was about. But a few seconds later her eyes widened and she took a long breath before letting a guttural scream out of her lungs. Her left nipple doubled in size in a matter of minutes and the skin covering it became as tight as a drum-skin.

Katia was now shrieking maniacally. She screamed at the top of her voice, thrashing in her bonds as a banshee, ripping off her pierced nipples even more with the uncontrollable jerking motions. Her naked body was covered with sweat, and glistened under the camera lights.

Katia lost her voice for a little while when the pain climaxed, and she emitted a silent scream right before collapsing suddenly. She rested over the metal bar, like a broken doll, hanging by her elongated and bleeding boobs, crying pitifully, her words hardly audible

Tanya looked at her with a faint smile. She gave her a couple of instants before addressing her.

Not exactly what you expected, was it? Let me tell you what happened, bitch! This was not alcohol in the bottle, but carbon tetrachloride, a strong de-greasing agent. I removed all of the natural oils from your skin over your areola, thus leaving the tissue unprotected from the air. To be more precise, I should say from the oxygen, which in this particular case, burns like acid. Did you like my skin treatment, my dear?

Katia, still limp and breathing heavily, looked at her left nipple. The swelling had not subsided and the skin was still shiny and taught. She caught a movement with the corner of her eye, and saw Tanya picking up a scalpel from the tray. The sharp instrument shone viciously under the bright light.

Very precisely, Tanya applied the blade to the tip of the swollen nipple. She barely pressed on it, and the skin split with an audible pop, immediately covered by the cry of agony that escaped KatiaТs throat a split second before she fainted.

Tanya quickly revived her with ammonia, waiting patiently for the screams to start again. When they did, proving without doubt that Katia had regained consciousness, she touched the ruptured nipple with a fingernail and flipped back a piece of loose skin that still clung to it.

Very expertly, she proceeded to decorticate the oversensitive areola. KatiaТs eyes rolled back in their sockets and the veins in her neck bulged as the dermis beneath the outer layer of skin was slowly but inexorably exposed. The pain became so excruciating that she fainted a second time. Once again, Tanya used the ammonium salts to bring her back, so that she could suffer the full agony of the procedure.

When Tanya was done with the complete excoriation of KatiaТs left nipple, the poor girlТs pleas for mercy were no longer understandable.

That was a good introduction I think IТm going to keep the other nipple for later She stood up and pushed the bench and cart towards the wall, giving a last sadistic glance at her shivering victim.

________________________________________

Three

The man wearing the ski mask approached the stage where Katia was still hanging limply over the metal bar. Unknown to her of course, the man was Kurt Meister, who having drawn the highest card during the draw, had chosen to be the first tormentor after Tanya.

He talked to Tanya:

I need the girl to be set on the gynecological table.

Tanya gave a few instructions, and helpers brought the table forward, while others unfastened the subject from the stage. Katia could barely stand up, still quivering in pain, and two men held her securely by the elbows and took her to the chair. In a pain filled haze, she noticed that several leather straps were hanging down from various parts of the chair, which had been located under a metal frame that reminded her of a swing set.

After removing the belt that kept her wrists pinned to her sides, the two helpers placed her on the chair, immediately cuffed her wrists together behind it and locked them to a hook at the chair.

Meister took the straps and fastened her legs to the stirrups, before pulling her legs wide apart with a wench. Additional straps were attached tight over her hip, beneath her breasts around her shoulders and her forehead. The whole thing took less than three minutes, and she was completely unable to move.

Meister went to the wall and came back with a large metal case, like the ones used to carry photo equipment. He placed the case on the floor next to him, in between KatiaТs legs, and opened it. Katia could not see what was in it, but her mind was racing in utter terror.

In a soft educated voice, the man told her:

It is obvious that you are a fainter. This is not good I want you to enjoy every minute of this show

From the case he removed a syringe and pushed it into KatiaТs thigh, explaining in a scholarly tone:

This will support your circulation and prevent you from fainting too easily. Katia did not even feel the little prick pain from the injection; her senses were still overwhelmed by the horrible pain from her left nipple.

The man fumbled in his case once more, while the crewmen rearranged their cameras and lights around the scene in order to have a clear field of vision of the girl and her tormentor.

Meister stood up, holding a large hose in his right hand. He showed it to her and explained:

This is a vacuum pump. IТm going to place it on your clit, which needs to be enlarged, before I can start working on it.

Katia felt the man fumbling on her clit, and she moaned absentmindedly. The pulling sensation rapidly increased, her moaning grew louder, and she wiggled feebly under the straps.

Maybe five minutes later, Meister turned off the switch on the pump. He looked approvingly between KatiaТs thighs and smiled to her:

Too bad you canТt see your clit ItТs over an inch long now!

Meister took a thick sewing needle from his case, with a strange looking and somewhat inflexible thread hanging down from the eye of it. Katia started trembling in the stirrups when the man brought down the needle between her thighs.

Not even looking at her directly, Meister explained:

You see this thread? It is a thin copper wire.

The sentence was barely finished when Katia screamed horribly, jerking wildly in her bonds and rattling the chair noisily. The piercing pain was excruciating. The cameraman zoomed in on the girlТs clit, now pierced at its very base. The needle went all the way through the knob, followed by the whole length of the copper wire. Meister expertly tied a knot at the end of the thread, thus preventing it from slipping through.

Let me do a full turn around your clit and pierce it again.

The pain was even worse the second time, and without the medicinal support Katia would have fainted again. Unfortunately for her, she kept her senses and remained fully aware of the searing pain tearing through her tender flesh. Meister went on with his precise procedure, piercing the clit a total of six times, until he finally pulled the wire tight, but not tight enough to stop the blood flow. He cut off the rest of the wire, and threw the unused length on the floor.

Katia, her mouth wide open, was silently screaming, her body shivering and gleaming in the light of the camera.

Without a word, Meister unzipped his pants and pushed his hard dick in the girlТs asshole as violently as he could. Katia screamed again, loudly this time, as the man penetrated her back entrance. He pumped her fiercely in and out, ramming his cock as deep as possible in KatiaТs entrails. He rapidly came inside her ass, drew back and zipped up his pants, still completely silent.

From the case, Meister removed a black box, the size of a cigarette packet, which he placed on the edge of the exam table, between KatiaТs thighs. The box was a small current generator with two electrodes, shaped like alligator clips. He clamped one on KatiaТs left inner labia, and the other to the wire that was encircling her clitoris. Katia gasped when the little metal teeth bit on her flesh.

Small is beautiful, as they say Well, in this case, small is powerful. This generator will create electric shocks, in a random fashion in intensity, duration and interval. Some will barely tingle while others will drive you insane. Some will last only one second, others way longer This will keep you entertained while I work elsewhere on your lovely body. IsnТt this nice, dear? Meister smiled viciously at the girl who could barely comprehend the words.

Oh I almost forgot Feel free to piss or shit, Katia, IТll be on the other side of you for a little while

Meister had just finished speaking when the first shock occurred. KatiaТs lower body convulsed and she howled like mad. It felt as if her clit was burnt away. The shock lasted no more than three seconds, but it left her trembling and shivering, anticipating fearfully the next one.

About thirty seconds later, the next shock went through her pussy. It was not as bad as the previous one, but still strong enough that she had to bite hard on her tongue not to scream. This one lasted more than a minute, and tears ran down her cheeks while she endured the torture. The shock had barely stopped when the third one took her completely by surprise. It was even worse than the first one, and this time she cried aloud, fighting in vain against her restraints.

In the meantime, Meister had kept himself busy. He had grabbed a stool and set it next to KatiaТs head. He had patiently waited for her next scream, and when she opened her mouth, he had expertly taken hold of her tongue, that he connected to a clamp attached to the swing set upper bar. The metal bit cruelly into her tongue, and she tried to howl, but that was extremely difficult now that her tongue was clamped out and extended.

With a little winch, he raised the clamp and Katia thought that he was going to rip her tongue out of her mouth. At the same moment, another shock tore through her clit and labia, and she almost ripped her own tongue off with her wild jerking movements of agony. Tears were now constantly running down her cheeks.

From a dark corner of the room, Meister brought a large water fountain on wheels, similar to the ones usually found in public lobbies, except for the clear plastic tube that was coiled around it. He showed the tube to Katia, and then started inserting it into her mouth. With her tongue pegged out as it was, she could do nothing against the choking penetration. She felt the tube entering her throat and for a moment she thought she was going to vomit. But the tube passed the throat and went down into her stomach.

Meister whispered in her ear:

IТm sure youТre very thirsty by now, poor little thing Let me help you!

He opened a valve on the fountain. Water shot into her stomach. The pressure slowly built up in her belly, and her entire abdomen became an ocean of pain. A few minutes later, after she had taken in three liters of liquid, the pressure became unbearable, and Katia was constantly crying. Meister closed the valve.

Katia looked down at her body, that she could barely recognize: her belly was obscenely distended, so much that from her point of view, her pussy had become invisible, masked by the bloated mass of her belly. And the disgusting mass was trembling uncontrollably every time the generator caused a new shock, in spite of the straps that constricted it at hip level.

Meister stood up, and circled the girlТs body towards the open thighs once more.

For you to really look like a big fat slut, we need some more volume in here.

From the case, he took a long black hose and spread some kind of lubricant over its end. He then pushed it into KatiaТs rectum, still sore from the violent penetration she had endured earlier. In a desperate effort to resist the anal invasion, Katia had tired to keep her sphincter tightly closed, but Meister had no real difficulty in forcing it. He slowly pushed the hose into her, foot by foot.

In between the jerks generated by the electric shocks, the feeling was unpleasant and strange, but not really painful.

With his quiet voice, Meister explained:

This is really flexible, and will follow the windings of your bowels. IТm going to push a full meter inside of your entrails.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him connect a hand pump to the hose. Meister began pumping. At first, she felt nothing, but after a minute or so she began to feel a deep pain. The man in the ski mask continued pumping, and KatiaТs belly increased a little more. She screamed a horrible and inarticulate yell.

Meister looked at her, smiling broadly.

Now is time to have some fun with you!

Meister went to the wall and came back with a leather strap. Without a word of warning, he began beating her belly with all his strength. Every strike left an angry looking stripe on the distended skin. Katia yelled constantly, while the cameraman got a few close-up shots of her open mouth and clamped tongue. The combined pain from the strap, the electric shocks and her changed body was more than she had ever experienced.

Meister took his time covering her full lower torso with red welts, and then shifted his attention to her boobs. The pain on the right breast was horrible, but nothing compared to the agony she experienced every time the strap landed on the left, skinned, nipple. Katia howled constantly, and wiggled in her bonds, trying desperately to break free.

Very rapidly, both globes turned deeply red and blue. But Meister did not stop. Instead, he switched to a thin riding crop, and resumed his vicious beating. KatiaТs tormented body was dripping wet from the sweat, and she was breathing with difficulty.

Meister whipped the girl for fifteen more minutes, until he was himself panting from the effort. KatiaТs body was completely covered with welts, and her skin had been broken in many places. Blood was dripping not only from her horribly tortured left nipple, but also from all over her torso and belly. Unable to control herself, she had peed and shit during the whipping, praying for the torture to stop. A silent prayer, that remained unheard by God.

Apparently satisfied with his work, and visibly exhausted by the physical effort, Meister decided to stop and to give way to the next torturer. He approached the girl, bent forward, and in a mocking kiss, ran his tongue along KatiaТs one, still clamped and extended towards the ceiling. He turned off the generator, and removed the two electrodes. Katia did not even feel the difference: her mind at this point was overwhelmed with waves of pain.

________________________________________

Four

Leary, his face covered with the hockey mask, came forward into the lights. With his large shoulders and impressive physique, he looked like a gigantic Jason, from the famous horror movie.

Before reaching the chair and the strapped subject, he went right and came back with a metal and wheeled table, covered with power tools of various sorts. He set the table next to the chair, and backed a bit to let the camera pan over the table, showing the viewers the instruments that were about to be used on the girl.

He stood in between KatiaТs thighs, towering over the panting and sobbing girl, and said:

I guess the time has come for some serious genital torture, dear!

Katia did not react.

Leary took a pair of mirrors and hooked them to the metal frame that encased the chair in such a way that from her position, the girl was now able to see her pussy.

I want you to watch everything I will do to you. Keep your eyes on the mirrors

IТm going to start with your clitoris, which by now, is already quite worn out, he explained with a sadistic grin.

Against her own will, Katia looked at her clit, with the help of the mirrors. It was deeply red and swollen, and looked strange with the copper wire running inside and around it. The masked man slightly touched the tip of the clit, and a flash of pain shot through KatiaТs body. She yelped.

She yelped even more when Leary began working on the wire constricting her clit; he carefully straightened the end of it, maybe a couple of inches. KatiaТs eyes widened in terror when she saw him grab a gas torch on the table. Leary lit the torch and the blue flame hissed softly.

Very slowly, he brought the flame right under the end of the wire, which was now sticking freely in the air. It took a few seconds for the heat to reach her flesh, but then the pain rushed through the most sensitive part of her body.

She howled, but that was all she could do: screaming her lungs out, in a guttural cry, a gurgling sound that pierced the ears of all the spectators present in the room. Via the set of mirrors, she watched her clit getting darker and darker, and a small cloud of smoke rose from it. Katia could not believe her own eyes.

Leary looked at her, smiled and continued. KatiaТs whole body was in fire, but she could only suffer and yell, unable to remove the precious flesh out of the danger zone. It burnt to a dark brown color, and she smelled her own roasted flesh.

Despite her screams, she could still hear her own meat sizzling away. She had no more air to scream and cry; she was loosing it. Meanwhile, the rosebud kept on turning darker and darker, and finally became charcoal black.

Leary put down the torch, and slipped his right hand in a very thick working glove. He reached out for the glowing wire, took the free end of it, and pulled at it.

Katia gasped in shock when she saw her burnt clit coming off.

Leary showed her the coiled wire with the burnt flesh attached to it.

You see, itТs already cauterized!

Turning her eyes back towards the mirrors, Katia looked in disbelief and utter shock at the black wound in her slit, and simply couldnТt believe it. But the horrible pain was there to remind her of the reality of the treatment that had been inflicted to her.

Now that weТre done with your charming clit, letТs start working on your slit itself, commented the hockey mask.

Leary removed the thick glove and donned a pair of regular gloves instead. From the table, he picked up a little tube of super glue. Very carefully, he spread the adhesive on the girlТs outer labia. Working with one pair of lips at a time, he peeled the pliant tissue open, folded it back and held it against her thigh for a minute or so, until the adhesive had bonded. When he had done this to both pairs of lips, the rosy inner surfaces of KatiaТs slit were revealed like the petals of a flower, and the entrance to her vaginal canal was presented to him unobstructed.

Sliding two fingers into the passage, he pressed the wet walls and felt the strong muscle tighten as Katia reacted to the unwelcome intrusion. For a few moments he allowed himself the pleasure of exploring the love nest, receiving enjoyment from the resistance Katia put up in her vain attempt to prevent him from delving further into her.

At last, Leary withdrew his fingers, satisfied that the girl was still conscious enough to understand what was going to happen to her in the coming minutes. Leary was quite impressed with the amount of pain the girl had sustained so far; and he was going to add some more to that, for good measure.

Leary reached down on the lower shelf of the instruments table and his right hand took hold of a dentist drill on the end of an articulated arm. In his left hand, he held a cloth that had been soaking in a small pan.

Bracing his right arm against KatiaТs left thigh, he started the drill. The tiny, surgically engineered bit turned twelve thousand times every second, and carried a little brass-wire brush in its jaws.

The raw ends of the bristles kissed the inner surface of KatiaТs major lip for just an instant, but during that small fraction of a second, they stripped a tiny piece of flesh, the diameter of a pencil and about 3 millimeters deep, from the sensitive tissue. Leary removed the drill and immediately pressed the saturated cloth against the injured area. The strong aroma of the antiseptic caught in his nostrils. Nonetheless, the impact this odor had on his senses was immediately overpowered by the frenzied shriek of pain that assaulted his ears when Katia emitted a horrific sound.

Leary, working patiently and with exact precision, kept Katia screaming constantly for fifteen minutes before she finally lost consciousness. While the girl was out of her painful world, he examined his handiwork. In fifteen minutes, the drill had made its brief contact with KatiaТs skin exactly sixteen times, and both lips bore half a dozen wounds, while the rest of the marks were shared between the two smaller and more sensitive inner lips.

The tiny injuries were not bleeding; a simple pinpoint of blood marked the spots. They were carefully spaced and made a nice diagram on the girlТs pussy lips, and each one of them had drawn an animal scream from Katia. A faint odor of vinegar could still be smelled coming from the acetic acid Leary had used to clean the wounds immediately after inflicting them, thus enhancing the pain.

The man in the hockey mask stood up and brought a vial of ammonium salts under KatiaТs nose in order to bring her back to reality. Upon regaining consciousness, Katia started groaning again, and her whole body trembled under the crude light that bathed her.

Welcome back, dearest, commented Leary, while gently brushing her hair away from her face. The gesture was almost tender, in complete contradiction with what had preceded it, and what was about to follow.

Going back to the tool table, Leary selected a short length of steel wire that he snipped from a coil. Over his forehead he donned a headlamp, held with elastic straps, which made him look like a demented surgeon.

Turning his attention back to KatiaТs genital area, he brought the jagged end of the wire to the entrance of the girlТs urethra. He slowly pushed the wire into the highly sensitive duct, and with a swift motion of his fingertips, he started to rotate the metal rod. He did that for a couple of minutes, at various depths of insertion, to make sure that the whole canal would be scratched from the inside. The girlТs body stiffened and she resumed her heavy breathing through her open mouth. Very soon, she started screaming again.

Leary knew that the pain he was causing would not last very long; as soon as he removed the steel wire, it would stop. That is, until the girl had to piss

The man dropped the wire onto the table. From the lower shelf, he removed a heavy douche bag to which was connected a clear plastic tube. He hooked the bag to the high beam of the swing set frame. He expertly inserted a catheter and reached KatiaТs bladder, before connecting the catheter to the douche bag tube. He opened the safety valve and looked at the liquid draining into the girlТs bladder, smiling broadly. Very rapidly, the bag emptied itself in KatiaТs entrails.

Leary now took hold of the small propane torch that had been used previously to burn KatiaТs clit, and lit it with his lighter. With the torch hissing in his right hand, he stepped sideways, away from KatiaТs genital region and used his free left hand to pull out the catheter.

After a few instants, he saw a thin stream of clear liquid arise from between KatiaТs thighs and arc towards the floor, in a perfect parabola. But even before the first drop of piss reached the ground, the girl squealed horribly. The stream of urine stopped abruptly and, turning his attention to the girlТs face, Leary could see a look of full pain, astonishment and utter disbelief. A few more drops found their way out, and Katia yelled again in pure agony, a high-pitch scream that was painful for all who heard it.

The man waited a while, watching KatiaТs face and the forced concentration devouring her facial features while she was doing her best to keep her sphincters closed in order to stop the pain slicing through her lower abdomen.

When he gauged that KatiaТs mind was entirely focused on avoiding pissing, he suddenly passed the tip of the blue flame across her right nipple in a slow swinging arc. Immediately, the path of the flame appeared on the girlТs skin, leaving a blistering red line splitting the areola in two.

When the scorching pain reached KatiaТs senses, she instantly lost her concentration and cried out loud because of the new agony. Her bladder resumed its emptying process involuntarily, sending the caustic liquid into the urethra. In an incredible effort, she closed her mind to the searing pain in her right tit, and clamped her shut, stopping the evacuation of her bloated bladder. This earned her a second red line on her nipple, parallel to the previous one.

Katia endured the combined torture for almost ten minutes before passing out again, with flecks of froth staining the corners of her mouth. After her fainting, the liquid still contained in her bladder flowed freely. Her right breast was covered with a network of red lines, all passing over the nipple, burnt beyond recognition by now. The blisters were humongous, some of them already open and the flesh under the epidermis already burnt into charcoal.

Leary revived Katia before piercing each blister that had not yet popped open. He squeezed the fluid from inside and then slowly removed the sliver of skin free. Katia had screamed continuously, until the man swabbed the freshly exposed tissue with a saline solution.

Katia was a total mess. The smell around her was starting to be unbearable, a mix of sweat, piss, shit, burnt flesh, blood She was still conscious, but barely. Her tortured body was practically unmoving, even under the torments. She was loosing it at last

Leary went back to the group and talked to Tanya:

I donТt think she can take much more of that If you want to keep her alive, weТd better slow down a bit

From previous experiences, Tanya knew that the man was a pretty good judge of the human resistance to pain. She nodded and went to talk to he chief cameraman for a couple of minutes. When she came back, she said in a cold voice:

YouТre probably right In any case, we have a good film so far. The crew says we have more than sixty minutes of good footage, after cuts and editing. IТm going to finish her off

________________________________________

Five

Tanya stepped toward the chair and the broken and deformed body that lay on it. Fumbling on the underside of the chair, she finally extended a wooden board at shoulder height, on the right side of the contraption. She moved to the head of the chair and unfastened the cuffs that kept KatiaТs hands tied to the chair. The limbs were heavy in her hands, unsupported by any will from Katia.

With some duct tape she fixed her right arm and hand flat over the extension. Tanya sat on a stool located near the end of the extended arm, and brought forward a wheeled cart supporting several instruments.

She took a pair of needle-nose pliers and explained to Katia, who was barely able to understand the words:

First, IТm going to extract those nice nails of yours

Tanya pressed the pliers under the nail of KatiaТs thumb. The pain was indescribable. She closed the pliers and forcefully pulled the nail out. Katia screamed like mad. Tanya threw the nail to the ground at her feet, and did not wait long before attacking the next one.

She twisted it around before extracting it. The third one, she bent back completely before pulling. Katia nearly passed out this time, and Tanya stopped her work for a while, just long enough to make another shot into KatiaТs thigh. She didnТt want the girl to faint again before she was done with her.

KatiaТs fingers were bleeding profusely now, but the woman in the Russian uniform did not care about that. In rapid succession, she pulled out the two remaining nails from the right hand.

Leaving the pliers on the cart, she switched to a pipe wrench. She used it on KatiaТs index finger, and after a few seconds of pressure, all present heard the bones crack loudly. Tanya turned the finger around, to make sure that all the bones had been broken.

Tanya put the wrench on KatiaТs little finger and shattered the bones in a similar way. She was now working rather fast, barely stopping between each torment. Tears were streaming down KatiaТs cheeks continuously, and her voice was coarse from all the screaming.

Tanya used a small carpenter hammer to push nails through the back of KatiaТs hand into the wooden extension. Some nails, she carefully placed in between the hand bones; some she took care to bury directly into the bones, and every time Katia shrieked inhumanly.

The whole process took no more than fifteen minutes, at the end of which Tanya stood up and unclamped KatiaТs tongue. The tongue retracted under its own weight into the girlТs mouth, but she was still unable to move it.

Tanya leaned forward and whispered into KatiaТs right ear.

Listen to me carefully! I am going to give you a choice now. We are done with you for now. We can set you free and dump you somewhere on the outskirts of the city, where somebody may find you in the next day or two Or we can terminate you right away for good, and put you out of your misery I know you cannot talk If you want me to kill you right now, keep your eyes closed for a second It is your choice, Katia.

Tanya stood up while keeping her eyes on KatiaТs face. She could almost see the wheeles turning in the brain of the girl, pounding the alternatives that were offered to her. After maybe three seconds, Katia closed her eyes and kept them shut for a long time

The room was quiet for an eternal moment; quiet for the first time in a long time so it seemed. Only the sound of the whirring cameras broke the silence.

Cut! shouted Tanya.

************

Two hours later, a van stopped next to the side entrance of a derelict factory, sometimes used by squatters and homeless souls. Two men opened the back doors, and after making sure that no one was in sight, dragged a bloodied corpse to the ground. They pushed it against the wall, and rapidly covered it with litter. Les than one minute after having stopped, the van disappeared behind the corner of the street.

One hour later, a shady old man left the factory and began walking on unsteady legs towards the street corner. Barely able to stand up by himself, he kept his hand on the wall for help. After walking a few meters, his left foot got caught up in something and the man fell to the ground. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened to him, and still lying down, he started fumbling in the litter to find the object that caused his fall.

He lifted a piece of cardboard and peered into a face. The eyes were completely out of focus, but the eyelids were still trembling

End of story.

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South American interrogation [ELECTROSADIST]

South American interrogation

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South American interrogation
by Electrosadist. All rights reserved.

The scene is a torture center, sometime in the -80’s, far away from the capital in a South American country. Rich people from the US, among them you, are invited to watch the interrogations performed by the military police. The guide leads you on a tour through the torture center.

– Yes, as I told you, we have it all here; everything you wish, you name it.

It’s this thing with electricity that you can’t stop thinking about, can you? Well, why should you? As I told you, we can serve you in every way. Follow me down to the basement…

So, here we are. Do you see the metallic chair? Almost like a throne, bolted to the concrete floor. And the table? Fine. The straps? Well, can’t you imagine? The girl whom is to be placed in the chair in just a minute will be tightly secured to it. And all straps are metallic, as you can see. Good for heat – and current as well…

Look, here she is. She is brought into the room by two male, uniformed guards. A young one, a teenager… well trained but still with rather big breasts that point a bit upwards… and those childish pigtails…

Look how easily they put her into the chair and how swiftly they secure her to it: her ankles, her knees and her thighs… This girl has rather strong thighs, I must say. They are secured to the seat by bracelets tightened just where the thighs end and the very hairy crotch begins… Mmm, blonde hair… and fluffy… This will really be a delightful session, I can promise you that…

Aha, and now for the hips. There we go; a metallic band right over the hipbone… click… she cannot even undulate now. Look, the fear in her eyes when she sees them coming closer to her. They smile, evilly, as they easily press her to the back of the chair… her naked back leaning against the cold metal chair… You see how her nipples react…? Mmm! She panics, screams to the guards, pleads with them… but nobody cares… nobody stops doing their tasks… Of course not! Why should they? It’s not they who are in the torture chair!

The arms, the hands… there we go, tightly secured to the armrests by metal bracelets. Her hands so close to being able to stop it all – yet so far away…

And her head… one metallic band around her neck, as tight as possible – and one around her forehead, so that she cannot pass out by banging her head to the back of chair when the fun begins… that would be to easy for her…

There you are, neatly packed! The guards now put the equipment in place. A box, filled with long needles – some 12 to 15 inches long. These needles all have a small wooden grip, so that the torturer wouldn’t hurt herself – it’s a She, it’s always a woman; they are cruelest to other women – by burning her delicate fingers.

A generator. On the generator there is of course a knob, if they want to use the ordinary electrical system. But there is also a crank, for manual creating of current. Some of the torturers find this way of mastering the level of pain more exciting; it gives them a feeling of presence and power that they say is far more exciting than doing it the modern way, with the knob. I must say though, that if you get to see a really skilled sadist using the old fashioned generator, you are really lucky. It seems that the victim, the girl, can’t handle the fact that somebody is actually inflicting this unbearable pain simply by slowly turning a crank…not stopping the movement despite the pleas…It’s the worst part for them, I can tell you; the humiliation… and, of course, as a surprise for you; the most skilled of our female sadists is to perform today…oh yeah…

Then there are some short needles as well. You may soon see the use of them…

Now. look at the woman entering the room. With a gorgeous body, raven hair and an evil smile on her lips she walks towards her victim. The woman seems to be about 35 years old. She pets and caresses the bound girls face, she even kisses her, French. The poor girl cries silently… it’s a very deep and long kiss, and the woman seems to be exited by it. She finally stops and, with a short laughter, slaps the girls face hard, just once.

Let’s just enjoy the show, shall we?

– – –

– Ah, girlie… honeymoon is over. Say hello to me – my name is Samantha.

The bound girl doesn’t answer. She just stares. In her 16-year old life she never had thought anything like this could happen to her. She, a rich white girl… no, never. Of course, she had heard the stories about other girls in the school that had been arrested by the military, in order to supply them with information about subversive elements. Torture by heat and electricity seemed to be the instruments of the interrogators. But that she… No, no, NO!!!

Samantha puts fire to a gas flame and holds it behind the steel chair, letting it flick back and forth. The effect comes immediately. The girl panics and screams when she fully understands the purpose of the flame; it heats the chair, very fast… The metal now burns her back, and her tender skin on her cute behind…

The pain gets more and more intense as Samantha, without taking the flame away for even a second, just lets the flame continue it’s cruel dance behind the chair, burning more and more, and the girl screams, she begs, Stop it, stop it PLEEEASE, I beg You… but why, why, why should Samantha stop… This is the moment she’s been waiting for, it’s her turn now, her best night of the week…

So, just imagine… the heat continues for ten more minutes, together with the shrieks, the guttural shrieks that the young bound girl produces…

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGGHHHHAAAAAARRRRGGHHHH…

And she can hardly move a muscle… her futile attempts to get free are completely ignored by her implacable bonds…

Samantha finally takes the flame away, but she doesn’t turn it off, oh no, she has other plans… She looks down at her totally helpless and naked victim and licks her lips. This is only the beginning, she thinks…

– Do you have a suggestion?

Samantha teases the girl. She falls for it.

– TAKE ME OFF…OFF…PLEEEASE…

Samantha smiles. She reaches for a short metallic band and fastens it to a hook in the seat, just where the poor little girl’s slit is. Then she fastens the other end to a small hook on the band that runs over the hips of the poor thing. As she slowly lowers the flame, she whispers softly in the girl’s ear:

– But girlie, why should I take you off… why should I…

As she finally lets the flame begin it’s dance under the seat, just under the hairy crotch, Samantha bursts out laughing… the girl roars and yells as the metal band covering her slit slowly is getting hotter and hotter… you can imagine the pain…it never stops…

– Would you like me to stop?

Samantha doesn’t get an answer. The poor blonde girl is now constantly crying out wild, her limbs stiff and her eyes desperate. Yes, she can’t really move an inch. And still, the pain that never stops… She can’t get away from it. This is REALLY good, Samantha thinks and smiles happily as she lets the flame continue it’s wonderful work a few minutes more.

When she finally shuts off the flame and, after a while, by using protective gloves, loosens the now red hot band from it’s hooks, the naked girl is almost unconscious. Not to good if she passes out, Samantha thinks and puts a stethoscope to the girls chest. As Samantha is an experienced military nurse, she can tell from the heart rhythm of the victim exactly where the limit is. No, she’s all right so far, Samantha thinks. I can go on.

The cunt lips are severely burned by the metallic band. They are a bit swollen and therefore well parted and completely red. Samantha licks her lips when she sees the result of her work. This is good for the continued treatment that she has in mind for the girl, as the cunt now is even more sensitive than before…

Samantha calls for the guards to rearrange the victim. They easily drag the semiconscious girl from the chair and put her on her back on top of the metal table. They quickly fasten her to the table with the metal straps. The same procedure; her head kept immobile, her arms fastened along her sides, and her legs tightly secured to the table by straps at her crotch and at her bent knees, and at her calves and ankles. She is secured in a way that makes her thighs part wildly, but as her knees are bent her calves are still pointing parallel downwards to the end of the table. Her lovely sex is utterly exposed in this position…

Samantha watches the scene as she finishes a cigarette – she enjoys smoking during a torture session. She then dismisses the guards, and as they close the heavy steel door Samantha looks at the girl for some minutes, savoring her slow awakening, and without a word she bends down and lets her tongue taste the alas so red and sore lips of the tormented girl’s sex. She licks and kisses the labia and eases her soft tongue under the little hood covering the little one’s the clit and frets it for a minute, just long enough for the girl to feel the blood starting to flow into her clit and enlarging it, and making it even more sensitive, just as when she masturbates in her room at night… If she only had knew what was to come…

Samantha now steps up and reaches for a small box, from which she takes out two wires. Each wire has a split strand in one end, and an electric contact in the other. Samantha hums merrily as she sees the girl react on the sight of the wires; she starts to beg in a low, childish voice to be set free, not to have to undergo the torture that is in store for her… tears in her eyes… Samantha doesn’t even take notice. She is going to do her task as she has planned to. Why should some silly tears stop her?

Samantha therefore takes one of the short needles and holds it in her right hand, between the thumb and the index finger. With her left hand she easily parts the already so swollen labia of the girls slit and makes the small, now hypersensitive clit stand out of the clitoral hood and the hairy blonde, smelling bush. Steadily she so lets the needle start to prod into the clit. The girl is cramping and crying out immediately… she screams like a child… but Samantha just smiles and lets the needle continue to penetrate the poor little girls most sensitive spot with a steady but slow motion.

When Samantha is sure that the needle is secured in it’s position, she takes one of the wires and holds it out in front of the now moaning little beauty. Samantha cruelly lets the wire swing back and forth, back and forth in front of the widened, now deadly terrified girl’s eyes, telling her that she hasn’t seen anything yet, that what has been until now has been mere child’s play… Funny how the girl reacts: she seems to be completely calm for a second or so, but then the panic takes overhand and she starts to beg, like a baby… Very silent in the beginning but all the time more and more intense the more she panics. It seems that she now for the very first time realizes that she is going to be put through experiences that she can’t handle… Her pleas are hearth aching. Listen!

– OHNOO, NOO, PLEEASE NOO, NOOOO..MAAMA…UUAAAHAAA…MAAMA…I WANT TO DIE…

Yes, she is in a state of total mental collapse; and that is even before the current has been shot through her… Samantha stands back for a second and enjoys what she sees. The best of it all, she thinks, is this: to see the helpless female victims when they realize what is to be done to them. This moment could last forever if Samantha was to decide… However, for maximum effect, the action has to go on – but slowly, ever so slowly…

Samantha takes a deep sniff of the girl’s cunt, smelling oh so lovely from fear… She then twins the split strands of the wire exactly to the both ends of the needle…the naked girl begs, she promises to give her mother and sister and boyfriend to Samantha instead if she doesn’t have to undergo this treatment… Samantha has, of course, heard such pleas so many times before – so many times, even from girls a lot younger than this one…

– There we are, all ready to start…So saying, Samantha inserts the electric contact on the other end of the wire into the old fashioned generator. The poor girl is still trying to get loose, all in vain of course, but she is so panicked that she doesn’t understand that.

The first reaction from the girl is once again strange. She stops her hollering and turns stiff when the powerful current jolts her clit. Slowly she begins to gasp, then pant when Samantha lets her strong arm speed up the generator – just a little…When Samantha slowly, ever so slowly, but nevertheless steadily increases the current, the blonde girl moans, then squeals, then screams – constantly… can You imagine?

She doesn’t stop screaming one single second during the five long but lovely minutes that Samantha steadily maneuvers that nasty generator. Sometimes Samantha slows it down a bit, just for having the joy of seeing how the desperate girl now is totally in her hands… in her control… The poor thing can’t control one single body function – even her toes reacts on the cruel flow of electricity that constantly is being shot through her most sensitive spot…

So, imagine the scene: a screaming, beautiful blonde little girl, totally naked, bound on a metallic table, perspiring heavily and constantly screaming… and beside her, a well dressed dark-haired and very beautiful woman, madly and evilly staring at the girl with eyes wet from arousal, her arm constantly turning the crank, activating the generator in a monotone but steady rhythm…

Samantha finally stops. The tortured girl collapses and is totally limp. Her gorgeous athletic body is all covered with sweat, and her muscles in her thighs are cramping, just a little. She seems to be unconscious as her eyes are shut and her mouth is open, saliva drooling down her cheek.

Samantha busies her fingers once more by removing the needle from the clit. So easily done, but all to late for the pained girl. How can such a little thing hurt that much? Samantha never could stop wondering how it was possible to create such pain with such simple equipment. But she thanks her God that it’s possible…

Is she through with the torture yet? Oh no, oh no… Samantha now fetches the box containing the longer needles. They look painful enough even without the electricity, but I suppose that you already can guess what she’s up to? Yes, you’re right… She is going to use them in the most painful way, by inserting them into the uterus of the secured girl and then inducing current through the needles… oh my God…

But Samantha is in no hurry. She waits patiently for the girl to wake up. Samantha always wants her victims fit for fight… fit enough to break… The cat doesn’t want to play with a dead rat…

As the girl slowly regains consciousness, Samantha smiles evilly and leans over her.

– Welcome back to Paradise. Have you slept well?

Samantha laughs out loud when she sees the girl panicking once again, trying to kick and get loose when she understands that her nightmare isn’t over yet… no, not in a long while… a very long while…

Samantha listens eagerly to the pleas, oh yes, she always does… she likes that a lot… she often stops her torture just to let her victims get a chance to beg for freedom, just as Samantha. Maybe, just maybe, she is thinking about setting them free… she sometimes, as now, tells her prisoners that she would let them go and begins to untie a wrist, or an ankle, or the very tight strap at the crotch… just to hear the poor, tortured girl praising her and babbling her thanks to her, to her – the torturer… that is the most delightful music to Samantha’s ears…

But, of course, she never really sets the free… The maximum of pleasure is to see the fear in the young girls faces when Samantha once again secures them to the table, promising them sternly that they were to get extra severe punishment for trying to fool Samantha to set them free… and such punishment they always get…

Samantha now holds out two very long needles in front of the once again tightly secured blonde girl.

– I’m going to put these two darlings up you. Do you understand? Up you. And then, guess what? Guess what I’m going to do with you…

So saying, Samantha once again lets the nasty wires swing back and forth in front of the terrified young girl. She starts to blubber.

– Oh please please no, oh no, no no no, I’ll do anything, just anything, oh… NOO, no pleeease, please… I’LL GIVE YOU THE NAMES, ALL THE NAMES YOU WANT… just if you don’t… NOOOOO…

Samantha puts a flame to the tip of the first needle, just as if she hasn’t heard even a single word of the pleas. She slowly lets the flame heat the needle, holding it by its wooden grip in the other end, so that she will not burn her own fingers. She then slowly lets the needle begin its short travel towards the crotch.

The totally helpless teenager now screams aloud, in total panic, as Samantha easily parts the alas already so swollen labia with the thumb and index finger of her left hand, and holds the now glowing hot tip of the needle just a few millimeters away from the clit. Samantha loves every second of this; the total control over a completely helpless and vulnerable female victim.

She then lets the needle start its penetration of the clit. At first the poor baby reacts as before: she stops her screaming, holds her breath for a second and then… oh, then she lets out a loud scream, one of the loudest that Samantha ever has heard in this room…

– Was it that good, darling… I had no idea…

She licks her lips. This will be the special treatment for this particular girl, always, she decides. The girl can probably not think of anything worse than having her clit probed by a sharp, long glowing hot needle that continues to penetrate her all the way into her womb… Can’t blame her, Samantha thinks.

The girl spasms and screams… guttural screams with no sense and no meaning… her body is arched like a bow… Samantha is in no hurry, no hurry at all… She takes her time to let the needle slowly travel all the way up to the uterus, for well over a minute… slowly and steadily…

And then the other needle… First the heating… the aiming… This needle, Samantha decides, is to be put right into her love tunnel… the pressure of the penetration… the dear lady on the torture table screams constantly as the hot needle finds it’s unnatural way through her cunt and up into her uterus…

As the needles finally are fixed, Samantha takes a phone and calls for a doctor. For this part of the interrogation they have to be two: it’s far too dangerous to shoot electricity in this way without controlling the victim’s hearth-rhythm all the time during the session, and Samantha doesn’t want to loose her dearest torture doll too early…

Samantha also makes a call for the interrogation officer to write down the information that she knows the petite girl will leave in just a minute. All in due time, she thinks. Samantha pauses for a minute, smoking a cigarette and massaging her by now very wet slit through her pants. Oh, she thinks in anticipation, the best is yet to come…

– Well well little girl, is it about time to sing now? I promise you that it will all be over if you do…

The Colonel stands beside the torture table, waiting patiently. This is just routine for him; he has done this so many times before that he doesn’t even bother to watch the torture anymore. Just write down the information and then go home to his family for supper.

– My sister is hiding in an apartment at Calle los Azurro 42… That is all they want to know.

– Thank You, the colonel says softly. She’s all yours now, Samantha.

So saying, he hits for the door. The girl watches it all happen and yells out, not believing her ears:

– But… but… you promised… YOU PROMISED TO LET ME GO… OOOH NOOO…NOOOOO..

And I think we’ll leave her right now, just when Samantha turns to her, grinning, once again swinging the two nasty wires in her hand, ready to fasten them to the long, long needles… and the Doctor, entering the room, giving the girl an IV, picking up a stethoscope from his pocket, ready to work again – just routine… but why that smile on his face…?

EPILOGUE

Samantha was tired that night when she came home. Her children were asleep, but her husband was waiting for her to comfort her.

– Poor dear, you must be exhausted after such a long day at work. Here, let me make you a nice cup of tea while you sit down in the sofa and relax.

Samantha smiled gratefully and lay down in the sofa as her husband went to the kitchen. Yes, it had really been quite a day!! She and the Doctor had continued the session with their poor blonde victim for many hours. It seemed that every time when Samantha had had enough, the Doctor wanted them to continue just a little bit more. And as the girl fainted, the Doctor just added stronger stimulants to the IV. He had been very aroused; Samantha had seen that clearly by the prominent bulge on his trousers…

They had done almost everything imaginable with the girl… they had used an internal electrode on the girl, a long metal stick that they had repeatedly inserted into the bound victim’s vagina… and the long needles which were stuck through her clit, leading to her uterus, had been constantly charged with electricity from the hand cranked generator. Samantha was really very skillful using the generator, and the girl had been crying out loud for mercy during every short pause Samantha had given her. Given her, not for the sake of mercy, but for keeping the poor petite blonde awake and strong enough to survive her ordeal. Death was a far too easy way out for this particular girl, Samantha thought; she would be her favorite victim during the next following years…

After Samantha had finished her tea, her husband sat down beside her in the sofa, stroking her hair gently. He waited patiently. Usually, when Samantha was this late, she had something a bit extra to tell him from her day at work… He felt that this time he would not be disappointed…

Later, when they lay naked in the bed caressing each other, Samantha finally started to tell him about her day. He listened silently as she whispered all the details of the wonderful torture in his ear, taking pleasure in describing all the girl’s pitiful reactions. She took her time doing that; there was no hurry, the night was long…

He was hard as a rock when Samantha half an hour later sat down on him, finally allowing his member through her dark bush and slipping into her tight and moist tunnel. She lay down on him, holding his hands in a firm grip, still whispering her ghostly story and slowly pumping her hips up and down, up and down, as he was passively receiving her treatment…

When Samantha told him how the girl had cried and pleaded helplessly when they had found out her big secret, that she despite her age was two months pregnant, he came in Samantha’s slippery cunt for the first time. And when Samantha a few minutes later had told him how she had aborted the fetus simply by twisting the long needles during the electro torture, he came again.

He orgasmed for the third time when Samantha had described her plans for the girl for tomorrow, including an electrode stuck down her throat, and had invited him too watch and maybe participate… Life was wonderful, just wonderful, he thought.

THE END

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GENERAL GARCIA [ELECTROSADIST]

GENERAL GARCIA

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General’s Garcia Playroom – part 1
by E. All rights reserved.

Somewhere in South America at the end of the 70’s

General Garcia smiled in anticipation. The night’s hunt had been successful; the catch was even better than he had expected. Seven female terrorists; all of them young, slim girls with shapely bodies. Most of them were blond and had firm breasts; he could see that clearly as they had undressed all the girls before the lineup. They were only allowed to wear their panties – for a while…

The general mused. He strolled around the prisoners on the yard, guarded by many soldiers. He inspected the victims all very carefully. Who would be the first, he thought, the first to be treated in his underground torture cellar? That brunette, around thirty years old and with rather big breasts? Or the petite blonde one, no more than 15 years old, with that childish and very frightened look on her face? Or why not her blonde friend, a teenage girl who was tall and seemingly strong despite her age – an athlete, probably a runner. Freckles in her face, a small perky nose and her hair in pigtails did not spoil the impression she made on the general. He read from a sheet: “Angelique Smith, 17 years old. Student. Captured during gym lesson at school.” He smiled, put the sheet away and stopped in front of her, staring her in the eyes, saying: “So… what have we got here… a blonde one… What is your name?”. She tried to stare back but failed. “Angelique Smith, sir. Please, let me go, I have done nothing. I’m just seventeen… just seventeen… I’m just an innocent student… pleeease…”

When the general begun to take her panties down, she broke down and begun to beg and whimper. The general saw the natural bush uncovered when the white string panties, stained from her secretions during the hunt, were eased down ever so slowly over the round but well-trained hips. He felt his cock getting harder. Yes, he thought, this is the first one, as he took a deep sniff of the panties and put them in his pocket…

So they grabbed her by the arms and dragged her, now screaming out loud for help, all the way over the court to a big metal door at one end. The door opened and inside it there was a corridor with a concrete floor. The walls were covered by old white paint which had begun to fall off. There were dim lights here and there along the narrow and long corridor. The guards dragged the now pitiful sobbing blonde young beauty all the way down to a stair at the end of the path. They threw her down the stair and she fell hard on the concrete floor beneath. The guards slowly went down the stair and lifted her on her feet. She was slapped one or two times in her face to quicken, then one guard kicked her in the groin. The door to the torture chamber was now opened…

They who think a torture chamber is a place of torches and dampness, rats and dirt would have been quite astonished by the sight of general Garcia’s playroom… It was a rather big room with comfortable chairs, furniture and other every day used items. But what differed it from an ordinary living room was the steel table in the middle, complete with adjustable metal bracelets and straps… This was obviously the bed on which the general made his little doves sing… On a lower table beside the torture table were a lot of electronic equipment to be found, which made the room look more like a technician’s playroom than a modern torture chamber. Electro-generators, clips and wires, some metal shafts with a thick rubber coated wires leading to them and also some needles with connections made for electric cables… In the room there were lights of the sort that you can find in a surgery – very bright lights, pointed towards the metal table. The lights were strong enough to explore every single movement, every single muscle spasm of the victim, to the sheer joy of the spectators… And that also guaranteed extremely good quality on the video that always was recorded during the sessions; videos that became part of general Garcia’s private collection… He had about 400 of them by now… The system for recording the sounds, the squeals and the begging, was excellent as well. In the ceiling as well as beside the table, microphones were mounted to absorb every single whimper from the poor female victims… The floor and walls were coated with white tile, and a drain was placed right under the torture table…

The poor blonde girl still gasped for breath after the kick she had received in her groin. One of the guards took a good grip of her hair and held up her face, so that she could see what was in store for her. She opened her mouth in fear and her blue eyes stared wildly at the steel table, the straps and all the nasty equipment laid out in front of her… She fully understood the purpose of it all and began to plead…

“Oh no oh no oh no, pleeease have mercy on me, I don’t want this to happen, PLEEEASE…”

She was silenced by a hard slap over her mouth by one of the guards, and general Garcia spoke in a hard voice: “Shut up, you slut. I’ve never shown anyone mercy in this room before, and you my dear are surely not going to be the first one to enjoy such release. Guards, put her on the table.”

“OH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…NOO NOOOOOOOOOOOO PLEEEASE NOOO DOOOON’T…”

The guards smiled slightly and slowly dragged the screaming and kicking naked blonde towards the dreaded table… God, what a beauty she was! Her well-trained thighs trembled as the muscles contracted in her vain attempts to escape, her perfect breasts moved a little up and down and her pigtails waived as she shook her head from side to side. And her cunt…her hairy cunt was covered with moist, fresh sweat which made her thick hair curl.

Although she was an athlete, and a rather strong one as well, she was no problem to handle for the two male guards who easily threw her up on the hard and cold steel table… General Garcia mused and felt his cock getting harder… The steel manacles that were mounted here and there on the table were quickly fastened around her ankles and her feet… The poor naked and panicked girl kept on babbling her pleas, pleas that were not unheard, just unanswered…

She was laying on her back, her strong arms following the sides of her torso down towards her feet, her muscular but oh so feminine thighs obscenely spread, secured flat against the table, and her knees bent and the soles of her feet touching each other… A metal strap secured her pretty head just over her forehead, not allowing her to bang her head so that she could escape into soft and dark unconsciousness… They had really thought of everything…

The general sat down in his favorite chair, waiting for the show to begin. His assistant, Natasha, a blonde and very good looking former KGB-agent, 33 years old, would to the work for him. He liked that a lot, to sit and watch, maybe take part in some parts of the session, but usually not… The watching and the slow masturbation was his cup of tea. On some occasions he could use a girl to suck him during the sessions, but not today. He had other plans.

