 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 2 - The Matter at Hand
Hanging by her wrists, the Warrior Queen awaited her fate. She still wore hen
hunting outfit, although torn here and there during her capture, but her bare
feet dangled above the floor. She had closed her eyes, waiting for the whip,
but when the crack came nothing happened. As she opened her eyes in surprise,
she took in his wicked grin no sooner than the heavy whip found its mark on
her left thigh, slashing her breeches. She stifled a scream which was as much
of pain as of enraged surprise, as her legs pulled up in reflex. She was no
stranger to pain, she had been wounded in combat before, but now her sword
could exact no retribution, and no opponent would be defeated.
The grin on Grod's face subsided, as his little game was met with only partial
success. He had not taken well to the two newcomers in his dungeon, as if he
were not up to the task, so he was determined to break her. Since she was no
ordinary woman, he had chosen not to strip her to follow up with a light
whipping for warming her up to the benefit of the others. His first strike
with the heavy, long whip had torn a wide gash in her breeches, but the welt
on the shapely thigh was not bleeding. Her hunting outfit would stem some of
the bite of the heavy bullwhip. At first.
Another three strikes, in quick succession, landed on Kayleen's back. She kind
of screamed, a halting, spiteful scream. The next strike landed on her right
calf, on bare skin, drawing blood as she hissed. Grod hit her again a few
times, pausing in between, then circled around and landed the next blow on her
taut stomach, followed immediately by another at the front of her thigh and by
a third which landed on her left breast. She cried for real this time, and the
onlookers salivated at the sight of the voluptuous body writhing under the
whip, whose lashes were shredding her outfit to tatters.
This Warrior Queen showed all signs of being proud and stubborn, not likely to
yield so easily. He pressed on, lashing her nice legs again and then moving to
the arms stretched above her head, which proved a difficult target as the whip
would wrap around instead of slicing the fabric open. Changing his mind, he
targeted with a smile first one and then the other tempting breast, and was
rewarded when the shirt revealed a nipple as she cried behind clenched teeth.
With each lash, Kayleen felt her resolve waning. She could not dodge the whip,
she could not fight back, all she could do was writhe and scream. Grod did not
strike at regular intervals, but paused often to let the pain sink in before
renewing it. Just as she thought that, he launched a barrage of strikes in
rapid succession, raining one after another all over her body as she gasped in
pain. Her outfit now shredded, the Warrior Queen hung before her nemesis and
his cohorts, who now ogled the magnificent body revealed by the lash.
The whip slashed again at her leg, drawing all eyes to the slender, athletic
limbs rising up as a moan left Kayleen's throat, followed by another higher in
pitch as the strong leather licked her exposed buttocks, where only tatters of
her breeches remained. The eyes stayed on her full, muscular buns contracting
under yet another painful sting of the vicious bullwhip, only to follow it as
it bit her side and immediately thereafter her caved stomach, as she turned
around under the force of the blow. The lashes climbed up her athletic body,
now mostly naked, up to her clenching fists, and then moved down again trough
her stretched, long arms, where the muscles flexed on each blow, to the round,
proud breasts now undergoing another barrage of strikes among her drawn out,
muffled shrieks, and finally to the front of thighs again.
After another strike which removed the last tatter of leather from her left
tit, Grod let one of his pauses draw out and finally put the whip aside,
moving to the chains stringing the Warrior Queen up. She was lowered to the
floor, gulping and battered but still attempting to disguise her relief as
her chafing wrists found some respite. A bucket of cold water was dumped on
her limp body, followed by another, and she took long, avid draughts from a
jug brought to her mouth.
Her respite lasted just long enough to let her believe that it was over, then
the wretched shell of a wizard came along and asked, "Is there anything you
wish to share with us, now?" followed by a gleeful "I thought so," as his
inquiry met only silence.
Grod bound her wrists behind her back and then pulled her up by her ankles,
suspending her upside down. "No, not again!" she muttered, catching herself
just before letting it out aloud for the enjoyment of those sick bastards.
The sick bastards, meanwhile, were enjoying the sight of her luscious body in
inverted suspension. Kayleen was a tall, athletic blonde whose fair skin, in
spite of a healthy life in the open air, had tanned only slightly, just enough
to show what modesty had kept from the sun. Most of her body, except for the
arms, bore only tatters of her hunting outfit and was crisscrossed by welts,
some bleeding; removing the rest would have taken but a swat of the hand, but
Grod had other plans. Her position exposed, among other places, the soft
underside of her firm breasts, and Grod made a point to himself to remove the
shreds of her shirt still clinging there, striking first one and then the
other as her head bent backward in a silent cry of anguish.
The whip uncoiled with a crack and bit her left arm, bound behind her, and
then found its mark on the right arm, targeting the remains of the sleeves.
But soon the tip returned to other parts, more tender, such as the crease
between her buttocks and the soft flesh between bun and thigh. Strike after
strike, Grod attempted to extort from her a real scream, but only managed to
obtain muffled cries, hisses and gasps. This bothered him, and his blows
became more vicious, with longer pauses to let the pain linger before renewing
it in a different position. Nobody was keeping count, but the blows rained on
the writhing Warrior Queen slowly and deliberately, one after another, causing
her to twist and bend at the waist, shaking her head in anguish. Her tits were
now marked by a number of bleeding slashes, her nipples on fire, and no trace
of cloth remained on the martyrized undersides.