Natasha now entered the room, and she obviously cheered up from what she saw. She was a well-trained woman, strong, and had a stern expression in her beautiful face. Short blonde hair, long red nails and a non-smiling mouth. But her eyes were shining of excitement of what she saw… and of the anticipation of what she was going to do to that pretty young lady in just a few minutes…

Without a word she took out a whip and begun to beat the poor helpless girl. Just a warm-up for the real thing; it was good for the effect of the upcoming torture to weaken the girls first, not allowing them to be in full power when the fun and games begun…

After a few minutes of silent trashing, well, silent from Natasha’s point of view that is, of the cunt, breast, face and inner thighs – especially the inner thighs, that had caused the most extreme screams from the poor blonde – she introduced herself to the trembling victim…

“So so so, what have we got here for Natasha to play with today… A blonde baby beauty… Sensitive of course, as all youngsters are… I just wonder where you are most vulnerable…”

Natasha took up a file that one of the guards had brought. All the girls that were captured were already on file; they had checked everything. Even the visits to the doctors were no secrets; one year ago Angelique had told her gynecologist that it was a problem for her that her clit was so extremely sensitive… It caused her pain during masturbation… she had never had sex with a man yet. The doctor had of course tipped her off; she knew what the government was looking for, they had sent out some decrete to all doctors in the country to search for extremely sensitive young girls… The fee for finding them was considerable.

Natasha smiled, for the first time, and closed the file…

“It’s your sweet spot, isn’t it my darling… Your doctor obviously betrayed you…”

The young blonde stared in disbelief. Her worst nightmare was about to become true… She had dreaded this… The stories that she had heard at school about what had happened to the other foreign girls that had disappeared were true after all… She could only beg now…

“OOOH … NO PLEEEASE, PLEEEASE, NOT THERE, NOOOT … THEEEERE… OOOH MY GOD … NOOOOO … NOT THEEERE… ANYWHERE BUT THERE…”

“So ‘there’ it shall be then… of course…” Natasha teased her victim… “But first, let’s make it a little more sensitive, shall we?”

So saying, Natasha bent down between the poor teenager’s legs, and with a swift movement she buried her thumb and index finger of her left hand into that musky, smelling jungle, parting the labia of the immobilized girl. “What are you doing… what… take your hands off me…” Natasha now stuck her right thumb into her own mouth, wetting it generously with saliva, and then gently begun to massage the clitoral hood of her victim. She caressed the youngster ever so softly, knowing that she would respond to the treatment in a few seconds. The young one’s were always the most sensitive ones, Natasha thought… for pain as well as for pleasure…

The intimate caress obviously aroused the helpless girl on the table. She began to writhe and breathe heavily and pant from the rotating thumb. Natasha smiled and bent further down, making her tongue search for its way under the protecting fleshy hood, finding the most sensitive spot on sweet Angelique’s body. The young girl reacted as if she were being jolted; unwillingly and filled with shame she felt her arousal becoming increasingly overwhelming, she was near climax now… oh so good…

As the caresses suddenly halted. Natasha left the panting girl on the verge of orgasm, almost there but yet so far away… Natasha stood up, sucked the sticky fingers clean, and turned to the general.

“This treatment is very common in the Soviet Union”, she explained. Of course, all girls are sensitive down there, and particularly the young ones, but with this method I can ensure you Sir, they will respond even more wildly to what’s coming next…”

The general smiled, massaging his cock through his trousers.

Turning back to her helpless victim, Natasha leaned over the tearstained pretty freckled face and whispered in a low and sexy voice: “Was it good darling? Was it? Good, because now comes the dessert… It will feel different for you, I guarantee it…”

Natasha once again sat down between the out splayed, muscular thighs, enjoying the wet and musky smell of a teenager in heat, once again parting the labia with her left hand, then lifting the poor little girl’s clitoral hood and fixating her still erect clit with her long red thumbnail, as she begun to scrape the clit from the other side with the nail of her right index finger, slowly but steadily, scraping it and listening to the high-pitched squeals of agony that arose from the poor, poor girl…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGG …. AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHH … NOOOOOOOO ….. AAAAARRRRGGGHHAAAAA… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAA …. PLEEEEASE NOOOOO … MEEEEEERCYYYYYY…”

“But Angelique darling, what is it? What is it? I’ve hardly begun…” Scraping it…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAAAA…. OOHNNNOOOOOOOHHHNNNOOOO … NONONMONO PLEEEESASE PLEEEEASE STOP IT… STOOOOP IT…”

“Why should I stop Angelique? Do you have a suggestion? Why?”

Continuing… “MAAAAMAAAA PLEEEEASEHELPMEEEE …. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHH…”

“She can’t help you… In fact, she is the one who told us that this was your weak point…”. Natasha told the truth – they had had their fun with Angelique’s gorgeous mother last week, a 35-year old well trained Nordic blonde woman, who finally told Natasha everything about Angelique; where she lived, what her biggest fears was as a child… Amazing what a little electricity could do to the basic instinct, to protect your own child… When Angelique’s mother got it down her throat, she gave in immediately… Everybody has different weaknesses, Natasha thought and smiled at the memories…

After ten minutes of slowly scraping away the skin of the clitoris, Natasha finally stood up from the now a bit sore cunt, leaving Angelique laying on the table, still naked of course, sweating and hoarse from her screaming. She instead picked up a bundle of thin metal wire from a tray, rolling it up and stretching it straight, about six inches long, then cutting it off from the bundle. She now turned to the general and explained:

“This is a method that I’ve heard they used in Greece during the dictatorship. They used it on men, but I’ve tried it on women as well and let me assure you Sir, it’s just as effective – if even not more painful. The females scream more than the men at least…”

The general smiled evilly and nodded his approval. Natasha turned back to the table, once again letting her well manicured fingers of her left hand bury themselves into the musk smelling bush between the outstretched, cramping thighs. With a well practiced movement, she easily parted the labia of the poor little one, letting her fingers once again search for the inner lips, without hurry, folding them aside, diddling the urethra…

“Oh, what have we got here… This must the place, isn’t it my dear… Here is a little something for all the times you wet your pants as a child…”. She put the wire exactly to the opening…

Then she slowly, ever so slowly, begun to worm the wire into the naked helpless girl’s urethra. The effect was immediate. The poor little one screamed out loud, her arms and legs fighting the implacable bonds, she tried to arch her back but failed as she was secured tightly to the table… Natasha licked her lips. This was so good, she thought, slowly continuing her cruel task… What had been until now was mere child-play…

The wire crept up the tight and oh so sensitive urethra of the small girl, just as if it was alive, knowing it’s way, eagerly climbing up towards it’s goal… The experienced fingers of the Russian torturer kneaded the wire, back and forth, back and forth, but slowly, very, very slowly, to be able to savor it all, the shrieks, the pain in the panicked eyes of her victim… Listen…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGHHH… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…”

The girl was almost not able to form any words… Only guttural sounds erupted from her throat… to the sheer joy of Natasha and the general…Further up… millimeter by millimeter…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SSSSSHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…..”

Finally, the steel worm halted, at its goal, reaching inside the bladder… Natasha noticed that from the trickle of urine that came out beside the wire… She did not hesitate and started to twist the wire around… slowly…

“AAAARRRRGGGHHHH … NNNOOOOOOOOO AAAAAAARRRGGHHHHH …. PLEEEEEAAAASSSSSEEEE….”

Finally Natasha stopped, seeing that the nice freckled but oh so tormented face was getting pale. She inserted a syringe in the arm of the young one, and fastened a plastic bag of stimulants to a hook hanging from the roof. This would help her to stay awake for the next wonderful part, Natasha thought, once again getting wet from sheer anticipation…

She picked up a needle, showed it to the little bound baby on the table, and asked:

“So young lady, what, exactly what, do you think I’m going to do with this little friend of mine…?”

She did not wait for a answer from the petrified youngster, just reached out for some rubber coated wires…

End of part 1

———————————————————–

General’s Garcia Playroom – part 2
by E. All rights reserved.

Somewhere in South America at the end of the 70’s

Natasha picked up a thin, long needle, showed it to the little bound baby on the table, and asked:

“So young lady, what, exactly what, do You think I’m going to do with this little friend of mine…?”

She did not wait for an answer from the petrified youngster. The needle was aimed at the already oh so sore clit. The long red nails of her left index finger and thumb eased the little hood aside, and the tip of the needle touched the very top of the little bud.

“AAAARRGGGHH… OOOOHHHNNOOOOO… PLEEEEASENOOOO… NOOOOT THEEEEREEEE…NOOOO…”

Angelique was panicking. Her worst nightmare coming true… Her weakest, most sensitive and vulnerable spot was to be penetrated by this sharp needle… ohnooo…

Natasha did not hesitate. Not at all. She had heard the screams before, from so many girls, even much younger than this one… No reason to stop it. She savoured the moment, drank in cute Angelique’s fear, seeing her wide open eyes and listening to her pitiful pleas for mercy… How naive, she thought, as she let the needle start it’s slow march into the clit, and further on into Angelique’s slim body.

The poor naked girl, secured to the metal table, went totally wild. Her scream was the highest so far during this session. Listen to her!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRG … GGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR … GGGGGGGGGGGGLLLLLGGGGGLLL…”

A continuous vail, her body bent in an arch as long as the very tight straps allowed… This was SOO good, Natasha thought with a grin on her face… But still just the beginning…

Natasha halted. There was no hurry, absolutely no hurry at all. She held the needle between her fingertips and watched smilingly how Angelique tried to manage, tried to deal with the pain. Her breathing was very fast and she was sweating as her scream slowly died out as the needle did not move. Natasha waited for her victim to calm down… just to have the pleasure of breaking her again…

But first, Natasha leaned over the trembling, innocent girl’s face and kissed her on the forehead, whispering softly:

“But it’s just a needle, sweet Angie… just a needle… it cannot really hurt THAT much, can it… oh, I forgot, the clit is Your weakest spot… that explains it…”

As she whispered into Angelique’s sweet ear, she begun to twist the needle slowly again, pressing it ever so slowly up, into the clit… worming it upwards oh so slowly… still whispering… and licking Angie’s ear softly…

“Aahhh… feel it piercing you… yessss… no, don’t scream, Angie my dear, don’t scream yet… in a while you will have a better reason to scream for me…”

Natasha felt Angelique convulsing under her, secured down on the table. Yes, Natasha thought, it seemed that Angie did not like her treatment… she did not like it at all… as she slowly continued to worm the needle upwards…

As the needle finally had found it’s way into Angelique’s body, all the way to the small metal handle in the end, Natasha softly wiped away the tears from the freckled girl’s face and whispered to her:

“So, my dear… just a start… tell me the names of your guerilla contacts and it will all be over… I promise…”

Angelique had no way of stopping the torture, but to sell what she had to sell. She sold it. The names, addresses, all that she knew about her young female contacts…

Everything to make the nightmare stop…

But it didn’t…

Natasha wrote down the information and then calmly laid the sheet of paper on a table, and instead picked up a lighter… The dear girl didn’t believe her eyes. What was this? It should all be over now – she had promised that!

“Wh-what are You doing? You promised me it should all be over now, that you should stop… I gave you all the names… P-p-pleeease set me free… Oh God…”

Natasha grinned evilly, leaned over her victim, softly whispering in her ear:

“Never trust a woman… I simply lied to you… Oh, my dear, I would not miss this for all the gold in the world… Oh no…”

She flicked the lighter, showed the flame to the bound and helpless teenager, and then slowly lowered it towards that soft and vulnerable area between her legs… Angelique just whimpered; she was beyond panic now, she could do nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop this from happening… She had nothing more to sell… Oh nooo… So cruel…

When the flame touched the tip of the needle at first, Angelique braced herself for the pain. She felt so much pain from the needle itself, that this addition of pain meant nothing to her. But as Natasha let the flame burn the very same spot for a while, Angelique experienced pain beyond anything she ever could have dreamed of. The heat multiplied the excruciating pain from the needle, and Angelique screamed. And screamed again. Listen:

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH…. HHHHHSSSSSSAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHHH… AAAAAARRRGGGHHHAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAAA…”

Yes, Natasha thought, what an event… For so long had she longed for using this method on a small girl again, and this was the moment… the moment of joy…

The flame continued to flick the needle…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHH OOOOOHHGOOOODNOOOO…” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGHHH…”

“What’s the matter my dear? What is it?”

Natasha teased her victim as she took the lighter away from the now red hot needle.

“P-P-PLEEEEEEASENONONO… OH G-G-GOD… HAVE M-MERCY…”

Angelique’s silly attempts to stop the pain were unheard. Natasha smiled slightly, bent down and licked some tears away from Angelique’s cheek, and then once again flicked on the lighter as she whispered softly:

“Are you afraid of something, Angie my dear? Why? What are you scared of?”

Angelique took all the chances she got. She stuttered:

“T-T-THE N-N-NEEDLE… OHMYGOOOD… I-I-IT’S SO HOT, I-IT HURTS SO MUCH… M-MY POOR CLIT… OOOOHHNOOONOOOOO…”

Natasha chuckled with a sneer and looked at Angelique in disguise.

“Oh, You are afraid of the needle… but it’s still just a needle… What a coward you are… I will see to that you will have reason to really be afraid soon…”

Angelique was in panic.

“M-M-MEEEERCYYY… M-M-MEEEERCYYY…”

The whispering answer came immediately.

“Oh no, oh no… no mercy for you my little girl…”

The flame touched the needle once more, just to draw inhuman squeals from Angelique’s mouth. But then the flame moved slowly the short trip from the needle… to the wire…

“OHNOOOHNOOOHNOOMYGOOOD…”

The flame stayed put… heating the tip of the wire…

“PLEEEEASENOOONOOONOOO….”

Angelique was petrified. But the flame did not care… It just went on heating up the wire… which slowly was getting hotter inside her tiny little channel… the pain…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…”

Her scream was never ending, it seemed that she did not inhale any air but finally she had to, but she couldn’t, the pain was all to much…

Natasha let the wire rest from the flame for a minute… the wire was still hot… The poor girl was breathing fast, trying to regain some kind of control, but she did not – she was totally in panic. She now realized that this ordeal was more than she could handle… and it was still just the beginning of it… just the beginning…

Natasha smiled, and wiped fresh tears from Angelique’s face, whispering:

“But dear Angie, what is it? What? Why are you screaming? Does it really hurt? Does it? Oh my dear little one… can this really hurt so much…”

The ominous flame once again flicked the very tip of the wire protruding from the tiny opening, through the pubic hair.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH AAAAAAANNNOOOOGOOOOOOODNNNOOOOOOOO…”

Finally Natasha stopped. Angelique was no longer just an innocent girl, she thought; oh no, she had experienced so much pain in the last hour that women were not supposed to do even in a whole life. Yes, Angelique was now a woman; a young woman, but nevertheless a woman… Natasha smiled and said:

“You now have passed the exam of pain… so let me introduce you to these two… eh, friends of mine…”

So saying, she held out the two rubber coated wires with alligator clips in one end that she had picked out from a bag earlier… She held them in front of Angelique’s freckled and once again tearstained face, saying nothing more… She just smiled happily and watched poor, naked Angelique’s reactions…

The General had difficulties sitting down when he saw what was about to happen… This was his favorite fetish, and he always loved it when Natasha used it on the poor, defenseless girls he brought into his playroom… He wanted to take part in the wonderful torture but managed to calm down, to sit back and enjoy the show, just as he had planned… His hard-on was clearly visible now, and he slowly massaged his aching cock through his pants…

Natasha bent down and whispered softly in poor Angelique’s ear:

“Maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you go… without finding out what electricity can do to such a young and innocent girl’s body and soul like yours… But that’s depending on how sweet you can beg me for it… Would you like to get loose?”

Angelique fell for it. She begged like a five year old girl:

“OHPLEEEASEPLEEEASEPLEEEASELETMEGO… I BEGYOU, PLEEEASE… OMMYGODSETMEFREEEE… UAAAHHA, MAMAAAAA…”

Natasha listened, smiled, and caressed her victims face softly.

“You nasty girl… Were you really trying to fool me to let you loose…? For that I will make you pay dearly…”

So saying, she slowly begun to fasten one of the wires to the needle protruding from the oh so sore clit. Angelique panicked again. Natasha whispered softly:

“Unless…”

“U-U-UNLESS WHAAT? W-W-WHAT? I’LL DO ANYTHING. OHGOOODANYTHING…”

Angelique was a looser. Natasha leaned over her, taking the tip of the needle between her thumb and index finger, softly twisting it while whispering:

“More names, my sweet one… more names…”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHH….”

This was what made Angelique babble out all the names she had, addresses where her sweet girlfriends lived, some of them even younger than she, addresses of girls she only had met with once, girls she hardly knew… and all of them totally innocent of subversive activities… She did not care that they would take them in immediately, to torture them in the same way… only that the pregnant ones got even worse treatment… as they were even more vulnerable… no, she did not care at all… because now her ordeal was over… she thought…

…But it was not…

Natasha calmly connected the other clip to the very tip of the still warm wire, hummingly making sure that both clips were secured, fastening the other end of the wires to a magneto, taking a rubber glove on her left hand and a crank on the magneto in her right hand, and then whispered:

“Tomorrow we’ll have your little sister here to watch this…”

“O-O-OHNOOONOOOGOOOODNOOO… Y-Y-YOU PROMISED…”

Natasha chuckled and said softly:

“…and I think she’ll have to try it as well…”

She injected some stimulants into the arm of the bound and secured Angelique, before she – still hummingly – started to crank the magneto… slowly, ever so slowly… Angelique froze; the current flowing into her most sensitive areas was all to much for her. She peed and started to whine like a child. Listen:

“OAAAAOAAAAHHHHAAAAOAAAAA…MAAAMAAAA…HEEEELPMEEE…”

But there was no help to get for poor Angelique. Sweet seventeen stayed put, even though she convulsed and tried with all her girlish strength to get up from the table. All in vain of course….

Natasha savored the moment and stopped the crank. She licked her lips and massaged her own – now soaking wet – sex through her panties. Oh my god how beautiful, she thought… how beautiful… How could it be possible that she was so lucky, to have the opportunities to inflict such wonderful torture on all these innocent girls… How could it be..

She listened to, and enjoyed, all the pitiful pleas of mercy that Angelique stuttered out…

“P-P-PLEEE-EASE…P-P-PLEEEASE… M-M-MEEEERCY…OHNOOHNOOHNO…”

She started turning the crank again… a little faster this time… The reactions of the naked teenager’s body were so lovely… oh so wonderful… and the screams…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGHHHHHAAAAARRRGGGHHHHAHHHHHA….”

And it had just begun… still just the beginning…

Natasha inserted the index finger of her gloved hand into the pained vagina, to actually feel the pain… the spasmodic movements of Angelique’s vaginal muscles…

“A little rougher on her I think… She hasn’t experienced anything yet…”

The General had spoken; he wanted Natasha to speed up the magneto, and so she would. She smiled at the General and said:

“Of course General, I’ll take her to hell and far below… Do you want her to suffer as much as that small girl we had here last week?”

The General begun to breathe even harder from the memory of that long, successful torture session…. What Natasha had been doing to that petite girl was incredible… Her reactions had been so strong… so strong…

“Would you please, Natasha…”

Hearing that, Angelique now begun crying, like a newborn baby, crying in total hopeless desperation… Natasha asked her:

“Why are you so sad my little one? Don’t you like being here with me and the General? We will enjoy each other for a long time…”

So saying, Natasha once more inserted her rubber coated fingers into and up the tight vagina of her athletic victim, and with her other hand let the magneto begin singing it’s song of pain, turning the crank faster this time, accompaigned by the oh so unlucky shrieks from petite Angelique… who was urinating once more, a thin spray of urine trickling out from beside the wire… and screaming her lungs out… while Natasha calmly and with her knowing hand varied the speed of the crank, to make the little girl experience the pain in full… it never stopped…

EPILOGUE

The General once again entered his playroom after a light meal and a shower. Oh, what a night it had been! Natasha had not let her girlish victim escape into unconsciousness, not even rest more than a few seconds. He was surprised that such a young girl could take it for so long… but the stimulants that Natasha had given her helped of course. This was Natasha’s specialty: just to torture someone was not so difficult – no, the challenge was to extend the pain and to take it to new limits.

Natasha was surely an expert; the General thought as he climbed up on the metal table and slowly entered the bound, secured and completely naked Natasha who was waiting for him with out splayed thighs.

Funny that she always wanted this treatment after a session, he thought, as he let his cock slowly slide in and out, in and out, of her tight and moist vagina, while she was moaning “No… ohno…ohgodno…” but at the same time responding by meeting his thrusts with her pelvis… They both watched a video screen which showed a recording from the session with Angelique earlier… right now showing how Natasha had stuck a long needle down screaming Angelique’s throat and another one up her vagina and then had charged the needles, using the magneto…

Yes, the General thought as he felt his first but not last climax building up, she must have a thing on that… to fantasize about being one of the victims… and so do I sometimes, he thought… I fantasize that she is…

The General imagined how a dark haired girl slowly inserted a thick electric baton into Natasha’s vagina, and then he orgasmed for the first time that night and lay down on the bound blonde woman… He regained his erection quickly, still with his cock inside her warm and slippery vagina, as Natasha whispered her plans for the girl for tomorrow in his ear… How could she know that he was dreaming about the baton, he thought as he felt his second climax beginning… She was really a genius…

THE END

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A wonderful session [ELECTROSADIST]

A wonderful session

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A wonderful session
by Electrosadist. All rights reserved.

The white-tiled room was almost empty. There was only a small chair, a light bulb in the ceiling and a metal table. And, there was a blonde, naked young girl securely fastened on her back on that table. Her hair was in a ponytail, her faced covered with cute freckles. The girl’s legs were well parted, bent at the knees. She seemed to be in her late-teens – and very well trained. Her genitals were covered with a thick bush of blonde pubic hair.

The girl was secured to the table with black leather straps, sweat stained from earlier sessions in the room. Of her clothing was nothing left, except for a pair of flimsy, purple panties that were wrapped together beside her on the table. Her arms were tied along her sides and a broad strap just above her hips secured her torso. She could hardly move a muscle.

And yes, she was scared. She was scared because on a TV-screen on the wall in front of her, she saw scenes from the past in this very room. The scenes were cruel: a dark-haired girl was being tortured by a raven haired, and very beautiful, woman who seemed to be about 35 years old. The woman had connected some sort of black wires to the girl’s nipples and cunt lips, and the girl was screaming constantly. Screaming, as there seemed to be pure and everlasting pain coming from those wires; pure electrical pain. The screams that were produced from the contorting, hysterical poor girl on the screen were telling her that. The girl on the screen begged for mercy, but the show just went on and on.

Suddenly the TV was turned off. The blonde little girl now heard a door open somewhere behind her. Then she heard steps of high-heels, and all of a sudden she was slapped hard across her face by a beautiful female hand with long red nails. The owner of the hand was the same woman that had been torturing the unlucky dark-haired girl earlier. She was dressed in a military uniform and smiled evilly, leering at her naked and very well shaped victim. Oh yes, she thought. Oh yes, this was going to be some night…

– Well hello, little one… let me introduce myself, my name is Samantha. And now I’ll introduce you to two of my best friends… Samantha teased her prey and held out a horrifying pair of metal alligator clips to the poor bound girl. The clips were connected to one black wire each, and the wires trailed away to a strange looking box that Samantha had placed on the table, between the feet of the naked blonde. The box had a crank on the right side. The poor girl stared at the clips with wide-open eyes; but what else could she do, she could not just stand up and leave the room… Samantha sat down beside her gorgeous victim. She savored the sight for a moment; such a good body, trembling from fear, so strong and yet so vulnerable, so extremely vulnerable… Samantha smiled and licked her lips.

With one hand she caressed the firm breasts of the naked beauty, and with the other hand she playfully tickled the labia of the girl and then suddenly eased it apart, making the girl’s pink little clit stand out from the hairy bush. Samantha smiled again and with a swift and well-practiced movement, she easily fastened one of the devilish clips right there, right on the poor girl’s most sensitive spot. The blonde girl screamed out instantly; not even half a second passed before she went totally wild down there on the table… just from the clip…

Samantha stood back for a moment and drank in the wonderful scene. How lovely that the girl reacted so strongly on this torture, she thought. And the best thing was that this was merely the beginning of the session… just the clip…

Samantha eased herself in position again, right beside her petrified young victim. She made sure that the clip was in full contact with the clit before she slowly, ever so slowly, took the other nasty clip and let it trail it’s short way down from the protruding breasts to the lower part of the labia.

– NOOO, PLEEEASE, NOOOOO…. LET ME GO, PLEEEEASE, DON’T… UUUAAAAHH… LET ME GOOOO… HAVE MEEERCY…

The poor, babbling girl was now screaming out loud, but… Samantha just sat still and listened. She smiled; she was going to have her best session for many years tonight, she was sure of that now… No mercy. No.

Samantha therefore let the jaws of the clip close slowly upon the lower part of one of the cunt lips. The naked girl screamed out for all that she was worth and tried to jerk away from the pain; but, of course, with no success, no success at all… She stayed put.

Samantha hummed merrily and calmly checked the connections of the wires to the box. She then slipped a pair of thin black rubber gloves on her beautiful hands, and slowly but steadily started to turn the crank with her right hand, at the same time pressing the upper clip hard at her bound victim’s clit with the left hand. Samantha experienced a strong excitement when she felt the girl starting to writhe under her pressing fingers from the searing current, now powerfully flowing through the girl’s softest and most tender spots… And the screams… The screams she produced from the girl were fantastic! Listen:

– AAAAARRRGGHHH…AAAAAAAAAARRRGGGHH….. UUUUUAAAAAAAAARRRRGGHHH….

There is not one girl in the world that wants her most private areas tortured by electricity, while another female is standing above her, betraying her own sex by pressing an electric alligator clip to the clit while smilingly staring her victim in her eyes. Samantha knew that for sure. And as the poor blonde no longer could hold her bladder and a spray of urine spurted out on the table, Samantha was convinced that this was the case with this particular victim as well…. not so surprising…

As the girl felt the pain growing for each turn of the crank, she panicked and again and again called out for mercy… But there was no mercy in store for her, no help to get. If she was destined for electricity, it was electricity she’d get.. while Samantha started to caress her now totally soaked slit with her left hand, glove still on, listening delighted to the squeals…

What a lovely night, she thought when she orgasmed for the first but not last time – reaching for some long, long needles…

END

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Melissa [ED]

Melissa

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Melissa
by Ed. All rights reserved.
Illustrations by Stig.

1831, The Transvaal, South Africa

With a noisy creak, the heavy door opened and Kleine Kraal’s head servant, Hlubi, stood in the entrance, large and forbidding, his presence all the girl needed to know that the time for her punishment had come at last. Scarcely a day after Rodger Blore had left for his yearly trip back to England, his son Kyle, now twenty and in charge of the ranch during his absence, had made a pass at the pretty Boer servant girl, Melissa Meuws, he had desired for the past four years. She was demurely cute, with glorious red hair down to her shoulders and freckles across her creamy-white skin. He grabbed her tits once from behind and tried to kiss her, but she had slapped his face and cursed him, beating his hands away. Rodger did not for get – or forgive. Soon after, a search of her single room had been initiated which turned up some gold coins under her mattress. Kyle identified them and accused her of thievery. As the acting Nkosi, laird of the ranch, he had coldly sentenced her to the Whipping Post the following morning. Still protesting her innocence, she was taken to the small house, used for the extra hands during the round up, and locked inside. There she sat all night, trying not to think about the horror morning would bring.

“It is time, missy,” Hlubi said. Resigned to this moment, Melissa stood and took a step toward the door. Hlubi held up a hand, stopping her.

“But first, you are to remove your blouse, missy. The Nkosizana, the little master has ordered that you are to walk to the post naked to the waist. Please, Missy. You have to leave your shirt here. Either you do it yourself, or I have to do it by force. I … I would rather not have to do that. Please, missy, it is time to go and his instructions must be followed.”

The young Boer girl could see both the reluctance and determination in his eyes. She knew that nothing would be accomplished by fighting here-at best, she would only delay the inevitable and at worst, well, there would be two floggings this day and Hlubi had always been kind to her. She stood and her hands rose to the drawstring at her neck. It took only a minute to undo the buttons and husk the well-worn blouse from her shoulders. Beneath it she wore only a simple bandeau of cloth crossing her breasts and tied in back. Her hands reached behind her to work at its knot. Soon it, too, opened and she dropped it reluctantly on the bunk. Melissa was now topless and she saw Hlubi look away in embarrassment. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, but he said, “Hands at your sides, missy. The Nkosizana was very clear. He wants to see you exposed when you walk to the post.”

“B-But why?” she said plaintively, her arms slowly lowering. “Just to finally see me like this?”

Hlubi could not meet her eyes. “I think … I think he means to hurt you.” He gestured toward her chest. “Hurt you there, I mean.”

The pretty redhead’s arms flew back up to cup and hide her bare breasts at his words and a chill ran through her. Oh gods, oh gods, she thought. Of course. She would be facing the Post, she knew, but with her hands tied up high there would be little protection for her titties and the sjambok had a long reach. With the old man gone, there was nothing to stop Kyle from directing the lash around to sting the tender sides of her globes. She had frustrated him and he would not have forgotten. And he was cruel.

“Sorry, missy. Sorry, but we must go now. Try to be strong.”

Melissa took a deep breath, gathered her courage, dropped her arms, and walked past him through the door into the yard. Oh gods!

Just a week past her eighteenth birthday, Melissa Meuws possessed a stunning young female body. She had a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, eyes of sky blue, and a cute pixieish face often given to smiling. A light dappling of freckles crossed cheeks, nose, and neck before decorating the tops of her proud bust. Not quite five and a half feet tall, she had matured young and filled her blouse and skirt with ample promise of ripe feminine flesh beneath. In the bright sunlight, the glorious rose-cream of her skin seemed to glow. Bared to the waist, the maid’s lovely nude tits thrust out from her torso like two round and perfect cones. The tapered mounds were capped with broad coral-red disks that rose to hardening points. The petite girl stood rigidly erect, the lines of muscle showing clearly beneath her pale skin, highlighting the long concave curves of belly and abdomen. Years of hard work had pared her form of any excess fat, although her curves were still nicely rounded. Carried low on her slim hips, the home-spun skirt rode just beneath the dainty puckered navel.

The sun was very bright coming from the dark room, so she lifted a hand to shade her eyes, unaware of the erotic way the motion lifted her right mound. She saw the estate’s Whipping Post fifty paces away, seven feet of ominous dark wood. The other servants were assembled there already to witness the punishment, as were Kyle Blore and Bette Marlborough, niece of a neighboring rancher. They were both on horseback and watching her intently. Melissa found that the presence of the white girl embarrassed her more than that of Kyle and the black servants. Then Hlubi gently pushed her back, pointing towards the post. Dropping her hand and squaring her shoulders, Melissa Meuws started forward toward the Whipping Post.

* * * * *

Kyle saw movement at the small house. So, the wench had finally come out, standing in the late morning sunshine. One hand was up to shield her eyes from the glare and the man could see that his orders had been carried out-the young Boer girl was totally and gloriously nude to the waist. Even at this distance, he could plainly make out the ruddy disks of her nipples against the creamy chest skin. He shivered in anticipation and felt his sex stirring beneath his trousers. I’ve waited a long time for this, you haughty bitch. The elderly servant touched her shoulder and pointed forward, falling in behind like an escort.

Kyle and Bette watched avidly as the lovely redhead strode towards the punishment ground, eyes straight and shoulders back. She walked proudly, with that sinuous twist all women are born with. Her thrusting white titties jiggled provocatively to each slow step, swaying delicately from side to side. From a distance, the maid looked brave and resolute, but her lower lip was trembling in fearful anticipation of the ordeal facing her. She had witnessed many whippings during her time working at Kleine Kraal and always felt nauseated after they were done and the bleeding victim was left, twitching and moaning against the bloodstained wood. Melissa could see Blore, leaning up in his saddle, and next to him that sweet-smelling tart from the next krall. An audience. Kyle was not going to spare her the least indignity.

Soon she drew near the dreaded Post, a tall mahogany trunk set firmly in the ground. Large iron eye-bolts were buried into the wood at points down its length. The dark hardwood carried still darker stains, memorials from many past beatings. Kleine Kraal’s flogger, a large, muscular Matabele named Mbane, stood waiting beside it, holding the fearful sjambok in his hands, forty inches of cured, supple hippo hide tapering to a split tip.

Once at the Post, Melissa looked up at it with loathing, then she turned towards her accuser. Standing tall and proud as her 5′ 5″ permitted, her beautiful bare breasts thrust arrogantly out from her chest in the hot morning sunlight. Kyle Blore walked his horse up a little and leaned on the pommel.

“Melissa Meuws, you were caught stealing from your laird’s House. As acting laird while my father is away, I order that you receive the maximum discipline allowed: five dozen strokes with the sjambok!”

“You know the truth, Kyle Blore”, she threw at him. “You know I’m innocent, you pig! Just because I wouldn’t submit to your filthy touch-”

“The guilty always lie,” Kyle interrupted blandly. “You only seek to delay your just punishment. Mbane, secure her to the post and begin!”

The large Matabele draped his cruel whip casually over the stunned girl’s shoulders while he locked broad leather cuffs tightly around each wrist. Her two milk-white beauties trembled between her arms. The redhead looked tiny next to the muscular Matabele, even more so as she cringed against the cool touch of the whip against her tender flesh. Once finished, he turned her around and pushed her against the post, the dark wood warm against her chest from the sun’s rays. Raising the captive arms high, he crossed her wrists before tying them off to the top ringbolts with stout cords. Melissa noticed the positioning, but thought that it was just some minor enhancement to her discomfort.

The two Brits nudged their mounts over to get a better view. They stared at her breasts as her wrists were raised and tied, the proud white cones pulling up and back into a pair of high, rounded melons. Kyle’s prick twitched up in his pants at the sight. He had seen them push against her simple blouse and sampled their fullness during his one grope, but now the sight of them naked-and the knowledge that soon they would feel the lash-stimulated him powerfully. The pretty Boer girl’s nipples kept their shape as the tits rode up, sticking out from the two beauties like coral-hued mushrooms. Gads! He had never seen puffy nipples like that on a white woman before and the image stirred his loins.

In a moment, Mbane was done. He dragged the sjambok free from her shoulders and the girl shivered. She had seen what the whip could do, but at least she would be taking it over her back. Just the slick touch of it slithering over her breasts made her feel sick with loathing.

Kyle gestured to the Matabele, eager now for the show to begin. Mbane nodded and shook out his whip. He looked over at the expanse of milky white skin waiting for his whip and chose a spot. His arm went back and then, with a powerful motion, he swept the sjambok forward to deliver the first whistling slash over his captive’s shoulderblades.

“Uhnnnn,” Melissa grunted and her body twisted sharply. She had determined during the night that she would deny Kyle the satisfaction of crying out under the beating, but the sudden, searing line of pain across her back drew the sound unbidden. Maas! No stranger to the switch, she knew the rhino whip would be worse, but the reality of that difference was shocking. The supple lash seemed to cling to her skin, leaving only fire behind. How would she ever withstand sixty such strokes? Her thoughts were brutally interrupted by the next lash, a lightning bolt of fire that cut over her lower back just above the hips, bisecting the pert sacral dimples. The split tip snapped sharply against the exquisitely tender skin of her contoured side, biting a tiny hole in the soft flesh and starting a small drip of liquid scarlet oozing down over her hip. The redhead twitched in response and again held the cry of pain back with great effort.

Kyle grinned hugely at the erotic sight before him. Every time the sjambok sliced over the wench’s back, her lusty white female body would jerk and writhe against the tall post. His eyes kept returning to the dancing white globe of her right breast. It would leap and jiggle like a thing apart of her, the cream color a delightful contrast to the dark stained wood, and he felt his sex swelling against the front of his pants in response. Mbane varied the timing and placement of his strokes, sweeping three rapid cuts to shoulders and then waiting one, two, or three long moments before applying the next, long anticipated, attack to some new soft virgin spot. Brilliant red and rising weals left a vivid testimony to the power of the flogging and small droplets of bloody fluid leaked slowly from spots where the skin abraded or the snake’s-tongue tip had bitten. A fine sheen of agony-sweat coated Melissa’s upper torso now, making the fine feminine curves shine and sparkle in the bright South African sun.

Bette Marlborough was excited as well, her loins hot and wet. The sheer decadence of the show in front of her was stirring in a way she had never dreamed. Her father wouldn’t permit the whip on his ranch, so she was only just discovering this side of her feelings. She had been Kyle’s guest twice before to watch as two natives, a man and a woman, were tied to the Post and their backs flayed. This was special, however, and she had decided to make a play for Kyle Blore soon after it began. Such a marriage would increase her power and also promised a lifetime of diversions such as this. She could see the growing bulge in the front of his trousers. Soon, she thought. Soon, but not yet. She leaned over and whispered into his ear, “That dancing boobie of hers has you entranced, Kyle. Why not see if it’s as sensitive as it looks?”

He looked back at her, pleased by the look of lust in her eyes. “Don’t worry, pet, I haven’t forgotten about those fat titties of hers. Oh no. I have something very special in mind for them, but just to make you happy …” He signalled to Mbane with one hand. The Matabele saw it and nodded.

Mbane leaned forward into the next stroke, slipping the pointed end around to snap viciously against the outside of her right chest melon. Melissa let out a hissing gasp of shock and her narrow back arched sharply in reaction. Damn damn damn, that hurt! Even though she was topless, she had been certain that the whipping would be only on her back, like when they disciplined the servants. True, they sometimes turned a pretty female slave around to lash her front if she was young and large there, but that was just man-play with a darkie. Even though a Boer, she was still a white woman and such things were not supposed to happen. She would soon learn just how far wrong she was.

“Oooo, yes,” Bette said in a husky voice. “I thought that would get her attention. A woman’s titties are very sensitive, almost as much as her-well, you know.” She blushed demurely. “It’s too bad we can’t see her bottom and thighs. I bet they would look pretty wearing stripes, too.”

Kyle grinned back at her. He kicked his horse and walked it up to the far side of the post. Melissa stared at him with hate-filled eyes, shamed by her uncontrollable tears. He glanced down to her chest, stirred by the sight of the two sweat-shiny globes on either side of the pole. He could clearly see the rising red weal curving around the right from behind. Ooo, that must have hurt. Then another stroke crossed her back and the girl lunged against the pole in reaction. Kyle grinned. Another left a line of pain right where her skirt ended low on her loins. There was long delay and then the sjambok flew again, the twelft stroke, and Mbane swept it out long to score the girl’s right globe again, this time scoring it along the full bottom curve. Although shamefully aware of the man’s eyes on her, Melissa just couldn’t control her maddened spasms of agony on the Post.

Kyle moved his mount closer, stopping Mbane with a hand. “Are you ready yet to apologise for slapping me, to ask-no, beg me to take you to my bed? That’s only the first dozen strokes and the sentence is four more. I can stop it now. All you have to do is beg me for a fucking. Come on, beg me to take you to my bed and I’ll stop the pain.”

“Never!” she snarled up at him, chest heaving. “I would sooner die than submit to such a thing!”

“No, you won’t die, bitch. Although you may well be pleading for that before Mbane is finished. First you’ll scream and then you’ll beg.”

“Never!”

The man reined back and glared over at the whipper. “Continue! Whip her some more! I want to hear her wail!”

SWACKKT! SCRACKT! Melissa writhed impotently at the post as the next six strokes carved her back from hips to neck again. Through her tears, she could see Kyle staring at her from the saddle. Mbane made sure that every one of them ended along her tender side. He knew from past experience just how agonizing the lash was there. The split tip left small, painful rips behind, each one soon dribbling thin runnels of blood from armpit to hip. The sixth returned to her right tit, biting like a serpent’s tongue around the ripe curve, but still she remained silent. Kyle called for another break in the beating.

Kyle nudged the horse up closer beside her. “A special target for you now, Mbane!” he ordered. Then, swinging low from the saddle, he grabbed the hem of Melissa Meuws skirt and lifted it high, exposing her bottom. She wore a frayed pair of mid-thigh pantaloons underneath, her only store bought garment. The flimsy cotton did little to hide the fine compact melons shifting beneath. “Six more on her arse now and put your back into it. I want to see her bottom bleed!”

“N-No, you mustn’t. It’s not right. I’m no kaffir wench and this is wronUUNNHH!” The hissing strike of the sjambok stopped the protest in her mouth abruptly. The flogger pulled back at the last moment so only the final foot of his whip struck the taut rounded buttocks. She lurched against the unyielding wood in response to the sudden pain. The slicing stroke with the sjambok cut through her flimsy pantaloons and the flesh beneath like a knife, leaving a shallow tear behind. A bright line of blood started staining the white fabric even before the next lash flew.

The redhead’s cheeks were crimson with shame at the embarrassing exposure, but the searing pain of the sjambok slicing across her bottom brought her back to the immediacy of her predicament. SCRACKT! Another hot whip cut bisected the broadest expanse of the girl’s clenching ass cheeks. Mbane sent each new lash down lower over the firm hillocks, leaving fresh lines of fire behind. Each stroke was delivered so as to slice through the flimsy pantalloons and the top layer of skin beneath. The last of the six carved the tender flesh of her upper thighs just under the round melons and Kyle laughed at the mincing dance of pain her small bare feet performed. Yet she still wouldn’t scream.

The rancher dropped the skirt angrilly. Very well, my pretty, he thought. No lousy Boer slut turns me down. I’ll teach you your place. You’ll beg before I’m through with you! Melissa looked back over her shoulder and saw him talking to the flogger. Mbane nodded, set down the whip, and approached her. Melissa mistakenly sagged against the post in relief. I’ve done it, she thought. Withstood the unjust flogging without breaking. The large Matabele grabbed her arms near the wrists and she reached higher so he could undo her cuffs easier, but instead the maid felt her torso being twisted roughly around so that she now faced out, her aching back pressed against the mahogany.

“W-What are you doing?!” the redhead protested loudly. “This isn’t right! It’s over! Let me go! Let me go! Oh oh oh, not like this! Not on my front! No, it’s wrong! Let me go, I say!”

Mbane didn’t say a word, but quickly moved behind the mahogany pole, reached around and yanked Melissa’s feet out from under her. He pulled her feet back roughly behind it. These he quickly tied sole to sole with a short cord. The girl’s tattered skirt dropped off her hips during the repositioning and now stretched across her thighs, so Mbane took a knife and just cut it away. Now the lovely young redhead’s sole garment was her flimsy, store-bought pantalloons. There were little frills around the bottoms, just above the knees, a sight Kyle found strangely arousing. In back, her bloodied back and ass rubbed against the post, adding to its myriad stains. Kyle walked his horse up again.

“No, my haughty little Boer, it’s not over. Not by a long shot! And I have no intention of letting you go, either. Your plump titties just beg for the whip’s caresses, and they shall feel them! Ever since I first saw them last year when I caught you bathing at the river, I’ve wanted to see them up close and naked, wanted to touch them. But you wouldn’t let me-Me! Soon to be Lord of this entire manor! You’ve remained remarkably quiet up to now, but I want to see how brave you will be when you face the sjambok! You can imagine what that means, can’t you, ‘Lissa? Soon you take the whip on your pretty tits!

“The bitch has three dozen more to go, Mbane! Stripe her pretty belly up well now! There’ll be other targets later!”

Melissa suddenly felt very vulnerable and very very exposed. She squirmed against the dark wood, desperate to somehow protect her soft front, but there was no hiding the arrogant thrust of her lusty young tits and she blushed furiously in shame at the young laird’s lascivious leer. The pretty Boer girl was absolutely helpless, hanging against the Whipping Post with her naked upper torso bared for the lash.

The muscular African picked up the cruel sjambok and resumed his position to her side. His black eyes ate up the sight of the white girl’s lusty bare breasts. Her buttocks were far too small for his liking, but the color contrast of her plump tits was curiously arousing, and the skin there would show the marks of the whip very nicely. The terrified captive looked around her. She could see Kyle sitting his horse next to Bette again, the Englishwoman’s hand busy now over his crotch, undoing the laces holding it closed. All about were the other servants, some shamed, but most enjoying the show along with Mbane. A sudden, cool breeze blew over her naked torso and goose bumps rose across the white mounds, visibly hardening the erect paps in the bright sunlight. All her weight hung from the chaffing wrist cuffs and her mounds had risen high on her chest, the puffy coral nipples pointing pertly up and out. With the wind evaporating her sweat, the teats pinched up hard in their centers, looking like little pink mountains.

She saw Mbane pulling back his arm and then the bloody sjambok flew through the air to slice harshly across her softly rounded belly. Now that she was facing the other way, her untouched left side was available to the split tip. A young woman’s sides are extremely sensitive and Mbane’s cruel tactic of attacking them with the sjambok’s fangs added a shrieking note of intolerability at the end of every stroke.

Lash followed lash and bright red welts appeared over her abdomen, stomach, and ribcage as if painted by a mad artist. Melissa gasped to the whistling strokes and her white form writhed, making the high perched bare breasts wobble wildly just above. As before, the native flogger varied the interval between his cuts, so the helpless wench couldn’t anticipate any set rhythm. Her head twisted and tossed as she worked to endure the whipping in silence, her auburn tresses flying over shoulders and upper chest. Finally, the last of the third dozen raked the maid’s taut ribs and Mbane lowered his arm.

Kyle approached again, looking down at the moaning young girl. A heavy pattern of angry scarlet weals crossed and criss-crossed the curves and planes of her belly and abdomen, highlighting the fine gleaming white globes above. He waved a hand in front of her face to get her attention. After a long moment, she gathered herself and looked back up at him. Despite the tears, there was still defiance there, still contempt. He glanced down again, admiring the superb bust and rounded coral nipples. Melissa followed his gaze and shivered in horror. There were still two dozen lashes remaining and she was very conscious of her protruding chest. Kyle wheeled his horse back to Bette’s side. “Do you remember that special bit I promised? Well, it’s time, pet. Now we’ll see her really squirm!

“Apply your whip to those proud titties now, Mbane! No deep wounds, but make sure the wench feels them! And get her hair out of the way first. There must be no protection for them, none! I want her broken, screaming. Now begin, and make those titties dance!”

The huge Negro took a moment to pull the long auburn tresses behind Melissa’s neck and shoulders. Then, to make sure that she couldn’t shake them back over her tits again, he bound her head to the post with an inch-wide leather strap. Once secured, the girl couldn’t turn it and her sky-blue eyes darted back and forth in helpless fear. The girl couldn’t protest this latest refinement; her anxiety now was complete. Her back, ass, and belly still burned terribly from their beating and now it was time for her beautiful nude breasts to feel the sjambok’s hot kisses and she was absolutely helpless to protect them. From the time they had bloomed on her chest, the proudly capped peaks had proven to be exquisitely sensitive. Just the feel of a boy’s hand fondling her there would fill the junction of her thighs with moist warmth. Now the huge Matabele was taking aim at them with the hideous rhinohide whip, pulling his muscular arm slowly back. How would she ever endure the pain!

There was a dark flash low in her captive gaze. SMACKKT! A sudden line of white hot agony carved both tender bottom curves and tears flooded her eyes again. “UUHHHNN!” she grunted in uncontrolled reaction. She had wanted to remain absolutely stoic throughout the punishment, but oh the pain, the pain! The sweet responsiveness of her poor bare breasts, meant for the thrill of a lover, was now being used to bring her unendurable misery. The girl’s lusty semi-nude body writhed lasciviously under the insanely intense agony in her jutting chest. SWACKKT! A second line cut diagonally over her chest, catching lower right and upper left and the young female’s body contorted again.

From his vantage point, Kyle had a perfect view of the action and was enjoying it immensely. Moments earlier, Bette had deftly unbuttoned his fly and freed the swollen organ inside to the sun and breeze. Now her slim fingers were gently gliding up and down the rigid shaft, playing with him, as they both watched the lurid scene unfold. Mbane delivered a fourth stroke and a fifth, each new lash setting the pointed globes heaving and leaving a bright red weal behind on the milky skin. With wrists, head, and feet bound, Melissa was quite helpless, but her topless form still managed to writhe deliciously. The maid’s desperate motions only served to launch her two high perched globes in an endless dance of suffering. Now the sixth slash embraced the sweat-shiny tits, returning to the two under curves a finger’s-breadth from the aureoles. Kyle groaned with the girl as Bette expertly milked a heavy drop of fluid from his turgid glans. She dipped her head to lick it away just as Mbane swept the sjambok down to both smooth upper slopes and the girl twisted again. He relished the erotic sensations rippling down through his rigid penis under the English girl’s deft attentions, but he was also growing extremely angry with the Boer wench’s stubbornness. There were only eighteen strokes left and the bitch still wouldn’t scream. Very well, he thought, very well.

“Hold your arm, Mbane. I have an idea that will make her more repentent.” He slid smoothly from the saddle and strode to the post, so intent that he didn’t care that his erection was clearly exposed between his legs. As soon as he reached the bound maiden, his hands rose to her breasts. Kyle fondled the nude globes roughly. “I’ve waited long enough to finally get a feel of these naked! They’re soft, very soft-very pretty. I bet the whip really hurts when it kisses them, eh? Bet they’re very sensitive, too.” He drew sharp gasps from the panting girl by tracing the rising red welts with a thumb nail. Soon his fingers were drawn to the pink mushroom cap nipples. Kyle pinched the spongy buttons and toyed with their flinty points. The prisoner on the post could feel his sex pressing lewdly against her right thigh while his hands groped her breasts and shivered in revulsion. His smiling face moved in front of her and, without really thinking, she spit into his face!

The young rancher jerked back as if struck. “BITCH!,” he snarled. He wiped the spit away with one hand while viciously grabbing and twisting Melissa’s left pap with the other. “You arrogant bitch, that little trick just earned you a ride on the Bishop’s Horse! But not yet, oh no, not just yet! Not while the sjambok still has kisses left to give. And I have a little idea that should make those kisses even more painful. This will break your pride, ‘Lissa girl. You’ll scream for me before I’m through. Oh, yes, you will.”

Kyle reached into a shirt pocket and removed a box of lucifers. He saw her eyes grow wide as the realization hit. The girl threw all of her strength at the wrist and foot bonds, fighting madly to somehow escape, but the straps were much too strong and all she managed to do was squirm impotently in the sun. He fished one of the little sticks out and struck it against the box until the tip blossomed into a sulphurous flame. His left hand pushed the cute redhead against the post, holding her torso steady. Cupping the match against the light breeze, Kyle brought the burning end up and began passing it slowly beneath the large coral nipple of her right tittie.

“HUUUUUNNNNNNNNNN! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! S-S-STOP, STOP! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! OH, IT BURNS! IT BURNS! OH, YOU VILE PIG, STOP IT. OOOOHHHHHH!” The teenager couldn’t keep her cries in check at this unexpected attack. She fought against his hand, but was powerless to escape the savage heat afflicting her areola. The flickering yellow flame licked up at the coral dome, searing the tightly clustered nerve endings. He was able to torture the rigid teat as well before the match reached his fingers. She saw another flash of light and then he returned to the right summit, roasting the upper semicircle this time, holding the yellow flame right against the coral dome. Melissa tried desperately to escape the inhuman pain, but was too firmly held. Before the second match had gone out, he had raised numerous tiny blisters along the flinty shaft of the teat, creating an exquisite agony. Down below, he could feel his penis twitching up vigorously in delight at the girl’s ghastly sexual suffering.

It took three of the mundane, yet horribly effective, implements before Kyle was satisfied with his treatment of the delicate left pap. Tears streamed down the young girl’s freckled cheeks and she was forced to cry out during the burning of her nipple, yet she had still managed to keep from breaking. The teenager cursed him like a voortrekker between her gasps and groans, aggravating him even further. He held the last of the lucifers under her sensitive left teat until his fingertips hurt and he had to toss it down to the ground. Stubborn bitch! Kyle stuck his fingers in his mouth to soothe the pain there. Those pink caps must be really throbbing now. Will you be able to endure the sjambok’s kisses on them now?

He moved behind the post and reached around with his hands to find her seared and aching tittie tips again, thrilling to their hot feel and the pimply spread of aching fire blisters across their bottoms. He moved his lips close to one ear. “Remember the Bishop’s Horse, bitch!” he hissed, “but that’s later. No, it’s what’s coming next that you should be thinking about. Your nipples feel hot, now. I bet the fire really hurt, eh? Well, you’ve got seventeen more strokes from the sjambok coming and I’m going to tell Mbane to aim them all right here where my fingers are playing with you. That’s right, my beauty, that’s right. Now Mbane is going to flog you on your pretty plump nipples with the nasty whip. Now you’ll wish you had given your ripe breasts to me freely.”

His hands left her flesh and he returned to his saddle, rigid phallus swaying. “Whip her pretty tittie tips now, Mbane! I want them to hurt. I want them to hurt bad!”

Oh, no no no. Melissa’s mind churned in panic. Stretched by her weight, back arched by the unyielding post, whipped bare breasts heaving on her ribcage, and her nipples, her poor blistered nude nipples, protruding out and away from their tips as if begging for attention, her every sense was focused on her immediate plight. The pain so far had been almost beyond belief and now the sex pain would be even worse.

There was the briefest of warnings as the sjambok flew through the air and then Melissa Meuws’ world burst into waves of blinding white-hot pain. The Matabele sent his stroke across the very centers of her jutting tits, biting both nude nipples viciously.

“HHHHHUUUUUNNNNNN!” the wrenching young nude barely

kept the full lunged wail of absolute misery behind her quivering lips. Sweat poured down her head and body, glinting in the brilliant yellow sun. The malevolent lash ravaged the cruelly irritated nerves, sending bolts of fiery pain surging through her rosy peaks. Melissa’s sculpted torso heaved to her desperate need for air.

SSSCRACKT! There was no warning at all this time. Mbane sent another crisp cut to the proffered chest, the split tip bursting against the left cap. Only seconds later it struck again, diabolically returning to the same swollen red nipple and shredding open several of the hard little blisters.

It was a scene out of medieval times: A young female, stripped to the waist and hanging with her back to the Whipping Post. Lovely pert globes bared to the hot afternoon sun-and stinging touch of the sjambok. The air split from the whistling slice of leather through the air, then came the loud, moist SMACKT of the lash slapping cruelly home to tender female tits. Finally, the ageless dance of the whip, the frantic, desperate, futile, wild contortions of a young naked woman fighting to somehow withstand excruciating pain, pain barbarously aimed at the most sensitive portions of her helpless anatomy. The great brute swung his bloody whip again to the jutting nude globes and the lurid display of sexual sadism continued.

Bette Marlborough could tell that Kyle was extremely aroused. She leaned over from her saddle and took the young man’s throbbing penis into her mouth and heard him gasp with the new pleasure. Oh so slowly, she slid her lips up and down his shaft, fellating him expertly.

He gripped her hair with his right hand, controlling her motions, but his eyes were glued to the scene at the post. The pretty young Boer was writhing wildly to the scant limit of her bonds as lash after lash curled over her protruding bare breasts. Numerous bright red welts striped their middles, each one crossing some part of the puffy areolas. Clear fluid, streaked with vivid scarlet, oozed down over Melissa’s lower curves. SMACKKT! No interval, the supple tongue of rhino hide striking brutally down on the swelling aureoles before the miserable girl had fully absorbed the previous stroke. With her legs wrapped behind the Post, her back pressed firmly against the wood and there was no give, making the whip strikes over her front sting even more than before. Her eyes were darting wildly in terror and her mouth gaped like a grounded fish’s. Sweat poured down her lithe body from the enormous effort of enduring the savage torture.

SCRACKKT! The pointed tip exploded against the very center of her left pap, ripping a hole open at the base of the teat and drawing the first real blood from the sensitive nipple. At long last, her final reserves of strength exhausted and Melissa finally broke under the prolonged inhuman sex torture.

“AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” she shrieked loudly. “NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE! AAAAHHHHHH, IT HURTS, IT HURTS! HIIIIEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

P-PLEASE, NO MORE! I’LL DO IT! I’LL DO IT, JUST MAKE IT STOP! OH, MY POOR TITTIES, OH THEY HURT SO MUCH, SO MUCH! PLEASE! I’LL DO ANYTHING, ANYTHING, LET YOU MAKE LOVE TO ME, ONLY MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOPPPPP!”

Kyle was very close to coming in Bette’s warm, wet mouth. There was no way he was going to stop now. “Continue the torture of her breasts,” he yelled to Mbane, hoarse with passion. “She should have controlled her pride sooner. Now she gets the full five dozen! Continue!”

“No! Oh, no, please noOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWAAAHHHHH!

EEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OH, PLEASE, OH PLEASE, NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE!”

The Matabele crossed to Melissa’s left and swept a vicious backhand cut to her proud right globe and nipple. His aim was true, but it still took a second such stroke before that tit’s swollen cap split and sprayed crimson like the left’s.

“HIEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!” Now that Melissa’s resistance had cracked, each fresh lash wrenched piercing screams of unendurable suffering from her powerful lungs. After having withstood so much shame and pain proudly, the hideous sensation of having her sensitive nude nipples burned and beaten until they bled had crushed her control. All the pent up suffering so expensively bought over the past hour now burst through the shattered levee with every new touch. Now she wished only for an end to the hideous torture of her tits. She would beg, she would grovel, she would spread her legs like a Bantu bride if it would only stop the intolerable pain!

There was no escape. Mbane moved to Melissa’s front so he could attack the jutting turrets with a pair of snapping vertical strokes to the very tip of each. Loud shrieks of inhuman suffering roared from her throat at the blinding flash of pain that exploded through her seared nude nipples at each one. Kyle leaned back in the saddle to better present his rigid penis to Bette’s imaginative tongue and mouth play as he watched the cruel tit torture go on.

SCRACKKKT! “IIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! N-NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE!”

SWACKKT! “OOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW! OH, MY BREASTS, MY POOR BREASTS! F-Fuck me if you must, but STOP HURTING ME ON MY POOR BARE BREASTS!”

SWACKKT! “HIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

Shiny red rivulets of blood rolled down over both bulging lower curves now, bright droplets flying as the titties danced. Now only three strokes to go and Mbane, back on her right side, applied a full-arm swing that caught both seared aureoles and abraded their upper crescents, drawing yet more blood and yet louder squeals. Finishing with this ghastly focus on such tender portions of her body was inhuman, the agony barbarically sexual in its intensity.

SCRACKT! The Matabele swept another raking slash over the helpless redhead’s bloated nipples, scouring their undersides this time. The miserable teenager shrieked incoherently in pain, her sweaty white female form thrashing on the post, large, whip-wealed titties heaving wildly on her chest. The sjambok burst most of the remaining heat blisters on the swollen areolas with this cut and the pain was awesome.

Bette could sense Kyle’s imminent explosion and was swirling her little tongue around his glans. Her cheeks curved in sharply as she sucked on the man’s throbbing sex. Melissa’s heart-wrenching scream and the sight of her lusty nude body writhing, and bleeding, under the whip, finally triggered his orgasm. He gripped Bette’s head with both hands as the hot liquid waves of pleasure shot up through his spasming penis into her throat. He let out a long, low groan of delight. The young man’s back arched tautly in the saddle as Bette bobbed her mouth quickly over his pulsing phallus.

One more lash remained and Mbane made it a good one, a harsh whistling cut that bisected the aching nude nipples and tortured the hard red teats jutting from their centers. The miserable young girl squealed with desperate abandon, utterly mastered now by her prolonged ordeal. It was several long minutes before Melissa realized that the beating was indeed finally over.

* * * * *

Kyle smiled. The day’s entertainment had already been better than he had imagined-and he had imagined a very enjoyable day, indeed. Melissa Meuws had delivered a superb performance on the Whipping Post, arrogant and stubborn to the very last, prompting Kyle to torture her large puffy nipples with matches and then have the bulging paps scourged until the wench finally broke under the inhuman pain. Bette’s knowledge of “French Play” had come as a marvelous surprise. She had used her mouth to give him a memorable orgasm and even now was gently cleaning his sex with a kerchief. And there was still more fun to come. During a moment of rebellious pride, the silly wench had had the temerity to spit in his face. He immediately added a ride on the Bishop’s Horse to her ordeal. Now it was time for her to mount the cruel rail.

The beaten girl hung against the Post, her heavily welted nude upper torso still wracked by uncontrollable spasms of agony. Mbane cut her feet apart and untied the strap holding her forehead still against the wood. Melissa’s head lolled forward. The Matabele flogger tried to get her legs under her, but her knees kept collapsing and she would dangle from her cuffs. Mbane looked up at Kyle, who nodded. Several buckets waited in the punishment yard for this purpose and he picket one up and unceremoniously doused the moaning girl with its contents.

“Huh! Wha . . . OOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW! OOOOWWW! WHHHHAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRAAAAHHH!” She screamed.

“Salt water,” Kyle commented to Bette Marlborough. “It helps to prevent infection, but more importantly for this Boer bitch, it stings like acid when it gets into all those little rips and tears in her skin.”

The effect was indeed dramatic. The young redhead had suddenly revitalized, squirming madly and fighting the ropes holding her against the post. Tendrils of blood oozed down her forearms from where the wrists had abraded. Her swollen bare breasts juddered side to side as the strong brine attacked raw, exposed nerves all over her whipped upper body. The new pain was appalling, not only in its fiery intensity, but because the liquid was able to flow over large areas of sliced and swollen skin at once. The pretty redhead’s contortions of intolerable sexual suffering were extremely lascivious.

“That’s better!” Kyle called out. “Good job, Mbane. We want her wide awake for her ride! When she settles down take her to the Horse.”

It took almost five minutes before Melissa’s spastic convulsions died down and she hung whimpering on the Whipping Post. After that, it was only a moment’s work to undo the wrist and ankle cords from the iron bolts. Melissa’s hands immediately flew down to cup her throbbing tortured tits, desperate to soothe them, but Mbane effortlessly wrenched her arms behind her back and strapped them together wrist to elbow. A last rope was looped around her neck and knotted tight to her overlaid forearms. This final binding forced the maid to arch her back to ease the strain on her throat. Mbane spun her around so the two British ranch heirs could get a good look at her.

The cruel back-bending posture had the additional effect of forcing the two whip-streaked chest turrets out high and proud in front of her and the varigated red and purple globes drew the eyes of both Afrikaaners. Her white pantalloons and were soaked from the bucket and splashed with scarlet blotches, making the thin fabric cling to her lithe thighs. Kyle was gratified to see a bit of the old rebelliousness back in her eyes, but she was unsteady on her feet.

“Give the wench a hand onto her mount, Mbane! The way she’s wobbling on her feet, she could use a little rest in the saddle.”

The rebellion gave way immediately to fresh fear. In the relief of surviving the sjambok, she had forgottten about the Bishop’s Horse and now she faced that new horror. Mbane dragged the babbling young redhead over to the ghastly thing waiting nearby. It was such a simple thing: a triangular plank of ironwood, sharp side up, mounted high on a pair of stout posts front and back. Years back, someone had attached the head from a child’s rocking horse to the front, an incongruous bit of whimsy on such a hideous device. A pair of stumps sat on the ground on either side and it was to these that Mbane led her. He placed her left foot on the near stump and swung her body up and over the ridge until she stood precariously on the two supports, her crotch a foot or so above the ridge. Kyle rode over and held the girl upright by her overlaid forearms so the big negro could complete his preparations down below. Small sacks of lead shot were bound tightly about her big toes with twine. They weighed only about fifteen pounds each, but she was a small girl and Kyle did not want her crippled. Still, the bitch would feel it between her thighs well enough. He would have liked to order the big Matabele to peel away the pathetic pantaloons, so the girl could ride the sharp ridge with her genitals naked, but doing that to a white woman in front of all these blacks could bring trouble if it got out. And he knew that the thin fabric would do nothing to ease the coming ordeal.

When Mbane was finished with the bags, Kyle walked his mount around to the front of the horrible frame. Melissa teetered on the stumps, her sculptured nude trunk held erect by the cord connecting neck and arms. She was an arousing sight to the young sadist, whipped and enreddened naked breasts heaving on her slim torso.

“P-P-Please, oh please, don’t do this to me,” the russet-haired beauty begged in a trembling voice. “PLEASE! You win, I’ll do what you wanted. I’ll – I’ll make love to you! That’s what you wanted! Please, just don’t hurt my poor body any more. Please, Kyle, I beg you, please don’t hurt me any more!”

The rancher was enjoying himself far too much to stop now. But for Bette’s sweet fellatio, he would probably have spared Melissa this ordeal, if only to take the edge off his sadistic lust. Watching the pretty white girl stripped to the waist and writhing under the lash was even more erotic than he had imagined it would be, but thanks to his blond companion, he could now afford to wait until tonight to rape the wench. Bette took his hand and he leaned forward to watch. He nodded briefly to the Matabele.

Mbane wrenched powerfully on the ropes and the stumps jerked out from beneath Melissa’s feet. The fall wasn’t far, but all of her weight and that of the lead shot dropped her crotch heavily on the sharp wooden ridge. There was a sound like a falling sack of grain and the wench seemed to bounce a bit, but that was only the lead shot settling. The height of the Bishop’s Horse had been cruelly designed so that the weights wouldn’t rest on the ground and all the weight centered on the victim’s genitals. Kyle saw a look of uncomprehending shock on the Boer maid’s face and then the full, inhuman pain erupted in her sex and the screams roared out across the veldt again. It was hard to believe that such strident noises could possibly emerge from such a small creature.

The two South Africans sat their mounts looking at the tortured girl. Her mouth worked like a fish’s laying on the dock and anguished groans rolled from her throat, interspersed with incoherent pleas and loud shrieks. The brutal flogging had made her pointed tits swell into two taut, empurpled globes heavily striped with numerous seeping red welts. The pretty redhead’s upper body was sweating profusely again from the effort of enduring inhuman agony throbbing through her most private and tender parts.

“What’s next for the slut, Kyle?” Bette asked. “I mean, a little taste of the whip, an afternoon sunbathing–surely the bitch deserves more?”

“Oh, she’ll be taken down when the sun sets and cleaned off. I’ve set up a few toys in the barn. She and I will play some more games tonight. I want to see if the treasure she is sitting on is worth the price she paid for it. Beyond that, I don’t know. Father won’t be back for another two months and my imagination has been busy.”

Bette reached out her hand again to cup his crotch. “I’d like to join you this evening,” she said demurely. “I think the games could be even more fun with an extra woman there, don’t you? And I can tell you all of the worst places to play with a girl…”

Kyle looked over at the blond beside him and saw the glint of sadistic lust in her eyes. Yes, another willing female could make for a more pleasurable night-and little Miss Marlborough here had a very talented mouth. “Yes, of course you can join in. It will be just the three of us. Let’s go in now, I’m hungry.”

Melissa Meuws heard enough to realize that she would still be raped and that the Englishwoman was going to help in her violation. The sharp edge caused an unendurable throbbing ache straight down the middle of her slit, feeling like it was splitting her in two. She squirmed a bit and groaned loudly in pain as the plank attacked her tender sex. Above, the sun beat down mercilessly.

* * * * *

The next five hours seemed an eternity of misery and suffering for the young Boer. The hot African sun baked the front of her naked torso, burning the pale white skin painfully. Cattle flies crawled all over, drinking her sweat and biting her skin, but the veldt wasps were even worse. They smelled the sweet blood oozing from her back, buttocks, sides, and tits. When she first felt their tiny legs scratching over the aching aureoles, Melissa instinctively tried to shake the myriad insects away, but only managed to anger them. In moments, her savagely whipped breasts and nipples received numerous fiery stings all across their sore surfaces. Other stingers pierced her tender abdomen and sides. And then, of course, there was the endless agony throbbing between her straining thighs. It felt as though she was sitting on a red-hot sword that was splitting her up the middle, it’s endless presence grinding up against her loins. She tried to bend forward to protect her tits from the sun, but the neck rope held her upright. With her arms tied behind her back as they were, the poor girl was utterly helpless to do anything to ease the hideous protracted torture in any way.

She drifted in and out of awareness as the day wore on. Once Kyle rode over to check on her and saw her eyes closed. Oh, no, my pretty, you don’t get away that easily. Without warning, he swept a couple of searing lashes over her lower back with his quirt, right across the girl’s cute sacral dimples. Melissa’s sweating body jerked madly to the cuts and a long, keening wail burst from her raw throat as she was cruelly brought back to full suffering consciousness. The uncontrollable reaction to the lash made her loins grind over the sharp edge and increase the sharpness of her genital pain. Kyle was amused to see that the cotton in front of her pantaloons was splotched with red.

“That’s better,” he said to her. “I didn’t arrange all of this for you to take a nap.” He looked up at the sun. “Only a couple more hours, bitch, and then we’ll see how stubborn you still are. Only a couple more hours before you’re taken down and allowed to rest-four hours should do it; after all, we have a rendezvous tonight, remember? You did ask me to fuck you, after all, and a gentleman never keeps a lady waiting!” He laughed and gave her one departing slash across her tortured bare breasts before riding away.

* * * * *

Her next real conscious awareness was waking up in agony. It seemed as if every nerve in her poor bare body was throbbing with different kinds of hurt. She had heard that a body had no ability to remember pain, but she now knew that to be false. Slowly all the hellish memories came back: her stripping and the ordeal hanging from the Whipping Post, Kyle burning her nipples, and then the hours of anguish sitting on the Bishop’s Horse. Even now her skin burned from the long hours in the hot African sun, the whip weals hotter lines of pain across her flesh. Unconsciously her hands roamed gently over her body, trying to gentle and soothe the sorely abused flesh, but having little success. They reached to her abdomen and she started suddenly. Her pantaloons were gone! She was now totally naked!

Melissa looked about her in sudden fear. She was in the barn she saw now. She tried to move and discovered that heavy iron manacles had been bolted to her wrists and ankles, securing her to a stout supporting post. Oh, gods, she thought, it’s not over, IT’S NOT OVER!

The chestnut-haired beauty yanked at her chains with increasing desperation as her strength returned, but she was locked in tightly.

* * * * *

The two young adults worked quickly, wrapping Melissa’s elbows up and over the top rail of the stall and then running the cords attached to her ankles out to hitching rings set into the floor. Kyle pulled powerfully on the ropes, extending the teenaged captive’s slim legs out tautly, one at a time while Bette tied off the ends to the rings. A moment later, they both stood back and stared down at the bound young girl. Although well flushed from her earlier flogging and exposure, her skin still implied the soft cream color beneath. Kyle’s eyes bounced up and down between her stirring, high-perched bare breasts and the plump pink lips that bulged insistently from her auburn pubic patch. The hours spent on the cruel Horse had irritated the Boer’s genitals to a fierce protuberance. The yawning spread of her legs only exposed that most delicate flesh even more to the grim tools Kyle had assembled.

Once again, the imminent anticipation of torturing the nude young woman stirred him and he automatically reached inside his pants to reposition his swelling sex. Bette Marlborough saw his hand and quickly moved to his side. Her small right hand reached down to cup the bulging front of his trousers. She squeezed the bulge and felt it grow beneath her fingers.

“You want this naked when you torture her again, don’t you?” she asked with a husky voice. “I want to be naked as well, with you, when you work on her again. We can have such fun together, you and I.

“Now, let me release this beast of yours. It strains to be free.”

“J-Ja. Sehr gut…”

Bette immediately dropped down to her knees in front of Kyle Blore. Her hands rose to the front of the man’s pants and undid the belt buckle. She seemed almost frantic as her fingers opened the buttons of his fly and yanked the coarse homespun down. Undergarments were rare on the Natal frontier and Kyle wore none. He groaned when the pants slid down to his ankles and his rigid manhood bounced up high and proud from his loins.

Still kneeling, she reached up with one slim hand to gently caress Kyle’s erect shaft. His eyes slitted with pleasure at the sensation as he stared down at Melissa’s splayed nude body. It was time to begin this final act of the day.

He looked down at Bette Marlborough. “It is time,” he said “How do you propose we begin?”

The pretty blond rose to stand beside young Blore, although her fingers never left his throbbing shaft. She formed a circle with her first two fingers and thumb and lightly stroked up and down its length. She felt Kyle shiver in delight at the sensuous touch. “The red-hot rods,” she said cooly. “That’s one torment she hasn’t endured yet.” She pointed with her head. “You already have tools heating in the brazier. I say start with them.”

Both Kyle and Melissa turned their heads to look at the squat bucket of coals with the dozen or so wooden handles sticking out. At their ends were round irons, slim lancets, and keen blades, all heated to a glowing orange-yellow ferocity. Bette felt his sex twitch up in her hand. “Ja,” he said.

The blond finally let him go and went to the brazier. She grabbed one of the handles and pulled out a brightly shimmering red pyramid of iron. She handed it to Kyle, who turned toward Melissa’s spread naked body. He leaned forward and touched the blunt point up into the taut hollow of her left underarm. There was a quick flash of steam and then Melissa’s scream of utter suffering rang out through the large barn. The horses stamped nervously at the ragged sound, but Kyle still slid the red-hot iron slowly down the girl’s tight tender side to the top of her hip. The iron sizzled and sputtered as it left a raw red swath down Melissa’s striped skin.

While Kyle seared the captive Boer’s delicate side, Bette shucked off her dress and camisole. Now wearing only her hose and boots, she squirmed up against Kyle’s naked body, rubbing her chest melons against his chest, and reaching down again for the young man’s bobbing sex. “Touch her again with the irons; her tits this time.”

“Ja. Hand me another instrument, Bette. Those titties of hers do seem to insist on stringent treatment.”

Bette Marlborough tugged another handle from the brazier, this one terminating with a short, hooked blade that glowed almost white-hot. She handed it to Kyle and slid up behind him, rubbing her chest against his back. She reached around in front of him, her right hand tugging the silky skin taut down toward his scrotum while the left teased up and down the rigid shaft. Keeping this young man aroused was the key to having the Boer bitch suffering, and Bette felt a hot, wet thrill grow between her thighs. Kyle was a lusty young man with a definite mean streak, but the pretty young Marlborough girl was truly evil in her relish to watch another’s pain. The feeling of Blore’s erect manhood twitching in her hands only added to the lurid tang of sadism.

Melissa’s large green eyes found the cruelly gleaming blade and blubbered as it came up towards her vulnerable right breast. It dipped low now, hanging just beneath the softly rounded bulge of the female gourd. Kyle dropped the glowing iron and then lifted it up, blade first to carve three shallow cuts into the welted undercurve. Each one was announced by a short, sharp hiss, followed by the stretched redhead’s desperate squeals of agony.

For the next forty minutes they continued that way, Kyle applying fresh red-hot implements all over the captive redhead’s sweating nude body, Bette skillfully masturbating him to the edge of orgasm time and again, backing off just in time, while Melissa could only writhe in desperate suffering as the barbarous glowing tools caressed her most sensitive flesh. Along with her deft genital play, Bette Marlborough maintained a running advisory to the young man. An infernal advisory that promised nothing but ever increasing pain to Melissa.

“Oh look-pliers! You did think of everything! Use them down here, just below where her thighs meet the slit. That’s it-you can squeeze as hard as you like-the jaws are hot enough to cauterize the flesh closed, so she won’t bleed all over. That’s it, listen to her scream!

“Here’s a nice one, a four-pronged needle-head. Just look at them glow! I think that it would work perfectly if you stabbed the tips into the bitch’s aureoles. After Mbane’s whipping-and that marvelous thing you did with the lucifers-they have puffed up quite nicely, don’t you think? Ah, yes. Listen to those wails. Hot steel on the nipples always works.

“Run this one up and down both inner thighs. Make sure you slice the blade over her labia every time. Girls just hate the kiss of hot metal on their lips. Here, I’ll lick around your glans while you burn her.

“Take this one and just hold it against her side. They’re ever so sensitive. Second-degree blister burns are more painful, but charring the skin has a unique pain all its own. Mmm, you taste good. You men like this more than fucking, don’t you?

For the miserable young beauty, the ordeal was pure hell. Under Bette’s cruel instruction, every one of her most private and delicate parts were subjected to the hateful kiss of red-hot steel. By now, her voice was raw from screaming and her lovely nude body was bathed in the shiny sweat of torment. Her naked torso writhed lasciviously in her bonds at each new touch. The marks left by the radiant tools stood out as brilliant scarlet lines over the duller reds of her whip weals and sunburn.

The dark sex play and the blonde’s imaginative teasing had Kyle Blore ragingly erect. The tiny slit in the tip oozed a steady stream of clear pre-come fluid that Bette licked away as it appeared. At the slightest caress, she could feel his turgid shaft quiver with delight. The man, for his part, had never imagined that such levels of pleasure were possible. She herself had already experienced one orgasm, although Kyle hadn’t even noticed, so focused was he between his own legs. It was time, she judged.

* * * * *

She gave her lissome play a short break, pouring both of them a glass of fierce Cape wine. Melissa gradually regained her breath, but the pause would only give her stamina enough for the night’s finale. By the time they finished their drinks, the young man’s penis had softened a little, drooping down, but still thick with blood. Bette Marlborough dipped into a jar of lard and massaged it between her palms to melt it into liquid. Then she stepped up before him and gently reached for Kyle’s sex. He groaned loudly and slitted his eyes as the beautiful nude blond rubbed her slim hands up and down the rapidly rising shaft, lubricating it even as she brought it back to full arousal.

Bette walked backward slowly, drawing the young man along through her delicious caresses. She stepped aside when he neared Melissa’s swollen labia. “Take her now, my love. Here, let me guide you inside the wench.”

She slid her right hand down the rod and gripped the base tightly, drawing the greasy skin tight. Deftly she aimed the hard purple glans between the puffy red genital lips. Kyle groaned out again as his rigid penis slid smoothly up to the hilt into the redhead’s vagina. Once she saw he was buried, Bette moved quickly back to the brazier. This time she chose two of the implements, a long-handled blade for the man and pliers for her. Handing the instrument to him, she said,”Now we continue the torture of her breasts. You work on her left nipple and I’ll pinch the other. I heard her scream when you roasted her tittie tips this afternoon. Now she’ll learn that was nothing. The bitch will likely buck a bit, but you seem to have a good seat in the saddle. Just ride her and you shouldn’t have to do much more. Come, our utensils grow cold.”

“N-No, oh please no,” Melissa babbled when those bloodthirsty words penetrated her mind. “Oh please, no more, no more. Ah, I hurt so much, so much already. Please. PLEASE! Haven’t you done enough? For pity’s sake, don’t burn my poor tits any more.”

There would be no mercy for the auburn-haired teenager. Both of her tormentors were far too excited to stop before the final pain and indignity. Kyle raised his glowing blade and started a series of quick vertical slices across the puffy left areola from outside to inside. Bette Marlborough went straight for the right’s straining erect teat, grabbing the flinty button of flesh between the red-hot jaws. Slowly she squeezed and twisted the clamp on that most tender point.

“By the gods!” Kyle gasped. At the fiendish dual torture of her aching nude nipples, Melissa Meuws’ spongy inner vaginal walls spasmed uncontrollably, the hard young muscles rippling and seeming to milk the embedded male organ. The long, imaginative foreplay his neighbor’s daughter provided already had him in a fever pitch of arousal. The sensations of the Boer’s maddened reactions to the hideous nude nipple torture were exquisite in their sadistic intensity and he felt a rising eruption surge down in his balls and then he crossed the brink and his loins exploded with pleasure.

Kyle managed one horizontal slice across the upper curve of Melissa’s swollen left aureole, adding a crackling hiss as the glowing knife slid across the sweaty nipple. He had scarcely lifted the blade for its second pass across the pap when his orgasm grabbed him. A low, rising moan came from deep inside him and the dull red torment instrument shook in his hand just above the nipple.

Bette saw him start shaking and understood immediately. She squeezed down hard, crushing the tender right teat and twisting it half away. One hand reached up from behind to lightly stroke the man’s scrotum with her fingernails. The blond felt the uncontrollable vibration between Kyle’s legs and her second orgasm ripped through her body. She squeezed until she felt the jaws meet.

Even the cauterizing heat of the red-hot jaws was inadequate to withstand this savage abuse and a bubbling flow of bright red blood started from the torn red teat. At the sight, Kyle’s final inhibition shattered and he ejaculated into the pretty teenager’s quivering vagina with savage force. It seemed as though his entire being was centered between his legs and he gave himself fully to the orgasm. Kyle Blore grunted loudly as each heavy spurt shot out of his sex. It was only a minute or so, but it felt like a delightful eternity before he stopped coming inside the cute redhead. He was surprised to see that he was draped over the girl’s naked body when he came back to the present. Kyle gradually pulled his hips back, slowly withdrawing his penis from the still spasming inner walls. The swollen head came out with an audible wet plop.

Kyle collapsed back into one of the chairs, but Bette wasn’t ready to stop yet. While Melissa whimpered behind her, the blond stepped up over the man’s still erect penis and placed the head up between her labial lips. Once partially inside, she suddenly dropped her hips to imprison his manhood within her. Madly aroused herself by the lurid sadism, the lovely young woman needed only the slightest additional stimulation to reach her third orgasm. This latest physical convulsion came quickly and Bette’s gasping grunts of pleasure reunited with the rising and falling friction of her genitals on the man’s penis to bring the young man to an unexpected second orgasm just minutes away from the first. If anything, this body-shaking paroxysm was even more pleasurable than the one before. His brain boiled over and the sweet spasms drove his prick on relentlessly, spurting his semen deeply into the blonde’s vagina. The young woman’s naked body acted like a milkmaid’s soft hands, vigorously milking the man’s rigid penis as it shot its seed fiercely inside her. The new pleasure was exquisitely delicious and he resolved then and there that his father would never return to the krall alive. Finally, the last hot squirts emerged from Kyle’s sex and he groaned a last time.

Thoroughly spent, Kyle stumbled back into his chair. Bette stood up and off him and staggered to a place beneath Kyle’s legs. Melissa continued to mewl and make intermittent pleas for pity. After all the long hours of ever increasing sex torment, the chestnut-haired girl could barely endure her prolonged naked torture. It was over now, for all she knew, but her sweating nude body still shook from the residual agony.

After ten gasping minutes, Kyle sat up in the chair. Bette Marlborough still lay on the barn floor, jerking in pleasure. “I will have Hlubi take care of her. She will carry some marks until she dies, but that won’t be for long. I want her back on the Whipping Post, fully nude this time, in a week.”

end

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Dawn [ED]

Dawn

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Dawn
by Ed. All rights reserved.

Year 1557. England

It was a dangerous time to be a protestant in England. Mary I, Mary Tudor, daughter of Henry VIII, known as Bloody Mary, ruled the land with the Catholic Phillip II of Spain. Any slight deviation from the Catholic Catechism was sufficient to interrogate and execute the so-called “heretics”. Under Mary’s rule, lovely young Dawn Smith, a bonded servant, had been accused of avoiding confession and communion by anonymous voices. A beautiful young woman with no one to speak up for her, the local magistrate had wasted no time in issuing the order of arrest on the charge of heresy.

Corto Hayward, the magistrate, had her seized, charged, and immediately embarked on a determined assault to break the girl’s innocent resolve. Down in the basement of the city keep, the pretty straw-haired wench was rudely stripped naked by the secular minions. The brutal, foul-smelling men tossed her between them, laughing at the way her cute bare breasts jiggled and fondling her buttocks and sex lewdly. They knew that they would have her for rape play once the magistrate had broken her by cruel torture—and taken her first, of course.

Her first night in the dungeon was spent in a hellish depilatory: an apprentice executioner was tasked with plucking the hairs from her underarms and genitals. A standard exercise to teach the young male apprentices patience, he used a small pair of tweezers to grasp and pluck Dawn’s fine blond underarm and pubic hairs one by one. Dawn was laid out on her back on an angled punishment frame, her slim white legs tied widely apart. The position was designed to expose a female’s torso and sex totally to the techniques of the inquisition. The gradual and relentless plucking the wispy hairs under her arms hurt like the devil as they were removed, but that pain was as nothing compared to the inevitable final attention paid to her slit. Dawn Smith did not yet have the pubic pelt of a fully mature woman, yet it still took five and a half grueling hours before the apprentice had plucked her labial lips clean to the base of her moons. As each pubic hair was individually grabbed by the pliers and slowly tugged up and away from the sensitive genital flesh, the pretty blond writhed on the torture bench, squealing loudly when the hair ripped free. They could have used larger pliers, of course, and ripped the hair out in batches, but that often tore the skin open and caused profuse bleeding. The hair-by-hair method employed not only preserved the skin, but also prolonged the gnawing pain of having her genitals so slowly and deliberately bared. The 17-year old apprentice was forbidden to fuck the beautiful naked girl, but shortly into the plucking his youth and budding sadistic urges found his pants undone and hanging around his ankles to expose his hard penis to the pleasures of the lurid chamber. He came twice, the hot cream of sex jetting from his rigid shaft, before the hair ripping was over. The second time, just after he had finished the blonde’s pubic plucking, he stood up and made use of Dawn’s swelling raw labia, rubbing the taut underside of his throbbing erection up and back against the pretty blonde’s hot yawning lips until he crossed the thin line of control. The apprentice groaned with pleasure, his hands gripping her tits while the hot, demanding spasms between his legs shot their load out over the remnants of her pubic mound and up to her cute dimpled navel. His jerking motions soon subsided and he quickly cleaned Dawn’s lower torso with rags dipped in hot water.

No sooner had he finished, than Corto returned to resume the primary interrogation. The first thing he ordered was the rubbing of Dawn’s denuded pudenda with a fiery hot pepper oil imported from the West Indies, causing immediate and anguished cries of pain. Both minions covered their hands with goat-skin gloves, to prevent the burning oil from blistering their fingers as they dipped their fingers into the red slurry and rubbed it deeply into the blonde’s tender notch. The prolonged and relentless plucking of her labia left the delicate lips swollen and raw. The pepper oil penetrated into every gaping raw follicle, irritating the countless genital nerves with a fierce, relentless chemical burning. Dawn’s lovely young body squirmed wildly on the angled bench under the hellish chemical torment of her labial lips. Sweat, bursting from her body from fear and pain, lubricated her back as it slid over the hardwood table. Her groans and squeals were pitiable, but only served to enhance her male torturers’ pleasure.

Then Dawn’s nude body was untied from the bench for her next torment. The minions carried her naked body to the Iron Horse, a sharp-ridged metal wedge. The naked girl shrieked and struggled madly as they lifted her blazing slit up over the sharp steel back of the Horse and then roughly dropped her down on it. Dawn squealed when the cold iron first cut up between her legs. The men quickly attached 10-kilo weights to each ankle, pulling inexorably down on her limbs and making it feel as if she were being split right up the middle. The blond groaned in abject misery. But even all that was just the beginning of her ordeal. Corto ordered that thin leather laces be tied around her thumbs and passed through a ring overhead. Now Dawn was unable to lean forward or back; held upright, her entire nude torso was available to the cruel inquisitors. The pleading girl was horribly aware of the way they were all staring at her nude young torso. Then her torture began in earnest. They started on her lovely young body with the pincers; long, two-handed jaws that could not only pinch the captured flesh painfully, but also crush and rip the tender morsels away.

“Confess, you heretic bitch, confess and save your soul!” The two-handed tongs darted in to grip small portions of flesh along her sensitive concave sides. The minions had to push hard against the tight skin to grip enough to pinch. Then the cold jaws gripped and closed on her sides.

“HEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! OH, IT HURTS, IT HURTS! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHH!” The pincers grabbed tiny morsels of skin and slowly pinched the flesh between them until the skin cracked and droplets of blood oozed down over her hips. Dawn squirmed desperately on the cunt-splitting ridge at the intense pain, but could do nothing to ease the bitter biting agony afflicting her sides.

“But I’ve done nothing, nothing wrong! I’m just a poor tavern maid. Please, I’ve done nothing.”

“LIAR! Pinch her again, both of you!” The dark tongs darted in, one gripping a bit of flesh along one tender side while the other pinched an equally tender morsel where her thigh met the rounded ass cheek. Both of the jaws crushed and worried at the delicate meat until the skin tore and blood started seeping down her body.

“AAAAARRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! Oh, it hurts, it hurts! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Oh, gods, my poor cunny is burning! Please, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“LIAR! Again! Pinch her nipples this time! I’ll teach the bitch not to lie!” The minions moved to the girl’s front and reached in with their pincers to capture both of Dawn’s tender nude nipples. Slowly they squeezed and twisted.

“AAAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Oh my tits, my poor tits! Stopitstopitstopit! Ah, the pain, the pain. PLEASE, I’m innocent.”

“LIAR! Pinch her tits again!” “AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The two torturers were highly skilled and the pincers came forward with fiendish accuracy to find the young girl’s pointed nipples with their metal jaws. The tongs pressed together about those two nubbins of female flesh, squeezing and squeezing until the pretty blond screamed in sexual agony. The minions kept pinching and twisting the pink buds to the edge of ripping the flesh. Dawn screamed again at the harsh burning pain ripping through her tittie tips.

“Confess, heretic! Save your damnable soul!”

“But I’m not, I’m not! Please, oh please, I’m innocent.”

“LIAR! Pinch her some more! Make the bitch bleed! Only through pain will she be purified!” “AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRAAAAAAHHHH! I KNOW NOTHING!”

“LIAR! Pinch her fat tits again! I want to hear the bitch scream.”

“N-N-NOOOOOOOOOOO! Don’t hurt my chest again. AAHHHH, NO! NOT MY NIPPLES! NOT THEM AGAINNN!”

“LIAR! . . .”

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

* * * * *

Dawn Smith held out for fifteen hours. Fifteen hours of endless torment; the entire period spent perched on the fiendish Iron Horse. At three hours and eight into the interrogation, the minions added additional 10-kilo weights to the miserable girl’s ankles. It felt as if she was sitting on a white-hot sword slowly splitting her up the middle of her tender sex. The steel ridge pressed inexorably up between her sex, splitting, always splitting her tender loins. Each additional weight only served to add to the pain between her thighs. Dawn had passed the point where she could simply pass out from the pain. Corto was a skilled interrogator; he knew how to break these heretics down. The pincers gave way to supple, inch-wide leather straps. Hayward ordered her gagged and then flogged with the belts for two straight hours.

The two brutal men swept their straps viciously across Dawn’s nude torso in an endless tattoo of loud moist smacks. From neck to knees, front and back, every millimeter of her soft female skin took repeated strokes from the slapping leather. The strikes on her pert round buttocks and lower back hurt atrociously and made her grind her plucked and oil-irritated slit on the cruel metal ridge, but it was the bitter stinging lashes over her jutting naked tits that caused her the greatest agony. In the full flush of her sexual maturity, Dawn’s large bare breasts had steadily increased in sensitivity along with their increasing size. Not content with flogging the proud white globes, their belts caressed the plier-pinched and erect nipples often, punishing the pink tips and causing excruciating pain. Denied even the minor release of screaming, the young beauty could only squirm on the sharp ridge and endure the fiendish naked strapping in silence. The magistrate poured himself a mug of ale and watched the flogging with interest. More than once he had to reach inside his breeches to rearrange the delicious swelling there. One of the minions moved from side to side behind her to apply the tip of his belt up her inner thighs and crossing the moons and top of her aching genitals. It already felt as though her tender gash was being split up its center by a white-hot sword. The skin had started cracking at top and bottom, marking those areas of the Horse with growing patches of scarlet, and exposing raw wet nerve endings to the savage chili oil. For the final fifteen minutes, they concentrated their strokes across her heaving, welted tits. The sweat-shiny bare breasts quickly empurpled under the relentless strapping. Dawn was near swooning when they finally stopped the hellish tit torture. “Remove her gag.

“Confess, heretic, and save your miserable protestant soul! Confess and beg forgiveness.”

“I-I’m innocent,” she whimpered miserably. “P-Please don’t hurt me any more. Please, I beg you. No more, no m-more. Please, oh please stop hurting my poor titties and take me off this infernal thing. Ooowww, it hurts, it hurts me so . . .”

“Whore! Filthy whore! You think you hurt already, do you, bitch! No, soon you will feel real pain, but you will need all your strength. Soon you will really suffer for your heresy!”

Hayward gave the wench twenty minutes to rest. He personally poured a large shot of brandy down her throat to aid in her recovery before having her gagged. Once he had determined that she was strong and aware enough, he immediately returned to the torture of her breasts, stabbing the swollen red globes with a dozen fine steel needles each. Every penetration was rewarded with a chuff of pain from her nostrils. After the prolonged strapping, both of the nude mounds were appallingly swollen and sensitive. Then Corto held up a long heavy rod from the brazier. An inch thick, the thing glowed with fierce unholy heat. Dawn tried to recoil from the hideous implement. She had already suffered horribly, but as yet, her soft flesh had not been subjected to the intolerable kiss of fire. Corto saw the look in her eyes and smiled. How well he understood these feeble wretches. He bent down and slid the radiant rod into a hole in the front of the Horse. Inside of five minutes, Dawn began to feel the hellish splitting ridge between her thighs warming. But Corto Hayward was too experienced to attack on only one flank. He could read the signs; Dawn Smith was close to breaking. All it would take was one more level of agony. Now with Dawn’s gag removed, the townspeople would hear the screams from the inquisitor’s questioning and Corto was never one to disappoint. And the purpose of the gagging had been fulfilled—Dawn knew that they wanted her to confess heresy, but for hours of agonizing torture, they had kept her gagged and voiceless. Even had she broken and desired to confess, she couldn’t.

“Fit her with the ‘Spanish stirrups’,” the magistrate ordered. The miserable girl mewled in horror.

The two burly men took up the loosely connected iron plates that made up the ‘stirrups’ that comprised this version of the ‘Spanish Boot’ and placed them almost gently on the young blonde’s captive feet. It took only minutes for the hideous devices to enclose her tiny feet.

Large, ornate wing-screws projected from the sides of the relatively broad forefeet. Two more stuck out from her heel-bones and a third stood out from the tops of her feet just behind the toes.

“Squeeze them—you know how to maximize her suffering. Enough so she screams and bleeds, but not enough that she is permanently crippled. She must walk to the pillory and stake, after all.”

The two loin cloth-clad men both knelt down and started turning the forefoot pair of wings. Each twist moved the inner plates almost a quarter-inch closer, every turn pressing the small tender bones against each other. After five full turns, hairline splits and compressions started in both feet. The agony was incredible and the pretty young blond could only shriek and writhe on the Horse while her fore feet were crushed together.

The magistrate knew that the girl couldn’t last much longer. While the minions worked on her feet, he went for a fresh assault. Corto lit a candle and lifted it close to Dawn’s left breast. Without a moment’s hesitation, he moved it in until the flame found the end of a needle protruding from the underside of the aureole. “Confess to your heresy. Spare yourself more pain. Think on it, bitch. Nothing but savage sexual agony until you confess and tell me the names of the other heretics here. Or do you prefer the pain, eh?” It took only a few seconds before the end of the tit skewer glowed bright red and the flesh beneath started to hiss and sizzle. Before it had cooled, the magistrate moved the yellow flame under a needle sticking from the right breast’s bottom curve. Even after two hours of having her tender tits and nipples whipped, the pain did not compare with this new horror. Burning, fiery heat that relentlessly seared female breast nerves so lately strapped beyond endurance. Down between her legs, the iron ridge splitting her genitals had heated up to the level where the hot metal was raising countless small hard blisters on the delicate skin of her labia. The remorseless pain between her thighs gave way every few minutes to the sudden sharp searing pain of a breast needle heated red-hot searing her proud nude breasts. There was no end to the hellish pain. Corto sought out one needle after another, heating the round buds until the steel lancets glowed red and the girl’s breast flesh hissed with burning pain.

Dawn’s resolve finally cracked under the excruciating and relentless sexual torture. Thin runnels of blood dripped from the fronts of the stirrups. She finally broke when the seventh tit-piercing lance was heated to torture her naked left nipple and her outraged genitals started to sear as the iron ridge cutting up between her labia grew red-hot, but the cruel grinning man waited until all 24 of the needles in her helpless bare breasts and nipples had been heated incandescent and fried the tender flesh they pierced. Her cunt lips were already blistering when Corto finally removed the gag, the needles in her teats still sizzling. The desperate girl confessed to heresy and witchcraft and everything else she could possibly think of to just stop the ghastly and intolerable torment afflicting her naked body. The minions removed the hot rod from the Horse and dribbled more of the fiery brandy down her throat and she thought that her hellish ordeal was finally over. But even then, she had failed to comprehend the depths of Corto’s cruelty.

Once her breathing had slowed somewhat, the magistrate approached her. “Sometimes a confessed heretic recants after she has had time to heal and think. You will not be so tempted. Go to the public post and you can die quickly in the flames—a painful end, but a quick one. Recant, and you will be returned down here to me. Recant, and suffer this—and worse.

“Finish with the stirrups, but use the water, not the oil. I want her able to walk to her execution.”

The two hulking minions understood exactly what the magistrate meant. Fine droplets of blood still dripped from Dawn’s crushed forefeet. Now the two brutal men knelt down again and started twisting the ornate wing nuts at the back of Dawn’s feet.

HEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH! OH, I’VE CONFESSED, I’VE CONFESSED! You promised to stop the pain—you promised! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OH, MY POOR FEET! OH, THEY HURT, THEY HURT!”

The guards continued their slow turning pressure on the back nuts. Each turn, like the ones earlier, compressed the bones of Dawn’s ankles and heels a quarter-inch until they began to split under the contracting pieces of iron and more blood began to seep. The elder of the two started alternating turns on the wings centered over the tops of her feet. Every crank drilled the small, sharp spike down into and between the tendons of her upper feet. The tavern maid was screaming steadily as the bones in her feet were crushed together. At this point, three more turns on each would cripple her for life, but the magistrate had forbidden that for now. They let go of the wing nuts, but Dawn continued wailing, so great was the pain in her feet.

Then, just when she thought that there was no greater suffering, the minions started pouring cupfuls of boiling salt water down into specially placed holes around the stirrups. The young girl’s shrieks were painful to hear. Broken and crushed flesh and bone was suddenly bathed with boiling brine, wringing unutterable agony from her small tender feet. Even still, the boiling brine was less destructive than the boiling oil. That left the flesh of her small feet crushed by the cruel stirrups broiled and blistered and useless to walk upon. The blonde’s tits still throbbed and her notch sent waves of pain up from her genitals. Hayward moved to her side with a small pair of tongs. These he employed on one whip-swollen teat after the other, squeezing the sensitive bud painfully and then twisting the buds side to side. It was only then that the awful affliction finally overwhelmed her senses and Dawn sagged inert on the Horse.

“Take her down and lay her on the bench,” he ordered. “Confine her, but see to it that a physician attends her. She must be healthy and strong for her execution next fortnight.”

Her immediate torture had ended, but now the rape began. First Corto bathed her hairless crotch with cups of boiling water to clear away the remnants of the pepper oil from her plump labial lips. Dawn’s regained consciousness in the worst possible way. Her screams rose in volume and pitch when he had the guards undo and raise her legs so the magistrate could pour a couple of cupfulls of the steaming water directly into her gaping vagina. He then used a coarse sponge to scrub the tender flesh between her legs clear of the oil and hot water. The delicate labial flesh turned bright red and bloated up between her thighs. Erect from the hellish genital torment, Corto mounted her, gasping and sweating on the whipping bench, her nude body still throbbing from the prolonged interrogation. He thrilled to the feel of her hot blistered labia sliding up and back along his rigid prick before he finally shot deep inside her.

Over the next two weeks, all the guards entered her cell some time or other to take her in countless, ever more degrading ways. Even the young apprentice executioner who had picked her armpits and genitals clear of hair got his shot, using the same tweezers to tug and twist Dawn’s nipples while he pumped his prick inside her. In this way, the pretty young blond spent the two weeks before her death.

* * * * *

On the appointed day, Dawn Smith had largely recovered. The ugly bruises and burns of torture were pretty much gone; her young body again smooth and white. Her feet still hurt terribly from their crushing, but she could walk, if barely, to her place of execution. They gave her her dress back, although they withheld her old chemise and panties. Dawn was glad to be dressed again after her days of helpless nudity. Just the feel of cloth covering her made her feel somewhat safe again. Then they took her out of the keep and marched her across the square to the raised stone execution platform.

Once up on the punishment stage, the two hooded executioners held the pretty blond girl between them, facing the jeering crowd. Corto opened the note of condemnation. “Dawn Smith, you have been found guilty of Heresy against the One True Church. Sentence is public death by torment. Now strip the wench and begin!”

The townsfolk drew silent in anticipation. The two guards immediately reached their free hands for the top of Dawn’s tattered blue dress. In moments they ripped the soiled remnants away and the young blond stood gloriously nude in the late morning sun.

Only eighteen, yet still Dawn had the form of a fully matured woman. Long slim legs rose up to swelling hips. Then the waist fell inward to taut curved sides and a hard concave belly. These swelled out again to accommodate a short, but deep ribcage that served as a platform for her two splendid bare breasts. Dawn’s narrow back and slim stature made the 35C mounds appear much larger than they were, although even on a much taller woman they would still have been impressive. Still firm with the pride and resilience of youth, the soft white tits thrust out, trembling to her breaths. At their tips sat doubloon-sized disks of delicate rose-pink. A breeze drifted across them, starting the center points to rise up. Every man in the crowd had seen her in town and had wanted her. Now they wanted to see the proud maid humbled. Finally seeing her stunning nudity on the stage aroused them. Every woman in the crowd hated her for the passions she engendered in the men. No one would stop the coming horror.

“Take her, and secure her to the stocks!”

The two soldiers grabbed the naked young girl and dragged her over to the vertical pillory. In a minute, they bent her over and locked her wrists and neck into the three holes. Dawn’s pert round ass cheeks stuck out behind her at the top of her slim white legs. The soldiers then grabbed the blonde’s ankles. Cords were wrapped around them and pulled a full yard apart. Dawn squealed in shame as her genitals were exposed between her legs. Then both men yanked the limbs they held a full foot farther apart and tied them off. Now Dawn’s position was even more acutely uncomfortable. Her long legs were spread hugely, beyond 90 degrees. Her ample round buttocks stuck out towards the crowd and the plump young lips of her genitals were totally exposed beneath the crack. The terrified girl was forced up on tiptoe to keep from choking. Her naked white body performed a lascivious little dance as she tried to escape the stocks and somehow hide her most sensitive and private parts from the torturers. Corto stepped up. His calloused hands wandered all over the girl’s naked flesh. Dawn shivered in shame when his fingers caressed the skin up and down her trembling thighs. For a couple of minutes, he fondled the yawning pink lips making the girl’s face blush bright red and drawing an appreciative murmur from the crowd. Dawn’s face contorted and blushed as the magistrate played with her labial lips, teasing the slit intimately. Then he reached one long finger slyly up between the labia and stabbed it deep into her vagina. Dawn squealed in shame and tried futilly to move her gash off the prying finger.

“She’s no virgin!” he yelled to the jeering audience, knowing full well why she wasn’t. Corto made a big display of teasing the miserable girl’s bared sex, playing with the gaping lips for the delight of the crowd. He could feel his prick filling as he watched her hips writhing lasciviously under his intimate fondling. At the moment, he would have dearly loved fucking the helpless young blond, despite the public exposure, but certain proprieties had to be followed and anyway, he told himself, he had another fresh young wench waiting in the cells. Whatever passions this executions aroused, he would exercise away with her this evening.

Then it was time to begin the torment, but there was one last refinement to inflict. One soldier lifted her small body, straining the ankle bonds while the other carefully inserted a spiked iron rod into a hole at the bottom of the pillory, just below her captured neck. Dawn Smith was released as they went for their weapons. A low groan of agony passed her lips. The only way to keep the metal spikes from piercing her inner breasts and belly was to stick out her buttocks and keep her loins lifted high. The miserable wench had to rise up on her tiptoes to avoid the stabbing pain up her bared front. She jiggled slightly side to side, an action that created a most delicious dance. Corto stepped up again. He pressed his hips up against Dawn’s and pretended to be fucking the captive maid by humping her ass. Dawn could feel the hardness of his sex rubbing against her gaping genitals at the obscene playacting. The townspeople howled in laughter. Corto moved back to her side, his hands busy roaming over her soft naked skin. He fondled her ass and delved down between the cheeks to coarsely tease the fat pink lips bulging between the straining thighs. He slyly slipped a couple of fingers up into the plump genitals and the people who could see her face laughed at the look of shock that she adopted.

“Normally, I would have a vaginal pear shoved in here and opened, splitting you apart, but not today. The pear is awful, but what you face today is even worse and I don’t want your sex spread too much,” he said to the imprisoned maid. “No, I want you to stay just as small and tight as you are. After I have fully enjoyed you, I will give your slit a real fucking.

“Time to begin, men. One hundred lashes. Neck to knees. Your straps will have to work hard to crack that pretty skin, but I want to see her back and bottom bleed if you can. Begin the execution!”

The two stocky soldiers took up their positions to the right and left of Dawn’s beautifully displayed backside. The supple straps went up as one and then the torment began in earnest.

WHACKKT! WHAPPT! WHACKT! WHAPT! WHACKKKT! With no further warning, the two brutal men began flailing Dawn’s back and buttocks with their heavy belts. Again and again and again the whistling leather flew through the air to burst across Dawn’s slim back, round ass, and straining sculptured thighs. Again and again, the harsh leather stung Dawn’s helplessly exposed bottom and sex.

Not even the pain of the spiked bar was sufficient for Dawn to keep from trying to somehow bend her bottom away from the fiercely punishing straps that continued to beat her. The strokes across her lower back actually caused her more pain, the skin being so much thinner there, but the cracks over her ass and thighs were still ghastly. Both men were skilled enough to ensure that the broad tips of their straps bit over her yawning genitals every third stroke, stinging the tender pink lips viciously. Dawn Smith shrieked loudly as stroke after stroke slapped her back from neck to knees. One soldier swept a lengthened stroke across the maid’s middle back so the stinging tip could reach down to strike the soft white side of her dangling right tittie. Then both employed the diabolic longer reach. Stinging blasts tortured Dawn Smith’s dangling naked tits from left and right with fiendish intensity. The final bitter tips caressed the screaming girl’s nipples until they swelled up to twice their original size. After a couple of dozen strokes had punished her naked tits, they delivered the next agonizing indignity. WHACKKT! The more powerful elder minion curled his strap up from the boards to slap straight across the vulnerable lips of her cunt.

“AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! HIEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OH IT HURTS, IT HURTS. OH THE PAIN! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA! NOT BETWEEN MY LEGS! OH NOT THERE, NOT THERE!”

The two minions laughed as they attacked the stocked girl’s hairless genitals with their whips. Again and again the cruel leather kissed her tender labia. The elder maintained his rising strokes while the younger used a darting downward slash over Dawn’s hips that snapped the the end two inches against the plump pink lips with savage force.

Dawn hung from the cruel stocks, utterly miserable in her agony. “Bring the lard,” Corto commanded. The soldiers brought up a small vat of fat and set it in the coals. Immediately, it started melting.

Corto splashed a cup of water into her face and slapped her cheeks to bring the wench fully back to consciousness. “Not much longer now, bitch, but it will still be hard. Look.”

Dawn shook her head and followed the man’s gaze. She gasped in horror. The two guards had just finished screwing an iron post into the stone platform. At its top, the metal pole broadened into a wide phallus shape liberally adorned with short sharp spikes.

Corto Hayward dipped his hands into the melted lard. Returning to Dawn’s side, he knelt down and began slathering it up and down her trembling inner thighs. “This will keep your skin intact a little longer when you ride the fire, bitch. It won’t do anything to reduce the agony you will feel, of course.” He chuckled, now rubbing the grease over and into her swollen pudenda. Finally, he smeared the lard over Dawn’s ripe bare breasts. He didn’t really have to treat the mounds, but he enjoyed the sight of proud female breasts shining in the sun. The feel of the naked gourds sliding slickly under his fingers was a thrill in itself. He paid special attention to the large naked nipples, tugging and rubbing the broad disks with his grease-slick fingertips. “The flames won’t reach these beauties right away, heretic,” Corto said to the helpless girl, “but I have some interesting other tools to apply to them and the lard will help there too. But that’s later. Now it’s time to mount you for your just punishment.” Finally, he stopped and gestured to the soldiers.

The two freed her from the blood-streaked pillory, dragged her over, and then lifted the petite nude girl and carried her over to the hideous iron post, stopping only long enough to lock her neck and wrists into an iron cangue that held her arms out and away behind her nude torso. So desperately did the welted young girl struggle that it was difficult for the two men to control her slippery nude body. But they were just too strong. Dawn screamed in pain and terror as they slowly lowered her, carefully inserting the rounded head between her swollen labial lips. Her own blood added to the lubricating lard as the metal penis reached up into her vagina. They only stopped when her toes just reached the stones and then released her. Dawn wailed in agony. Only by straining to her utmost could she ease the inexorable pressure against her cervix. The spikes sliced the tender female flesh and created a fierce burning pain between her legs. With her hands and arms spread and locked into the iron cangue, the girl was utterly helpless to either escape the impaling shaft or hide her naked female torso from the other cruel devices close at hand.

First the two torturers went to work on her nude torso with their whips again, starting with her front this time. The lashes caressed Dawn’s pert bare breasts and belly repeatedly as the girl’s strength waned and she dropped down, impaling herself on the spiked iron post. The sharp steel ripped that most sensitive flesh open and bright beads of blood began to ooze down her inner thighs. Stepping constantly around the screaming wretch, they swept their braided leather tools repeatedly across her body. Back, belly, and buttocks all soon sported fresh raw red streaks that leaked fresh bloody trails. But it was the twin turrets of her tits that took the majority of their strokes. By bending the rods holding her wrist cuffs back at an angle, Dawn’s ripe bare breasts were forced to jut arrogantly out and away from her heaving ribcage. They were natural targets for the cutting whips and both soon sported numerous fresh red welts. The crowd relished the cruel sexual focus of the torture, calling out vile suggestions to the guards.

“The titties again, good gaoler! Girls hate having their udders whipped!”

“No, no, flog her bottom! It’s red now, but blood will make it redder!”

“Whip the heretic wench harder. Make her scream!”

“Torture the maid harder! Whip those fat breasts of hers! Make her scream!”

Now Corto took a hand as well. Pulling on a pair of heavy gloves, he drew a long rod from the brazier. Even in the bright sunlight, the end third clearly glowed with fierce internal heat. The crowd roared its approval. Keeping out of the way of the two floggers, he reached in to press the red-hot implement against the girl’s naked flesh. Dawn was sweating profusely from her ordeal and every demonic touch was accompanied by a loud crackling hiss. As this was an execution, no effort was made to keep from leaving marks and Corto usually held the rod in place until her skin charred black beneath it. The blond’s screams were painful to the ears. Already her suffering was excruciating, intolerable in its intensity, and yet it only continued to grow still more extreme. Corto came around to her front with a fresh rod. He pressed the glowing steel up against her chest, right where the tits met her ribs. The miserable girl wailed hoarsely at this new attack. The magistrate pressed up against the rounded undersides, lifting the two globes. One guard took advantage of the new presentation, pumping his meaty arm down in a flurry of vertical strokes that blasted the raised mounds from armpit to teat while the red-hot iron rod seared the sensitive white undersides.

Blood was now running freely down the steel post impaling her vagina. Her frenzied motions under the sadistic torture had the effect of making her ride the metal phallus like a lover. The numerous spikes that covered it had shredded her genitals, inside and out. Worse, before the cunt blood reached halfway down the pole, it started bubbling away. Though they had kept the roasting fire low, the steel was anchored in its center and was absorbing the heat up its length. The base was already glowing like Corto’s irons. Soon the end buried inside her would grow hot as the fire and sear her inner walls. The insides of both slim legs starting at her ankles were flushed bright red and liberally covered with painful burn blisters. The outer lips of her labia were bloated, red, and blistering as well.

One executioner moved behind her so he could sweep his whip across Dawn’s slim back from shoulders to thighs. He sent ten straight lashes over her lower torso, over the demure sacral dimples where the skin was thin and delicate. The other savaged the front from ribs to knees, abrading the skin and drawing oozing scarlet with almost every cut. The two men had entered her cell late last night, promising to kill her quickly if she would consent to willingly pleasure them. Each had fucked her and forced her to use her mouth and lips to fellate them to orgasm before leaving her cell. Dawn had reassembled her tattered dress, weeping in humiliation as she waited for morning and her public execution. She knew now that the promises had been nothing more than tricks to get her to voluntarily open her mouth and spread her legs. Under Corto’s direction, the two guards were presently doing their best, not only to cause her the most extreme agonies possible, but also to prolong those agonies as long as they could.

Hayward doused a bucket of brine against Dawn’s savaged front, reviving the wench for the end of her ordeal. The saltwater had the added advantage of penetrating the countless bleeding welts across her naked torso and further inflaming the nerves even more. There was to be no pity for the girl and, in truth, the magistrate relished the sight before him. He had another accused witch waiting in one of the cells. A tall, well-fleshed redhead named Matty Ross, tonight he would take out the lusts inflamed by watching Dawn Smith’s bloody death with her.

The assembled crowd yelled out their approval as the whips and irons relentlessly caressed the lovely blond girl’s tender white body. Hideously impaled on the spiked iron phallus and with her hands locked helplessly behind her shoulders, the nude young girl could only shriek out her agony and writhe on the cruel iron post. This ordeal lasted a full hour. An hour of feeling the whip lashes biting across her round bare breasts, scouring her delicate nipples, and always, always, Corto’s devilish touches against her thighs, sides, and back with the red-hot rods. Each and every one began with a loud, sharp hiss as it contacted the sweating white skin and the girl screamed. The hiss turned into a moist crackling sound as the flesh seared and burned down to raw blackened meat. Dawn was displayed for execution—there was no reason to spare her any scarring. Corto Harwood next touched a fresh glowing rod to the bulging undercurve of Dawn’s left breast, holding it there until the skin blistered and then charred. “HEEEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH! HEEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!

“HEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH! Oh my poor titties, oh they hurt so. No more, please, no more, no more . . .”

By the time the long hour was over, Dawn Smith’s naked young body was heavily decorated with dark weals that seeped blood down her torso and the brighter red marks left from the irons that highlighted most of her most sensitive curves. The lovely young girl’s form heaved and danced on the torture prod, on the edge of insanity from the barbarous suffering. Corto stuck his last iron back into the coals.

Now he picked up a short, oiled torch. Sticking it over the brazier, he set it alight and then held it aloft before the yelling crowd.

“Now the heretic burns!” he cried out. “There can be no mercy for any unbeliever!” The magistrate then lowered the torch and held it to the pile of wood arranged around the base of the vertical post. After a couple of minutes, the sticks started burning on their own and Dawn could feel the first dainty whispers of heat caressing her impaled and bleeding slit.

Oh no. No. NOOOO! Now the full horror of her ordeal was made clear. They were going to burn her alive while she perched at the top of the cruel iron pole. The fire was made deliberately small to prolong her suffering, roasting her thighs and genitals before consuming her. In the meantime, the rest of her lovely female body was helpless and exposed to whatever additional horrors they chose to inflict on it before she was consumed by the fire. Numerous whips and demonic implements of torment still lay waiting on a table nearby. Dawn shrieked in mindless agony. The bright yellow flames danced up to lick at her trembling inner thighs with tongues of hideous pain. The roiling heat continued up between her legs to lave at her whipped and puffy labia.

Corto went behind the hapless wench with a fresh rod of red-hot steel. He dragged it roughly up and down both inner thighs, bursting open many of the blisters and searing the raw flesh revealed beneath. The pole was now glowing over halfway up; she was certainly starting to feel the heat up inside her notch. It clearly wasn’t hot enough to cauterize yet as blood continued to flow liberally. His rod was still hot, so Corto applied a devilish kiss. Taking careful aim, he pressed the rounded tip against her anus and slowly pushed it up between the spasming bottom cheeks.

It was hard to believe that such a noise could come from such a little girl. Her eyes bulged and she hopped desperately up and down on the cruel dildo as she tried to escape the hot iron sliding slowly into her ass. More blood gushed, only now it boiled mere inches beneath her gash. The shredded flesh between her legs was already starting to cook.

This time Corto chose a set of short tongs from the coals. Standing in front of the girl, he raised them toward her left nipple. He had to grab the breast to steady it, so vigorously did it wobble. Then the jaws found the swollen pap and he started to squeeze. Corto felt his prick hard as steel inside his pants. The maid’s blue eyes were wild with indescribable suffering. Her strength was fading now, but she was still aware enough to feel this new atrocity. Corto squeezed and twisted, crushing the rigid teat even as the hot steel roasted it. He gave one final squeeze, inflicting the final measure of crushing agony and then ripped the nipple off her chest. The crowd’s roar of approval couldn’t drown out Dawn’s wail of pain. The guards added a fresh pile of sticks to the smoldering embers between her feet. They caught immediately and the hellish yellow flames reached up anew to lick at her blistered thighs and slit. Then all three men went to work on the miserable nude girl with the red-hot tongs.

Dawn Smith’s screams took on a new crazed quality. Fresh pincers were pulled from the large brazier repeatedly, glowing bright with fierce internal heat. The jaws opened and darted forward to grip a morsel of naked female skin, pinching the flesh painfully even as the hot metal broiled it. Corto continued the torture of her bare breasts, burning and ripping her tender undercurves and upper slopes alike. After seven of the cruel bites, he crushed the right nipple to charred ruin. Her taut sides produced some good screams, as did her whipped buttocks, but the loudest of all came when they applied their red-hot tongs to Dawn’s burning inner thighs and labia. The iron was easily hot enough to cauterize the skin, but the ripping and pulping left tears that dripped scarlet down her body. More blood oozed from the cuffs holding her wrists uselessly out and back. Dawn Smith was fading fast under the hellish torment. Corto now shifted to the Cat’s Claw, four curved blades that hooked to a needle point, resting in the coals of the brazier. Hayward held it up and smiled, blowing on the ghastly instrument to send out a stream of brightly glowing sparks. Now the claws gleamed with a dull red glow. The magistrate started with Dawn’s taut sides, hooking the tips of the claws into the into the tender skin of her right underarm and then slowly drawing the sizzling blades down to her hips. The young blond shrieked madly in agony as four hissing red lines ripped her skin. Corto decided against the breast rippers, terrifying instruments, but once employed, there was little left for additional pain.

Hayward drew another Claw from the coals. This one he dragged straight down Dawn’s back, slicing the skin and briefly exposing the white bones of her spine and back ribs before the blood ran and then was quickly cauterized closed.

Corto drew three more fresh glowing paws from the coals. One raked down her left side and the other two shredded the backs of Dawn’s thighs from buttocks to knees. The girl’s screams grew ever more raw and ragged under the fiendish ripping of her tender flesh, but they were scarcely louder than the roars of the assembled villagers watching her martyrdom.

The metal rod piercing her sex was now red with heat right up to the puffy seared lips. The torn flesh inside was broiling now and bloody steam hissed from her loins. Dawn had been strong—she was still alive after an hour and a half of the most brutal tortures, after all—but she couldn’t endure much more. All three men attacked her at once, their three glowing pincers biting lower thigh, breast undercurve, and front of the slit where the clit sat. Dawn let out one final raw shriek of impressive volume that stopped suddenly. Her legs buckled completely and she sagged down on the red-hot iron post penetrating her genitals. The outer lips sizzled as the glowing metal rod between them roasted the flesh, but it was the fierce inner heat that caused her the most excruciating pain. Sweat burst from her body at the hellish suffering, adding to the melted lard to make the lusty young blond shine in the hot afternoon sunlight.

By this point, Dawn Smith’s screams had faded to pathetic mewling whimpers. The Magistrate and his minions continued to pinch, crush, and burn ever new morsels of female flesh while her swollen gash hissed out a steady gush of steam. Her once soft white body was now liberally decorated by the long red stripes from the whips and the brighter scarlet marks of the red-hot irons. Blackened spots, many oozing trickles of blood, were spread across her body where the glowing pincers had bitten.

The executioners kept feeding the fire down between her feet, adding faggots to maintain the fire and continue roasting the impaled girl’s inner thighs and cunt. Dawn’s ever louder shrieks of desperate suffering rang out over the assembled crowd. One guard greased his hand liberaly in the pail of lard, his other constantly replacing a glowing iron from the brazier. He would grease a thigh or breast with the liquid lard and then slide the red-hot instrument in his other hand over the slippery female skin just greased. The radiant implements hissed and crackled as they fried Dawn’s welted skin.

The pretty blond was once again screeching dementedly under the insanely excruciating torture. Her nude young body jerked and thrashed on the top of the spiked iron phallus with the end of her strength. The flesh between her thighs was bloated and sizzling around the red-hot post, the once tender white skin blackened and cracked. Her entire nude torso was liberally decorated with the scarlet around black of long thin burn scars. Corto gripped her remaining intact nipple with pincers fresh from the coals. Dawn’s inchoate shrieks ripped out of her throat as the tender bud was crushed between the glowing jaws and finally ripped away. The crowd yelled out its approval at the stimulating and sadistic sight.

The long hours of hideous torment finally took their toll. Dawn’s screams had been reduced to pitiful ragged wails. The blonde’s naked body heaved with her efforts to suck in enough air to somehow endure the savage torment the men inflicted on her. By now, both back and front of her naked lower body were flushed bright red and heavily adorned with hard wet burn blisters. A steady stream of shiny blood leaked out of her impaled vagina, only to burst into crackling steam on the red-hot rod the moment it exited her body. The pyre had been steadily built up to the point that it was uncomfortable for the executioners to continue to use their pincers. Not that it really mattered any more. The young tavern maid was in terrible pain and clearly near death. The two now changed to long bullwhips, stroking the braided leather out to caress Dawn’s torso with a rapid pattern of explosive cracks. Corto stood back, watching the end. The tapered whips continued carving the girl’s spasming body, breaking countless burn blisters open and splashing the closest audience members with blood.

This last assault managed to lift the maid to a final, even higher, level of suffering and Dawn Smith shrieked out her frantic agony. There was one last loud keening wail and the girl’s horribly abused nude body collapsed down on the glowing vaginal spear. Her form shook and thrashed in its final agonies and then, suddenly, hung still. Corto listened to the steady clink of coins in his tip jars while Dawn Smith’s form hung motionless, slowly consumed by the fire.

The magistrate acknowledged the frenzied approval of the crowd before picking up his tips. In his pants, his prick was hard as rock, aroused and ready for release. “Prepare the Ross girl for me,” he said to the two minions. “Mount her on the X-Frame. I will be there shortly to begin her interrogation. She should be broken and ready for next weekend’s entertainment.”

end

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Annetiie [ED]

Annetiie

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Annetiie
by Ed. All rights reserved.

Year 1670. Araby

Annetjie had been aboard a VOC–the Dutch East India Company–ship taken by corsairs between Madagascar and the Fever Coast of Africa. No one had anticipated that one of the ferocious storms that occasionally trod these waters would appear to ravage the fleet accompanying the heavy treasure galleon and leave it a wallowing cripple, ripe for the plucking. Limping down to Good Hope, the Hirondelle, Swallow in English, the fat East Indiaman had been attacked by a dozen of the smaller, more agile dhows of the corsairs. Even though more heavily gunned, her lack of maneuverability and the speed of her attackers soon had the Captain of the Hirondelle dipping his colors in surrender.

The officers knew that they would be worth more as ransom than dead and so remained calm. The more experienced sailors jumped overboard, better the sharks or drowning than alive in the hands of the Arab pirates and slavers. Later, much too late while hiding in her cabin, did Annetjie Van Doorn discover the situation. She emerged on deck and loudly cursed the patiently waiting officers before jumping over the side herself, expecting a quick and clean death.

The captain of the dhow that fished her from the tepid waters had immediately seen her value and had her chained belowdecks, as much to keep her away from his lust-crazed crew as to prevent her escape. The captains of the larger dhows, with their larger crews, took all the bullion and spices. The smaller ones had to make do with what they could fish out of the water. Usually, that only meant a few work-slaves ill prepared for a life of cruel bondage in the salt mines or cotton fields. Annetjie was a surprising and potentially valuable gift from the sea. A week later, in the Zanzibar slave market, he had obsequiously approached Hassan ibn Alamut, chief buyer for Prince Abd Ishmael ibn Muhammad, known as al-Auf, the Bad. Hassan had ventured aboard the smelly dhow reluctantly, but was immediately interested when he saw the captured Frank, although he hid that interest well. Four hours, and countless thimbles of coffee later, the deal was struck for 42 gold rupees. Hassan well knew his master’s enjoyment of the unique, especially when it was an obviously beautiful young woman. The Frank’s bright red hair and cream-white skin would earn him a most hansome commission.

* * * * *

Annetjie Van Doorn was niece to one of the Seventeen in Amsterdam, the old, gray-haired heads of the VOC. She was heading back down to the Dutch colony at Good Hope from Bombay to wed the new Governor there. Already considered a handful in India, she was, in short, a haughty pampered young woman of considerable looks, great family wealth, and a monumental temper. Wedding her off to the fat old man chosen to administer the Compangnie’s interests in such a strategic port would solve many problems. Capture by Arabic pirates would only complicate things, so the ship’s officers all avowed that she had died in the attack. So far as anyone knew, Annetjie Van Doorn was dead.

A month later, she was in Oman, largest city of the Caliphate on the Western edge of the great sea. There, with a dozen other slaves, she was delivered into the care of Fouad, the head eunuch of the Prince’s harem, for preparation.

Fouad read her in an instant, having had much experience with the various royal wives, and turned her over to the ladies of the harem. That first day was a nightmare for the proud young Dutchwoman.

As a royal Prince, Abd Ishmael maintained a respectable harem of over sixty concubines—the great Mogul, the Caliph, kept more than 200 (although the Prince followed the strictures of only having four current wives). While Fouad stood back and watched with great amusement, all sixty-some went after the strawberry-blond girl.

Annetjie was immediately stripped naked and forcibly bathed, her body rubbed with coarse sponges until her entire skin was flushed a rosy red. Then, repulsed by the luxuriant hair beneath her arms and between her thighs, the fiercely struggling girl was held motionless and carefully shaved while the other slaves tittered and laughed at her embarassment. Her frenzied struggles were quickly cut short when the girls started physically yanking her pubic and underarm hair out with their fingers. The pain brought tears to her lovely blue eyes before she acquiesed and lay still for the shaving razors. They left only a small patch of red-straw hairs up at the very top of her mons, knowing how it would excite their lord. Every day thereafter she was bathed and shaved. The head eunuch insisted on examining her, stripped naked, for the slightest flaw in her shaving.

In her first week in the seraglio, Annetjie made the mistake of trying to slap Fouad during one of his intimate inspections. The fat eunuch was well versed in dealing with proud young women and caught her hand easily. As the head eunuch, he was forbidden to inflict the serious or bloody torments on the new slaves, especially the unique ones, but he was also tasked with maintaining discipline in the Harem. “Secure the Frankish bitch to the ankle stocks,” he ordered. “The bastinado for her temerity. You others may play with her as you wish.”

The women of the Prince’s harem descended upon Annetjie like a plague of locust, squealing and laughing as they stripped Annetjie Van Doorn nude. It took only moments before her slim ankles were imprisoned within the ankle stocks and her feet stuck out from the far side, with Annetjie face down on her knees.

Her blushing face was pressed down into a pillow and her naked ass stuck up behind her. Diramar, one of the older concubines, slid her hips down until the Dutch girl’s face pressed up into her notch. Annetjie Van Doorn smelled the musky scent of female arousal in her face and tried to twist her face away. A dozen of the other harem women reached in with their hands to fondle the Frank’s bare breasts, belly, and thighs. The young Dutchwoman writhed deliciously under the concubines’ assault.

Annetjie had small, well-formed feet with high curved insteps. Unlike the majority of the concubines, hers had been protected by shoes all her life. The bastinado would prove savagely painful on such soft tender flesh. Once locked within the narrow stocks, her soles stuck up and out toward the small punishment room. Fouad looked down, holding a yard-long bamboo rod in his hands. From his first sight of the foreigner, he had taken an instant dislike for her, her white skin, her lush curves, her—her utter femininity. He knew he was treading on thin ground, but his hatred was too strong. “The red-hot needles. You know where to apply them,” he commanded.

The concubines knew what he meant. The fat eunuch ruled their lives. Sarafin, the eldest ex-wife, placed the bone-handled needles into the nearest brazier of coals. Ahmei joined her, fanning the coals until they shimmered bright red and the thin lancets glowed dully. Diramar was still trying to induce the Frank to pleasure her slit, but she drew her sex back when she saw the red-hot needles being readied. She well knew Fouad’s cruelty and didn’t want any part of her genital flesh to be between the Frank’s teeth when the first agonies began. The hulking man would beat the Dutchwoman on her tender soles, but first he wanted her to suffer a fiendish refinement that would greatly enhance her suffering. He pointed to a pair of the waiting concubines. They knelt down by Annetjie’s feet and reached for her toes. Fouad gestured again and two more spread her big toes apart from the long ones beside them, exposing the thin membrane between. Then the glowing needles darted down to drill half an inch into the exquisitely tender flesh.

The pain was sudden, ghastly, and totally unexpected and the helpless nude girl couldn’t stop her sharp squeal of pain. Fouad smiled at the break. The soles of a young woman’s feet were exquisitely sensitive and their beating a hideously agonizing torment. Adding the kiss of the red-hot needles between her dainty toes would only serve to make the coming bastinado intolerable.

Three more times Annetjie’s tiny toes were held and pulled apart to expose the tender skin between them to the radiant needles. Now aware of the threat, she was able to only gasp during the fiendish applications, but was compelled to cry out once more when Sarafin and Ahmei stabbed that fine tissue just inside her little toes and the ones next to them.

The two older wives withdrew, leaving the Dutchwoman sobbing in helpless fury, her feet throbbing with hurt from the piercing hot lancets. Then Fouad began. He raised the cane, took aim, and brought it down across both of Annetjie’s tender soles with a fierce horizontal stroke.

“HUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN! Annetjie’s sudden squeal was smothered in the pillow before her, the only thing that kept her break under wraps. Still, the fierce sharp pain that exploded in her delicate feet was beyond anything she had ever expected. It was beyond belief.

WHOCKT! WHOCKKT! WHAPT! WHOCKT! Again and again the bamboo rod flew down to strike the bottoms of the redhead’s delicate bare feet, striking with a loud crack. Fouad beat the nude girl’s soles from the base of her toes to the small round heels. Annetjie’s naked young body writhed furiously under the cruel attack. The pain afflicting her soft pink feet was beyond endurance. Her insteps reacted most to the relentless blows of the bamboo cane, but the strokes over the ball and just below the toes reawakened nerves recently burned by the steel needles, a unique added form of pain. WHOCKKKT! WHACKKKT! WHOCHKKT! Only through the most extreme exertion did Annetjie hold her grunts and squeals under control and not break down into an endless wailing aria of suffering.

Fouad delivered one dozen, then two, then three to the delicately shaped little feet. Bright red lines quickly appeared across the soft white soles from ball to heel. In spite of himself, the fat eunuch admired her strength. None of the other concubines or wives could have taken three dozen strokes of the bastinado without wailing like a babe, and them largely with feet hardened from years of barefoot walking. He had, of course, occasionally beaten a girl’s feet until blood flowed and many of the tiny bones had broken. While he would prefer to beat the Prince’s slaves on their breasts or slit, he was much to experienced an executioner to neglect a young woman’s feet. Flogging them to the blood was a level of torment he would dearly love to inflict on Annetjie, but could not. Still, he was able to stroke the tender, upraised soles with twelve more vicious smacks before having her released. He was pleased at the tears he saw running down her lovely face, but would have prefered her screams. The next time, he knew, the punishment would have to be even more extreme. The next time he went after this Dutchy bitch he would go after her most private female parts with his cruel instruments of torture. The next time she would scream …

* * * * *

Enticed by the description he had been given by his concubines and chief eunuch, the Prince sent for his new slave the very next day. The girl tottered on her whipped feet into the Prince’s presence. The Dutchwoman standing before him presented a unique vison to what he was used to. Due to their extreme youth and countries of origin, most of his concubines had olive skins, black hair, and a petite size. Annetjie Van Doorn stood taller at a good 5’ 6” or so. Her long, straight blond hair was lightly shaded with hints of red born of the sunrise. At nineteen, she was in the full flush of feminine maturity, with full shoulders, deep ribcage over a slim waist, and newly swelling hips. Her thrusting breasts were especially enticing, large and well-fleshed, like ripe round pears. Even her nipples looked different: broad disks colored like apricots in contrast to the small hard paps of the Islamic slaves.

Fouad held her with nothing but a leather collar and leash about her neck and bared to the waist, exposing her lush female form for the Prince’s appreciation. Clad in a light cotton keffiya, Abd Ishmael walked slowly about the semi-nude young woman. Her hands at her sides, Van Doorn feigned subservience until he got close enough and then nearly succeeded in ripping out his surprised eyes before he knocked her out—and this a day after enduring the bastinado! By Allah! What spirit!

He couldn’t ignore the attack, of course, and meant to see the Frank tamed. This time he had her delivered into the hands of his Royal Torturer, Ali.

* * * * *

A day later, he went down to his dungeon where Ali had hung her up by her ankles from the low ceiling chains. Ali had tied her arms behind her back and then cut away her blue silk pantalloons until she dangled naked below the waist in the torchlit room. The Prince walked around her, admiring the unique combination of curves and colors she displayed. The Dutch girl sported a delightfully pert and round pair of buttocks and in front …

“By the Prophet, Ali! You have not already touched her up between her thighs, have you?” “No, Beloved of Allah,” the hulking torturer chuckled, “although the Frankish wench’s lower lips do look that way. Never have I seen such a plump and succulent pair! And look here!” Ali reached a couple of hard, fat fingers around from behind to spread the shaved labia. Annetjie squealed in outrage and then let loose a torrent of Dutch obscenities she had overheard and learned from the VOC sailors. Ignoring her obvious insults, Ishmael bent down to look. There, at the very top of her gaping slit, sat one of the largest pearlescent pink clits he had ever seen. “They grow them big in Frankish land, do they not?” the torturer commented.

“Aye, Ali. That they do. I want this one tamed to the saddle, do you understand? Make her hurt, but don’t permanently damage her.”

“And between her legs, my lord?” Ali asked slyly.

“Make her hurt, but don’t permanently damage her.”

Ishmael took a seat to watch. Yasmin, a favored concubine attended him, serving him coffee and sweetmeats. A pretty young slave born in Ceylon, Yasmin had been raised in the colony there, a slave child to a slave on the cinnamon farms, and spoke fluent Dutch as well as Arabic. Not only was she exceptionally skilled at fellatio, but she could interpret as well.

“Begin, Ali.”

The heavy Arab started with an arm-long strap of tapered water buffalo hide made supple through hours of chewing by female slaves. The very first stroke burst with a loud wet smack against Annetjie’s poised white ass cheeks and the hanging girl’s mouth erupted with a stream of angry Dutch.

Ishmael watched avidly as Ali swept the sjambok across the Dutch slave’s bottom and thighs. Yasmin, coy and talented girl that she was, found a way to slip her hand through the folds of the Prince’s keffiya to find his swelling sex. Her tiny hand worked its preliminary magic on his manhood to make the shaft fill and grow while he watched Ali flog the Frank’s back, ass, and thighs. Annetjie’s seminude body writhed from the ankle chains and she continued to scream out a steady stream of invective as the stinging leather caressed her backside with ever increasing force.

“Yasmina, what does the wench say?” the Prince asked, using the affectionate diminitive address.

“She curses you in the name of her infidel god, my lord, I apologise to say. And she insults the Lady, your mother. Most grievously, I fear, my lord.”

Abd Ishmael’s face hardened. “Ali, I have been overly kind to this Frankish slut. A bit of a spanking and she has the termerity to insult the Calipha! I release you, good Ali. Let us both see how large you can make the soft flesh between her legs!”

The next hour was excruciating for the hanging girl. Ali was well practiced at his cruel craft. SWACKKT! SWAPPT! WHOCKKT! A couple of stinging strokes would punish Annetjie’s lower back, buttocks, or upper thighs and then he would swing a crisp vertical swipe down from behind her to slap brutally against her yawning labial lips.

WHACKK! SWACKKT! SWOCKKT! The first couple bit cruelly over the cute sacral dimples on her lower back and then the third hissed down to smack viciously against the swelling red lips of her sex. Annetjie shrieked at them. “The Frank continues to curse you, my lord,” Yasmin said.

“Bleed her bottom!” the Prince commanded. “The bottoms of her legs as well, but only puff up her labia. Let us see just how fat we can make them!”

Stroke followed after stroke after stroke, each bitter slap of leather biting the Dutchwoman’s naked flesh. Hanging upsidedown as she was, the white silk blouse drooped down to expose the girl’s lower back and belly to the strap. Even as she continued her angry invective, Annetjie squealed her pain and shame as the lash continued to kiss her most private flesh. Her reactions were especially violent immediately following the brutally intimate cuts down across her spread nude genitals.

Yasmin slowly worked al-Auf’s keffiya apart enough so that his loins were completely exposed. The concubine’s caressing hands were quickly substituted by her hot little mouth, teasing his rigid prick while he watched the pretty young Dutchy writhing from her ankle chains under Ali’s fiendish flogging.

Annetjie lasted for over an hour of the barbarous whipping before Ali detected the first genuine breaking in her voice. Still, he gave her a dozen more lashes across her back and ass and gash before finally cutting her down.

Fully engorged by watching Yasmin’s play, the Prince mounted Annetjie Van Doorn, now twitching on the carpeted floor, and stabbed into her brutally. He felt his rigid penis hold briefly at her maidenhead and then pierce through the virgin membrane. She squealed in final outrage at this intimate violation. The Dutch girl’s labial lips were hot and swollen from the strapping and gripped his rod tightly as he pumped roughly in and out of her vagina, lubricated by her virgin blood. Even as inured as he was to pain and sex, he lasted only five minutes before the incipient orgasm shook his loins and he blasted his seed into the whimpering strawberry blond with a roar.

His orgasm done, the Prince pulled his rod out to be cleansed with warm wet towels. “Take her and have the surgeons treat her wounds. This Frank amuses me. I would have her body whole for our next encounter. She is altogether too proud. I will teach her the price of spurning me!”

* * * * *

Now, ten days later, it was time for her next ordeal. It had taken that long for the last of her welts to fade back into her natural lustrious pearl white and for her feet to heal. Prince Abd Ishmael decided to have her tormented until he broke her pride in the larger punishment room of the seraglio. This would bar his chief torturer, Ali, of course, as he kept his full male equipment—necessary for certain torments, but the eunuchs were certainly skilled and motivated enough to accomplish the task. He invited a dozen of his favored concubines and older (in their late twenties) ex-wives to take part in the Frank’s agonies. They all assembled in the early afternoom, after the brutal heat of the tropical sun had waned somewhat. The Prince reclined on a pile of pillows on the raised settee in the harem punishment quarters dressed in an immaculate white silk kaffiya. Around him reclined the selected houri.

Once he had settled in and had taken coffee, he gave the command and Fouad and Ahmed entered from a side entrance, dragging the Dutchwoman between them. Annetjie stood tall in contrast to the Arab concubines who attended him, little more than girls in their late teens, most of them. The Koran forbade sex before menstrual maturity, but Prince Ishmael was not a man to wait much longer. The sweetness of the grape exceeded that of the raisin, as the old texts said. The dark, bearded noble accepted a small cup of thick sweet coffee from Caramina, the youngest, while he idly played with one of Yasmin’s ripe puffy nipples through her sheer blue silk blouse. The Frankish woman wore the blousy silk pantaloons of the harem, but a white bandeau above. A long cotton cloth that met behind her neck, crossed and cossetted her tits in front, and then tied again just beneath her shoulderblades. The bandeau exposed Annetjie’s midrif and gently flaring hips from just below the top of her ribcage to the tops of her hips. The Arab Prince admired her unusual height and her two long slim legs. But it was the sight of her stirring torso, gloriously white yet luminously pink that really stirred him.

The eunuchs had bound Annetjie into a special kind of stock. Instead of the standard pair of boards with three holes, this one, carefully carved of African hardwood, held the wrists of the victim a full span behind her shoulders while a separate clamp imprisoned her long neck. The wooden stock was designed with care to press the shoulderblades of a woman back behind her and together, presenting her bare breasts up and out thrust in front for the cruel attentions of the torturers. Now the plump female gourds pushed forcefully against the flimsy cotton bandeau, straining the thin fabric tautly.

Iron rings had been set into the ends of the stocks and these were locked into chains that dangled from the ceiling. Then the eunuchs bent down and fastened Annetjie’s small ankles into iron cuffs spreading them a full meter apart. Now the lovely Dutchy stood helpless before Prince Ishmael and his concubines. The two massive eunuchs stood to her side, awaiting the orders of their Prince. A long, low table behind them was covered with a selection of instruments, bloodied torture instruments from the bloody chambers below the palace.

Annetjie Van Doorn stood tall and proud in the center of the harem punishment room. The Prince leaned back and relished the sight the Frankish woman presented before him. She didn’t look the least bit tamed now. He didn’t know how mortified she had been at her weakness during the back, ass, and cunt whipping. She had endured that without dying, as well as al-Auf’s subsequent rape. So she was determined to withstand this next ordeal with all the pride and control at her command.

His first command came as no surprise, although its execution did.

“Strip the Frank. I wish to see her naked,” he said.

Immediately, the assembled concubines sprang up. Like a pack of harpys, they descended on the spreadeagled Dutchwoman. In moments, the squealing pack of females had stripped off Annetjie’s cotton wrap and silk pants, revealing her utterly nude before the Prince. The sun was only a couple of hours past noon and all the side doors and windows were wide open, flooding the room with a brilliant yellow light that made her nude body seem to glow from within. The Prince stared at her and felt his loins twitching and filling with pleasure beneath his robes. He didn’t know why the sight of a naked young woman, bound and exposed to the cruel devices of torment, should arouse his delight as it did, but he did not care. As a royal Prince who provided his annual tribute to the Caliph, his slightest desire was catered to by fawning subservients eager to avoid his displeasure. Prince Abd-Ishmael ibn Muhammad had earned his lesser title of al-Auf, the Bad, through the sadistic and relentless indulgence to his whims. Beyond their ability to please him, he could not care less for the bodies and lives his eunuchs broke and flayed and burned. This was as it should be.

Their sole reason for existence was to please him in whatever way he chose and more often than not he chose to have their lovely bodies subjected to cruel sexual torture before he fucked them.

Now Annetjie found herself spreadeagled and utterly nude before the Omani Prince. The naked girl shivered in fear. For the first time, her proud bare breasts were exposed to the sight and attentions of the fiendish Omani torturers. They had grown in sensitivity even as they grew larger on her chest. More than anything else, she feared torture inflicted there. The secret she had refused even to admit to herself was the supreme sensitivity of her chest globes. And now she faced fiendish torments inflicted solely on those proudly protruding parts of her body. Still, she would try to withstand the brutal ordeal he could order. Even facing the worst tribulation she could imagine, she was still too proud to surrender easily. Prince Abd-Ishmael watched the Dutchwoman writhing between the stock and chains. He made a casual gesture and leaned back for another cup of coffee. Six of the houris returned to the Dutchy’s splayed body. The eldest four dipped their hands into the fragrant oil vat while the youngest knelt between her knees. Annetjie groaned in shame as her naked body was rubbed down with oil. The youngest, chosen for her long and pointed tongue, laved up between her widespread thighs to tickle her lips and clit.

The concubines, twelve inststent hands on six giggling girls, caressed Annetjie’s nude body, greasing her with the rare aromatic oils. Their hands fondled her bare breasts, belly, and ass, oiling her naked body until it gleamed. Then the Dutchwoman felt a strange sensation between her legs. Caramina had knelt in front of her and was using the techniques she had learned to pleasure a man on the Frank’s cunt, licking and probing into her vagina with her tongue. Suddenly, her initial revulsion was turning into something much different.

Against her will, Annetjie Van Doorn felt herself responding to the incessant caressing. She was a young girl in the full flush of feminine maturity and her situation was extremely erotic. Her sex flowered and expanded of its own accord to Caramina’s steady licking and she shivered as a sudden wave of pleasure swept through her naked body. Without realizing it, her teats peaked up in the centers of her aureoles, hard and pert. Not a year earlier, she had first fingered herself to orgasm. Now she felt the first tremors of that exquisite pleasure under the control of another. “Stop!” she heard the Arabic command.

Annetjie Van Doorn looked in front of her to the reclining Muslim Prince as the houri withdrew. Caramina, the one who had so devilishly aroused her slit, took seat beside him and was now spreading his ornate silken robe below his waist. Only 27 himself, the Lord of Oman was a lusty young man, slight, as was typical of the desert-living Arab. But no doubt a man; his newly revealed sex was already rising up and filling between his legs. The Dutchwoman could not help but see his erection. It was already plump as an Egyptian sausage and growing larger before her eyes, it’s single eye straining toward her loins.

Annetjie could only stare at her captor’s swelling spear. She was painfully aware of her absolute exposure in this hideous room. But still … still, so much as she hated it, the teenager relished the effect her nudity was having on this obviously virile young man. Her upper body shook, then she leaned forward, thrusting her bare breasts and loins out toward him. The young Dutchy couldn’t help herself. After the mass fondling by the concubines, her youthful body had betrayed itself. As much as she hated herself for it, the young Dutch girl could not stop herself from relishing the effect her splayed nudity was obviously having on the Prince. Annetjie knew that she was a beautiful young woman. Before she had been carted away from Bombay, she had been pursued by every young European son in the colony. All had tried to reach her newly blossomed chest with their hands and pushed at her loins with their own. Now, helpless and utterly displayed before a healthy young Emir, she felt her sex responding in spite of her upbringing. Warm wet pulses of hot sexual arousal flooded her loins. My nude body is arousing him, she thought. I am beautiful, and my beauty is straining his manhood to the point of erupting. Annetjie spread her thighs and arched her back to stick her full tits out even further toward him. While she hated herself for it, secretly she relished the effect she was so obviously having on his exposed naked penis. As much as she dreaded the savage sexual torment she knew was about to begin, she felt an unusual warm moistness between her thighs, but she was powerless to control her surging young hormones. Stripped and stretched, Annetjie could only feel her utter nudity and helplessness before the Prince. And then her ordeal began in earnest. The small Arab girl who spoke Dutch came up before her, holding a small jar of lacquered wood in her hands.

“My lord, the Prince, enjoys your body. He especially likes your nipples and slit, as they are so much unlike ours. He has commanded that those portions of your body be made bigger.” Yasmin smiled evilly. “It may interest you to know that there are many ways to do this. The eunuchs could pierce them with the red-hot needles, but my lord the Prince had decided to be merciful and not burn you there yet. Then there is a paste of oil and ground chili pepper seeds we get from the East. Spread on your nipples and especially around your nether mouth, it burns worse than the flames, but my lord the Prince may chose to honor you with his noble shaft and the chili paste would ruin you for that.”

Yasmin opened the lacquered jar and held it so Annetjie could look inside. She saw something moving within. Then she focused and suddenly whinnied in horror, wrenching her head back. Insects!

The concubine smiled at the white girl’s terror. “Special wasps. They come from the continent. Their sting is intensely painful. They also cause the flesh to swell.” Yasmin rubbed her fingers unconsciously. Once, when she had been new to the seraglio, she had offended Fouad. The wasps had wings and he had given her the job of catching the insects within their jars and pulling them off. Her hands had been stung repeatedly by the irate bugs, her fingers so swollen that others had had to feed her for days.

Abd-Ishmael al-Auf barked an order, breaking Yasmin’s bitter reverie. She took a pair of wooden tweezers and fished out one of the tiny creatures while Fouad grabbed her waist to hold her still. Wasting no time, Yasmin presented the tweezers to Annetjie Van Doorn’s left breast. She stared down at the thing, feeling its six small legs tickling her tender pink areola. Then it struck, lancing its sharp stinger directly into the tip of the girl’s teat.

“HHHHUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” she grunted fiercely, wrenching back against the eunuch’s barrel chest. The densely clustered nerve ending in that delicate bud flashed white-hot from the urticating venom. The flash gave way quickly to a series of rapid pulses of no less intense pain.

Annetjie’s head tossed side to side at the agony afflicting her tender left nipple. She writhed so desperately that she didn’t notice that Yasmin’s tweezers had already fished out a second wasp from the jar. The pretty blond groaned loudly, still determined to maintain her dignity when she became aware of the insidious tickling on her naked right nipple as the wasp gripped the pointed pink bud. Then came the same white-hot pang as the diminutive lancet darted into her rosy teat to squirt its aggravating venom deeply into the tender bud.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The Dutch girl wailed. Despite her best efforts, the urticating fluid filling her delicate pap with its irritating poison wrenched the loud gasp from her throat. In moments, long moments of fighting the hideous bare breast agony, both of her naked nipples swelled up into hard, sensitive caps tipped with flinty-hard teats, both throbbing with hot pain. Ever since they had first started growing at the tips of her budding breasts, her nipples had become more sensitive with each passing year—even more so than between her legs. But bad as it was, her ordeal was only beginning.

“Please hold her tightly now, good Fouad,” Yasmin crooned. “This milk-skinned bitch has one more teat that our lord the Prince would have enlarged.”

Annetjie Van Doorn couldn’t understand the rapid exchange of Arabic, but she felt the giant eunuch’s arm tighten about her waist while his other hand reached down to spread the fragile lips between her legs apart to expose the dainty pink pearl at their apex. Oh gods, gods, not that, please not that, not that, too. Yasmin pulled a third wasp from the jar, a particularly large and angry insect this time. Kneeling between the Dutch woman’s spread legs, she lifted her wooden tweezers to present the third wasp up against the Dutch girl’s notch.

Annetjie squealed in horror when she felt the tiny legs grasping and stroking her most sensitive naked flesh and then came that hideous stabbing agony at the very top of her slit, as the African wasp lanced its sting into the tip of the Frankish woman’s clitoris. “AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHH! AAAHH, IT HURTS, IT HURTS ME SO!” NOT THERE, NOT THERE AS WELL! You’ve already caused unendurable agony in my tittie tips, but now you torment my private parts also. Oh, bedamned, you heretics, all of you bedamned!”

Caramina employed her small hands with all the deftness and skill she had learned from Yasmin to pleasure a man’s sex to play with the Prince’s rigid male shaft while he watched the Dutchwoman writhe in anguish. His dark male eyes stared at Annetjie’s nude body, relishing her bloating nipples and clit. By Allah, he thought, this infidel bitch’s body could awaken the dead! Caramina felt his surging passion and wisely eased her ministrations to the heavy rod of flesh in her hands. “Flog the Frankish wench now, Fouad, and don’t neglect those lovely plump udders of hers. I will enjoy watching them dance to the tune of your lash!”

Fouad made the thin whip pop loudly behind her and saw her cinnamon hair toss as she tried to anticipate this new threat. But the mahogany neck brace effectively prevented that. Annetjie Van Doorn could only look straight ahead at the black-bearded Prince and his female attendants watching her.

As he stood behind her, the head eunuch was entranced by the sight her breasts presented. Every other houri was petite and small-breasted. This Frankish wench’s tits were already so incredibly fat and round that he could see their outer curves jutting out to either side of her slim torso. Fouad smiled to himself. This would be a delightful task. He well knew how sensitive a girl’s naked breasts were to the kiss of the lash. If this white-skinned bitch was larger and rounder there, then she would be just that much more sensitive. He couldn’t see her nipples, but knew well from past experience how turgid and achingly tender they were after the wasp treatment. The Prince had all of his eunuchs castrated by women at the age of ten, before their genitals matured. No balm was applied; only the hideous cauterizing irons. Only a third survived and they maintained a deep and abiding hatred for women until they died. Denied forever the knowledge of orgasm, the eunuchs took their small peverse pleasures from tormenting the women given into their charge. As Annetjie displayed the attributes of her sex to a much more pronounced degree than the others, so her coming ordeal would be all the more agonizing. Fouad looked to his Prince, eagerly awaiting the command to begin.

Fouad had brought with him two of his favorite whips, capable of inflicting the most grievious pains. The first was a hyena’s tail, soaked in brine and attached to a two-foot long handle of ironwood. With this cruel weapon, he had absolute control. Sweeping across the flesh, he could slice it like a knife if he so desired. But that was reserved for executions, when the woman was condemned to be whipped to death. At three-quarters strength, the hyena’s tail would burst against the skin with a hideous force and leave a long red line of agony behind, but not break the skin. The other was similar, the soaked tail of an African antelope. This one was much thinner, starting with a little finger’s width and tapering down to a fine point two feet away. That whip was for later, when its fine control and line could be applied to a wench’s bared breasts and crack.

Abd-Ishmael ibn Muhammad raised his hand and dropped it. Fouad grinned and swept out his lash. SCRACKKT! The hyena whip cut through the air and burst across the Dutchwoman’s lower back just above her high rounded ass cheeks. WHACKKT! A harsh cut to the tender backs of her thighs just beneath. SCRACKKT! SWACKT! WHACKKT! Again and again the lash stroked the Frankish woman’s back from her deep sacral dimples to the backs of her thighs. The monstrous eunuch flogged Annetjie’s back from neck to knees with the supple hyena tail whip. Each and every stroke left a harsh red welt of burning pain behind it. The hot agony was horrible, but still she was able to emit no more than sharp gasps following each one. The slices across the tops of her thighs just below the buttocks were the worst and she was embarassingly aware of the lascivious writhing dance her nude body was performing, but was helpless to stop it.

The head eunuch next switched his attack, lowering the hyena whip to the floor and then sweeping it straight up between her straining thighs. The lash swept right up the middle of the pretty blond’s slit, applying a bitter bite to the swollen pink clitoris. “Unnnnnnnnnnnnhhh!” she grunted and her long slim legs hopped back and forth as she strived to endure the savage burning agony between her legs. SWOCKKT! Again, the fat eunuch swept his whip up between the Frank’s spasming thighs to kiss her ripe pink genitals. Again. And yet again, until four bitter strokes had caressed her loins. The flesh of her sex swelled up under the brutal whipping until it bulged and bloated, filling the notch.

Now Fouad switched to the thin antelope whip. A long arm’s span of cartilige soaked in brine to make it supple. At the end of two-feet of mahogony handle, it tapered down to a fine pointed tip. The eunuch returned to his place directly behind the splayed nude girl. His cruel little eyes took in again the sweeping arch of her spine, down from the gap between her shoulderblades to the swift concavity ending in the crack separating her plump buttocks. Slim and supple, she was, white of skin. And her sacral dimples inflamed his hatred of all things female. Given his leave, he would have whipped this splendid back until the skin ripped open and the blood ran from neck to knees. Then a good dousing with seabrine and a similar whipping across her front. He would like to flog the Frankish wench to the death—with the chili seeds up her nether holes and riding the red-hot iron saddle, but he would have to settle for this. He started with a vicious forehand stroke that carved the thin skin over Dutch girl’s heaving white ribcage, leaving a bright red weal behind.

SWACKKKT! SWOCKKT! The whip curled repeatedly around Annetjie’s bared torso, stinging her belly and abdomen. Unlike facing the whip, there was no possible warning to this fiendish flogging.

Fouad waited only a dozen strokes before sweeping the cruel lash up to caress the Dutchwoman’s prominent tits from behind. The slim lash darted around from the back to carve Annetjie’s jutting bare breasts. The slim antelope tail would suddenly appear from one side or the other and then there would be that hideous stinging pain as the tapered tip scourged one jutting bare breast or the other.

SWOCKKTT! The cruel antelope tail curled around the Dutch girl’s narrow back to caress the very middle of her breasts, biting the wasp stung right nipple for the first time. “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! What Fouad only suspected was now borne out: the Dutchwoman could endure extreme torment to her slit, but couldn’t withstand the slightest attack to her tits. As he had hoped, the high-perched white gourds were acutely sensitive, especially the large pink nipples. He grinned. Now he would make her really sing. SWACKKT! Around from the left this time, the point accurately finding that breast’s tip and stinging the rigid teat.

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

WHISSSSKT! HISSSSWOCKKT! SWICKKKT! Back and forth, back and forth, the fat eunuch flailed the young woman across her jutting naked titties from behind with the thin whip. Now, finally, Annetjie’s fierce resolve broke under the savage sexual torture and she wailed loudly after every cut over her nude breasts. Prince Abd Ishmael leaned back, accepting a thimble of Arab coffee from Yasmin and lifting his hips up for Caramina’s lascivious play. The young concubine gripped the base of his balls and tugged the skin down tight along the shaft. Her head lowered and she delicately licked about the Prince’s rigid penis and glans, teasing, always teasing and arousing without the release of orgasm. It was the Prince’s favorite form of play: To watch the whipping of a pretty young woman’s tits while another played with his manhood to the edge of orgasm.

“HEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

SWACKKKT! Another crisp darting stroke curled around her back to leave its stripe atop the bulging curves of her thrusting naked tits. WHISSSSSSSICKKT! Hard from the right, the antelope-tail burst upon Annetjie’s jutting ripe globe. Ishmael spread his legs instinctively to better present his bared erect penis to the slave’s delicate ministrations. He groaned with pleasure as he watched the slim whip curling around to caress the jutting naked gourds again and again. At each new lash, the nude girl wrenched against her wrist bonds, frantic to somehow escape the stinging cuts over her exposed chest melons. Her shrieks of agony burst forth, loud and raw. The strokes continued to leave their cruel stripes over her tits until a full two dozen had carved the globes and Annetjie hung panting and sweating from the mahogany stocks. Finally, Abd-Ishmael ibn-Muhammad called a halt.

The Prince arose and walked slowly up to the spreadeagled nude girl, naked himself but for the ornate headress. Annetjie’s chest heaved from her recent exertions, her body shiny with sweat. Despite her pain, she couldn’t help staring at the large rigid shaft wobbling between his legs. Two other concubines wrapped silken loops around her legs just above the knees. They pulled on them, lifting her feet from the floor and stretching her trembling white thighs even further apart. After being stung and flogged, Abd Ishmael could plainly see the bloated red currant of her clit sticking out from the top of her gash. He moved his gaze up to admire the Dutchwoman’s chest. The soft creamy globes were both nicely decorated with a pattern of rising scarlet welts, several crossing directly over the paps. The girl’s naked nipples had swollen to a remarkable degree, the aureoles puffed up and the wasp stung teats bulging out hard and erect in their centers.

As he got close, the Prince reached up his hands to gently fondle the whipped bare breasts. Annetjie van Doorn gasped at the touch. His penis twitched up with delight and he bucked his hips to rub the hard plum head against the girl’s distended clit. With her legs held widely apart, there was no way to avoid this most intimate caressing of her genital teat. The man groaned with pleasure and in spite of herself the lovely strawberry blond felt a shiver of powerful sexual heat rush through her body to center in her loins and she felt a warm wetness. Her situation was heavy with lurid sexuality, utterly naked, bound, and helpless, made to endure fiendish torture on the delicate organs of her sex. Now an obviously virile young man was gently playing with those same female parts.

It was such a small thing at the moment; Ishmael’s hard purple glans pushed up against the tender inner lips of her labia, just below the bloated clitoris. The Dutch girl felt her fragile nether mouth blossom under the man’s visceral probing. She felt her genitals reaching down to capture Abd Ishmael’s stiff glans and shaft within her loins, the fierce heat of her labial whipping adding a ferocious intensity of her unexpected arousal. But then it struck. Then the stubborn arrogant upbringing tossed her into an even deeper hole.

Suddenly shamed by her tormented body’s response to the handsome Prince’s insistent manhood, she tried to wrench back and away and spat full in his face! Prince Abd Ishmael ibn Muhammad al-Auf, stepped back in shock. The Dutch bitch was so close, so close to yielding of her own will. Her sudden surge of pride both excited and insulted him. No other of his concubines would dare to refuse him this way. The challenge of breaking this Frankish bitch to his slightest whim amused him—and he could not ignore the grotesque insult she had inflicted on him.

“Yasmina, place the small brazier down between her feet and use all of your tools to keep her genitals properly entertained. Fouad, bring in Ahmad and use the whips to flog her big naked tits. Don’t make them bleed until I order it, but I don’t want the bitch to enjoy this treatment. The Frankish wench has insulted me—I want her to suffer!”

Yasmin quickly placed the small bowl of red-hot coals down between the splayed Dutch girl’s gaping long legs and squatted down in front of her. The little Arab girl carefully slid the bone-handled needles and sharp narrow blades into the small bed of coals to absorb the fierce heat. The two huge eunuchs armed themselves with the animal-tail whips and took up places to either side of the naked girl. The other concubines pulled harder on Annetjie’s knee cords, keeping the thighs apart to totally expose her swollen labial lips. Prince Abd Ishmael ibn-Muhammad al-Auf remained where he was, standing a scant meter away. Caramina glided down to kneel at his feet, reaching up with her small hands to softly play with his scrotum and shaft. “Continue the Frankish girl’s torture,” he commanded grimly.

Fouad and Ahmed began first. Fouad chose the thinner antelope whip, by default giving the shorter hyena-tail lash to Ahmed. The beautiful strawberry blond looked side to side in terror as they took up positions to left and right in front of her. She saw the cruel whips twitching in their hands and knew instantly how they were going to make her pay for her pride—they were going to hurt her poor bare titties again! She looked ahead at the standing Prince, desperately babbling for mercy, but his black eyes and insistent manhood offered little hope. The cleverly designed head and wrist stock forced her stirring striped globes to jut out proudly away from her chest, a fact used to good advantage by the eunuchs as they resumed their savage bude breast flogging.

Lash followed lash, attacking her nude upper torso relentlessly with their bitter kisses. Already beaten down by the previous breast flogging, the lovely young Dutch girl started squealing immediately under its cruel, more intensive, resumption.

Down between her legs, Yasmin pulled the first of the needles from the brazier, the keen point shining red-hot. Her tiny fingers spread the Dutch girl’s dainty labia and then she stabbed the glowing lance up into that exquisitely sensitive flesh between her inner and outer lips with a loud hiss.

“HUHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” Annetjie groaned in pain. Her naked genitals exploded in agony at the intimate kiss of red-hot steel on her most private parts. Next came a small scalpel blade, glowing red that sliced small sizzling cuts across the Frank’s bulging pink cunt, each working closer up toward the gleaming pearl of her clit. Annetjie’s straining nude thighs tensed and quivered under the fiendish genital torture. Each and every slice cut and cauterized the plump sexual lips. Yasmin devoted her next two blades to the back end of the splayed Dutch girl’s genitals. Slicing slowly up between the wench’s thighs from the dimpled hole of her anus up between her strapped and swollen lips. HISSSSACCCCKT! The second blade made a sputtering sound as it slipped right up the middle of her straining slit until the keen point cut up to the front of her gaping naked slit. Yasmin was exceptionally well trained. As a female, she knew all the ways to hurt a fellow female to the limits of her endurance. Especially when focused on the delicate tissues of her sex. HISSSSSSSACCCCKT! Yasmin slowly lifted a fresh glowing blade up between Annetjie’s puffy labia until the red-hot tip slid up the base of her clitoris to the tip. The pretty strawberry-blond wrenched against her bonds in a vain effort to somehow escape the hellish torment, but the hardwood wrist and head stock was much too strong and the two concubines just pulled harder on their knee cords to keep her swollen genitals fully exposed to Yasmin’s fiendish implements.

Meanwhile, the torture of Annetjie’s jutting bare breasts continued unabated, lash following lash following lash across their jutting naked surfaces. The pain was hideous and the young Dutch girl could only shriek out her shame and suffering. The two eunuchs were whipping Annetjie’s protruding nude tits up one side and down the other. Every fifth or sixth carved the middles of both bare breasts to punish both of Annetjie’s achingly sensitive nipples at the same time.

“AHIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! AAAAAHHHHH! OH, STOP, STOP, STOP! PLEASE STOP WHIPPING MY POOR BREASTS!” Down between her thighs, Yasmin took a glowing red needle and lanced it slowly down the upper side of the shaft of her clit down to its base deep in her loins.

“AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OH, NOT THERE, NOT THERE! OW, GODS, STOP BURNING MY CLIT! PLEASE, OH PLEASE, STOP BURNING MY SEX! OOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW! AAAAAAHHHH!”

And always, standing right in front of her, stood Prince al-Auf, wearing only his headdress. Caramina was using her mouth and tongue on his manhood now, licking up the bottom and sides of the rigid shaft while he watched Annetjie’s nude torture continue right in front of him. Only her skill held him at the edge of orgasm without crossing over.

By now, the pretty strawberry blond had taken more than fifty strokes across her proud bare breasts and nipples. Both of the large soft globes had swollen greatly under the hellish flogging and the once cream white skin was now flushed an angry red-purple and heavily overlaid with bright scarlet stripes. Extremely sensitive at the best of times, after over sixty lashes and the fiendish wasp stings each new kiss of the leather created an excruciating agony across her chest. Annetjie shrieked frantically and her sweaty naked torso writhed to the scant limits of her binding. The eunuchs laughed at her obvious suffering and continued their ghastly breast whipping.

Prince Ishmael had watched the young girl’s savage nude torture and was fiercely aroused from the sight. Finally he rose and held up his hand. Yasmin knew what he intended now and quickly shoved the small brazier out of the way. Al-Auf walked up to the hanging Dutchwoman. Annetyjie Van Doorn’s ribcage was heaving as she sought to recover from the insane pangs of fire still pulsing through her bare breasts and nipples. He stepped right up between the gaping thighs until the hard purple glans nudged up against her puffy red labia. Yasmin reached up between them to grasp the rigid shaft. Caramina came with fragrant oil and the two concubines anointed his sex, rubbing up and down the male rod to lubricate it. Yasmin slid the slippery head up and down against the bloated female lips and he groaned at the hot slick feel of her genital flesh. Then she positioned him just inside the vulva and he pushed all the way to the balls within her.

If Annetjie thought that her suffering would cease with the rape, she was sadly mistaken. Leaving Caramina to play with the Prince’s heavy scrotum, she went to the eunuchs.

“Continue the torture of her breasts! You whip them, Ahmed. Fouad, apply the pincers to her nipples. That should convince the Frank to give our master a good ride!”

The two brutes grinned and returned to the dangling girl’s sides with their implements. Fouad started, reaching down with the thin pliers to grip the flinty red shaft of her left teat and slowly squeeze the turgid bud. Ahmed followed quickly with a short cut to the right’s bulging undercurve.

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! IIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAHHH! MY BREASTS! OH MY POOR BREASTS! OH THE PAIN, THE PAIN! K-KILL ME AND BE DONE WITH IT! AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHH! LET GO OF MY NIPPLE! PLEASE, OH PLEASE, STOP TORTURING MY POOR BREASTS AND NIPPLES!”

Fouad continued cruelly pinching, pulling, and twisting the girls tender left teat until his partner had administered an even dozen bitter strokes across the helpless right gourd. Then they changed places and the pincers sought out the other nude teat while Ahmed resumed the tit whipping.

Ishmael groaned again with pleasure. He had only to stand there with his with his sex buried inside her. Annetjie’s sweat-shiny naked body was squirming under the fiendish bare breast torture, an action that provided all the motion necessary to stroke him. In addition, the slippery inner walls of her vagina clutched strongly at his swollen penis every time Fouad squeezed or Ahmed struck. Annetjie’s powerful loin muscles contracted rhythmically from the hideous chest torment, teasing the man’s prick deliciously inside her.

A low moan began rising from his throat. Yasmin knew that meant that he was close now. She took a short steel rod from the coals and swiftly pressed it against the Dutch girl’s round white buttocks. The sweat crackled and steam rose in a puff, then the little concubine rubbed the glowing rod down over the delicate skin. The miserable captive screamed loudly and her hips lunged down on al-Auf’s shaft. He gasped at the sudden muscular compression inside her and felt the first deep stirrings between his legs. Yasmin grabbed a fresh rod and pressed it vertically into the deep valley between her taut ass cheeks, sliding the red-hot steel up and down the crack to the edge of her anus. Her shrieks rang out hoarse and raw. Fouad, back at the left side again, squeezed and twisted at the throbbing female teat with new passion, finally breaking the aching flesh. A small droplet of bright red blood oozed from the tortured tittie tip over the metal jaws. The savagely tortured girl was now thrashing dementedly, lost in a sea of relentless burning sexual agony.

The Prince grabbed Annetjie’s hips and rocked her back and forth against his loins. The motion slid her sex up and down the length of his rigid shaft from head to balls. She screamed again. Now her labial lips felt a direct friction that reawakened the countless nerve endings so recently and so cruelly seared by the red-hot instruments. He lifted his own hips a bit on every stroke, rubbing the hard upper surface of his penis against the shiny red pearl of her clitoris.

The pain was terrible, beyond endurance, both in her chest and between her legs. And still these men made it grow. The Prince shoved his phallus deeply into her vagina, sliding against her bloated clit yet again, and suddenly her loins burst with a liquid fire beyond belief. It was an orgasm, yet not one she desired. Her entire body was suddenly fiercely aware of nothing but sexual arousal, only not the pleasurable arousal she had occasionally created with her hands. No, this shattering feeling somehow coupled with her torture, making the sex pain infinitely more agonizing. The pretty Dutch girl’s screams rose in volume and stridency as the Prince pumped his shaft into her with ever increasing speed and violence. For her part, Annetjie’s nude body thrashed against Ishmael’s punishing assault.

Annetjie had lost any consciouscontrol over her body. She was lost in the throes of sexual agony and pleasure, combined with the unexpected current vigorous fucking. Nothing had ever afflicted her this way. Ishmael bucked his hips up and back, sliding his rigid shaft up and into her once-virginal vagina to the base of his balls and then back to the hard rim of his rock-hard penis. Then in again. And again. And again.

Of everyone, it was little Yasmin who read the signs and acted. She darted to one of the fruit baskets and snatched up a lemon. Slicing the bulb in half, she reached a slim arm up above the Dutchy’s horribly flogged nude left nipple and squeezed.

Drip, drip, drip, the yellow-tinged droplets fell down to splash over the redhead’s whipped left nipple. Annetjie’s shrieks rose in both volume and timbre. Her frenetic orgasm, spurred by pain, was now enhanced still further by the added burning of the lemon juice irritating her cracked tittie tip. The heavy load of pain finally broke the Dutchwoman’s resolve entirely. Too much pain, too much sexual assault.

Muhammad Abd Ishmael felt the uncontrolled spasms grow behind his balls and then suddenly erupt out of his shaft buried deep into his young slave’s vagina. The combined spastic wrenching of Annetjie’s young body under her grim torture made for a most rousing fuck. The Prince grabbed her hips and used the grasp to ram his rigid sex up to the hilt into the girl’s vagina even as he fell into the spasms of orgasm. The pretty redhead jerked madly from her chains in pain even as the young Prince burst his load deep into the Dutchy’s hot quivering cunt.

“AAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“AWWWWWWEEE THE PAIN, THE PAIN. I CAN’T TAKE IT, I JUST CAN’T! NO MORE! OH, PLEASE NO MORE!”

The young man pumped his hips up and back, up and back, spurting his seed deeply into the hanging nude girl. When she felt the first hot ejaculation filling her sex, she finally lost all control. Annetjie’s loud, ragged squeal of utter agony ripped through the room as her body wrenched into mad spasms of pain and orgasm combined. Every last vestige of control was totally shattered and the beautiful nude girl shook, quivered, and wailed in absolute agony.

Ishmael grabbed the redheaded Frank’s flanks, sliding his hands up and down her shivering sides from tits to buttocks as his shaft surged load after load into the grasping vagina. The Arab Prince let out a roar at the unbelievable hot pleasure centered in his loins. Although it seemed like an eternity, after scarcely five minutes of staggering physical bliss, Muhammad Abd Ishmael collapsed on top of Annetjie’s hanging nude body. He rested against the Frank’s welted front, thoroughly spent.

Finally, after another five minutes, the young man pulled back out of Annatjie Van Dorne’s tight cunt with a surprisingly loud PLOP. Aided a bit by Yasmin, he moved back and dropped down on his cushions. It seemed like a natural thing, so he spread his legs as he reclined. Yasmin knelt down to clense the Prince’s slowly drooping prick with her mouth. She detested the task, but would do anything to spare her own flesh from the public breaking of his captive prisoners and so went to her task with enthusiasm. In the meantime, Annetjie hung twitching from her bonds, her sweat-shiny nude body gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine. Blood oozed from her scoured bare breasts, inner thighs, and labia. Even now, once that the active torment was over, her most sensitive flesh still throbbed with hot pain.

“Oh, by Allah! Never have I enjoyed one so much! Cut her down and care for her. Keep her body shaved and oil her skin daily. My good Fouad says that this wench’s tits are perfect for binding and suspension. I should enjoy that. Take her away. Another grape, Yasmin, if you will.”

end

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Alice [ED]

Alice

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Alice
by Ed. All rights reserved.

Year 1530. Denmark

Hugh Turner was a greedy fool. He had let several men use his dockside warehouse for a night for sixty gold Marks. Money for nothing, he thought.

Only the men were assassins, waiting to kill Duke Karel Andressen when his barge made dock. The plot failed and most of the killers themselves were now dead. Two had been taken captive and, after an hour of having their genitals boiled, gave up Turner’s involvement quickly. Hugh himself came home just late enough to see the Duke’s soldiers storming his house and vanished in panic. The only other person still at home was his 19-year old daughter, Alice. Wailing her ignorance and innocence, the beautiful young girl was taken to the ducal Keep. A day later, frantic with fear, Alice Turner was brought to a luxurious waiting room to face the Duke still dressed in her red dirndl dress. Standing at her side was a strong, dark-haired woman with a cruel look on her face, the ducal wardress, Ulrike. Another woman, Lady Constance Karlson, a pretty blond noblewoman, sat with him on a long low couch.

“I have reviewed your situation, Alice Turner, and believe that you may, may I say, be innocent of the illegal plot against my life.” His eyes drank in the pert, red-haired beauty of the girl standing before him. “So rather than simply sending you to the death that awaits all traitors, I have decided to be generous. You will face an ordeal of my choosing. If you pass it, you will have proved your innocence to me and be free to go. Fail and I will assume that you are guilty”.

“Here is your choice, Miss Turner: You shall be stripped naked to the waist. You yourself will expose your body this way if you know what’s good for you. Once displayed, you must endure twenty strokes from the whip over the bared front of your body. You will not be tied in any way, but must raise your hands above your head and arch your back to present your front for every stroke. Following each, I will turn over this glass,” he indicated a small hourglass sitting on the low table beside him, “giving you one minute to make ready for the next stroke. If you fail to have your hands and arms above your head and out of the way once the minute is done, or touch yourself following any lash to soothe your flesh, you will earn an additional stroke to be administered after the first twenty are done. Fail to meet the requirements I have described through all the strokes and you will be consigned to the dungeons and there given into the hands of my executioners for death. I need not tell you the death given to traitors is not an easy or a quick one.

“No… do not answer yet. First you must take a stroll through the lower rooms-just to, ah, fully appreciate the potential consequences of your decision. Ulrike, take our guest down for a short tour of the lower chambers. Make sure she sees the executioners at work, not just the casual punishments.”

The pretty teenager felt the dark-haired woman take her elbow and she followed numbly behind her. Then out of the fine room and then down, down, down the stairs to a heavy iron door. Ulrike pounded on it. It was opened from inside and Alice was pushed roughly inside.

She found herself in a dank antechamber. Two corridors led off from it in opposite directions. Immediately upon entering, she heard the screams and piteous moans of souls in unutterable torment floating through the corridors. Ulrike came up before her and grabbed her short chestnut mane, bending her head back.

“I would have you sent here now, bitch, and given nude to the royal executioners for their bloody work, but Lord Andressen wishes to give you a chance. Very well, let this excursion show you what awaits below if you fail your test. But you must learn to fully appreciate what being naked down here really means-and for that, you must be exposed yourself. Remove your blouse! The dress can stay for the moment, but I want that shirt off. Now, bitch, the Duke is waiting for you!”

Alice saw no escape. She dropped the red shoulder straps and her small fingers went slowly, but steadily to work on the buttons of the white blouse beneath, starting at her neck. One after another, they opened until the final button parted and Ulrike could see the line of living white between the fabric. Alice looked up, pleading silently before continuing, but there was no pity in Ulrike’s dark eyes. She slipped the thin cotton off her arms and dropped it to her feet, momentarily stripped to the waist. Then the shoulder straps came up again. Alice was embarrassed at the way the front of the dirndl pushed up against the bottoms of her now bared titties, lifting the firm globes prominently on her chest. Ulrike next bound Alice’s arms overlaid and crossed behind her back, hands on elbows, pulling the arms back and forcing the magnificent feminine gourds to stick out even further. The sergeant smiled at the sight. Her Duke relished seeing arrogant young female breasts suffering under the lash and this little bint sported a pair of beauties worthy of a much older and taller woman. And she, Ulrike, would have the enviable task of flogging them. First, though, she would see to it that the prisoner came to fully appreciate the horrors of failure. Ulrike gave her a push down the right-hand corridor.

The tour was a trip through a hell the girl could scarcely believe as she was shown the dread activities. Room after room, tableau after lurid tableau, she was made to view the hideous punishments inflicted in the lower dungeons. There were a few men, but mainly women here, all tightly bound to various demonic engines of torment. All, she saw, had first been stripped naked as worms to make even the most private parts of their bodies available to the ghastly instruments of torture. No abuse was too intimate or too extreme in their pursuit of bringing endless and intolerable agony to the helpless victims. Blood flowed from crushed and shredded flesh. Countless hard red welts striped bare vulnerable skin. Some were stretched on the rack until their joints were torn from their sockets. Others hung painfully from bound body parts. The incredible barbarous variety was mind-numbing. One twenty-five year-old with straw-blond hair she saw had been strapped tightly to a demonic chair of iron. Short sharp spikes studded every inch of its upper surfaces and holes had been drilled through the metal seat. A small tray holding a shallow layer of glowing embers had been chained at the level of her belly to allow the hot roiling air to lave at her chest and roast the lower bulges of her trembling bare breasts. While she watched, one of the executioners stuck a torch into the bed of wood shavings piled under the iron seat. The flames bloomed quickly and Alice saw with horror the frenzied reactions the blond began as the fire flared up against the seat. Her little hands clawed frantically at the unyielding armrests, bloodying her nails as yellow tongues of heat darted up through the holes to lick at her bleeding naked genitals and ass. The miserable wench’s screams ripped out through the smallish room, raw and broken. “Roasting the little thief’s bottom and sex this way won’t kill her, of course,” Ulrike said. “She’ll stay aware for several hours yet before the executioners take her off and flay her-that means slowly peeling her skin away with blades and hooks. Eventually, she will die from blood loss-if the pain doesn’t kill her first.” The next room held another nude girl with long raven hair bound on her back to a short whipping bench. Leather straps held her arms, neck, and waist firmly against the dark wood. Her ankles were also tied, up toward the ceiling, but loosely, able to kick and dance, but never close enough to hide her tender sex. Two men were working on her, one at her side and one at the base of the bench. Both were armed with short, thick tapered strips of cured hide. Both were also naked but for their boots and the black hoods of their profession. One worked on the blonde’s bare torso, whipping the soft flesh into bloody tatters while the other flogged her jiggling ass cheeks. Every so often, the agony would be too great to endure and the girl would stab her legs widely out and apart, rigid with tension. At such times, the man at the foot of the bench would sweep his arm down in a brutal vertical stroke that dashed the pointed tip of his whip straight into her gaping slit. The labial lips were already swollen and raw from countless lashes there and oozed scarlet. The topless young redhead was shocked to see that both men were sporting raging erections while they whipped the hapless girl. Never had Alice imagined that such ghastly human suffering could engender sexual arousal, but almost everywhere she was made to look, the executioners were naked as their prisoners and active rape was commonplace. The raping was bad enough, but little Alice Turner was truly appalled to see the special fiendish attentions the mainly male executioners applied to the bared sex organs of their female prisoners. The captives’ legs were always spread wide to reveal the private parts between, exposing them to be beaten raw and bloody, or seared with flame and red-hot iron. Alice could only imagine that hellish pain. She was thankful that her own genitals were hidden, but still intensely aware of the way her lovely breasts sat naked and exposed on her chest. The Duke had ordered twenty strokes over the bared front of her body as her “test”. Alice was no fool and knew that her tits had been bared to make them available for the torment such an order doubtless meant, but the horrors she had seen inflicted on the bared chest melons of the female captives down here chilled her blood. The poor girls’ titties were torn, burned, and crushed by hellish devices. One she saw had been hauled up off her feet by thin cords tied tightly around the bases of her plump tits-the chest melons had ballooned into a pair of taut round globes flushed an ugly red-plum color. With her proud twin beauties thrust out high above her dress and her arms bound behind her back, she was terrified at her utter helplessness to protect them from the horrors in these rooms. But the Duke had said that her hands would be free during the ordeal. There was that, at least. Surely nothing could be worse than being tightly bound and naked-defenseless-while these fiends attacked her poor nude body with their biting whips and red-hot tools.

* * * * *

When Ulrike returned with pretty Alice in tow, Duke Karel noted two major changes in her: Most obvious and welcome, of course, were the two stunning naked turrets sticking out from the top of her dirndl dress, glorious milk-white turrets. The globes were every bit as lush and appealing as their bulges under the blouse had promised and he felt a delicious twitch in his loins at the sight. Beside the tits, there was also a look of haunted terror now in place of the earlier defiance in her eyes. He was not surprised. After the horrors she had just witnessed, the wench now understand why she should fear being naked in their hands. Especially when the naked parts were her proud young female breasts. Good, time to move on.

“Well, now, Alice. You’ve had a little look around and you have seen what will happen to you if you refuse or fail the challenge I have proposed,” he said genially. “So what is it to be, girl? Present yourself for twenty strokes of the lash, here and now, bare to the waist… or death in the chambers below, naked as the day you were born?”

Neither option was the least bit appealing, but submitting to the ordeal was far less terrifying than returning to the execution chambers to face the royal torturers, nude and helplessly bound. The young redhead remembered the screaming bloody captives she had just seen below and quailed. “I… I’ll do it. I’ll do it!” Alice shrieked in panic. “I’ll take your challenge, I’ll do it, only don’t send me back down to that-that place. I’ll do it!”

“All right then,” Karel said, “let’s get started. I am eager to test your courage. Drop your dress down to your hips, girl, you must be bare to the waist for the test. Ulrike, secure her ankles, would you? I don’t want the wench to turn her back-certainly not with such an intriguing front to play with.” The female wardress went down to her knees and quickly tied the redhead’s feet a yard apart to rings set in the floor for this very purpose. This would keep her facing the Duke throughout the ordeal, although her arms would be free. Numbly, Alice’s hands reached behind her for the back laces, tugging them open. If baring her upper torso would keep her genitals out of their hands, she would do it and gladly-anything to keep her tender sex hidden. In a moment, the laces were open and the dress top hung loose on her body. Desperate for some final reprieve, she looked up at the two nobles piteously. The Duke and his lady both leaned forward, eyes bright, and he gestured sharply with his hand. Get on with it, wench, the hand said, strip your top away. There would be no escape, no reprieve, she realized. Resigned, she looked down again and slipped the straps off her shoulders and let the patterned red fabric float down. Feeling a sudden chill as her torso was exposed, Alice hugged herself. Again the hand gestured, upward, insistent, and she obeyed, raising her hands up above and behind her head. Ulrike grabbed the waistband of the girl’s scarlet dress and tugged it a bit further down until it caught over her hips, baring her abdomen a hand’s-span below the cute dimpled navel. Now the lovely young redhead stood vulnerable and helpless before them, arms raised and gloriously nude to the waist.

Karel exhaled loudly at the sight. The teenager’s exposed torso was awesome in its lush feminine perfection. Her hips were slim beneath the skirt, but still tapered in sharply above it to a tiny wasp waist. Alice Turner was breathing deeply in fear and shame, an action that set her ribs into periodic high relief as she sucked in air. The action also made the globes above shimmy in a most eye-catching way and the Duke took full advantage. The bare breasts perched high and proud on the deep ribcage, fine twin bulges of soft white skin the shape of ripe pears. Each was crowned with a broad rose-pink disk. These, in turn, peaked in their centers to delicate, rising buttons. He was delighted to see a light dusting of freckles across her chest just above them; a cute addition he found uniquely arousing.

Alice’s hands instinctively dropped down to try to hide her tender tits from sight, but Duke Karel would have none of her attempts to maintain her modesty. “Raise your hands again, my dear. Above your head. Oh yes, and arch your back this time. We’ll get around to your pretty titties soon enough, but I want them to stick out right from the start. Yes, that’s it. Ah, they are exquisite.”

With horrified trepidation, Alice obeyed, lifting her hands up again toward the ceiling. Soon both twitching little hands were up high, far away from where they wanted to be: protecting her delicate chest globes. Then she gradually arched her back until the two large white beauties thrust out toward the seated nobles invitingly.

“Time to begin. I grow impatient. Ulrike, take your position.”

Ulrike moved to Alice’s right side. The pretty redhead was terrified to see that she was holding a cruel-looking strap, two feet of supple flat leather attached to a yard-long handle. The demonic instrument required both hands and delivered a furious stinging slash with every blow, but wouldn’t rip the skin. It was the perfect tool for introducing a pair of soft female breasts to the pain of the whip. There were holes drilled through the leather, a refinement that not only added to its speed through the air, and so the sting it imparted, but could also produce hideously painful little blisters on the skin should the flogger desire.

Alice’s arms had drooped a bit at Ulrike’s preparations, but Duke Andressen merely gestured again. The cute little redhead squared her shoulders, staring at the two nobles proudly, and lifted her hands high above her head. Karel stared at her meaningfully until she remembered and slowly arched her back again, fearfully conscious of the way this position forced her large bare breasts up and forward toward the lash. Ulrike saw the Duke raise his finger and looked back at the standing beauty. Then: hsssssSSWACKKT! The pliant leather strap curled around her waist and the tip bit viciously into her tender side just above the hip.

Determined to maintain her dignity, Alice stopped the scream of pain behind her clenched teeth, but only just! The sting was like a hot band of fire and she couldn’t stop her hands from flying down to try to soothe the hurt. Only at the last moment did she remember his rule and stop before she touched herself. The lovely young redhead trembled as she fought to endure the hot throbbing hurt. As she watched, Duke Karel turned the glass over and the sand started falling.

All too soon, the last grain fell through the glass’s waist and it was time for Alice’s second stroke. Her little fists had dropped down to the level of her shoulders, but now they went back up toward the ceiling. Again her back slowly bent backward, forcing her large naked breasts out toward her tormentors. Ulrike took aim and swept the strap over the redhead’s taut ribcage just above the deep concave. Uhnnh, oh that stung! Again she was able to keep her hands from grabbing her ribs and soothing the bitterly painful tingle there. She looked up and saw that the glass was already turned and running. Oh, gods, no no no.

SWOCKKT! This lash was a rising horizontal cut that burst across her tender naked breasts for the very first time, punishing both bulging white undercurves. “Aaaaaahhhhhh,” Alice hissed, her little hands flying down to cup the throbbing globes before she could stop them. Oh, the pain, the pain! She knew that these fiends were going to whip her tits eventually, but that knowledge did little to prepare her for the shocking agony of the first slap there. Her beauties had been growing in erotic sensitivity as they grew in size. Only recently had she come to enjoy the touch of a boy’s hands and lips fondling them and now this man was having them whipped!

She saw him turn the minute glass over again-and then saw something else even more disconcerting. After Ulrike’s last stroke, the Lady Constance had untied the cord holding his gown together and was now drawing the sides apart, one after the other. In a moment, and while Alice watched, still rubbing her tits, the blond flipped the last flap over and the Duke was exposed below the waist. Alice was shocked to see that the man was naked under the robe, but there was no mistaking the large rod of flesh now exposed. Already stimulated by the sadistic thrill of watching her beating, the added delight of feeling his penis bared to the lurid tableau had it twitching up harder from his loins. The Duke saw Alice’s shocked gaze and smiled.

“Brazen little bitch, aren’t you, Miss Turner? Yes, I am enjoying your performance immensely, my dear, as you can see. I hope you are enjoying your look, because it will cost you. See, the glass is empty already and your hands are still down. That’s your second extra stroke.”

He laughed at the sudden look of horror in her eyes as realization hit, then her hands flew from her chest and up high, her back arching quickly. The redhead’s tits reached their point of greatest protrusion and Ulrike struck instantly with the whip, a bitter smack to both upper curves just above the rosy aureoles. Caught completely by surprise, a sharp squeal of pain escaped her control. Her hands dropped, but she caught them just above the heaving mounds, frantic to soothe them, but afraid to add more strokes to her ordeal. She hadn’t expected them to go after her tits so soon. Only now that she had seen the Duke’s sex respond to her torment there, she knew that the poor tender globes would be destined for more than their fair share of the pain. She had only received five lashes so far, sixteen-no, seventeen!-more before this hideous challenge was over. She was still sure that she could survive the ordeal. The price of losing control completely, of being unable to raise her hands that one final time was too ghastly to consider.

Karel flipped the glass and leaned back. Constance had reached out one slim hand just as Ulrike struck again, her fingers curling around his naked penis to stroke lightly up and down the shaft. His eyes slitted with pleasure at the erotic caress. He was watching Alice Turner’s desperate contortions with lusty interest. This one was strong and proud, but he was patient. Between whip and will the whip had never lost. And he preferred his sport to last a long time. Connie’s deft fingers were creating delicious sensations in his sex; sensations he knew from past experience would only grow more intense and more delicious as the evening progressed until it culminated with a rousing fuck.

Alice looked between the falling sand and the noblewoman’s lurid masturbation, terrified and ignorant of its true meaning. That her pain was bringing him such obvious pleasure was abhorrent to her, but at least he wasn’t raping her. Let the blond bitch play with him if it would spare her that indignity. But for now, there were other concerns …

SWAPPT! “Uhnnnnnn.” Ulrike left the tits this time, blasting a red line just beneath, across the taut ribcage again. The savage drilled tip stung high up on her tender side, leaving a row of darker red spots under her armpit that would soon rise up into taut blisters.

SWACKK! “Haaaaaaaah.” This vicious snap swept around the narrowest point of her waist, again stinging the soft curved side.

SWACKKT ! “Oh. Oh. Oh!” Ulrike went back to the thrusting bare breasts with the eighth, a diagonal cut that curled across the right’s underside and sent the flat end directly over the left’s middle, flattening the sensitive budding teat into the aureole. This time, pretty little Alice couldn’t stop her hands, both diving to protect and quiet the shrieking nerves in her poor pap. Even as she tried to gentle it, she could feel the naked nipple swell with blood, growing hot, harder, and bigger.

On the divan, Connie continued her lissome genital play, teasing Karel’s scrotum with her nails and sliding her fingers softly up and down the now oak-hard rod. He kept one hand near the crude timer while he sipped at a goblet of wine with the other. A warm sexual pleasure flowed through his loins. He had come to relish these darkly lurid sessions of sadistic play and relaxed under the noblewoman’s delicious masturbation. Lady Constance had been his companion during a few of these affairs and knew to keep him in throbbing erection without bringing him to ejaculation before he was ready. The one time she had failed, he had his executioners strip her naked, tie her to a chair, and torment her pert round tits with needles and lash. There had been no fire and little blood, but the agony had been hideous and she had learned her lesson. In truth, she had come to enjoy these little interludes almost as much as the man obviously did, feeling her own sex grow hot and moist during the hideous torments.

The ninth punished Alice’s flat belly just below the cute navel, but the tenth returned to the girl’s jutting naked breasts again, hurting the delicate lower curves viciously. Her hands flew unconsciously down again, soothing the fierce stinging before she could stop and think. “Hold, Ulrike!”

The Duke rose and approached the shaking young girl, his hard heavy sex protruding from his robe and wobbling obscenely. He imperiously waved her arms up again. He peered closely at the embarrassed wench’s whip-streaked nude torso once it was fully exposed. The soft white skin of her bare breasts showed the broad darkening weals to fine advantage and her upper body carried a glistening sheen of sweat although the room was cool. Enduring such cruel torment was hard work. He cupped the left globe lightly, rewarded by Alice’s sharp gasp of pain. He fondled the silky gourd as a lover would. The flesh was hot and the welts stood out hard against his fingertips, stimulating him yet more. He looked into her beautiful blue-green eyes, relishing the hurt and shame he saw there.

“I knew these lovely mounds would be supremely sensitive when I first saw them, you know. Having them whipped must hurt terribly. Still, it would seem that you have stood up rather well under your ordeal. So far. Only four extra strokes earned; that’s very good, you know. I admire your strength. I can’t think of when I’ve enjoyed one of these challenges as much, as you can see. You take the lash beautifully, little Alice, and I am eager to see more.

“Well, time to continue our little game.” The Duke went back and sat down. He spread the wings of his cloak, again exposing the heavy root of his sex. The Lady Constance refreshed his wine goblet. “Oh, by the way, the second ten lashes will be administered by the dog-whip. I wouldn’t want you to grow complacent.”

W-what?! The dog-whip! Alice heard a wicked pop to her side and looked over to see Ulrike testing the new whip by her side. It was a beastly weapon, three feet of finely braided leather that tapered to a thin split tip. The tall brunette swept the new scourge into a whistling overhead circle that terminated in another explosive pop. Ulrike smiled over at her and her eyes flicked down to the blushing chest mounds. Alice caught the glance. The braided whip looked vicious and she could only imagine what kind of hideous pain it was capable of inflicting. Her poor tits already burned with heat from the brutal strapping they had just endured and she instinctively knew that this new lash would administer a pain even more harsh. She didn’t have long to wait. Karel gestured with his hand again. Arms up and chest out, it said. She vaguely noticed that Constance had taken advantage of the Duke’s inspection trip to drop the top of her dress as well, exposing her slim feminine torso for his caresses. Then Alice Turner remembered the ghastly dungeons below filled with the shrieking nudes and raised her elbows, grabbed her hands together behind her neck, and bent her back, presenting her naked upper body again to the ordeal. HisssSSSWICKKT! The thin braided whip cut through the air and curled around Alice’s torso, a hand’s-span beneath the jutting tits, abrading the thin skin over her taut ribs. The girl’s hands dropped immediately, but she was able to keep them from reaching the stinging line. Oh gods, this whip was even worse! The strap stung, but nothing like the thin red line of fire that this thing limned on her flesh. These next ten would be bad, really bad, especially when they went inevitably back to her high round breasts. And they would, soon, of that she was sure. The Duke’s insistent phallus told her plainly that this entire onerous ordeal was being conducted solely for his enjoyment, and that meant that her poor tits were going to feel the lash again and often. But what could she do? Alice’s proud chest globes already throbbed with hot pain, but she couldn’t let them bare and torture her sex. Despite her current pain, she couldn’t forget the screaming naked girls she had seen below. She saw the sand running out already and raised her hands up again. Karel watched the delicious way her tits lifted on the teenager’s ribcage, from plump and round to taut and thrusting. One more carved her belly and then, WHACKKT! Ulrike slashed up hard with the thin whip, lifting Alice’s right globe high on her chest and biting deep into the soft lower bulge. The naked tittie shook wildly as the redhead clutched her hands tightly together in front of her face, desperate to soothe her aching globe, but terrified of earning another one of these horrid strokes. But oh, the beastly pain! WhissSSSICKKT! WhisSACKKT! Two more bitter tit strokes, both harsh horizontal cuts that punished both of Alice Turner’s jutting bare breasts just above and below the turgid nipples. She somehow managed to keep her hands from cupping the aching globes after those two blows, but the next flew straight across the proudest points of her chest, stinging both nude nipples and teats cruelly and she couldn’t, just couldn’t stop from trying to ease the fierce burn in the tender paps. Another added lash for that weakness.

Constance kept one hand busy between the Duke’s legs, playing with the heavy sack. She had moved down to the floor in front of him. The two of them held her lush breasts together between her right hand and his while she sinuously arched her torso up and back against his loins. The soft flesh between her mounds captured his rigid naked penis, fucking him between the silky curves. The tall man moaned in pleasure at the exquisite sadistic pleasure. Oh yes, it’s good to be the Duke.

WhissSSICKT! A hard diagonal slash crossed the under-curve of Alice’s right globe, continuing to once again bite the pert left teat bitterly. Alice’s hands dropped and fluttered about her chest, but rose up again without soothing herself. Ulrike drew back her arm, but the girl dropped her arms fiercely.

“No!” Alice hissed, “I get the full minute, damn you! I get all the sand!”

Duke Karel laughed out loud. “Listen to the little lawyer, will you? Oh, but of course you get the full minute. How foolish of me. See, there’s the glass. Not much left, but you have your minute.” He was still amused and chuckling when the sands ran down and the girl tried to lift her hands away from her heaving breasts. The extra time made the horror of anticipation worse. Still, she managed to get them up, little fists hard on her shoulders, elbows high. “Tits out, out all the way, you hear me?” Alice’s slim back slowly arched.

SCRACKT! The lash smacked across both aching mounds just at the lower edges of her aureoles. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AH! AH!” For the first time, Alice’s cries rang out loud and raw. Tears ran from her eyes and her hands fluttered about her chest like little birds; desperate to comfort her burning turrets but terrified of earning another stroke. She had already earned nine extra and still had one more to endure before her initial twenty were done.

The final cut of the dog-whip laid another hot line of pain across little Alice’s sweating belly, the pointed tip cracking fiercely against the thin sensitive skin of her left side, ripping a tiny hole that started beading blood. The lovely young beauty hissed loudly again in response. Thank the gods, the harpy finally left her throbbing naked breasts, but that bitter little sting on her side still hurt atrociously. She became aware that this stage of her ordeal was over when she saw Ulrike return the dog-whip to its hook. Alice tried to take advantage, sucking in air loudly as she fought the horrible pain radiating through her heaving torso. Her rapidly heaving ribcage set the fine, high-perched globes jiggling on her chest in a most lascivious way, but she was helpless to control them. The Duke decided on one last break for the wretch, leaving his seat again to come up and play with his captive’s body. The pretty redhead could only stand, shivering in agony and shame, arms twitching impotently at her sides, while Karel’s hands wandered over her naked upper torso. The entire bared female chest was slick and shiny with the heavy sweat of enduring the Duke’s sexual torture. The man felt the hot pleasure ripple through his penis as he fondled the girl’s welted nude breasts. She moaned in agony when he examined the tiny scarlet blisters at the ends of the inch-wide strap weals and the hard, darker welts the dog-whip had left across her soft flesh. He moved up closer and lightly rubbed his thumbs back and forth across her nipples, brushing the aching swollen teats side to side and drawing fresh groans of pain.

“I know it hurts, hurts badly, doesn’t it? You would do anything to spare yourself more of the painful whipping. Well, I have another offer for you. Agree to two touches on your body with the red-hot needles and I will subtract five of your remaining strokes. The choice is yours, of course. Two touches for five lashes. Otherwise, you take every stroke, and this time with the Malachi cane, a most painful instrument. Well, what say you?

Alice stood shaking as the tall man continued fondling her naked upper body. She knew that the touch of hot steel would be ghastly, but it couldn’t, just couldn’t, be worse than the cruel bite of the cane on her aching nude chest. Her soft female torso was raging with the pain of her beating so far. Ulrike slashed the new instrument through the air to her left and it made a vicious sound. She instinctively knew that they had saved the worst for last-the cane promised even more pain than the vicious little dog-whip. But the choice between the rod and the hot needles was still a hideously difficult one.

The Duke returned to his seat and leaned back again languidly, Connie went immediately back to the rigid shaft between his legs, resuming her exquisite play. Karel looked back to Alice. He knew the signs; he had seen them many times before. The half-naked young wench couldn’t make up her mind between two equally hellish torments. A little more incentive was needed and the Malacca offered a uniquely painful one. Not quite the diameter of her little finger, it was a stiff, hardwood rod capable of delivering truly savage bites to soft female flesh. “Can’t decide, can you? I understand. Such a hard choice. Ahhh, yes, Connie. Keep using your nails like that. It feels marvelous. All right then. If you can’t choose, I will decide for you. Present your front to the cane. Ulrike, the wench has rested. Make this first stroke really hurt.” The Duke signaled his female wardress. Ulrike gestured with her left hand; come on, come on, stick your chest out for me, girl. This one’s gonna hurt, believe it. The teenager obeyed, arching her back to stick the naked beauties out toward her torturer. SWACKT! The woman used a full-arm swing to slice the thin Malacca straight across both poised nude nipples, distorting the mounds and flattening the turgid female teats. Alice had been expecting a start on her belly and the surprising cut to her nipples with this first stroke shocked her with its fiendish aim and intensity. Oh gods, gods, the pain was beyond belief! “AAAAAIIIIIIIAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” the girl screamed. The strap was bad and the braided whip was worse, but nothing, NOTHING, created the ghastly intolerable pang of agony that the stiff thin cane just struck in her soft tits. Alice was cupping her aching mounds before she even realized that she had earned another extra lash. Another extra lash from the ghastly cane. SWOCKKT! Alice’s hands were again down at her sides, but clear of her tits and so the brutal stroke burst over both upper curves with a stunning impact. Oh, the pain! Anywhere, it would have hurt. On fresh skin, it would have hurt, but after the previous twenty strokes with strap and whip, Alice’s poor female nerves were throbbing and angry from abuse and the cane hurt her terribly. She cried out before she knew what she was saying, “Yes. Yes, oh yes! I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Five less, you promise, you promise. I’ll do it! I’ll take the needles!”

“Put down the rod, Rike. You heard our guest. Prepare the needles for me. I will handle this task myself.”

The dark-haired woman did as she was told, setting down the hateful cane, and placing two long, slim lancets into the coals before the fireplace. Glancing back briefly at the shivering topless girl, she fanned the embers until the needles glowed a bright cherry-red. When they were ready, she looked over at Karel. Duke Andressen left his seat again for this. A girl’s first taste of the red-hot steel was a pleasure he savored. She stood, terrified, while Ulrike fanned the coals holding the sharp implements a last time and gripped one with a pair of small tongs. Alice Turner stared with horror at the slim lancet. An inch and a half of needle-sharp steel, the metal dulled to a brick-red color when it left the brazier. The wardress blew on the point, creating a flurry of incandescent sparks in the lush room. The Duke accepted the tongs holding the glowing needle and moved up close. Pretty Alice’s eyes could not stop bouncing between the shimmering metal spear and the twitching fleshy one between the man’s legs. He moved up close to the horrified young woman. Again the hand gestured.

“Back. Back. A little more. That’s it, stick them right out here for me. Here it comes, Alice. Ready?” The terrified teenager bent her back so far that she was almost looking straight up at the ornate ceiling. Her swollen, whip-streaked nude titties thrust up and out with arrogant perfection. The Duke’s prick twitched up in anticipation as he darted in with the glowing skewer to quickly stab down the very center of her left teat, right down the tiny hole in its tip. Blood flashed to gas and the turgid tittie tip ballooned quickly into a grape-sized point spitting steam. Karel left the glowing lancet in Alice’s tittie tip for a moment, then pulled it quickly out.

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!” There was no more battle to retain her dignity; the burning hot agony bursting through her left nipple was beyond any hope of control. There was no way she could keep her hands away from the spasming teat, either, although her best efforts at soothing only added to her pain, so outraged were the nerves there. “AAAAAHH! AAAAARRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! Oh, sweet mother, it hurts, it hurts me so!”

Off to the side, Alice saw movement again and there was the Duke, rigid phallus sticking out toward her and a fresh glowing skewer in his hand. “Here’s number two, my dear. Stick that other one out now.”

“NO! N-No, no, I can’t. Ah, no, it hurts too much, too much.”

“So you give up the challenge …”

“Nooooo! No, I don’t, not that. Just not the hot needle again. Just not that …”

Karel replaced the cooling sliver in the coals. “Very well then. Your choice, as I said-only the agreement was for two touches and you’ve taken only one. So you still get the full number of lashes …”

“Oh, no no no no no.”

“Oh, yes. Now either stick your tits out for Ulrike’s lash or ask me to burn your other nipple. Lady Constance, be so kind as to turn the glass over, would you? I will give the wench a minute to think it over.”

Alice Turner’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, the harpy with her eager cane and the aroused man holding the shimmering hot needle. Both promised hideous agony to her already throbbing bare breasts, but which was worse? She had already endured one of the fiendish touches on her nipple and the savage burn still ached, but unless she took the second touch, it was all for nothing; she still had all of the remaining strokes to withstand. Still nine more lashes over her nude torso with the Malacca. All she had was somehow get through nine more cuts and she was free, free! The bitter agony of her left teat’s burning was still fresh and she just knew that she couldn’t willingly remove her hands and stick the swollen right nipple out for its own demonic kiss. No, the rod was bad, but she would force herself to somehow withstand the nine remaining strokes.

“I’ll accept the whip again,” the girl said with a faltering voice. Karel watched her raise her hands and arch her back again and he smiled. He gave the still-hot needle back to Ulrike who replaced it in the coals. Then she took up the cane again and went to Alice’s side. The duke remained standing where he was, watching intently.

SWOCKKKT! Ulrike deliberately applied the cane across Alice’s left nipple with all her strength, flattening the bloated red teat and disfiguring the ripe globe with the fierce impact. The fleshy mound wobbled vigorously as the chestnut-haired beauty shrieked loudly in desperate sexual suffering. The harpy’s cruel return to the girl’s just seared nude nipple infuriated the burning nerve endings beyond endurance and her hands dived down to the agonized globe in a futile effort to stop the insane ache there. “That’s another extra stroke, Miss Turner. You know the rules.” Back to nine more strokes again! Unless … One more burning touch and then she only had four to endure.” “OH, AAAAAHHHHH. Oh, gods! I’ll do it! I’ll do it. You can b-burn my chest again. But that means five lashes less! You promise. You promise!” Karel came back to Alice’s front and gently fondled her puffy right nipple. The left, he noted, had swollen to twice its original size from its recent searing. “Another needle, please, Ulrike.” Connie rose from the couch and stood up close behind the man, pressing her breasts against his back. She reached around in front of him to resume her sexual play with his naked phallus. Alice shivered in terror. Karel continued teasing her whipped right nipple intimately until Ulrike brought the reheated needle to him. Then he grabbed the soft globe, raising the glowing skewer up to the helpless tip. He wasted no time, lancing half an inch deep and bloating the delicate nubbin with internal steam.” “HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OH, MY NIPPLE! MY POOR POOR NIPPLE! OH, IT BURNS, IT BURNS! AAAARRRRRRHHHH!” Karel let go with the tongs and left the cruel steel point embedded in Alice’s erect pink teat until the girl’s hands flew down in desperation and ripped it out with her fingers. Duke Andressen laughed out loud. He moved back to the couch and leaned back with Connie again taking her place kneeling between his legs. Then he turned the glass over. The sand was already half down before the agonized teenager noticed it with horror. “I will keep my word, Miss Turner. I take five strokes off the ones remaining. That leaves four-no five, you get one extra for removing that needle-to go. The same rules apply. You must stick your tits out and not touch yourself after the lashes. Just because you saved yourself five cuts doesn’t mean you can’t earn more additional ones. For these last few, you need not lift your arms; just moving them out of the way behind your back will be sufficient-just as long as you continue to expose your tits for Ulrike. Of course, I shall still require you to arch your back. Now bend back, my pretty, all the way back, the sands run low …” Tears streamed from her beautiful eyes as the fresh realization hit. Both of her naked nipples throbbed with razor-sharp bolts of agony from their ghastly searing. The sensitive beauties presenting them ached as well from the numerous strokes of strap and whip. Looking down, she was horrified to see how the once virginal globes had swollen and discolored under the hellish beating, in addition to the intolerable pain, flushing red, purple, and blue. And now she had to expose these terribly sore turrets to the torture once again. She whimpered loudly, but managed to wrench her arms behind her back, hands gripping elbows until the bones showed white under her fingers.

WHOCKT! The firm rod flew through the air to strike both of her nude nipples across their very centers, flattening both tender burned teats. Ulrike was now using most of her power to flog Alice’s tender titties and the rod burst open a few of the hard little blisters left from the strap’s ingenious holes.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE! OH, MY NIPPLES, MY NIPPLES, OH THE PAIN! NO WOMAN SHOULD HAVE TO ENDURE THIS! OH, I HURT, I HURT!” As before, her hands flew around to soothe and protect her tits before she could stop them. Her fingers went right for her throbbing nipples, hurting herself with even that gentle touch. She was shocked to see that her hands were now smeared with her own blood. After being lanced by the red-hot needles, her delicate teats were incredibly more responsive to the cane’s brutal kisses. And still no progress made. She had been unable to stop her hands from trying to comfort her aching tits. And now yet another lash to endure for the privilege of taking this one.

SWOCKTTT! A new fiendish rising slice to both bulging under-curves lifted the feminine gourds and set them wobbling violently on her chest. Like the last one, it too cracked open a couple of the hard blisters and started more thin rivulets of scarlet dripping down the mounds.

Lady Constance bent her head down and started licking lightly around the swollen head of the man’s rigid naked penis. Karel groaned in lascivious appreciation. He eyed the semi-nude girl trembling before him. There were a few red lines across her belly and ribs, but it was clear where the bulk of the strokes had gone. Both jutting bare breasts were heavily striated with marks from strap, whip, and rod. The under-curves up to the tips were bumpy with raised ridges, blushed a variegated rash of angry purple reds, and leaking slow droplets of blood. Connie felt his prick jerk between her lips and lightened her fellatio still more. No novice to these sessions, she knew how to prolong his pleasure until he was ready to come. She could tell that he was not far from orgasm, but not quite ready yet. No, I know him too well. He will want to come inside this poor bitch and she can’t last much longer.

Despite his enjoyment, Karel was keeping up with his duty with the timer glass and the sands were running. Alice managed to get her hands to her waist, but couldn’t bring herself to move her elbows away from her front and arch her back. Ulrike had to roughly tap the arms back with the cane. Heaving with misery, she slowly complied until finally her swollen nude breasts stuck boldly out and away from her chest.

SWACKKKT! Straight across both turgid nipples and breaking several more of the blisters on her throbbing aureoles. Alice Turner’s upper torso bent forward and back repeatedly, groaning in agony. Only the greatest of efforts kept her clenching hands away from the pulsating tittie tips, but they hurt, they hurt. Karel waited until her cries died down before calling out, “Too bad you took so long, Alice. At least twenty seconds late adopting the position. Another extra stroke earned.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” the crazed girl wailed. “No, it’s not fair, not fair. No woman can do this; no woman can endure this. Oh, it’s not fair, not fair, not fair”

“You agreed to the challenge, my dear. Or are you saying you quit? Quickly now! The sand is running. Arms behind you and stick out those tits! Or do you quit? Do you want to be taken back to the dungeons, hah? Do you want me to have you stripped totally nude and given to the torturers? I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing your little slit exposed yet, my lovely, not to mention seeing how you react when it’s being whipped and burned. When you’re in the cells below, I can enjoy all of your young body.”

“No! No! Oh, by all the gods, no, not that, not that, not that …” Her voice died in resignation.

“Then stick your haughty chest out again, wench! I’ll teach you to be so bold with me. You have already earned another lash; do you want to earn two? Stick out your tits. NOW, wench, or I shall have Ulrike take you below right now and give your body over to the torturers.”

“AAAHHHHHHHH! No, not that, please don’t send me down there,” Alice wailed, but there was no escape from the horror of this ordeal. Karel stared at her with grim intent and she bowed to the inevitable.

For some reason, Alice raised her arms over her head this time instead of behind her this time. The Duke stared at the stirring sight the topless tortured girl presented, arms high, back arched, torso shiny with sweat, and bloated empurpled titties out thrust. A heavy drop of clear fluid blossomed from the tip of his prick under the intense sadistic stimulation. Lady Constance dipped her head to flick it away with her tongue. Then she began a skillful fellatio, sucking and licking around Karel’s turgid red glands delicately. The sands ran down and Duke Andressen waved his hand again.

With infinite cruelty, Ulrike sent the next cut straight back again to the flinty points of her nipples. Blood misted and the pretty young redhead screamed in unendurable agony. Every blow to the puffed up caps punished nerves not only well beaten, but seared raw by red-hot steel as well. Swollen to almost twice their original size, the slightest touch to them would have been intolerable-Ulrike’s demonic focus on her poor teats with the Malacca was an exquisite pain beyond the insufferable. The ordeal was horribly worse for her having to present her poor tits for the pain each time. At least the victims in the cells below were tied and helpless-they didn’t have the added shame of being accomplices in their own suffering. Again, her arms went up and she presented her beautiful bare breasts to Ulrike’s cruel ministrations.

THWOCKKT! The nipples again, flush on the bottoms of both aureoles. Her scream was almost painful to hear and more blood began to ooze from fresh cracks in the welted skin. Karel slitted his eyes. This wench was incredibly arousing. She somehow managed to keep from soothing her chest, but the sight of her standing so close in front of him, empurpled titties heaving on her ribcage added an almost painful pang to his sexual pleasure. Constance dipped her head down to envelop Karel’s penis halfway down the thick shaft, gently sucking back up it with her soft lips. Andressen’s eyes closed briefly with exquisite pleasure at the erotic sensations flowing through his sex.

How many left, Alice thought? How many left? Lost count. Three? Five? Oh gods, I don’t know! She looked down at her throbbing tits and was surprised to see her hands there, bright red blood on the fingers. Another stroke earned. Oh no, not yet another stroke. But the sand was running and she had to get through these last few lashes. Somehow, she got her hands and elbows back behind her again in time for the next bitter lash, one that went back to the tender under-curves. The slice spared her nipples, but the bottom bulges had had a brief rest and the cut there hurt atrociously. Alice danced with lascivious abandon between the rings holding her legs apart, her slim arms flailing the air. Close now, The Duke observed. This one had been strong, but the relentless bare breast torture would break her soon, very soon, and he was growing anxious. He turned the glass over. The girl’s arms were shaking as if with palsy as she tried to force them back behind her again, but her hands just didn’t want to leave the quivering nude tits exposed again. Karel looked once, meaningfully, at the glass, then back at Alice. Fiercely, she wrenched her fists back up to her shoulders, elbows high and back arched. Superb when first exposed, the once haughty nude titties had now swollen to stunning size. After the harsh beating and burning, the two female gourds were flushed an angry red-plum color overlaid with crimson stripes. The slightest touch to them now would be intolerable agony and Ulrike’s red-streaked cane was cutting through the air with fiendish intent. THWACKT! A crisp stroke that bisected the teenager’s poised right nipple. Pretty Alice barely got her hands out of the way, up above her head again before the next stroke burst cruelly over her left burned nipple. The glass turned over yet again, then… SWOCKKKT! A fierce horizontal impact across both of the girl’s throbbing nude tittie tips. “HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! EEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH! N-NO MORE, NO MORE! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH, MY POOR TITS! NO MORE PLEASE, I BEG YOU! PLEASE, OH PLEASE STOP WHIPPING MY POOR TITS!” Alice dropped and cowered on the floor, awkwardly with her bound feet. She wrapped her arms across her upper chest and bobbed up and down in intolerable suffering. Tears poured from her eyes and moans from her throat. She had lost, lost. But she just couldn’t move her hands away again, just couldn’t expose her burning nude breasts to another intolerable slash from the cane. “OOWW, I CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE! OH, MY POOR TITS, MY POOR TITS, OH, THEY HURT, THEY HURT. Please, PLEASE, no more, no more, no more …”

Finally. Duke Andressen was beginning to think that this pert redhead was going to be the first to beat the challenge, but Ulrike’s cruel ministrations to her tits had broken her. The ordeal was over and he was ready. Jerking up from his seat, he stood above the cringing girl. After watching the prolonged flogging with Connie’s inspired genital play, his rigid penis stuck out from his loins, hard and turgid with blood. “Hold the bitch down, ‘Rike,” he commanded. “If I don’t fuck her soon, I swear, I shall explode!”

Ulrike grabbed the wailing girl’s hands and hauled her back prone on the blood-stained carpet. The Duke grabbed the waistband of Alice’s pantaloons. With one powerful wrench, he ripped the delicate fabric apart and down, for the first time baring the sweet young slit between her legs. Karel idly noticed that Alice was sparsely furred, a light down of auburn wisps over her dainty mons. The shiny pink lips of her labia sat plump and inviting just beneath. Under other circumstances, Karel might have taken some time to examine and play with such a delightful feminine notch, but now he was in a fever pitch of arousal after watching the young beauty’s brutal domination to the lash. He rubbed his right hand over Alice Turner’s bleeding breasts and used the scarlet liquid to anoint his rock-hard shaft. Ulrike held her hands down under her knees as Karel positioned his hips above the girl’s loins. Using the same bloody hand to guide his glands, he rammed the long, hard shaft to the hilt into her vagina. He felt the brief resistance of her maidenhood rip and laughed in delight. It was grand to be the Duke!

The shagging was brutal and fast. Karel fucked the splayed girl with vigorous abandon, pumping his prick rapidly in and out of her gash. He had been holding his orgasm back with effort for the past half-hour and was aroused to his limit. After just a dozen of the hot slippery lunges, the dam of his control broke and the incredible orgasmic contractions began rippling through his buried naked penis.

“UHNNN! UGHHHNN!” he grunted as the first hot liquid eruptions burst from the plum-hard glands. Broken under the savage whipping, young Alice’s slick inner muscles spasmed around his spurting shaft, milking the rod like a farm maid behind a cow. Karel pumped for minutes until the wracking spasms finally diminished and his embedded sex lost its iron-like rigidity. He pulled out of her and returned to his couch while Connie cleaned him with warm wet cloths. Five minutes later, he was back sipping his wine as the guards returned and lifted the half-conscious girl to her feet. They stood her before the Duke. Her bare breasts were horribly discolored and swollen, heavily laced with numerous welts and still slowly leaking blood. To a confirmed sadist like the Duke, she was beautiful.

“Secure her in a cell and treat her wounds. Never have I enjoyed testing a wench as much. I want to be present when she’s reintroduced to the torture. Give her a full two weeks to recover. I will want her lovely fat breasts to feel the lash again and they must be healed and whole again. Bring her to the room with the tit mangle. After a couple of hours laid out on her back on the whipping bench, we’ll see how she likes having them ballooned on the far side of the rollers. That will hold her steady when I fuck her again. Only that one won’t be as much fun for you, wench,” he continued to the miserable redhead. “No special deal for you then. In the dungeon, you’ll be naked as the day you were born. And as much as I will enjoy lashing your pretty breasts again, I am certain to take equal delight when your cute little sex lips feel the kisses of the whip-maybe even a taste of the hot steel down there as well, hmmm? No, the next time I take you your plump labia will be hot and swollen like your tits are right now. Oh yes, Alice girl, we will have much more fun together, you and I. I know so many games to play with a lusty young wench like you nude in the torture chamber! Now take her away.”

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A PASSAGE EAST [Ferres]

A PASSAGE EAST 2

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The sounds of clashing swords, the howling war cries and the charge of cavalry have faded from the icy banks of the river Peipus. The battle is over. The weary men, farmers and serfs mostly, cannot not believe their good fortune. They have turned back the vaunted might of the Crusaders. The much-feared Order of Teutonic Knights has fled and victory is for the city-state of Novgorod.

Prince Nevskii has won a great victory, not just for Novgorod but for all the people of the Rus Lands. A victory much needed by a people suffering under the heavy yoke of Mongol rule. He rides to the far edge of the battle field from where the Crusaders fled, careful to avoid the thin patches of ice that mark the edge of the river, confident the day is his, regardless of the horrific losses of both men and material.

Upon reaching the farthest point his advance he pauses, from this vantage point he watches the disarrayed fleeing masses of the enemy. He thinks how fortunate their enemy is for now they need not face the might of the Tartar Hordes.

“The Foreign Devils have fled and left much baggage strewn around the banks. With your permission, the men would like to help themselves to the spoils.”

The Prince nods quietly in agreement, but mostly ignoring the man, until he hears the shrill cries of women. Several drunken soldiers are dragging two women away to a concealed wooded spot. They clearly intend to abuse their terrified captives. The Prince is abhorred by this behavior and accosts them.

“Soldier, what are you doing? Who are these women? Where are you taking them?”

One comes forward to answer the prince. “Greetings my lord. These women… Well, we are… They were fleeing with the enemy, they are our foreigners now.”

Another soldier, arrogant, still pumped with adrenaline from the battle, shouts out with complete for good manners and formalities: “They’re Levonian Whores! Bedmates of Monks!”
A PASSAGE EAST 3
The others laugh but the prince is not amused.

Sensing that the prince is losing patience, the leader of the men speaks up. “Truly they are foreigners, my prince. Their clothing appears to be that of women of rank. We stumbled upon them when we were pursuing the enemy. They refused to give their names.”

The prince dismounts his steed and takes a closer inspection of the captives. To his surprise he finds two very attractive young women. One is a brunette with fair skin. He would have thought she was still an adolescent, but the full, generous curves of her body showing through the tatters of her rich clothing say otherwise. She is frightened and avoids making any eye contact with her captors. The other is a fair-haired maiden with unblemished skin, firm of body and with delightfully lascivious curves. She is at the height of her womanly charms. She is bolder than the other and glares at the prince with utter contempt.

“They could be witches my lord. The way they look… their intoxicating perfume… it drives us crazy!” warns the leader.

The arrogant soldier speaks again. “Witches, they could be, prince. Only one way to make sure. Find the mark.!” And without hesitation, as if on cue, the other soldiers begin ripping whatever remains of the young women’s clothing. Every stitch was torn away leaving them completely naked, exposed to the leering eyes of the soldiers and the harsh biting cold. More soldiers and militia were now gathering around them and were slowly becoming an undisciplined mob.

“My Prince, let us celebrate this great victory. These women will provide much entertainment for the men. His Majesty will of course have first taste. We could make a sport of it. I wager the fair haired one can serve hundred men by midnight.”
A PASSAGE EAST
“I say two hundred.”

“I say, the whole militia, assuming she makes it to midnight!”

“HA! HA! HA!”

The soldiers are having a hearty laugh at the expense of the captives while the Prince is about ready to have these insolent men buried alive, castrated or worse. But before he can give the command, Boyar Vassiley, accompanied by hardened Varange warriors makes his presence known and promptly calms the dangerous scene.

“My Prince, I could not help but hear your conversations and the dispute over these ladies. May I make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead, Vassiley.”

“These are foolish old soldiers who can not see the opportunity to earn favor from the Khans. These young ladies are of noble birth and are of excellent breeding. Why not have them trained as courtesans and sent as gifts to the Great Khan? He does have a taste for well-built, exotic women.”

The soldiers begin to grumble and gripe among themselves.

“Better them than our wives, sisters and daughters!” Vassiley adds.

The soldiers grow quiet. They fear the heavy hand of the Mongol Horde.

“You give wise council Vassiley.” The Prince draws close to the beautiful blonde maiden before him, tenderly touching her soft, courtly cheeks.

“My apologies. Matters of state far outweigh chivalrous ideals.”

“Take them to the Old Fort along the Volga. The Mistress there will be receiving guests.” The Prince finally has the last word.

The sun is setting and the long night is starting.

It has been two days since the incident at river. Thoughts of the maidens are still ripe in the minds of the men who saw them, but few ever really knew what became of the young ladies…

Along a path leading to the old fort, laughter is heard from a previously abandoned, dilapidated farmhouse whose last tenants were slain by the Tartars.

Five men, hardened veterans, are amusing themselves with their charges.

“The prince wouldn’t mind us taking our time escorting her ladyships to the Mistress. It would be a waste just handing them over to the Tartars without getting acquainted.”

“Have you ever seen women like these, Dimitry? I have not seen women this exquisite even among the nobility. I can’t wait to get my prick up her arse.”

“Aye, Armen. We will fuck this whore until she rots.”

Close by, three other men have positioned the dark haired girl over a work bench. One holds her by the arms, making her look at his prick which is still limp but clearly of some considerable size. Meanwhile, the other two inspect her anus.

“Dimitry, I checked this one! She is a fuckin’ virgin,” a man brandishing a riding crop exclaims.

He turns his attention to the dark-haired girl.

“At last we’ve found a fine piece of arse that the Tartar scum haven’t been in.”

THWAACK! THWAACK!

“AAAAAAAIIYEEEEHHH!”

The sudden biting pain is quickly followed by an agonized scream and tears welling up uncontrollably in the girl’s eyes.

“P-please, my lord. Show pity! We have done you no wrong. Ransom us to our lord. He will give you much compensation for your troubles,” she begs.

“So they can speak after all!”

THWAACK!

“AAAAAYYEEEEHHHH!!!”

“And scream…. Ha! ha! ha!”

“Very good. You will have the use of that tongue.”

One man moves behind her and plants his swollen member into the girls vulnerable posterior. Another man holds her arms and forces his prick down into her gullet.

“These are fine haunches. Aaaagh! Tight and smooth. Even here she is a virgin.”

THWAACK!

“AAAAAYYEEEEHHHH!”

“That is good, Oleg! With every thrust her arse grips my prick like a bear trap. Keep it up!” The man at the rear says.

“Go ahead, Oleg. I feel adventurous right now,” says the man at the front. “If I feel any teeth, I’ll break her jaw.”

The two others, distracted for a moment, now refocus their attention on the fair haired beauty they chose for themselves. One of them, who appears to be the leader, takes charge as the other begins to bind her arms with course ropes.

The leader takes his time feeling the young woman’s body, taking care to linger on her most sensitive and intimate parts. The young lady of course finds little pleasure in this rough handling, especially with callous hands exploring every mound and crevice of her voluptuous body. And soon enough two thick, harsh fingers with jagged broken nails dig deep into her sensitive vagina. Oddly, the man looks more surprised and bewildered than she does. He frowns and then shouts…

“Friggin’ whore! This one is not a virgin!” he howls. “Curse this wench! She has bewitched me. I should have taken the dark haired one.”

Clearly vexed, he stares at the woman who has disappointed him so. He gives no warning as his fingers jab upward, letting the nails bite into the woman’s vagina drawing a bit of blood and urine as well as an agonizing scream.

And for a brief moment she loses perspective of her situation and makes a reckless outburst. “You bastard! You son of a mongrel dog! Touch me again and I’ll kill you!”

The instant the words came out of her mouth she is dumbfounded by the realization that she has just dug a grave for herself. This fact is driven home by the wide smiles her tormentors were now displaying.

“Oleg, I was wrong. This one IS a better choice. Armen, let’s take this slowly now. I want to have some energy left for a little game later.”

“I love a woman with spirit!”

“Slut, you can not even begin to know how much you will regret calling me a bastard!”

“And son of a dog…”

“Shut up, Armen!”

“Armen, you take the bottom. I’ll take the top. Then we’ll get a little rough. See how YOU like it, you little whore.” The leader smiles with murderous intent…

At that moment the woman quietly prays to God to take her life, or at least grant her a knife to do it herself.

It would be a very long night…

The old fort along the Volga. Beneath the heavy hewn stone walls, deep in its dark stuffy dungeons.

A girl, clearly in distress, is painfully straddling an iron horse with her arms bound in an equally painful manner as a woman with a red hot iron brand approaches.

“Please, Mistress. I’ll do anything you want! I beg of you, have mercy!”

The Mistress watching from a distance, speaks out.

“Hold off the hot irons, novice. It is still too early.”

The Mistress approaches the frightened girl. She turns out to be a very attractive woman of Russian Mongolian parentage. She take a cold emotionless gaze at the girl and with sinuous moves produces in her right hand a set of six inch long steel needles.

“You’re such a sweet girl. If only you were more obedient to your masters. The world we live in is so very unforgiving.”

“Please, Mistress. I did not mean it. I am very sorry. I promise to be obedient always. Please…”

“Hush, child. Be content in the knowledge that despite this ordeal you WILL live through this.”

Her gaze does not leave the girl but her demeanor changes. She now has a bright, luminous smile. A beaming, almost reassuring smile. The girl is puzzled and begins to feel misguided relief. She finds comfort in her mistress’s smile. And then the pain comes… A sharp, stabbing, excruciating pain…

“AAAAAYYIIIEEEH!!!”

The mistress’s gaze never leaves the girl as she presses the long needle ever deeper into her sensitive nipple. A bit of blood spurts out but the needle’s diameter prevents more bleeding.

The girl cries uncontrollably, breathing heavily as the needle slowly enters her breast, inch by agonizing inch…Using her thumb, the mistress take her time, inserting the needles until each fleshy globe is decorated with three of the steel needles, two of which pass right through the breast.

Now the Mistress takes her last needle and aims at the girl’s pubic mound.

“Guess where this one goes, girl?”

“Don’t do it Mistress… not there, please… you’re a woman like me… you know the pain will kill me… please, Mistress, I don’t want to die… NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

As she did with each breast, the mistress slowly eases the needle into the mound, piercing the hood and going right on through the clitoris.

The girl continues to scream but her voice is now hoarse and can no longer convey the intensity of the pain that is devastating her private parts. She is now living in her own personal hell. She convulses violently… then…

“Looks like she’s fainted. That is her limit for now. Soon she will be able to tolerate more. Then when she is ready, you can start administering the hot irons.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The novice nods.

“Take this slut off the Iron horse and have the guards wake her up in the usual way. Oh, and don’t forget to reset her shoulders and to bring back the steel needles. They are hard to come by.”

“Now for our new house guests.”

The Mistress opens a heavy wooden door. It is at the far end of the dungeon but well within hearing of the cries and scream of the tortured victims. She pauses as her eyes adjust to the dark, damp cell. She makes out two very attractive young women, naked and bound to the supporting columns of the room and perhaps a little less innocent than they were a few days ago. They make no sound and only stare at their new captor and tormentor.

“So, these are the special gifts for the Great Khan. My dear Prince Nevskii is always so generous. Ladies, this will be a long training process. The Great Khan is not easily impressed. I hope you have the constitution for it.” She smiles.

The snow continues to melt away in the warmth of spring. The ice that covered the rivers will no longer support the weight of men and beast alike. Bad weather for the fearsome Mongol hordes, who much prefer fighting in the cold of winter with the waterways frozen and passable. They retire to Sarai leaving only a few men to guard vital causeways.

A cold dawn comes slowly at the old fort. Outside the walls two Mongolian warriors, assigned to the service of the Mistress, watch over the training of a novice pony girl. Recently bridled and ringed, forced to trot without sight or sound around a cruel piked carousel. The pike, a sharply riveted metal rod twelve inches long from the base and two inches in diameter is firmly driven up her vagina, it’s point scraping her cervix. This forces the pony girl to stay on her toes to minimize the pain jabbing at her innards, with the still cold weather adding to the suffering of her exposed body. The guards at their leisure may lift her up from the pike to take turns at her ass, but they must return her immediately to the pike as soon as they have satiated themselves. The greatest pain comes every time she is returned to the pike, or more accurately dropped onto it. This is to be her lot from morning ’til dawn until the Mistress of the fort deems it time to change her routine.

The Mistress draws closer to the dark haired creature weeping in the shadows. She appreciates the delicate, innocent beauty before her. She is moved by the lovely eyes, where fresh tears are welling up…

“Don’t waste those tears. You’ll need them later.”

A soft hand caresses the girls body, assessing the quality of her skin, the firmness of her breasts, going down to her most sensitive and intimate parts. The girl flinches a bit but does not make any discernible move to tear herself away from the disconcerting intrusion. She is too afraid to show even a hint of resistance.

“I see the Varangians have thoroughly broken your spirit. You no longer belong to yourself. That is good. Hmm… they have yet to take your virginity. That would have been well and good if you were to be sold to a harem but alas you are not going to one. Don’t worry. We will take care of this little oversight, then we will begin your training, little pony.”

The girl grows white with terror at these terrible words. It is beginning to dawn on her that whatever suffering she has endured in the last few days will pale in comparison to what is to come.

The Mistress moves away from the girl, adjusts her eyes to a slightly brighter corner of the cell and approaches the pretty blonde creature whose eyes are lifted to meet hers. This one was less afraid and perhaps even a little defiant in her gaze. The Mistress could not help but smile.

“Well, the cuckold Rus was not lying when he said you had spirit. Looking straight in the eyes of your mistress with such demeanor! I will enjoy breaking you in, little pony.” She says as she pushes her foot between the girls legs.

The grimaces remains silent but grimaces in pain as the foot presses into an unusually tender spot.

“Still sore? I expected that much. It will take a few days to heal.”

The Mistress kneels down and lets her hands explore the tender spot between the girl’s legs…

“But I think you like pain, don’t you? They said you climaxed many times while they were raping and using your body in everyway they could imagine.” The Mistress leans forward exerting more pressure on the girls privates.

“Ungh!” The girl’s face continue to distort as the pain grows more intense.

“But here, we will have none of that. You will not take any pleasure, even from pain, unless your Mistress wishes it. You may have been nobility before, but here you are nothing. You are only a pony slave. Your breasts, your ass, your orifices, your entire body, they all belong to me and to whoever becomes your master.”

Near Lake Peipus, several days earlier. The two young women were tied together naked on an open cart for their journey to the Mistress’s fortress. It was very uncomfortable as the climate was still quite cold even at the beginning of spring. The Prince would not have approved of this manner of travel, but without his regal presence none were in the mood to protest.

“I hope you ladies are not too chilly there. Be glad it isn’t winter or you’d probably freeze your tits off. Ha Ha Ha!”

“But don’t worry, we’ll warm you bitches up a bit later. Mark my words, we’ll have a hell of a time,” the soldier boasts.

“I bet you ladies have never had this kind of service before. You and your fine clothes, big castles and good food. Here you will learn the meaning of being a woman in these lands.” The man sneers.

“A virgin you are not. But we can yet squeeze some pleasure from your pampered cunt,” the man says as he begins to mount the girl.

“This bitch’s ass is fine buggering. We can do this all day.”

“I’m not interested in just buggering, Armen. I have other plans for these bitches.”

“I like your firm breasts, they’re nice and fat, good for suckling. Any mother’s milk?” He bites into her nipple, drawing a bit of blood, and drinks from it.

“Aaaaghhhhh!”

“Your blood is sweet.” He continues to suckle her wounded nipple.

“Hey, move your ass around, you lazy whore. I’m getting bored,” the man called Armen complains.

“You heard the man! Move your damn ass!” the man shouts.

“I can’t. Please, it hurts too much!”

“You call that pain? I will show you what pain is.” The man grabs hold of both her nipples and pulls violently. “Now this is pain.”

“AAAAIYYEEEEEEEEE!!!” The girl’s eyes widen and dilate. Tears pour out as she gives a terrible cry. The pangs from her nipples snap at her mind. The splitting, tearing pain in her ass and vagina are diluted by the incredible pain now tormenting her breasts.

The man’s hands are rough and hard, with strong, vice like fingers. He continues to pinch at the girl’s nipples as if cracking a walnut. He lifts her by her breast and swings her to and fro. “Well, Armen. How is that?”

“STOP! PLEEEEASE! STOP!” the girl shouts, in agony.

“Aye, much better.” Finding an improve source of pleasure, he begins to pump harder, buggering the girl with greater momentum.

The girl wails madly and her body twists and writhes in agony. The men laugh, now satisfied with the girls’ improved enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, in the other girls’ corner, the men have spent their seed, delivering it deep into her rump and gullet. They observe their handiwork, looking at the welts and bruises inflicted on the girls body. They take great interest in her now distended anus.

“Look at that, Ivan. Now that is a good gaping shitty asshole!” Oleg, the man with the whip, takes hold of both cheeks and spreads wide apart to make his point.

“She is deep and smooth. As soon as I get my bearings I’ll take another shot at her.”

“Wait!” Spreading the cheeks even more, he coughs up saliva and spits it into the girl’s gaping hole. “Since it is already borrowed, let’s see how accommodating she can be.”

“Please, my Lord. No more! My body is torn. I will die!” the girl pleads.

“Agreed,” says Ivan with a wide grin on his face.

The men reposition the girl on the workbench and take some particularly course rope and bind her to it. Her buttocks are now up high, in a vulnerable display…

“You’re such a fucking whore, I bet you’re not full yet,” the man shouts close to her ears, startling her.

“Well, Dimitry. This little bitch will have a preview of child birth. Maybe that will fill her up,” exclaims Oleg. “Ivan, do you remember what we did with that arrogant Byzantine girl?”

“Ha! ha! ha!” Yes, I doubt she will ever sit down again.”

Ivan positions himself behind the girl. She is terrified and shudders violently. The man begins to move his thick fingers into her still gaping anus. Her eyes widen and dilate.

“Please, my lord. Don’t do this. I will do whatever you ask. Just spare me this ordeal! In God’s name I beg of you!” The girl pleads vehemently, her tears flowing in torrents now as the first pangs ripple through her body…

“AAAAIIIEEEEEEE! “She wails. “Stop! I’m going to die! Stop!”

The only reply she heard was the sound of their laughter.

Vassiliev, the leader of the Varangians, plans to punish the fair haired girl for her previous transgression. With the help of Armen, they tie her to the old sheep pens. Using the columns they spread her legs out, completely exposing her private parts.

“Tighten the ropes. I want her wide open.” Vassiliev demands while taking out a thick leather belt used to harness the horses.

“I’ll show you how we punish arrogant little sluts like you.” With a swish in the air he brings the leather belt down on top of her vulnerable pubic mound.

STHWAAK!

“AAAAAAAIIIYEEEEHH!” she screams.

He begins to flog the girl with greater vigor, striking her privates repeatedly and moving out from there to the very tender flesh on her inner thighs. The girl can do nothing but scream and plead for mercy, which serves only to amuse her captors…

After a while the man produces a stout piece of wood which the girl at first thinks will be used to beat her. But to her surprise and horror, the man jams the object right up her ass and ties it to her arms and the sheep pen.

He takes a close look at his handiwork, makes a close observation of the girl’s reddening mound and takes a vicious bite, inflicting unspeakable torment. She tries to move away only to feel more pain from the object lodged up her ass.

He begins to use the belt once more and every fidgety move the girl makes transfers to the wood, slowly driving it further in. In the end she tries not to move anymore and just let her body absorb the blows.

“Does it hurt, slut? Yeah… I love your long, creamy, slender thighs!”

At times the young maidens would much prefer their captors to be randy rather than playful and inventive. The captors delight in playing the cruelest of games before outright raping their victims , forcibly stretching and straining the girls’ bodies, which are coming closer to breaking point. The blonde, being of less value to slave traders, often gets the worst of it.

Tied to a post or a cart, the men place bets on which of them can make a girl wet herself on exactly the twentieth stroke of a leather whip. This often means doing it again and again until one of the girls pisses herself at the right moment.”

The following night, the dark haired girl develops a bit of a fever. The men decided to introduce their own brand of healing.

“It is customary to induce bleeding to bring out the evil blood that is making you sick. Since your tits are nice and fat, all the bad, sickly blood is probably in there. So we graciously volunteer to beat the evil out of your big boobs.”

The treatment takes about an hour. The fever breaks out again the next day, but her breasts are so swollen and sore that the men decide to let her rest that day.

Unfortunately for the blonde girl, who now has to accommodate all five of the men…

That evening, the blonde girl’s body was so covered with excruciating bruises and whip marks that she fidgets a little too much as she is being mounted and she accidentally knees a man in the bollocks.

The next day after the whipping game they tie her left foot up to the rafters, stretching it up until her foot is as high as her head, with her arms and right foot firmly bound to a wooden column. A claymore is planted on the ground at the base of the column with its handle cruelly driven deep into her ass.

“My bollocks are still sore from what you did before, and since you do not have any bollocks I cannot repay you in kind. So I guess your tight little bum will have to do.”

“I’ll do a deal with you, your Ladyship. If you can get loose and knee my crotch again, I’ll let you go,” he jokes.

“Ha! ha! ha! Try not to rip your ass too much. Ivan here wants to do a fisty again. He’s angry with you for borrowing his sword without permission.” He moves closer and begins raping her.

The combination of the man’s member and the cold hard steel create terrible pains as her sensitive insides are caught between them. Her outstretched legs make any movement awkward and her attempts at balancing her body only serve to force the sword handle even deeper…

Morning comes and the women are finally allowed to stroll about, naked and with their arms bound. At the side of the house they find the leader, busy sharpening a piece of log driven into the ground with about 5 ft of its length protruding.

“Good day, m’ladies. Guess what I’m making!” The man is suspiciously amused.

“The boys and I have decided that taking both of you along to the traders would attract too much attention. So only one of you will be sold, the other one…. well, she’ll find out later.”

The girls eyes widen as they realize what the man was making. The dark haired girl nearly collapses as her knees buckle…

That afternoon, after a long session of buggering and mounting, the men make final preparations for the last game they will play with the girls. The dark haired girls is taken first. Now with the usual coarse rope, one end is wrapped around her waist and passed down between her legs and up through her crack. The other end is wound over a sign post and knotted around the blonde girl’s neck.

They then carefully tie the blonde girl’s arms to the corresponding foot. This forces her to adopt a kneeling position. Gently they lift the girl and put her over the sharpened wooden stake. They order the other girl to pull at the rope, putting pressure on her privates as she does so.

They then lower the fair haired girl on to the stake, driving the point up into her vagina as the other girl pulls at the rope. Now the blonde girl’s weight is divided between her vagina on the stake and the rope around her neck. With her arms bound to her legs, she has great difficulty in using her thighs to grasp the stake.

“Now bitch, one of two things will happen. Your friend’s legs will buckle and you will be impaled on the stake, which is a very slow and agonizing death; or she will stand fast and you will suffocate slowly while riding that stake, which is also a long and agonizing death.”

“I put my money on a good old-fashioned impalement. But just before you die we will flay you and sell your skin to the Tartars. How does that sound to you?”

The girl’s only reply is a gurgling sound. She would gladly accept a quick death of any kind to impalement, a slow and particularly humiliating kind of death…

Several minutes pass and Vassiliev grows impatient. The dark haired girl has shown remarkable resolve, keeping her companion from being impaled. The men chide Vassiliev as there is not much of a show to satisfy them.

“I am tired of this.” He takes his leather whip once more and savagely beats the girl.

“Please stop, my lord! I don’t want her to die. Not like this!” she pleads.

“Shut up! I’ll break your legs if I have to.”

Suddenly, before he can strike again at the girl, an arrow comes from nowhere and pierces the hand of the Varangian, forcing him to drop the whip.

The others grab their weapons and prepare to do battle with an enemy they have yet to see.

Then from the woods horsemen appear, their bows drawn tight. Armored warriors carry axes and shields. The men are surrounded.

“Varangian, you know who we are and you know what we want. The Mistress has sent for the women,” the lead rider exclaims.

“Mongols!” The Varangians drop their weapons. They know well enough not to test Mongol skills.

Warriors quickly move in on the girls, assisting the one in most distress. An arrow whizzes over their heads and slices the rope that was strangling the girl.

The other girl finally loses all her strength and passes out on the snow. Unconscious, she does not feel how she is lifted onto a horse and smelly but warm goat hide is placed over her naked body.

The strange men carefully lifted the blonde girl from the stake, taking care not to damage her any further. She thanked them profusely for saving her life. She was not worried about their strange features, or the fear the men invoked in her Varangian captors. She did not care if these men would treat her like a whore or a beast of burden, as long as she did not die in such a painful and shameful fashion. She was not troubled by the fact that she was now in the hands of “The Devil’s Horsemen”.

A physician amongst them attends to the girl’s wounds…

It took a few days to reach the fortress. The women were allowed time to rest on the journey, time to recover some much needed strength. But now they are within the walls of the fortress and at the mercy of the Mistress.

“Closer, pony.” She grabs a hold of the girl’s soft blonde locks and draws her right onto her pubic mound. “Show me how dexterous that little tongue is.”

The girl hesitantly attempts to lick at the Mistress’s privates.

The girl closes her eyes, makes a valiant effort and tongues the Mistress’s vagina. However, she cannot disguise the fact that she feels some repugnance. She pulls her face away…

“Open your mouth, pony.” The girl is surprised but obliges, only to feel a warm salty stream running down over her face and in between her lips. She opens her eyes wide to see her Mistress urinating onto her face and into her open mouth.

The next morning the novice ponies are allowed to enter the courtyards. Their arms are painfully roped to their backs and the girls sport an iron collar. There they are shocked to see the torments that they themselves will soon endure. Lines of whipping posts stretch across the courtyard, each with varying uses and functions. Some are simple wooden posts, others are fitted with cruel metal or wooden wedges, while still others are fitted with large penetrating iron screws set into the wedge to stretch the girls’ tight, unaccommodating anuses. The novices tremble at the screams and groans of the first victims of the posts, some buckle and falter out of shear terror as others faint from the sight and the smell of the blood.

From the parapets overlooking the courtyard, the Mistress addresses the group. “Welcome, little ponies, to the Fortress. Today you will begin your lessons. The sooner you learn, the better you will perform, the less will be your suffering. Your future masters are sons of the wind, harsh fearsome warriors born on the unforgiving steppes. Cross them but once and your life may be forfeit. I have only one rule for you: learn quickly or face the consequences.”

“I’m sure some of you are contemplating trying to escape. Rest assured that such a thing is not possible. Every man on the walls is an excellent shot and my huntsmen are relentless. Only last night a novice like yourselves escaped from a slave caravan on its way here. I shall use her as an example to you all.” She turns to the Mongol chieftain. “Have the ponies leashed to my horse. It is time to give them a little run.”

In the woods five miles from the Fortress, resting birds are suddenly startled into flight by the presence of a stranger in their midst. It is a young woman with long blonde hair. The woman, who is exceptionally well built and completely naked, is fleeing from the sounds of approaching horsemen. She stumbles clumsily, tripping and rolling on the uneven ground with its treacherous patches of ice and moss. It has not occurred to her that all her efforts are futile. She is panicking and all she can do is run in terror.

As the frightening echo of hooves draws closer, she tries to stay ahead of them. She is already exhausted and a cold sweat runs in the crack between her ample breasts. She knows her punishment will be severe if she is caught…

The Mongol warriors are soon upon her. Her pale, creamy skin and bright golden hair would have been quite an asset in a civilized noble society, but in the untamed woods all they do is make her an easy prey.

“My God! No!” she exclaims as the entire hunting party moves in the fugitive. She will pay dearly for her brief freedom

She is soon surrounded, left with no avenue of advance or retreat. Her eyes open wide with fear and well with tears, pleading with her captors to let her go. She even offers herself to them. But these are the warriors of the Great Khan, and such a thing is not their custom. These disciplined warriors have laid waste to mighty kingdoms in pursuit of fleeing slaves. They will not let a pony girl escape.

The Mongol chief arrives and addresses his men, “She ran well enough for a Russian girl. Find her a suitable tree.”

“There are the traditional punishments for fugitive slaves. You are about to experience the full sentence. That is the Mistress’s wish.. It will be a lesson to all.” The chief’s eyes fix on the girl’s bountiful attributes.

The Mongols, brandishing coarse rope and leather straps, begin to manhandle the girl and drag her to a selected tree.

“You can’t do this to me!” she screams hysterically. “I am Irina Belsky. I am a noblewoman. I am the daughter of the Boyar of Muscovy. Do you not understand? You could ransom me to my family and gain enormous wealth. I am not a slave! I do not deserve this treatment. I beg of you!”

The Mongols stop in their tracks, bewildered.

“Did you hear that, men? A noble born and bred!” The Chief bellows, almost laughing. “Do you have any proof of your noble birth? I see no crest of a Great house. I see no sign of wealth other than your generous, swelling breasts…”

“Take me to my father. He will give you proof. You will all be rewarded handsomely,” she pleads with eyes that are near to tears.

“So your father is the Boyar of Muscovy?” the chief says mockingly and looks at his men.

Suddenly they all burst into grim laughter. The girl looks dumbfounded and grows steadily more desperate. A warrior with coarse rope in one hand grabs a handful of the girl’s golden locks and drags her roughly to the tree.

“Yes, the Boyar of Muscovy is very wealthy. But wealth is no use to a man with no head.” The girl’s legs buckle and she nearly faints…

As the Mongols tie the noblewoman to a tree, the Mistress arrives, followed by a retinue of novice ponygirls and the gifts sent by Lord Nevskii. Their arms are still firmly bound behind their backs and their iron collars are now leashed to the Mistresses horse. They have been running for five miles and, nearing exhaustion, they are trying not to stumble, which would mean being dragged to death by the powerful horse…

The Mistress halts her steed at the edge of the gathering warriors. Her retinue of novices, catching their breath, are silently grateful to for the rest. They are growing alarmed at the dramatic events about to unfold…

“A fine hunt, Lord Mцngke. Was she a difficult prey?”

“Not at all, Mistress. She left a trail a man with no eyes could follow. But she did show stamina.”

At the tree, selected for it’s shape and girth, the warriors are tightly securing the girl upside-down. They pull hard at the coarse rope, taking pains to make sure she is bound tight to the tree’s prickly bark.

“One more tug.”

“Raise her feet a little more.”

“AARGGGGGH!”

“Now little ponies, watch carefully. This is your first lesson. As I said before, escape is not possible and any attempt will have very serious consequences,” she says, addressing the fearful novice ponygirls.

“She gave us a good run. A pity, she would have made a good ponygirl. Losing a pretty little pony is a great personal loss to me. However, this is a very serious matter. I cannot emphasize too strongly how important obedience and discipline are.” She turns to the chief. “You may begin, Mцngke.”

Several men begin taking five arrows each, strapping them together near their metal points. The novice ponies watch carefully, wondering and fearing what is to come.

Two of the men move behind the girl, positioning themselves at each of the girls exposed feet. They look at their chief and await his signal. The girl struggles in her bonds. Her head feels like it is about to explode. She continues to beg and plead but all the others are silent. All attention is directed at Mцngke.

The Mongol chief gives a nod and the warriors begin their task. The first two begin striking the girls feet, using the bundled arrow bolts as a whip. They show absolutely no hesitation nor restraint. Every blow is struck solidly at her bare feet, eliciting a horrific scream from the beautiful young woman. The poor novices watch and wince at every blow, too frightened to turn away and risk their Mistress’s ire

The Mongol continues their assault on to the girl’s now swollen and bruised feet until all five arrow bolts are broken. Then the next men take their place, repeating the almost rhythmic torture.

“Please, Mistress. Show her mercy. Has she not suffered enough?” The dark haired girl pleads in a whispering voice and turning her head away from the barbaric spectacle.

Don’t look away, pony. Watch closely or I will have your eyes plucked out and fed to your friend. You are no longer children hiding behind your mother’s skirts. This is your world, your life now, and the sooner you learn that the happier I will be, and the safer you will be. Believe me, you would not want to make me unhappy.” The Mistress snarls. “Enjoy the fact that this poor creature is not you. Or do you wish to share her experience?”

“No, Mistress. I’m sorry.” The girl responds nervously.

The Mongols finally finish the whipping of Irina’s feet. Now she is no longer screaming, just groaning hoarsely. The last man approaches, this time taking a position directly in front of her. He takes his bundle of arrow bolts and smashes them on the girls exposed private parts. This time she screams very loud indeed…

The arrow bolts are all broken and the Mongols take a break, to the relief of Irina and the novices.

The dark-haired girl is separated from the other novices as the Mistress rummages through a bearskin bag. She produces a large metal device with a distinctly insidious design. The girls think they know what this device is for…

Twelve inches in length, over an inch wide, shaped like a curving letter “F” with expanding heads on three ends. The three ends were odd lengths, 9″,4″ and 5″. It is a grotesque tool of torment.

“Since you care so much for this foolish runaway. I will let you continue her punishment.”

The girl is soon seized by 3 warriors and the device, with its two shorter lengths, is fitted into her still virgin cunt and up her anus. This, no doubt, was quite excruciating…

“Mistress, let me take her place. She is not ready for such a thing,” her fair-haired friend protests.

“Hush, Pony. Never second-guess your Mistress’s decision. Ever.” The Mistress glares. “Mцngke, bring forth your best-endowed warriors and sodomize this over-enthusiastic whelp.”

“As you wish, Mistress,” Mцngke replies.

Satisfied that the device is firmly implanted, they turn two screws at the base, expanding the bulbous ends. At first the girl makes no sound, but her eyes widen as her insides are forcibly stretched by the cold metal instrument. Then…

“AAAAAAAGH…NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” she screams at the top of her lungs.

“Now that should keep it from slipping out…”

Meanwhile, Irina has been shifted from her previous upturned position. Her legs are now widely spread as her back rests on the tree’s lower “Y” shape. Her torturer is now in full view, as is the instrument of her torment. She breathes heavily. She knows what is to come and would gladly accept a hundred more blows to her feet than this cruel thing…

“No! Please! Anything but that!” she cries. But a fellow slave cannot be pleaded with, for she too is only an instrument. The girl waddles closer to Irina…

In the meantime, with a bundled set of arrow bolts shoved up her anus, the fair-haired girl is steered to her own corner of hell by two huge and fierce-looking Mongolians. The bristled feathers of the arrows prove to be quite discomforting especially when pushed in and twisted about.
Not satisfied with her response to the steering, the Mongol makes a quick jab and twists the arrows. This gets the girls attention and produces a shrill cry. They continue steering her about until they get tired of this amusement. A good thing for the girl, since the arrow bolts are about to break her skin…

Finding a nice spot well in view of the others, they strip her down and begin buggering her ferociously. The girl can barely contain the size of the warrior’s members in her bowels. The Mongol’s member is so massive that she has the impression she has been split open.

As the warrior pummels her anus into total submissiveness she makes loud agonized grunts with every stroke. This is soon put to an end as the other warrior slams his member into her throat. Now she can hardly breathe as both men impale her, working at both ends. She is nearly suffocating from the ordeal, gasping for air. To her astonishment she realizes that she is being aroused despite all she is suffering…

However, arousal is far from poor Irina’s mind as she feels the dark-haired girl beginning to fuck her. She feels only pain, and the worst is still to come. The removal of the device will be even more excruciating. The shape makes sure of that by scraping at her insides.

Inexplicably, the dark-haired girl gets more and more aroused as she continues to fuck Irina. Despite the pain between her legs, the sight of the beautiful woman’s pleading face, her sumptuous proportions and porcelain skin are all making her head swim. Soon she is losing herself as she fucks on…

The Mongols watch in awe as the beautiful dark-haired girl pumps and gyrates to the detriment of the now inconsolable Irina.

Finally the girl reaches the crescendo of her first true orgasm and screams at her first taste of sexual pleasure. The Mistress notices this display and is not amused. The slave will be punished.

The rush of her fluids has lubricated her vagina sufficiently for the device to fall out from it’s own weight. Totally spent, the girl simply collapses on to the mossy ground. Though painful, it has been the first orgasm she has truly enjoyed. Irina, still crying, is relieved that it is finally over, or so she thinks…

“What is wrong with her?” asks Mцngke .

“It looks to me as if this one enjoyed herself a little too much,” a warrior comments. “A natural whore, this one.”

“Indeed, but I gave no permission for a mere novice pony to take pleasure in another. She will have to be disciplined. But later.”

The Mistress approaches the suffering, teary-eyed Irina. She stoops to inspect the out come of her performance. A bit of blood trickles from the slave’s injured privates, badly chaffed from the inside. Every touch upon her sensitive mound would translate to excruciating pain. The Mistress knows this and begins to introduce her digits into Irina’s bloodied orifice.

Unbeknownst to the novice ponies, the nature of Irina’s distress was not due to the intrusion of the Mistress fingers but from the seemingly soft arm length glove she wears. Because the material is not made of leather or thread but in fact it is made from the flesh of Sharks. Sharks whose skin is covered by sharp tiny little teeth that could scrape away unprotected skin.

“Surprise, my little slave!”

Now the Mistress insert her entire hand into Irina and begins to fist fuck her, slowly at first but progressively quickens with every stroke.

Irina, now in total panic; twists, writhes and contorts desperately in a futile attempt to pull away from the source of her anguish. This, of course further delights the Mistress’ who is now fucking the girl up to her wrist, wrenching her arm in and out.

After a few minutes of this the Mistress withdraws her bloodied hand from Irina’s very raw privates. Satisfied and quite tired of the deed.

The Mistress allows the Mongols to have their turn with Irina. Despite her injuries she now has to satisfy some twenty men before she is released from the tree.

By noon the Mistress has grown bored with the tediously repetitive spectacle.

“Enough of this. Leash them to the horses and drag them back to the fort. We will finish the sentence there in front of all the ponies,” the Mistress commands.

The warriors act quickly and leash the two girls to their horses. The dark-haired girl is still wobbly and confused from her first orgasm. A quick sharp blow to her crotch livens her up, and as for the poor Irina, she has to struggle to keep up with a galloping horse on her sore, bloodied feet.

That afternoon the dark-haired girl is taken to a wedged punishment block.

She is forcibly straddled on the toothed wedge with her back exposed for whipping. Thirty lashes are dictated by the Mistress, a comparably light sentence for her major transgression in taking pleasure in the torment of a pony without the explicit permission of her Mistress!

“Thirty lashes on that nice smooth back of yours, slave. And you’re gonna get the full force of my arm. Ready to scream?”

Next to her, Irina is also straddled on a wedged block.

She is tied down with prickly, coarse rope. A wooden bar imbedded in the column stretches her legs at the joints. She has already received her extra lashes but that is not the end of her sentence.

The last part of her punishment is about to be inflicted. A warrior approaches the poor girl carrying a heavy two-handed mallet. He positions himself at her side, gathers his strength, swings the mallet mightily and smashes her vulnerable knee.

The girl bellows a scream of unimaginable agony. All the ponies that are watching are chilled to the bone by the animal-like screams.

The massive hammer is swung again and the other knee is destroyed. The process is continued up and down the girls’ leg until every bone is crushed and her legs lie smashed and formless.

This completes the sentence. The ponygirls will never contemplate escaping again.

“The whipping is over, slave, but not the punishment. Now I’m gonna smash your legs with the hammer, knees first! You won’t escape again!”

The following day, the novice ponies awoke to the cheerful laughter of their Mongol captors. At first they seemed like playing with a large sack or a light colored bag. A closer inspection soon brings chills down their spines. The warriors were playing with Irina, or what was left of the poor girl. She was very much alive and had been attended to by the best physicians in the fortress. They had carefully amputated her broken limbs and sewn the stumps neatly. She could only roll and undulate like a thick maggot.

The Mongols were very much amused by the limbless creature their mistress gave them to play with. They began extracting every ounce of pleasure the can from Irina. Her spirit was totally broken and obliges to their every whim regardless of the pain she would endure. Irina Belsky is no more, daughter of the Boyar of Moscovy no longer

They poke and probe the girls every orifice all of which are now open and vulnerable to their rough advances. The Mongols, finding Irina a little to accommodating decides to elicit a few screams by driving a fist into her gaping ass.

At noon the new ponies were tested for strength and tolerance to the whip. They were to familiarize themselves with its caress.

One by one the girls are strapped to a whipping post and subjected to the ordeal. A warrior with a soft leather lash approaches from the back and begins the test. Each girl is given the mandatory 20 strokes punishment. Any pony incapable of taking the minimum 20 would be deemed unsuitable for training and would be culled immediately.

Fortunately, all passed the minimum required strokes.

Unfortunately, after the 20 strokes is administered a second warrior would begin whipping from the front. The amount of strokes the pony receives without fainting will determine their status among the ranks.

The Mistress gives more attention to the newer novice ponies, in particular, the lovely blonde from Prince Nevsky.

“You are not like the others. I can see it in your eyes; the arrogance and haughtiness of an aristocrat. Despite your time with my warriors, they never really broke you. You still have a lot of pride.” She addresses her with a soft but stern voice.

“Tell me your name, proud pony. I know you still have a tongue to speak with.”

“I have no name. I am just a novice pony.” She glares.

“Such proud manners.” The Mistress begins to whisper to the girl. “One way or another I will know your true name.”

“Mцnke, let this prideful one taste the full length of the Mongol whips. Hold nothing back. I want to see her break in front of me.”

“As you wish, Mistress.” Replied Mцnke. He then signals to his horse tamers to take the whips. These are hard men accustomed to breaking the fiercest of wild horses.

“I’ll hurt you, my precious. I’ll change those haughty manners of you, I promise!”

The Mistress stands in front of the girl staring straight into her eyes. Then the Mongols begin the flagellation of the arrogant pony. The strokes are vicious and brutal.

She bore the first stroke without making a sound. The second, tears welled out from her eyes. The third, she let out a shallow cry. The fourth, she utters a sharp piercing cry. Soon enough, she screams madly at every stroke.

“AAAAIYEEEEH! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Still staring into the girls eyes the Mistress smiles with satisfaction.

It did not take too long for the girl to loose consciousness from the fury of the flogging. The lovely body of the beautiful pony has reached its limit.

Mцnke turns to the Mistress “The slave is tamed, Mistress.”

“No, not yet, Mцnke. She may have screamed in agony but she shed tears with pride. This one will take some special treatment.” She replied.

“Take her down, I will address this pony personally.” She says as she begins to caress the unconscious girls face. “And it’s going to be a pleasure…”

Irina is not so fortunate. She is very much conscious and still feeling the phantom pains from her already severed legs and arms not to mention bearing the seemingly endless assaults from her Mongol caretakers.

They had taken her long hair and braided it like a rope and tying it to a wooden span. The Mongols can now fuck her upright from both her arse and cunt. They are much enamored by her soft white skin and brutally squeeze and pinch her sensitive breasts as they ravage her body all day.

When they finally grew tired of fucking poor Irina, they tied her over a spiked impalement peg, allowing it to slide into her body a few inches. She quivered and undulates violently from the sudden pain from the cold iron spikes imbedded on the peg. She begged and pleaded as always to no avail. Then to her horror, the Mongols began to turn her on the peg. She was being spun from left to right and the cold spikes were tearing into her abused and swollen cunny.

The day would end with Irina abandoned on the peg, contemplating her predicament and praying for death. She realizes she was totally without help and even the taking of her own life was no longer in her power. Night came and went with the novice ponies hearing only Irina’s inconsolable sobbing.

The following day the blonde novice pony was given a special morning ritual. She was made to teeters over a forked spear. The spears shorter side points slightly piercing the bottom part of her breast while the longer center point touched her jugular. The weight of her upper body was supported by her arms now tied painfully to her back in a “strapado” fashion. She had to maintain a stiffened position the entire day to avoid being run through by the spear. Every now and then a Mongol would move to her back and feel around and ass and vagina. Then let her taste one stroke of the whip.

Her dark haired companion, being roughly fondled by their tormentors, was kept at her side to watch her long agonizing mortification.

With her arms nearly dislocated and her body racked with pain, the blonde was questioned once more by the Mistress. “Your name, pony?” and again the blonde remained silent.

Strangely the Mistress appeared more amused than frustrated. She knew this girl would make an exceptional pony once properly heeled.

That evening, the defiant blonde was sent down to the lower dungeons and given a dark solitary cell. There, she was forced to sit on a chair for the “Devils Harlot”. It was not as painful as the “Iron Horse” but it left every sensitive orifice dangerously exposed to abuse and torture.

For hours, the girl nervously waited for her tormentors. The anticipation itself has become a kind of torture as every sound or shuffling in the dark made her jump out of her skin. Then a voice from the shadows, “Little pony, I will know your name today.” It was the Mistress.

The voice brought chills down her spine.

A Mongol warrior emerges from the darkness carrying a short flat sword. He takes the sword and begins to use its pointed edge to caress the girls open cunt. He takes care not to cut the girl but makes certain to inflict some discomfort. The girl is too frightened to know if she’s being cut or not. The cold blade and the stabbing sensations causes her to struggle even more.

The shear terror of being split open in such a manner made her lose control of her bladder and she involuntarily urinates all over the sword.

“Now, let her know the kiss of the sword.” Speaks the Mistress.

With those orders the Mongol raises his sword and let it viciously slam down on to the girls’ tender privates.

“NO!”

“SLAM!”

“AAAIYEEH!”

The savageness of the blow is both surprising and unnerving. The girl trembles violently. She is in shock. She has never felt a pain that rippled across her whole body. Tears are quickly shed as she struggles rather provocatively from her restraints.

Then the Mongol raises his sword again…

“please… no.” She pleads meekly.

The Mistress smiles with satisfaction. “Ten more licks of the sword.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Responds the warrior.

“NO!” The blonde screams out.

The girl is given a short respite before they begin a new cycle of torment. A second Mongol adjusts the “garrote”. He tightens the device close to choking her but not enough to kill. Now the other Mongol produces the Mistress’ needles and pliers. He kneels down in front of the girl’s privates…

“Now, let her taste the bliss of painful, piercing pleasures.” The Mistress orders.

“NOOOOOOOO!” The Mongol begins to jab her vagina with the needle as he pinches and pulls at it with the pliers. He attacks the labia and the clitoris as well as probing deep into her uterus.

The final act of brutality. With the garrote still wind tight, a warrior examines the girls’ tortured orifice and introduces his thick fingers. He probes and stretches, first with two fingers, then four, and finally forcing all five digits into her poor vagina.

“Stop, I beg of you. I’ll tell you anything!” The girl pleads.

“You may tell me tomorrow, little pony. I would like to see you squirm a little more.” The Mistress professes. “Warrior, make her cum with your fist.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

The asphyxiation and the brutal fisting finally drives the girl over the edge. She climaxes and pisses all over the Mongols arm. The girls wide eyes betray her shock while her hips thrust involuntarily, impaling herself further with the Mongols now lubricated arm.

Early morning. We find the dark haired girl waiting, strapped to a whipping post. The Mistress approaches to address her.

“I believe you are still technically a virgin, my dear. Ponies need not be pure or chaste. Come, we will fix that.”

“No! Please.” The poor girl begs.

“Such petty chastity have no place here. In the end all your high browed kind still moan and cum when all your holes are filled to the brim.” The Mistress stresses

“Mцnke, gather a fourth of the garrison. This pony will be providing some morning entertainment”

“As you wish, Mistress.” Replied the Chieftain.

The Mongols are quick to gather to their Mistress’ side as soon as they are selected for the girls official depucelation.

“Warriors of “The Golden Horde” here is a succulent morsel to slake your appetites. Do with her as you please, but her life still belongs to me.” Their Mistress dictates.

The warriors descend upon the poor girl. They taunt the frightened girl before starting to fondle, pinch and prod her voluptuous curves. They salivate at the prospect of ravaging this delectable creature.

“No!” She screams as she feels the rough, course whip being slid between her legs while callous fingers find their way into her most sensitive portions.

They take the girl to the center of the training yard. There, in full view of the other ponies, she is assaulted repeatedly, forced to accommodate at least three men at a time. The Mongol phallus now spoils her once pristine and chaste orifice. They fill her arse, vagina and throat with the seeds of Mongolian manhood.

Their semen over flow from every opening. The girl gags and chokes, barely able to breath from the thick sticky liquid. But as soon as one group is finished, another takes their place.

By day’s end, the dark haired girl had sexually satisfied nearly 50 men more than twice over. Her every orifice was seeping with semen and her whole body was caked with dirt and Mongol seed.

when night falls, the brunette is finally allowed to rest in her own cell. Her ass and cunt are sore and squishy from Mongol scum. Her whole body aches from the ordeal. She has lost all sense of hope and wonders what more they’re going to do to her. She closes her eyes and tries to dream of her previous life. A life in luxury and splendor. A life far from the squalor of her cell and the pain of her body.

But these dreams are rudely interrupted by the sounds of her cell door opening.

A Mongol warrior enters and at knifepoint, raises the girl’s head to the light. Another person, a woman, approaches to take a closer look. It is the Mistresses apprentice.

“Yes, this one will do.” She muses. “Take her and the other one. They will be suitable for my practice.”

The girl shudders at the woman’s words.

The girl is taken to the main dungeon. They bind her arms once more to her back and her legs as well. The apprentice signals the Mongol to place her on the Iron Horse. He obliges by grasping the girls’ breasts and lifting her onto the horse. The girl weeps as the mans’ powerful hands nearly crush her nipples. She screams madly when he drops her onto the sharpened wedge of the “Iron Horse”. Her body shakes and convulses as her own body weight presses her privates ever deeper on the wedge. Her tormentors are amused at how she straddles the Iron Horse.

Now, a blonde Bohemian girl is placed back to back of the dark haired girl. Their arms and legs are tied to each other. Their necks are tied to a single rope that is then hung on a hook. This partially asphyxiates the two girls and keeps them in an upright state.

Using their legs, they try to lift themselves up from the wedge to relieve the excruciating pain between their thighs and to breath; but as one does this, the other is embedded even more on the wedge. Soon they’re competing with each other, trying to be the first to get some weight off from their tortured privates. And for a moment, they seem like they’re riding the Iron Horse.

“Stop, that!” The apprentice demands. “You two are enjoying yourselves too much.” The two girls can do nothing but obey and sob inconsolably.

“Your breasts are nice and fat, slave. They’ll make wonderful pincushions.” The apprentice exclaims approaching the dark haired girl.

“No! Please, don’t!” Shouts the terrified girl as the woman massages her plump bosoms and presents the needles to torment them with.

“AAAYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

The howling screams begin as the apprentice carelessly drills multiple needles into the girls’ defenceless breast. The Bohemian girl suffered and suffered as the apprentice turned each breast into a forest of needles. Nailing them very slowly in the soft, quivering flesh, always looking into the terrified girl’s eyes with the most sadistic grim drawn in her face…

Tired of the needle game, the apprentice opted to use the hot irons.

After carefully removing all the needles from the girl’s breasts, she placed her victim on a special iron wedge post set unusually high. There the girl is set in a sitting position with her coccyx painfully taking the pressure from her weight to the pointed metal wedge. Her legs are spread wide by ropes tied to the post; her arms are also restrained in similar fashion. A neck collar and a large metal screw driven up her anus by several inches fixes her in place. This leaves her teetering on the iron wedge as the apprentice draw nigh with a metal rod emblazoned by the reddish heat of a furnace.

The girls’ terror could not be described as she feels the heat emanating from the hot iron now positioned over her vaginal mound.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” She shriekes as the burning metal tip slowly begins to touch the hood of her vulva.

The apprentice finds the girls clitoris and starts to burn its tip. The girl is so terrified that she lets loose a stream of piss right on the hot iron causing some steam. The girl’s uncontrolled urination even sprays to the apprentice’s hands.

“Disgusting little whore! I shall have you run through!” The torturer shouts, clearly angered by the girl’s lack of manners.

She positions the hot irons right at the opening of the girl’s vulva. But before she could drive the rod in, the Mistress gestures her to stop. The apprentice obeys and withdraws.

“Do what you wish with the Bohemian girl but this one goes to the Great Khans.” The Mistress explains.

The dark haired girl is removed from the wedge and the Bohemian girl takes her place. A few minutes later everyone could hear the horrific tortured screams of the blonde girl. When morning came a burying cart was seen taking a girls’ body away.

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months as the novice ponies begin to advance in their training. The customary harsh punishments have become routine and discipline is well established in the ranks. Those slow to learn are given the harshest regimens as example to the others.

From time to time some ponies are taken away by new Masters to whom they must serve without question or hesitation until they are resold or are dead.

Some Masters are not satisfied by the flexibility of a particular pony’s posterior and had requested that to be fixed. The Mistress obliges by having the pony’s rear pride open with hot irons. This poor slave writhes in agony, as her anus is burned open for wider entry.

A metal ring would be place in to keep the orifice from closing as physicians tend to the burns. It would take a few weeks for her arse to heal but the new Masters rarely wait that long to take on their prize.

One of the slave masters inspecting the ponies commented that the Great Khan disliked having to exert to much effort in buggering his trophies. The Mistress takes this to heart and brings the two leading pony girls to the dungeon to be fixed. Having more time to modify the pony girls, the Mistress opted to use a fine Christian tool taken from Teutonic Knights.

“I believe they call this a “Pear”. It takes a devious mind to create such an ornate but cruel device.” The Mistress comments. “Don’t worry, I had them wear down the sharp tearing tips. We wouldn’t want to blemish Lord Nevsky’s gifts to the Great Khan.”

“Let’s see, who will be first…Yes, the royal golden girl. The Khan will like you the most.” The Mistress smiles as she toys with the “Pair”, opening and closing it in front of the terrified eyes of the pony girls.

A warrior begins to insert the horrific instrument into the girls well abused posterior. Its’ coarse iron surface scrapes the sensitive membrane walls causing great discomfort and pain. “Please, Mistress. It hurts.” The girl pleads trying to hold back her tears and her humiliated pride.

“It hurts? Wait until he turns the screw, my dear.” Is the the Mistress’ chilly response.

Then the warrior turns the key-like screw.

The girl’s eyes widen as she experiences a pain she has never felt before, especially one so deep within her. She writhes and struggles from her binds as the intrusive device begins to open inside her anus, slowly widening the gape. Each turn of the screw brings ever increasing torrents of pain through the girls ass. Her face is a pallor of shear panic.

At the third turn of the screw she finally lets out a horrible scream. A long agonized piercing cry. A scream of utter distress and total lose. The cry of a woman on the verge of madness.

After letting the “Pear” settle in the slave’s ass for several hours, a warrior takes it out from her distended anus and replaces it with a thick iron bar.

“Aagh! No!” She screams as the warrior forces the metal object deeper into the gape using a heavy mallet.

“We will take it out once a day for you to shit.” The Mistress explains. “Now for our pretty raven hair…”

The Mistress now directs her attention on the slaves’ ornamental requirements. The dark haired girl is the first to suffer the process.

With a ring gag firmly set in her mouth, the girl is sat on to the harlots chair and prepared for the ornamentation. First her nipples, each pulled tightly by pliers then pierced by a long needle at the base. Golden rings are then placed on each pierced nipple. As the girl breaths heavily from her suffering breasts, the rings could be seen glistening whimsically in the candle lit dungeons.

With the same heavy pliers, the man reaches into the girl’s mouth through the ring gag taking firm hold of her tongue. He pulls hard at it. So hard in fact that the poor girl thinks it is completely torn off. She is reassured, albeit painfully, that it is still there when the man drives a needle through it.

Now, with a special golden bolt, her tongue has been made into an instrument of pleasure for her new Masters.

“Be proud , Pony!” The Mistress commands. “Soon you will be the property of the Great Khan. To have the privilege of being used and abused as he sees fit.”

Still quite sore from the piercing, the Mistress takes the girl out of the dungeons. Dragging her by her nipple ring, the Mistress takes the girl to the pony stables to be finally fitted into her harness and bridal attire.

“Today you are no longer a novice pony.” The Mistress says with pride. “Now you are worthy of ownership by the most powerful man on earth.”

“You see, my own mother was once a member of the Russian aristocracy of Raizan.” The Mistress begins her tale to a captivated listener. “She was quite striking and envied by most. Then the Mongol Hordes came and swept across all of the Land of the Rus. She could easily have been raped and killed with her entire family if not for her dexterous tongue and keen ability to satisfy men. Soon enough she was pregnant by one of the lesser Chiefs.”

“Remember, Pony. The Golden Horde are warriors without equal.” The Mistress addresses the girl. “They have laid waste to the armies of the Russian Tzars and crushed all other armies that dared to oppose them. They are quick to the kill as well as the fuck. They are unforgiving and pitiless. They have been known to slaughter whole cities if such a ruthless demonstration suited them.”

“Do not doubt my words for I do not speak from here say but from experience.” She explains looking some what distant.

The following day the sounds of heavy horses are heard from outside the walls of the stone fortress. The commonly stoic Mongol guards appear agitated and apprehensive. A signal from the battlements bring the guards scurrying to open the massive gates for the waiting guest.

The Great Khan has arrived.

The ponies are soon lined up for the scrutiny of the new Master. The two prominent ponygirls are quick to capture the Khans’ attention.

“Those two.” He points turning to the Mistress of the fortress.

“Excellent choice, Oh Great Khan. These are exceptional girls of Royal descent.” She begins their introduction. “The fair haired girl is the Lady Katarina Von Zalza, the illegitimate daughter of the Grand Master of the Templar Knights whom your highness have faced in battle. The raven haired girl is none other than the Lady Beatrix of Brienne niece to the German King Frederick Hohenstaufen. Also rumored to be in fact his illegitimate daughter.

Lady Beatrix of Brienne has always been unlucky with her affairs. Her unfortunate liaison with a dashing Knight of the Teutonic order brought great shame to her family, the house of Hohenstaufen. As punishment, she was stripped of her titles and banished to a harsh convent for almost a year. But with the aid of her estranged cousin, Lady Katarina, she escaped and continued to pursue her affections for the Christian Knight despite the threats from her family.

Her misfortune finally came to a head when she was captured by Prince Nevsky’s troops after the battle of Peipus along with her cousin and confidant, Lady Katarina. They were eventually sent to the Mongols as an appeasement to the Great Khan. Their captors were harsh and never lacking in perverse cruelty.

Upon their arrival to the training Fortress for slave ponies of the Khans, they are made to suffer many indignities, even in rest they made certain the young ladies never felt an ounce of comfort.

When the Mistress of the Fortress finally ringed Lady Beatrix’ nipples for her initiation, her breast were subjected to ever more atrocious maltreatment’s.

Lady Beatrix now finds preferable even the inhuman punishments she received at the convent. There, her ordeal usually meant an occasional beating after prayers or being suspended upside down over a dung pit in the servant quarters.

She even finds preferable the suspension over a furnace, the most severe punishments the nuns could inflict in order to force her to renounce her love for her beloved Knight. Now her life hinges on her ability to endure the ever escalating cycles of pain, abuse and humiliations at the hands of her Mistress and captors.

The Lady Katarina Von Zalza had a very different story, but alas no less tragic. Being born the daughter of the Grand Master of the Templars through a highly illicit affair with a royal courtesan, the Lady Katarina was virtually banished to a life of solitude by her father who intended to keep her existence a secret to the outside world. In the few times she was allowed in society circles, she would be introduced as a distant niece to King Frederick and cousin to Lady Beatrix’. In time Lady Katarina and Lady Beatrix developed a rapport and became friends and confidants.

Besides being born the bastard daughter of Von Zalza, the Lady Katarina was also doubly cursed by both striking beauty and a particularly gracious figure, all in the right places. This of course troubled her father greatly when she came of age and had to place loyal and celibate guards around her. She was now attracting lustful glares and lurid whispers from all the men who had the fortune of glimpsing her.

But tragedy struck when she unsuspecting caught the eye of a particularly foul individual called Reynald, a Knight (speaking loosely of course) form the Holy Lands. He was having an audience with the Grand Master regarding a request for soldiers bound for Palestine. The request was granted and sanctioned by Rome. The delighted Reynald took this opportunity to celebrate by taking liberties in Lady Katarinas’ chambers after bribing the guards. Katarina protested but Reynald, being a man of loathsome character persisted.

The Lady Katarina struggled against the larger man and as if drawing strength from her Templar roots she was able to push back Reynald tripping him on the bed. But as misfortune would have it, as Reynald fell, he did not loosen his grip on the lady. As a consequence, Katarina fell on top of Reynald and was subsequently impaled on his very erect member.

Lady Katarina was both in shock and pain as Reynald’s penis drove deep into her arse. She shrieked in agony as she was nearly split in half by Reynalds’ massive erection.

Taking a fair lesson form Katarinas’ struggle, Reynald took a moment to insure the Lady’s compliance by more restrictive means. Taking some course rope, he hurriedly ties Katarinas’ arms to a stone column. With his prize now properly secured he ingratiates himself upon her body with utter abandon, leaving no orifice unravaged. This vile act would mark the beginning of Lady Katarina Von Zalzas’ downward spiral into the world of dipravity and humiliation.

The incident was an outrage and a direct insult to the Grand Master but he could do little without revealing the truth about his daughter. Meanwhile, his daughter was inconsolable as everything valued to a woman was taken from her. She nearly went mad. Taking measures to limit the damage, Katarina was sent by his father to a convent to rest and heal. But the crafty Reynald ever the opportunist took great interest in the girls plight. His spies revealed the true nature of Katarina and hatched a plan worthy of their master.

Katarina was secretly spirited to a different convent predetermined by Reynald. She will be his pawn.

This convents’ head mistress was Sister Hilaria. A fair looking woman. She was but a young novice when she had the misfortune of meeting Reynald. She too fell under his cruel cudgels. But still young and not knowing any better, she perceived this mans’ assaults as a kind of affection. She began pining for him and agreed to be his agent in the hopes of gaining his favors. Now she is tasked to be Katarina’s watchful steward.

Sister Hilaria was not blind to the fact that Lady Katarina was an exceptional beauty. She knew this woman could one day take Reynald from her. Enraged with seething jealousy, she would take great offense in Katarina’s tiniest transgression. So, more often than not, the Lady Katarina would find herself under the whips Sister Hilaria.

It is the hot summer month of August, in a special chamber for troublesome novices, Katarina is found hanging upside down, reading the good book, naked under the whips of Sister Hilaria who had also stripped down from the terrible heat.

The hot summer months brought a constant stream of misery for Lady Katarina as the sticky hot weather kept Sister Hilaria in a venomous mood. But Sister Hilaria was in no means her only source of torment. There was also the repugnant and dwarfish Pestullio, the grounds keeper and assistant to Sister Hilaria. This vile toad of a man was the scourge of the convent among other things. His very presence brought shivers to all novices and rumours of his hidden deformities run rampant. Should any novice lose favor, it is Pestullio’s hand they fear the most.

Lady Katarina has become familiar with Pestullio’s cruelty, as often, Sister Hilaria’s tortures would be assisted by this Dwarf. Every morning for penitence, Pestullio would drag Katarina from her bed in chains and forced to walk the rounds of the convent.

“Careful, Milady. You wouldn’t want to trip and break that pretty little face. Our Master would no longer be pleased with you if you were in anyway disfigured.” Says the dwarf, shoving his staff at Katarina’s neck as he drags the stumbling girl around the convents grounds.

As they pass the Priory, Pestullio would point to a tall metal rod fixed vertically from the floor. “See that, Milady. Sister Hilaria likes to call it the “Iron Stick” but I prefer to name it the “Trolls Cock”. You’ll love riding that. The site is quite amusing. I hear fair maidens who have taken a ride on the Trolls Cock are never the same again.

Katarina shudders at the though.

A day later a messenger brought word to Sister Hilaria that her master, Lord Reynald was coming to visit her ward. The good sister was of course beset with jealousy and plotted incessantly on Lady Katarina’s person.

She decides to punish her as if she were a harlot, by means of the “Iron Stick”, Pestullio’s favorite. Hoping the girl’s distended features would not be in Reynalds taste.

Two novices were sent to prepare Lady Katarina for her ordeal. To keep the young novices from enjoying too much the misfortune of their colleague, the novices were stripped naked from the waste up to shame them as they shackle Katarina.

The novices assist in lifting Katarina over the intimidating device. But as soon as the cold metal touched her soft flesh, Katarina panics and screams for mercy.

“Please, Sister Hilaria. What ever sin I have committed, I am truly sorry. Please forgive me!” She pleads as the novices hesitate.

Pestullio, not wanting to miss a good show quickly started beating the novices with his staff, forcing them to let go of Katarina and letting her slide onto the “Iron Stick”.

Katarina was too shocked to scream at first as her mind grasps the nature of her agony. The stretching of her orifice to near breaking points and the strange fullness deep within her womb. But the undeniably excruciating pain eventually overwhelms all reason and Katarina lets out a shrill desperate cry.

Sister Hilaria could barely contain her glee.

The novices retreat, sobbing from the scene as Pestullio takes a closer inspection of Katarina’s impalement. He takes hold of her shapely rump a literally drives her down into the bulbous head of the stick. She lets out a horrific scream as her body feels the cold bulbous end drill deeper into her womb.

Some of the novices turned away from the scene and left the priory altogether, others, with more questionable character stayed to watch the cruel spectacle.

Not satisfied with Lady Katarina’s suffering, Pestullio takes his fat, sharp nailed fingers and thrust them in the girls arse. He force two, then three, then four fingers into her puckered opening. Katarina, now hoarse from all the screaming could do no more than to shed torrents of tears as the loathsome dwarf cruelly disfigure her pristine anus to the delight of Sister Hilaria and the less demure novices.

After this experience, Lady Katarina swore to take matters into her own hands and fled the convent in the cover of darkness. And learning that her friend Beatrix was in similar circumstances also aided her in her flight.

Lady Katarina wanted to return home but realized that Lord Reynald’s men would probably be waiting for her along the way. Beatrix on the other hand demanded to go east into the Rus lands to follow her beloved Knight. She was very adamant about her pursuits and in the end Katarina relented. They quietly shadowed the Teutonic Crusaders as they tore a bloody path through the harsh Russian landscape. They soon became witness to the unchristian acts these warriors of god were well inclined in doing. The slaughter of both Pagan and Orthodox Christians was all too much to bear for poor Lady Beatrix. She turned her horse towards the next town to warn them, Lady Katarina had no choice but to follow. But they were too late, they have run into a foraging detachment of Crusaders who had just finished burning and pillaging the town.

The Knights from the Teutonic Order recognized the Lady Beatrix of Brienne and Lady Katarina. Despite the fact that Lady Beatrix was stripped of her titles she was still accorded preferential treatment and was not unduly harmed. Lady Katarina on the other hand, being known as the illegitimate daughter of the Master of Templars, a rival order was given a much harsher reception.

“So this is the bastard daughter of Master Von Zalza. You should be ashamed. A daughter of such a pious man to have a lascivious affair with Lord Reynald. You bring shame to all the Crusading Orders with your whoring ways.” Shouts the Knight as he begins to fondle Katarina’s bosoms.

“It was not an affair! That bastard Reynald raped me!” Katarina exclaims.

“Indeed. With a body like yours, who could blame him, right men.” Mocks the Knight.

The women were taken to the Crusader’s encampment and were separated. Lady Beatrix found her beloved knight and threw herself at the bewildered warrior. The Knight properly castigates Beatrix on her inappropriate behavior but otherwise gave her a warm welcome.

Lady Katarina was not so fortunate; lacking anyone to defend her honor she was taken to a makeshift gallows and put to the stocks. Every stitch of clothing was stripped from her body as the crusaders watched and gawked at her nakedness. The ranking officers among the Teutons were the first to take liberties with Lady Katarinas vulnerable person. They did not hesitate one bit as they promptly sodomized her in front of the other men.

Lady Katarina cried from both pain and shame. She knew very well that there was no more hiding of her indignities. News of her shattered honor will no doubt spread among the crusading orders and to the ears of her father. She could not bear the though of such shame. So she silently endured the withering abuse as she contemplated ending her own life. She felt she could go no lower than where she was now. The Lady Katarina was so sadly mistaken.

When the Crusading army was decidedly defeated at Peipus, the two women were left behind. With little knowledge of their surroundings and lacking a good horse to spirit them away, they fell into the hands of Prince Alexander Nevsky of Novgorod and became token gifts for their Mongol overlords.

Alas in the end, the Lady Katarina found herself lacking the courage to kill herself for fear of the consequences in the after life. So, like a good Christian girl, she somberly accepted all the tortures and torments her new masters inflicted upon her. She has finally accepted her cruel plight.

She was now the slave of the great Khan Hulagu, a man of ill temper and murderous passions. He had already killed off his previous batch of slaves and was intent on replacing them before his Horde begin their conquest of the Middle East.

“Hmm, I like this one. Her breasts are fat and jiggles well with the rings. Ready her for a little jaunt about the fortress but dry her out first.” The Khan commands

A couple of Mongol warriors take Katarina aside. They take a large phallic shaped wooden rod, wrapped in course canvas and shoves in into her vaginal opening, twisting it as it went in. The sudden shock of the intrusive device bring out a pained scream from Katarina’s lips. Despite the regularity of these abuses, she could never get used to it.

“Stop squirming or I’ll flay off your tits.” The other Mongol commands as he takes his knife and cradles one of Katarinas breasts on the edge of the blade.

The touch of cold steel quiets the trembling Katarina as she endures the scrapping of the dry canvas inside her sensitive privates. But her legs were beginning to buckle from the sensation so the Mongols opted to leash her to a whipping frame for the duration of their task.

In Katarina’s mind, her rape by the wooden rod seemed to last forever. When it finally ended she gave a cautious sigh of relief. Unfortunately for poor Katarina, the Mongols were not finished.

Now properly dried, another Mongol taking an iron thong, pinches and pulls at Katarina’s bare pubic mound. She nearly faints from agony as a long sharp needle pierces one side of her pubis, perforating right through to the other side.

Satisfied with the piercing, Khan Hulagu presents a large golden ring. The warrior takes the ring and runs it through Katarinas throbbing pubis. The ordeal was so excruciating that Katarina could not help but let out a distressing wail.

The Mongols finally presents Lady Katarina to Khan Hulagu with both nipples and pubis now adorned with trinkets of precious metals. A hint of satisfaction appears on the Mongol Chiefs weathered face.

“Well, my bountiful slave. We will soon see if your value is greater than the sum of the gold that adorns your flesh. If you are found lacking, I’ll have your limbs broken and your ass mounted by my favorite stallion.”

Those words brought a pallor of dread to Katarina’s hidden face. She knows very well, these are not idle threats. The glitter of the golden rings betray the trembling fear now coursing through her body.

“But first I will need a new whip. This one is old and withered.” Exclaimed Khan Hulagu as he turns towards the Mistress.

The Mistress respectfully takes the whip from Hulagu’s hands and inspects the instrument.

” I see, My Lord. It has grown soft and smooth from too much use.” She voices her observation.

She signals to Mцngke to furnish the Great Khan with a new whip. Khan Hulagu examines the craftsmanship of this new implement and makes a few practice swipes at the air, listening to its tell tale song.

” It splits the air quite nicely. But the only true test of a whip is by its use.”

“Would you care to test it on the back of this slave, My Lord.” The Mistress suggests, pointing to a trembling blond novice, strapped to a whipping post totally nude.

“Hah! That is no way to test a real whip.” He mused. ” Build her a frame of good timber and ready my strongest rider. I will show you how to test the quality of a whip.”

In an open field outside the walls the Mongols hurriedly built the frame from which the naked blond girl is propped and splayed out, suspended with legs spread wide in a fashion similar to the tanning of leather hides. Her joints aching as her trembling body is stretched in a rack like manner. She pleads to the Mistress for mercy and relief from her painful racking. The Mistress only nodded in approval. The girl was now ready to receive the terrible blows of the new whip.

The Mongols gather to watch the coming spectacle

The Mongol rider takes the whip from the Khan and gallops 100 yards from the splayed girl. His mount is agitated and very eager. With a signal from Hulagu, the Mongol charges at the girl.

Even under the leather hoods, the ponygirls heard the unfamiliar thud of the whip. It sounded more like a mace hitting a wine gourd. Then they heard a god awful scream. A scream so shrill that they thought it was a wounded animals howl.

The girl on the frame was bellowing from agony. The whip has struck a breast and it nearly popped open from the devastating blow. Blood could be seen trickling from it. But the test of the whip was no where near complete. The rider was racing from behind and unleashed two swift blows on her back and buttocks.

The girl cries out with all her strength. She desperately wanted to faint or die rather than be subjected further to this torture.

Now the Mongol rider was charging from the front again. This time he plants one single withering blow on both breasts right at the level of the nipples. This time one breast literally spit open, spraying blood and bits of flesh.

The girl was now in shock and her throat had gone hoarse from screaming.

The rider turns to Khan Hulagu. The Khan gestures him to continue. He does so, this time he charged again from the front and delivers a morbid blow at the girls clef. Almost immediately both blood and piss spilt on the ground at the foot of the frame.

The Mongol rider made many more passes on the poor girl. With every pass, an explosion of blood and flesh. There was no more screaming to be heard only the sound of the blunt blows of the whip.

No one knows exactly at what point the girl gave up the ghost, but by the time the rider had made his seventh pass the girl was inanimate.

The Khan finally signals the rider to stop, knowing there was no joy to be had from beating a corpse.

He is handed the blood soaked whip and looks at the hanging pieces of flesh that was once a girl. He nods in satisfaction.

Khan Hulagu, satisfied with the performance of the whip, returns to his new ponygirl, Katarina who was now being readied for her first jaunt.

The ponygirl is forced to straddle the swivelling guide shaft of a specially built chariot. The guide shaft was tipped with a carving of a laugh face, plated in gold. A 6″ long, 2″ diameter steel studded rod becomes the anchor point, penetrating her vagina and fixing the girls position along the shaft just behind the laughing face. A hook at the back of the laughing face clasps the ring on the girls pubis to keep the rod and shaft from slipping off.

The Khan commands fifty men to take positions around the fortress 500 paces apart, each with whips at the ready. Their orders were to strike at the ponygirl as the chariot passed and to be especially harsh when striking at her nipples and clef.

The chariot was made of strong oak with the weight of the guide shaft being born solely by her throbbing pubic mound. The pain was so great that she could barely notice the intrusion of the studded wooden rod reaming her vagina.

Katarina was finally relieved from the terrible stress when Khan Hulagu stepped on the chariot, countering the weight of the shaft as well as driving the studied rod full length into Katarina’s orifice. Katarina buckled a bit when the tip of the rod hit her cervix but she was quick to regain composure.

The chariot’s reigns were then affixed to Katarina’s nipple rings. Blinded by the hood she would be led by the painful tugs on her nipples.

A lash of the whip to the buttocks and the tug of the reigns begin Katarina’s jaunt.

They circle the fortress with Katarina under the constant lash of both Hulagu and any Mongol warrior they came upon. Katarina feared more the whips of the lesser Mongols as their blows more often struck her tender, swollen nipples already bearing the weight of the reigns.

The following day, Khan Hulagu and his entourage prepare to depart with the new ponygirls as well as a retinue of novices for his chiefs and warriors. The slaves, all kept naked, are shackled with heavy wooden yokes. They’re heads were covered with thick leather hoods that kept them deaf and blind. Ring gags were fastened to their mouth, keeping it wide open and ready to take in any man’s cock that wished to be serviced. They were guided to their places by the prodding of a warriors pointed mace and the occasional stinging of a breast whip. At anytime during the journey a warrior need only to tip them over and he can ingratiate himself on the girls.

Khan Hulagu’s caravan will join up with the great horde in a few days. The journey is long , many battles to be fought and much blood to be spilled. The Mongol invasion of the Middle East now begins.

The End

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Wooden Chair [CORTEZ]

Wooden Chair

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The Wooden Chair
by Cortez. All rights reserved
Posted November 12th, 2003

‘Get your filthy hands off me…Jenny…JENNY! HELP ME!Т Samantha Lewis screamed in terror and fury as two of the Internal Security officers manning the road block dragged her from the battered hire car. Jenny Ondougu didnТt answer; two other officers had grabbed her too; thrown her to the ground and one of them had his fingers digging into her throat so all she could manage was a feeble, strangled gasping noise as she threshed around on the dusty track.

Minutes later the two women were gagged and hooded, hands tied behind their backs and in the back of a truck heading back into the city. The hire car was a distant plume of reddish dust in the opposite direction. The normal sounds of urban life slowly returned and people emerged from houses and shacks as the sound of the vehicles faded. No one looked, no-one commented; they had learned from bitter experience that it was healthier if such things were simply not noticed.

The two of them had only met two days before on the flight from Nairobi. Nineteen year old Samantha, blonde, pretty and foolishly unaware of just how dangerous this part of the world could be for someone of her age, colour and appearance could be, was just one of the many thousands of young students taking a chance to travel and explore before starting her university course.

Jenny Ondougu had been in the next seat on the long, boring flight. Thirty years old, attractive and divorced and very self-assured, she worked for on of the human rights organisations that were trying to deal with the excesses of the military governmentТs bloody and oppressive regime. TheyТd got talking and, discovering SamanthaТs predicament, Jenny had offered her a spare bed for a night or so whilst she tried to get a flight out.

SheТd also tried to tell her new friend about the dangers she faced every day. Samantha had listened politely, but as someone used to a generally law-abiding society, she simply couldnТt believe what she was being told about the corruption and sadistic brutality of the regime. Jenny had tried so hard; she had even told her about how the security forces routinely tortured detainees, using electric shocks on the genitals, especially where a woman was being questioned.

She only understood on Tuesday morning when she went with Jenny to her office, or what remained of it. ThereТd been a panicky brief and anonymous call to say they were being raided…then nothing. When they got there all that remained of the building was a blackened shell; inside there was nothing but a mass of ash and charred timbers a blizzard of scraps of burned paper swirled around in the wind. The jostling crowd was being kept back by a heavy police presence, each constable using his long cane enthusiastically and indiscriminately on anyone within range.

An old man appeared at JennyТs open window and the two of them had a rapid muttered conversation, money changed hands and he disappeared into the seething crowd. СJumoТs our caretaker. He was next door when the raid took place. HeТs taking a risk talking with the police there…it was those Internal Security bastards. He said it was me they really wanted…Т

She paused as she manoeuvred the car through the milling crowds. СLook, I know this is nothing to do with you…but, IТm sorry I canТt risk going back to the flat at present. Have you left anything vital there?Т

Samantha swallowed nervously, now all those things sheТd been told were all too real. СN-no nothing apart from clothes and my camera; IТve got my money and passport with me here.Т She patted the black bag slung across her shoulder.Т

СThank God for that, right, IТll drop you at the airport then head on for the border.Т She thumped the wheel. СThis heap of junk is hired so itТll be no loss if I have to dump it. Oh damn,Т she murmured to herself.

СWhatТs the matter?Т

СWrong side of town, itТs going to take us an hour or so to get through the outskirts but I darenТt take the main roads.Т

Five minutes later they reached the road block and capture.

Samantha squirmed and yelled, her frantic pleas muffled by the horrible, stinking hood when half an hour later she was pulled at long last from the truck. No words, just hands holding her, plus heavy breathing and smell of lots of men…then more hands; pinching and tweaking her breasts through the thin tee shirt, fondling her bottom and probing between her thighs as she was forced along at a near trot. She could only whimper and plead as she was half dragged, half carried down concrete steps then along another echoing corridor.

СNice private room for you…donТt worry…weТll be back for you soon.Т All she knew it was a manТs voice then she was sent stumbling forwards to crash into the far wall of the tiny cell. The iron door slammed and Samantha Lewis, only eighteen and a half years old, slid down the wall to curl up one the floor, sobbing uncontrollably into the hot, stinking darkness of the black hood.

СTake it off.Т In a whitewashed bare room at the other end of the underground corridor, Jenny Ondougu blinked, shaking her head to clear it as the stifling hood was roughly removed. The room was small, only about ten feet square, and empty, apart from the grinning cruel-faced men holding her and two other people who were standing waiting for her. A solid looking wooden chair in the middle of the floor seemed to be the only item of furniture. It was marked and scratched with long use, and Jenny could see that metal strips had been bolted on to reinforce the joints of the seat and legs. Jenny tried not to look at the chair because she didnТt want to think of what was to come.

Jenny knew instinctively that it was the man in front of her who really mattered, he and the slim, severe looking young woman next to him. He was in his mid fifties; rake thin with a skull-like face that seemed to be all harsh lines and angles. His wiry hair was speckled with grey, the colour almost matching the soft expensive grey of his lightweight suit. His ebony skin showed off the very pale blue of his Italian cotton shirt, worn without a tie and open at the neck.

The woman was only in her twenties, not tall but slim with a muscular, boyish figure and small pointy breasts. She was dressed mannishly, like the guards, in a short-sleeved white shirt but with a short black skirt rather than trousers. Her hair was cut close, trimmed to no more than a black fuzz that emphasised her high cheek bones and thick, full lips. In the moist heat her brown skin gleamed, shiny as polished leather. Her only touch of colour was a vivid pink gloss on her lips and nails

The man studied her through Ghandi-like glasses; small round lenses in plain wire frames. СMy name is Kipengi, Jonas Kipengi…my rank is unimportant. It is sufficient for you to understand that I can do what I wish in matters of National Security.Т A brief flicker of amusement showed on his face. СThis is Sergeant NТdaga. Please do not be misled by her youthful appearance. She has a talent for this work as you will quickly discover…her preference is to work on women,Т he paused and let his eyes rake up and down JennyТs body. СEspecially the more attractive ones.Т

The young sergeant was breathing a little heavily as the man spoke, the sharp points of her breasts showing hard under the taut cotton with each movement of her chest. Jenny Ondougu shuddered as she saw the obvious arousal, the sadistic excitement in the sergeantТs eyes at the thought that she was going to be allowed to dominate and hurt another woman…using her own knowledge of a womanТs most sensitive places to extract the maximum pleasure from her victimТs screaming agony.

СStrip her,Т Jonas Kipengi said calmly. The guards grabbed JennyТs wrists so her arms were pulled out sideways then twisted viciously forcing her to arch back, lifting onto tiptoe to try and reduce the tearing pressure on her elbows and shoulders. СSergeant NТdaga always likes to start things off,Т he murmured conversationally, СI suggest you remain still…the knife is very sharp.Т

Jenny shuddered as she caught the familiar sharp scent of sexual excitement as the womanТs body came closer. She shut her eyes, head turned away denying the touch as slim, elegant fingers grazed across her breasts. She felt a gentle stream of warm air on her ear then a soft, throaty whisper. СPretty…I like long nipples…ah; you like having your tits stroked…you want me to play with them?Т

There was a brief tug, the hiss of a knife slicing cloth and another tug followed by a sharp СsnickТ. Jenny felt the air suddenly cool on her belly as her ruined blouse gaped open then the sudden loss of support as her bra was cut through and the cups fell away from her breasts. The young womanТs hands touched her again, cradling the firm brown cones while her breath blew across their black tips. As JennyТs body reacted, her thumbs grazed the peaks of both nipples bringing them to full erection. СSee what I mean…oh…oh yes…nice, very nice…sensitive too.Т

СLeave me alone you bitc…Naaaah!Т JennyТs furious response ended in a scream of pain as the young woman used her fingers and thumbs like two pairs of pincers; squeezing the out-thrust nipples viciously.

СNo names…itТll only make it worse,Т she hissed. The fingers tightened again, this time twisting as well so Jenny gasped and bucked at the fresh, stabbing pains. СDo you understand me…you terrorist slut!Т

СY-yes.Т

The fingers released their grip and Jenny heard another soft СsnickТ as the knife sliced through the fastening of her skirt and it fell to the ground with a slithering whisper of sound. There was a pause, a moment filled by a low growl of appreciation from the two guards as they saw the rest of their prisonerТs body for the first time, her genitals emphasised by a brief thong in glossy black. The young womanТs clever, expert fingers cupped the plump bulge through the thin fabric, gently squeezing her cunt lips in a deliberate milking action that made the thirty year old executive squirm uncontrollably. Jenny Ondougu could feel the wash of hot embarrassment spreading up her chest and face as her body responded and she felt the wetness oozing from her to soak the tight, clinging panties.

СN-N-N-Naaaaah!Т

The gasp was involuntary; Jenny bucked her hips forwards as her young tormentor hooked her index finger and drew it back along the line of her slit just pressing inwards lightly to touch those sensitive inner folds, the nail setting up an exquisite, tormenting vibration as it scratched against the wet silk. Twice more, each time pressing just a little harder and the woman chuckled again.

A movement in the air made Jenny open her eyes as she caught the sharp, coppery tang of her own juices in her nostrils. The young woman was smiling at her and rubbing her fingers together, holding them close to JennyТs nose. The finger tips gleamed wet with sticky moisture. On either side the men moved and shifted, their breathing heavier with sexual excitement as they watched the outstretched woman being masturbated and teased for their entertainment.

Two more swift cuts and the ruined panties joined the rest of JennyТs clothes on the floor. Now the men could see everything; the neatly trimmed black patch of curls arrowing down to the plump, shaved cunt lips, the bulge of her mound and the way those thick cunt lips were now gleaming wet and slightly parted to reveal a tiny flash of her pink, inner flesh with every movement.

BDSMwChair01.jpg (78639 bytes)

The young woman lifted her hands and gently gripped the points of JennyТs breasts. She pinched hard again but this time Jenny bucked but clamped her lips together and said nothing. The woman smiled again, as if some unspoken challenge had been accepted. Still holding her nipples she moved to the side, forcing Jenny towards the wooden chair.

СSit down.Т Jenny obeyed. СArms over the back and legs apart,Т the fingers twisted…just a little and Jenny gasped, struggling to do as she was told. The two men holding her arms twisted them down over the wooden chair back, making her wince as a thin nylon cuff was looped over her wrists and zipped tight. More of the unbreakable nylon ties were used to secure her ankles, doubled back and tied high up just under the seat so she was forced to sit with her thighs splayed wide apart.

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With no chance to struggle and her ankles secured the two men took their time with the rest of what was obviously a familiar routine. Straps around each knee, buckled just above the joint and round the chair legs ensured her legs remained splayed wide and there was no way she could clamp her legs together and shield the gaping slit of her genitals from their obscene attentions.

She was forced to arch up, thrusting her breasts out even more when as they tied her bound wrists to the bottom strut of the rear legs then pulled the cord tight dragging her arms down behind her. Finally a single, wider strap was passed under her breasts and round the chairТs back then buckled tight, preventing her lifting clear of the chair when the torture began. One of the men tweaked the out-thrust tip of her left breast and there was a roar of laughter from both of them.

Jonas Kipengi waved them out of the way. СTime for a little talk, Mrs OndouguТ he said quietly, leaning forwards and adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses as he spoke. СAbout the organisation, names, addresses…just the routine things really.Т

СWe had permission to operate from the authorities…! Your stupid, fucking gorillas burned our records along with everything else this morning or youТd know it too.Т She tried to keep the tremors out of her voice. Like the man in front of her, she knew this conversation was futile…just part of the nasty, sadistic game they enjoyed so much.

СAh no, no not that organisation…the other one…the one that isnТt supposed to exist.Т

СI work for Kangali Aid…youТve got my papers there.Т She nodded towards the file in the manТs right hand. СThere no other organisation and you bastards know that.Т

Jonas Kipengi smiled and leafed through the file again. СThen it seems weТll have to help your memory, Miss Ondougu.Т.

СYou can fuck off you pervert! IТve…Т

СSplaatt!Т

The manТs open palm smashed into the side of the pinioned womanТs face so hard the chair scraped sideways across the bare concrete. He smiled thinly. СThink about your situation for a moment…rudeness is not clever.Т He snapped his fingers and the two guards carried a small table that had been hidden behind the door to one side of the torture chair. On the top was a mahogany box, about the size of a shoebox with two brass terminals at the back and a small brass and bakelite handle sticking out of the right side. Next to it was a loosely coiled jumble of red and black wires and some unidentifiable shiny metal objects.

Sergeant NТdaga bent over, her fingers busy untangling the wires. The man held up his hand. СBefore the Sergeant here gets to work, let me tell you what is going to happen now. YouТve had your chance but refused to give me the information I require.Т He patted the box, Сthis is my little persuader…so much more civilised than all those beatings, needles under the nails…things like that. ItТs a field telephone set…a magneto in other words. It produces an electrical current.Т

Jonas smiled and paused, relishing JennyТs expression of sick understanding. СSergeant NТdaga will attach the wires to your body and I will use the magneto to pass a current through the wires.Т He looked round at the guardТs eager, grinning black faces. СThe men like this little show…I know theyТre going to enjoy your performance a lot more than you will.Т He paused, his fingers caressing the worn and polished handle of the magneto. СEventually, Mrs Ondougu, and after much pain, you will tell me what I want to know…everyone does, sooner or later.Т The smile widened, СIТll leave you to guess where the Sergeant will put the electrodes…being a woman sheТs so much better at finding exactly the right places…Т

The young woman flicked her pink tongue lizard-like across her lips as she moved towards Jenny holding red and black wires in her left hand. Each one had a small metal fitting connected to the bared end. Jenny could see that each wire was already attached to one of the brass terminals on the back of the ominous looking wooden box. The young sergeant grinned as Jenny wriggled and heaved uselessly against her bonds; her head shaking in furious denial as she saw the fittings were electrical connectors, the kind they called Сalligator clipsТ because of their long, toothed jaws.

СOh yes, you know what these are for then?Т Sergeant NТdaga held out one of the clips and pressed the end so the jaws opened and Jenny could see the sharp, triangular teeth lining each edge. СJust right for those nice long titties of yours so letТs get them all stiff again,Т she giggled, licking the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. She reached across daintily and gently rolled and rubbed JennyТs left nipple. The terrified businesswoman arched back, muscles clenched tight as she tried to avoid the inevitable reaction but to no avail. The sergeant licked her fingers again, working the now-slippery teat so it rose and stiffened to full, jutting hardness once more.

СOh yes, plenty to grip on now,Т she chuckled as she steadied the black tip of JennyТs nipple between the open jaws and slowly relaxed her grip. Jenny arched back as brass touched flesh, her breath hissing through clenched teeth as she tried to ride the pain of those teeth biting into such a tender place then…

СNnnnnngggg! N-N-Naaah-aaaaah!Т

The half-stifled cry was forced from her in another spasm of pain as the young sergeant smiled down at her victim and deliberately squeezed the brass jaws together, pinching the nerve-laden stub in an agonising vice as the teeth bit deeper. When she finally let go little pinpoints of blood welled out along the edge of the jaws.

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Satisfied with the placing of the first clip, Sergeant NТdaga repeated the careful stimulation of JennyТs other nipple before attaching the other electrode, again pressing the teeth down into the delicate tissues so Jenny bucked in an involuntary spasm. This time, seeing that Jenny was bracing herself for the vicious stabbing pain, she pressed even harder trying to extract another stifled scream from her victim.

СWell, well think youТre a tough lady…in five minutes youТll be squealing like a baby…Т She walked away leaving the shivering thirty year executive squirming helplessly on the wooden chair. In the sudden silence, everyone could hear the racing panting of JennyТs breathing. Her head twisted to and fro as she stared round desperately, still unable to believe what they were about to do to her. Her body was filmed with sweat and the brass electrodes gripping her nipples shivered and jiggled with every breath.

All she could see round her were cruel pitiless faces, each one tense with obscene excitement. She bent her head forward and Jonas Kipengi smiled as he watched. No different from all the others, he thought, before the first time they always look down like that. Next thing sheТll follow the wires back to the box and then…

Unaware of how predictable her response was, Jenny did just that, tracing the swaying black and red wires from the tips of her breasts back to the terminals on the mahogany box. The man stood still awaiting the right moment, left hand resting on the polished top of the box…his right hand resting on the little brass and bakelite handle.

СWatch my hand, Mrs Ondougu,Т he said…and he turned the handle.

For long seconds there was nothing, just a rising whine from the box.

СAaaaaaaahhh!Т

Jenny Ondougu snapped back in a quivering bow, every muscle shivering taut as the current blazed through her nipples. No words, just a single desperate and half-stifled gasp of agony through clenched teeth as she rode the first fizzing shock. Twenty seconds…thirty…the man stopped turning the handle and she slumped down, chest heaving, her breath coming in huge gasps while thin trickles of saliva tinged with blood from her bitten tongue dribbled from the corners of her mouth.

For a moment it seemed she wanted to say something. Her mouth opened and she looked at the grinning faces round the chair…then the man turned the handle again, faster this time and Jenny OndouguТs body arched back again.

СNnnnnnaaaaaah!Т

Each time the magneto whined there was that slight pause before the woman strapped to the chair bucked into another spasm of agony. Each time she kept her teeth clenched tight as she tried to control the animal noises forced from her by the fizzing current searing through her nipples.

Jonas Kipengi nodded, acknowledging her courage…and his hand turned the handle a little faster.

СAhhhhh Naaarrrgghh…Gaaaaaaaahh!Т

Sweat drops flicked off in showers as she vibrated and bucked under the hot kiss of the electric current. This time he played with her, letting the note of the magneto rise and fall so she was twisted and arched again and again by the changing force of the shocks. Each time the current peaked she was bowed back so hard that her chest thrust out with each rib showing and it seemed as though she was deliberately offering her tortured breasts for her tormentorsТ special pleasure.

After twenty minutes, the whining song died away and Jenny Ondougu, only semi-conscious now, sagged down again, trembling violently. This time her head lolled forwards, her eyes closed to mere slits while her mouth hung open so thick ropes of saliva drooled onto the upper slopes of her breasts. In the sudden silence everyone heard liquid trickling from between her splayed thighs and dripping from the edge of the wooden seat to join a spreading pool on the bare concrete beneath the chair.

The young sergeant pushed her head back. СWetting yourself, thatТs naughty…let me have a look a moment.Т Jenny jerked back, suddenly awake again as she felt the womanТs fingers cupping her left breast.

СAaaah N-No D-DonТt t-touch meeeeee!Т JennyТs voice lifted into a shriek as the grinning woman twisted the brass clip…

СReady to talk…?Т the woman said, flicking the end of the clip with one finger. СOr shall we try somewhere else…? Her finger traced down the smooth curve of JennyТs abdomen and through the carefully trimmed patch of hair to touch the very top of her cunt slit. СPut one of those clips on this stiff little clit …Т her finger stroked the naked split…just feathering across the peak of pink flesh peeping from between the parted lips.

СOh God! Oh G-God! Oh p-please…please d-d-donТt…aaaah…p-p-please…nuh…pleeeeese!Т

The two guards shuffled closer, stroking the thick obvious bulges in their black trousers, surreptitiously masturbating at the sight of that slim, pink-tipped finger gently fretting the tortured womanТs clitoris, each caress forcing her to jerk and move even though the tiniest movement jarred the electrodes. Electrodes clamped to nipples that were now so horribly swollen that the taut flesh looked almost polished, like ripe berries held between the toothed, brass jaws.

The sergeant looked up at her shivering victim as her finger pressed and circled gently, watching the expressions of pain and growing, unwanted pleasure on the womanТs tear-stained face. She heard the manТs voice through the fog of her agony. СThe sergeant asked you a question, Mrs Ondougu…we havenТt heard an answer.Т

Jenny shook her head violently in an attempt to distract her mind from that delicate, skilful touch that was slowly driving her to the brink of coming despite the pain. СN-nothing to s-say…told you…aaaaah!Т She drew in her breath with a hiss as the edge of the sergeantТs nail just scraped the moist, exposed bulb now peeping clear of its fleshy hood. СT-told you…thereТs nothing e-else…nuh…naaaaah…aaaah!Т The sergeantТs finger flickered back and forth and the pinioned woman strained against the ties holding her down.

СA moment, Sergeant,Т the man said quietly. Jenny gasped with relief as the tormenting stimulation suddenly ceased but the gasp changed to a frantic pleading as the man continued, СI think itТs time for a change…one up inside and the other on the clitoris. WeТll see how stubborn Mrs Ondougu really wants to be.Т

СNoooooo, you canТt noooooo Pleeeeesssssseee! ARRGGH!Т

The pleas became a scream as her young tormentor jerked the clips free from her nipples; Sergeant NТdaga giggled at the two sharp СclicksТ as each one was ripped off. Letting the wires dangle from one hand she leaned over and kissed the bloody tip of JennyТs left breast. СJust you wait till these are swollen a bit more…then youТll feel it when we put the clips on again.Т She smiled and kissed the other abused stub as Jenny wriggled and panted at the thudding agony of returning circulation, a feeling that the drum taut peaks of her breasts were going to split open at any moment.

As Sergeant NТdaga spoke her fingers were was busy with the wires. Jenny realised that each alligator clip was on a push connector so it could be easily removed. This time the grinning sergeant had attached the black wire to a polished metal probe about six inches long that looked like some deformed metal penis…A curved, finger thick shaft swelling to a bulbous crest the size of a small egg, the whole thing was made of gleaming chrome apart from a small black plastic disc near the base and an abbreviated black insulated rubber finger grip below that.

JennyТs smiling torturer knelt between her knees, carefully avoiding the damp patch on the floor. Holding the probe by the base, she stroked the gleaming bulb up and down the wet lips of JennyТs cunt, coating it with a film of slippery juices. Craning forwards and staring down at her own genitals in terror, the thirty year old business woman finally realised that it didnТt matter if she gave in or not…they were enjoying torturing her too much and they were going to go on doing these obscene things to her until her body could take no more.

As the bulb pressed against the opening of her vagina, Jenny also understood why the young sergeant had been allowed to masturbate her so obviously during the torture. Her own wetness would improve the electrical contact; not just that but in her aroused state every part of her cunt, especially her clit, would be ultra sensitive. Jenny heaved against the straps as the wide bulb stretched the opening but she couldnТt resist because her own arousal allowed the sergeant to slide the probe easily up into her body.

СAaaah!Т

Just a single gasp of protest as the stretching sensation became painful then the sudden cold fullness deep inside as the metal cock popped through the ring and curved up into her body…deep enough that she could feel the pressure of that domed head against the mouth of her cervix. The plastic collar pressed tightly against the pink inner folds of her cunt leaving only the rubber finger grip protruding, and the black wire snaking out between her parted thighs.

СAnd this oneТs for that special place,Т Jenny stared at the red wire the woman was holding out to her. This time the little clip was silver, like a tiny pair of pincers. The sergeant held it open so Jenny could see the toothed front edges and then reached down and parted the dark brown outer lips to reveal the pink inner folds of JennyТs cunt. She stretched the flesh even wider, pressing down so the shiny pearl of JennyТs clitoris stuck right out. Very delicately she moved the clip until the little bulb was between the jaws then paused, stared back up into her victimТs panic-filled eyes as she slowly let the teeth close around the base of the shivering business womanТs clit.

Jenny had already braced herself but she couldnТt contain an anguished whimper as the metal points bit into her most sensitive place. The whimpers became a rapid, frantic panting as the sergeant got up and moved out of the way and Jenny saw the man touch the handle.

СNothing to say I presume,Т he said quietly, looking at the terrified face of the woman in the chair. СYou will have my dear…in a little while, you will have,Т and his hand moved the handle, slowly and deliberately, and the whine of the diabolical machine filled the room again.

СNnnnnnnnnnnnaaaarrrrggghhh!Т

This time there was no stifling her screams of agony. Jenny OndouguТs body snapped taut against the restraints; muscles and sinews showing in cruel, vibrating relief as the current sent her into an uncontrollable spasm of agony. Despite the strap beneath her breasts she arched up from the seat of the chair bucking her hips as though trying to fuck the air. Her head was thrown back, mouth stretched wide in a fixed grimace and eyes bulging out to stare blindly at the cracked plaster of the grubby ceiling.

For ten long minutes he kept the torture going. With the diabolical skill of an expert he kept her on the squealing, unbearable edge of raw agony; stopping, and then starting again immediately his shuddering victim had taken a few breaths to recover. Jenny OndouguТs screams became more and more frantic until each new turn of the handle produced a piercing, mindless squeal that was hardly human.

In the pauses the pitiless voice continued, adding to JennyТs torment with each sadistically taunting comment. СAh…louder that time…donТt forget to watch the handle…Are you getting tired, Mrs Ondougu? Oh dear I see you are…my little box never gets tired. Anything to tell me…no? Perhaps itТs time I asked Sergeant NТdaga to slide that nasty probe up inside your anus instead?

СOh Goh!…Oh Goh!…Oh Goh!….nuh…nuh….pleeeeg…pleeeeg!Т

The once elegant executive writhed against the straps, her reply now just a mumbled babble, barely audible to her tormentor who leaned forwards to hear the slurred and broken words.

СNo? But you havenТt told me anything yet…perhaps if I turn the handle just a little more…?Т

The whirring whine began again and the babble became a single demented screech of outrage as the electricity fizzed through Jenny OndouguТs clitoris and scorched the delicate inner tissues of her vagina. Once more she slammed back against the chair, rocking it back onto two legs for a moment as her muscles convulsed. At ankles and thighs and beneath her quivering breasts the ties dug deep into her flesh. Round each wrist, where she still had a little power of movement the skin was stripped away leaving a red-raw band; the white nylon cuffs now streaked with blood from her manic efforts to free herself.

СSergeant, I donТt think Mrs Ondougu is really listening. LetТs see if she pays more attention the back way…Т

СNo-no-no-no-no-no…oh no…pleeessssee…noooo…no-no…Nooooooooo p-p-pleeessssee!Т

Jenny Ondougu gibbered out her useless pleas as the sergeant wriggled the horrible probe free from her cunt. The young woman grinned at the desperation in her victimТs face as she realised what she was about to do and traced the rounded bulb across JennyТs mouth, smearing her own blood and mucus along her lips. СYou know where itТs going now…donТt you…all the way up inside…Т

She squatted behind the chair, one hand resting on JennyТs shoulder as she pushed the probe along the wooden seat and into the cleft of her buttocks. Instinctively, Jenny lifted away as she felt the probe nuzzling against the puckered whorl of her anus, but the strap held her down and there was nothing she could do to stop the slow deliberate insertion as the sergeant skilfully worked the probe deeper and deeper. Her breasts heaved and she arched out, her mouth wide in anguish as the probe stretched the tender ring of her anus almost to splitting point. The sergeant pressed harder and Jenny screamed wildly.

СToo big…no-no-no…no, too big! Aaah! Aaaaaaah! Aarrrghh! Nooooo take it out, pleeeese take it out…please!Т

Then, just as before, her traitorous body let her down. Once the widest part of the bulb was through her anal ring the probe was pulled fully inside by the immediate contraction of her own muscles, gripped as though by a hungry, sucking mouth.

СTell me about the organisation…,Т the pitiless voice demanded through the fog of JennyТs agony, Сjust tell me all about it.Т

All she could manage was a single shake of the head. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she saw him reach for the handle again. This time there was no finesse and the note of the magneto rose higher and louder than ever. Jenny Ondougu once more arched up from the chair, lifting herself from the seat so the watchers could see the wires trailing from her anus and her clit. Her whole body vibrated madly and for a few seconds there was nothing but the magnetoТs whine and the rapid tattoo of the wooden legs against the concrete floor. Then her inhuman scream echoed round the room. A scream that went on and on and on as the magneto continued its whining song of agony.

СYaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrggggghhh!Т

This time the overload of pain was too much to bear and, as the machine growled into silence, Jenny Ondougu collapsed into unconsciousness, her breath coming in short, snorting gasps while her head rocked bonelessly, chin resting on the saliva-wet slopes of her breasts.

СUnclip her and put her over there,Т there was no obvious emotion in the manТs voice, just a vague dissatisfaction that she had not yet succumbed to the persuasion of the little metal crabs. СI want her arms above her head and her legs apart so we can get at her again if necessary. Gag her and then.Т He paused and looked at the two sexually excited guards and the flushed and aroused figure of Sergeant NТdaga. СThen you can fetch that young English student…perhaps seeing someone else in the chair may loosen that stubborn tongue…Т

Samantha Lewis was huddled in the corner of the cell when the door crashed open. She was shivering with terror having spent the last hour listening to the inhuman screams coming from the room at the other end of the corridor as they tortured her friend Jenny Ondougu. Worst of all had been when the screams stopped…and she heard the footsteps getting closer.

СGet her up!Т Samantha twisted her head round inside the sticky darkness, shocked to hear a womanТs voice. She pressed herself into the corner but the hands were too strong, the pinching grip on her arms too painful to resist. Someone fumbled with her wrists then, as she felt her hands come loose for the first time in hours, the filthy bag was yanked off her head and she could see the three black figures crowding the small cell.

СRight, your turn now white girl…Т It was the woman who spoke, her voice hard and aggressive, the threat very obvious. Samantha stumbled backwards until she could feel the rough plaster against her shoulders. She rubbed the sweat from her face, trying to brush the wet, clinging strands of blonde hair away from her cheeks.

СP-please, what do you want…IТm only a tourist…I came her on Monday…P-please, check with the airline. I havenТt done anything!Т She looked up, rubbing the swollen, red marks on her wrists. СPlease let me go, please!Т

The woman and the two muscular guards just laughed. СAlways the same story, didnТt know anything, didnТt do anything,Т the woman sneered. СFirst you get searched…strip!Т

СStrip, what, what do you mean?Т

СI mean get your fucking clothes off or my two friends here will do it for you, understand?Т

СP-please, no, no please donТt make m…Aaaaarrrggh!

One of the men held her shoulder and with the other hand grabbed the neck of her tee shirt. One vicious wrench and the material ripped down the seams leaving Samantha almost naked to the waist. His hands had caught the edge of her bra so one pink-tipped breast was exposed, the brief lacy cup barely concealing the other from the guards grinning gaze.

Her hands came up instinctively.

СThwap!Т СThwup!Т СThwap!Т

The womanТs right hand flashed out smacking against SamanthaТs cheeks with three vicious slaps, right…left…right.

СLeave your fucking tits alone and do as youТre told!Т

Blinking the tears from her eyes and trying to hold back the gulping sobs Samantha Lewis let the ruins of her tee shirt fall off her arms then scrabbled at the fastening of her jeans, hands fumbling to push the tight denim over her hips without dragging her brief cotton panties down as well. Hurrying to avoid being hit again she scraped her trainers off then braced one hand on the wall as she tugged the jeans over each foot in turn. She was just straightening up when the men grabbed her wrists.

СTime to show us what youТve been hiding,Т the woman chuckled and rolled the other cup down so SamanthaТs breasts were completely exposed. Still confined by the band of her bra they were pressed together and lifted so the small pink tips jutted upwards, each framed by a small lighter triangle against her suntanned skin.

СNo, no please donТt, donТt touch me!Т

The men held her easily, sniggering at her embarrassment as she blushed red, closed her eyes and turned her head away as Sergeant NТdaga reached up to stroke the firm, full globes. All three of them laughed as she used her nails on the pale pink aureoles; scratching lightly so the tips stuck out like tiny blunt spikes and Samantha writhed and gasped at each tickling caress.

The young sergeant squatted in front of the terrified teenager and reached up for the waist band of her white cotton thong.

СOh yes…Т her voice was husky with arousal. СLook at this, boys, just like a babyТs slit…all smooth and silky…Т The three of them stared avidly at the eighteen year oldТs shaven mound and the naked, pouting cunt lips. The sergeant pulled SamanthaТs panties down, let her step out of them then lifted her cupped hand between the girlТs legs.

СAaaah…nah…p-p-p-please…aaah…d-d-d-donТt….naaaaah!Т

One finger wormed between the naked cunt lips and probed into the opening of SamanthaТs vagina so she bucked and lifted onto tiptoe at the unwanted invasion.

СSomeoneТs been up here before, havenТt they?Т The question was accompanied by a sudden jabbing movement that jerked Samantha even more upright.

BDSMwChair04.jpg (85560 bytes)

СAaah…y-yes…yes…donТt please…no, no…Т

СWell, once weТve had a little chat IТm sure youТll be ready to entertain us too…Т the finger twisted and scraped, С…wonТt you?Т

СNo, please, please let me go…IТm not hiding anything, anything at all…Т

СDidi, get rid of that…Т her finger slipped free and touched the crumpled bra still fastened uselessly under SamanthaТs breasts. The guard on her left hooked his fingers under the band and wrenched it free before dropping the remains to the floor. СRight, take her along…and keep your hands off…for now.Т The young sergeant jerked her head and the guards twisted the sobbing teenager between them and dragged her out and down the bare echoing corridor.

Samantha almost passed out as they forced her ahead of them into the whitewashed room. The two men held her up easily as she shuddered and mumbled in abject fear as she saw what they had done to the woman who had befriended her only two days before.

Jenny Ondougu was stretched up on tiptoe near the back wall of the room, arms above her head and tied by the wrists to a rope that ran through a thick iron hook in one of the wooden ceiling beams and down to a fastening on the wall behind her back. If that wasnТt enough, her legs were straddled wide apart, held at full stretch by the ropes tying her ankles to metal rings fixed into the floor itself.

Like Samantha she was naked, her body wet and slick with sweat and shiny with trails of saliva down her breasts and belly. Her strained muscles shivered and twitched constantly while Samantha could see her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. As she saw Samantha she jerked even more, eyes staring at her in shock and horror. But the only sounds she could make were a series of bubbling, snorting gasps because her mouth was stretched wide round what looked like a red rubber ball; a ball that was threaded onto a black, nylon strap tied tightly round the back of her head.

СOh no, no, Jenny, Oh God what have they done to you?Т Samantha wailed. Now she was closer she could see the signs of torture; the streaks of blood from her mouth, the way that her nipples looked so horribly sore and swollen…and the way her friendТs cunt lips looked puffy and sore too.

СMrs Ondougu has been foolish enough to refuse to help us.Т Samantha twisted round to stare at Jonas Kipengi who was sitting on an ordinary plastic chair watching her reactions, completely at ease with legs crossed and smoking a cigarette. СYou probably heard part of our conversation a little while ago.Т He got to his feet and walked over to where the young student stood trembling in the grip of the two guards. СIn a minute you will discover why she was singing so loudly.Т He smiled and stroked the upper slope of the English girlТs breast. СVery nice, such a pity though…Т

СPlease, whoever you are, this is all a mistake, a horrible mistake…IТve done nothing, nothing at all…I told her,Т a frantic nod in the direction of Sergeant NТdaga, Сtold her that IТve only been here two days…how can I know anything!

СWell now, thatТs the pity…for you. You see it is important that Mrs Ondougu tells me what I want to know. SheТs being a little stubborn so perhaps the sight of her young, innocent friend enjoying the attentions of my little persuader might make her change her mind.

СТYou…you…bastard…you canТt do this…you just canТt!Т

СI can do anything…Т and without warning he touched the tip of his cigarette to the very edge of the pink aureole capping SamanthaТs left breast.

СNaaarrrgghh!Т

СYou see…anything at all. Listen carefully, my men are going to let you go. I want you to sit down in that chair. You will sit with your knees apart, hands behind you over the back of the chair so they can strap you down all ready for our little chat.Т He moved across to where the straining figure of Jenny Ondougu writhed helplessly. СJust in case you are thinking of doing anything silly…each time you pause I will give your friend here a taste of what youТve just experienced, ready?Т

As the guards let her go, Samantha instinctively clasped her injured breast, her breath racing as she huddled forwards and stared wildly round the room. Jonas Kipengi smiled to himself, drew on his cigarette and touched it precisely to the swollen tip of Jenny OndouguТs right nipple.

The wet mewing noises became frantic and the brown body bucked insanely as he held the glowing tip against her flesh with a soft sizzling noise.

СAre you going to sit down…or shall I continue?Т

СOh God! Please donТt please donТt hurt us…pleeeeese!

Сssssssssttt!Т

СThatТs both nipples…shall I burn them again or do you think I should try somewhere else?Т Jonas Kipengi deliberately drew the cigarette to glowing brightness, tapped off the ash and held it at the fork of JennyТs body. JennyТs head threshed madly and she strained backwards trying to avoid the heat from the burning tobacco.

СPlease, no, no, IТm doing what you want please, please donТt burn her again…Т

Samantha scrambled to sit down on the wooden chair then slowly and reluctantly lifted her hands round until they were over the chair back. СAnd the feet please Miss Lewis…Т Samantha kept her knees almost together as she tucked her feet to each side of the chair

СNnnnnnnnnggggggggh!Т

This time the noises from behind the gag were even wilder as Jonas Kipengi touched the tip of his cigarette delicately against the protruding tip of JennyТs clitoris. For a moment she appeared to go completely; mad threshing and writhing so violently that the rope creaked and vibrated with the strain of each spasm.

СNo, no I said wide apart…tuck your feet back behind you.Т

At a nod from their master the two guards had Samantha strapped into position in less than a minute. Like Jenny her ankles were tied up against the base of the seat, her wrists bound with a nylon cuff then dragged down by a cord looped through them and round the bottom rail so she was forced to sit arched back offering her breasts and the naked oval of her cunt to her torturers. The two thigh straps were enthusiastically cinched tight until the flesh bulged up on each side ensuring the teenager was unable to close her legs at all. Sergeant NТdaga finished off, taking time to position the final strap right under the girlТs breasts before cinching it painfully tight to clamp her upper body to the chair frame.

BDSMwChair05.jpg (70861 bytes)

СNow, Miss Lewis…you are going to provide a somewhat painful lesson for Mrs Ondougu…Т

Samantha stared in disbelief at the sight of the gleaming chrome probe on the end of the black wire. This couldnТt be happening, not to her, it couldnТt be true it must be some disgusting nightmare…

She jerked, making the chair stutter on the concrete as the sergeant ran her fingertips teasingly along the split bulge of her cunt. Oh God it was true, this woman was going to attach those clips to her body and then…

Sergeant NТdaga gently parted the girlТs outer labia then licked the fingers of her other hand, transferring the wetness to the folds of her soft, inner lips, watching the girlТs reaction to each feather light touch. She licked her fingers again, spreading her saliva over the swollen inner lips making them even more slippery as she continued with her slow expert masturbation. Finally, as SamanthaТs hips moved against her hands, one fingertip circled the girlТs engorged clitoris and Samantha bucked uncontrollably, unable to disguise her sudden intense reaction to being touched in her most sensitive place.

The finger wriggled so the sergeantТs nail fretted under the hood and Samantha jerked and bounced helplessly again.

СD-d-donТt p-p-please…nuh…nuh…naaaaah!Т

СOh yes you like that really donТt you,Т the voice was mocking. СNow letТs see how you like my metal cock…Т

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Samantha craned forwards as the sergeant brought the domed head of the probe sliding along the wet, open channel of the teenagerТs cunt. She worked the shiny head to and fro along the girlТs slit, each time pressing gently against the tight opening of her vagina. СCome on, let the little man inside…Т

СAaaaarrrggh! No…no take it out! Please take it out! I donТt want t…Naaaagggghh!Т

The sergeant pressed harder, twisting her wrist so the bulbous head suddenly slipped through the ring of muscle, sinking deep and impaling the girl fully on the polished metal shaft. СOh yes, slides in good and easy…seems you being doing a bit of hard fucking already.Т

With the probe fully inserted the sergeant straightened up and walked back to the little table. She put on a black rubber glove and picked up the red wire. No clip this time, just the last quarter of an inch of insulation stripped off to leave the bare copper core. She walked back and knelt down in front of the chair holding the wire carefully in her gloved right hand.

The girl wasnТt looking at Jenny or her guards; panting and gasping in terror of what was to come, her eyes were fixed on the two thin black wires, following them across the floor then up to where they were attached to the brass terminals on the polished mahogany box.

СNow, Mrs Ondougu itТs up to you, all you have to do to spare Miss Lewis any unpleasantness is to tell me what I want to know…otherwiseТ He looked at the quivering, gagged figure held stretched up in that inverted Y. СOtherwise it will simply get worse and worse…for both of you. Perhaps we should let you have a sample so you can hear your friendТs singing voice.Т

He turned the handle and the rising whine of the magneto filled the room once more. As the machine started, Sergeant NТdaga touched the bared wire to the very top of the girlТs cunt slit, just sliding it in between the lips and holding it in place with a delicate precision.

Eighteen year old Samantha Lewis managed a couple of grunting noises before she arched back in the chair. Just like Jenny Ondougu, to the watchers it seemed as though she was manically fucking some invisible lover as her hips bucked and vibrated. The black wire clattered on the wooden chair seat but the probe was too deeply impaled for her to eject it despite the mad frenzy of her spasms. The sergeant skilfully kept the end of the red wire inside the girlТs cunt so the current seared through her genitals with every turn of the handle. The tendons of her neck showing like cables, the teenager stared blindly at the ceiling and screamed insanely in her agony.

СYEEEEAAARRRGGHHH! Argh…Argh…Argh…NNNAARRGGGH!Т

At a nod from Jonas Kipengi, the sergeant pulled the wire away from the girlТs cunt letting her flop down against the straps sobbing and gasping uncontrollably as the whine of the magneto died away.

СDidi, whilst Miss Lewis gets her breath back, remove Mrs OndouguТs gag would you, letТs hear if sheТs changed her mind.Т The sounds from the back of the small room became louder and harsher as the ball gag was pulled free from Jenny OndouguТs mouth.

СBassar…youfukkin bassar….tol you…there wash n-nothing…sheТs a v-v-vishitor…m-met her on the plane. Leave her lone you bassars!Т

СAh, still the same unpleasant noises, you really donТt have much regard for your friendТs welfare do you? Sergeant, attract the young ladyТs attention.Т

СSwack!Т СSwock!Т

СAaaaaaah, Oh God!, no, please please…no donТt pleeeese!Т

Samantha LewisТs head snapped up, eyes wide with pain and shock as the sergeantТs gloved hand smacked across her exposed breasts, making the full globes bounce first to one side, then to the other. Red, angry blotches bloomed against the tanned skin where the sergeantТs rubber-gloved palm had made contact.

Jonas Kipengi continued as though nothing had happened, СIТm becoming tired of these stupid games, Mrs Ondougu. Unless you tell me something, the sergeant will insert the wire up the girlТs urethra this time…she will find it particularly agonising. And remember thereТs nothing she can do to stop it…thatТs up to you.

СYyyyiiiiiiiaaaahh!Т

The girlТs body suddenly arched taut as she strained forwards in a desperate attempt to avoid the sergeantТs fingers parting the lips of her cunt once more. She squealed again as she felt the tip of the bare copper wire tickling the entrance to her pee-hole. The squeal became a shrill scream as the sergeant skilfully twisted and turned the wire, scoring the ultra sensitive walls of the narrow tube as she inserted the wire deeper and deeper.

СWatch carefully, Mrs Ondougu…youТll be feeling the same thing in a few minutes unless…Т Jonas Kipengi smiled sadistically and wound the magnetoТs handle. He kept the speed steady, listening for the girlТs animal screams to reach their fullest pitch as Sergeant NТdaga carefully moved the wire inside her urethra, skilfully extracting the maximum agony from the electric current. Each little movement of her hands brought new and higher shrieks from the demented girl as she jerked and bucked like a puppet in the torture chair, once again her hips thrusting madly as she fucked the air in her torment.

The torture only stopped when Sergeant NТdaga suddenly moved out of the way as Samantha Lewis lost control of her bladder and a thin stream of urine splashed onto the chair seat before dripping onto the stained concrete below.

The magneto whined into life again. СJust a few touches on her clitoris I think sergeant, you can put the wire up inside again in a moment…Т Grinning with pleasure, Sergeant NТdaga touched the tip of the copper wire to the little pink bulb of the teenagerТs clit.

СNaaaarrrrgggghhhh!Т

Instantly, Samantha convulsed in a single arching spasm that moved the chair a foot backwards, scraping noisily on the bare concrete. Sergeant NТdaga waited for her to relax…just a fraction…and touched the wire to her clitoris once more.

СYeeeeeeeeeeeaaarrrrggghh!Т

The wire touched and caressed the tiny bundle of nerves again and again, each time sending the eighteen year old into another muscle-wrenching spasm.

СHold it there…weТll see how she likes it if I turn the handle a little faster.Т The whine rose in pitch and the sergeant leaned forwards once more, this time pressing the tip of the copper wire into the stem of SamanthaТs clit under the hood. This time she held the wire in place as the mad convulsions started, moving her hand in time with the frantic surges of the girlТs hips and jerking muscular spasms.

СNooooooo! No, stop you fucking bastards, stop it NOW!Т The yell of protest from Jenny Ondougu cut across Samantha LewisТs piercing screams. Jonas Kipengi let the handle go and the magneto whined down into silence. The only sound in the room was the whimpering, bubbling gasps from the teenager strapped down in the torture chair.

СStop doing that…sheТs not part of this…leave her alone and IТll tell you…tell you what you want.Т JennyТs head hung down, tears of desperation and despair trickling down her cheeks as she gave in.

СWell, well…just as I thought. Right Mrs Ondougu, letТs hear what you have to tell me…

Jonas Kipengi lit another cigarette and walked across to where the woman hung from the rope. He stroked the swollen and blistered tip of her right breast, smiling at the jerk and sudden hissing intake of breath. СDonТt waste my time, Mrs Ondougu…your friend stays in the chair until IТm satisfied. And if she passes out then IТll have the sergeant here use the wire up inside you…understand?

Jenny Ondougu nodded, her eyes fixed on the glowing tip of her torturerТs cigarette.

On the other side of the room the two guards grinned at one another and furtively eased the curving bulge of their erections inside their pants. Soon it would be their turn to fuck the delightfully pink breasted white girl. A bonus for a job well done.

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