Screaming and vainly fighting tears, Kayleen clung to her dedication as the
urge to give up first entered her mind. Grod was targeting her thighs now,
where some remnants of her breeches still clung. She almost blanked when the
whip bit behind the knee, and again when it lashed below her belly, near her
private parts, Her eyes met those of her tormentor, and she knew what fear he
had read in hers, because the hellish whip landed between her legs, causing
her to scream aloud for the first time. "We hear her sing, at last. It took
entirely too much time!" said the Southerner derisively.
If Grod heard the remark, he reacted by landing another and yet another blow
on the insides of her thighs. He wanted her to collapse, now. He aimed two
quick blows at her nipples before putting all his strength in a blow at the
remnants of cloth covering her sex, a difficult strike since she was
desperately clenching her thighs. His efforts were rewarded by another shriek,
but the next only resulted in a gasp and the next after that in a wailing moan.
After a few more lashes at her calves, he dropped the whip and lowered his
victim, her body glistening with perspiration, only to immediately drag her
away, followed by the assembled onlookers. He placed her supple body on a
narrow bench, face down, tying her wrists on one end and her ankles to
another, pulling the chains taut and tightening iron rings at her knees and
waist. Her full breasts, dangling on each side of the bench, were bound at the
base with a thin cord, causing them to bulge out. Her body shriveled as she
was again doused with icy water. He half expected the woman to beg him to
stop, and Kayleen for a moment was about to do so, but then she sighed and
lowered her face between her outstretched arms.
Grinning, Grod lashed the exposed soles of her feet, hitting both with a
single strike and then following on with four more strikes, one after another,
her head rising again in a mute scream. Just a short pause, and then the lash
kissed her buttocks, once, twice. His next strike lingered as he aimed it with
care, landing the tip on her anus and wrenching a shrill cry of despair from
her lips. He timed the subsequent strikes to her soles carefully, and then
moved to the back of her thighs, with ample pauses and putting less strength
on each blow as the skin was already torn and bleeding.
Kayleen lay on the bench, no longer a Warrior Queen, just a pain wracked
bundle of flesh and sinews. Her mind flashed with the image of young Lyral
on that same bench, screaming, but then she realized these were her own
screams, as Grod had targeted her delectable left tit, and then followed on by
wrapping the whip around her body to land the tip on the right one. Satisfied
by the results, he aimed more blows at the dangling globes, the whole body of
his victim writhing in vain to move off the path of the lash.
After a few more lashes on her back, the burly executioner dropped the whip
again and inspected his victim. She was panting heavily, soaked in
perspiration and her body was crisscrossed by welts and bleeding stripes, but
she was strong and could withstand more. She was untied from the bench and
dragged to a sloping ladder, where she was tied feet over head, spreadeagled
over the rungs and chained at the waist. As she came to, the first thing she
saw was the wicked grin on Grod's face as he uncoiled the whip and let his
glare linger on her vulva, which clenched thighs could no longer shield.
She wished she had Lyral's faith, for only faith could allow her to withstand
was about to come, but her efforts to remember a prayer, any prayer, were cut
short by a savage blow to her left breast, followed by an oblique strike to
her mound. She cried once, at the top of her lungs. Another strike landed on
there, sending wisps of blonde hair fluttering about. After a pause, the tip
licked at her labia, as she shook her head in anguish, biting her lips
savagely, and the next tore the folds of skin where they joined. Her cry this
time was loud enough for everyone, and lasted into the subsequent pause as he
drew near, removed the chain from her waist and doused her with cold water.
Walking away, he let her follow his stare to her nipples, hardening in spite
of the horror coming on her face, and turned and landed a vicious strike on
the right nipple, then waited for her wailing to stop before aiming at the
other. Her waist now free, her desperate attempt to writhe away from the lash
resulted in a number of strikes landing off mark, until Grod started playing
games with her and letting blows crack within a hair of their target, only to
be followed by the real strike as she relaxed.
Pain was plain on her face, and Grod thought she could be broken now. He
targeted his next strike to slash her labia, once, then twice, and then
paused, hoping to catch her eyes and show her where the next would land. She
trashed her head on the ladder, however, so he cracked at the empty air and
then aimed his strike at her love bud and let his ears confirm that he had
found his mark. He paused before striking there again, to let the pain sink
in, and then lashed her sculpted breasts a few times, in quick succession.
Kaylee on the ladder was in agony. No wound had ever been so painful, so
humiliating, no blow had been so unrelenting, nothing had ever hurt her soft
femininity inside her warrior shell. "Heaven, make them stop. Please, make
them stop!" she cried to herself, before shrieking at the top of her lungs as
Grod hit her clitoris yet again. And again. And save for a few strikes at her
breasts, he landed lash after lash in that exact place, until she fainted.
She came to under the sting of cold water again, and as her sight cleared her
eyes found Grod among the onlookers. She had a taste of honey in the mouth,
but she was in stocks, her ankles pulled up at face height and cuffed to a
post, tightly enough to force the leg horizontal, and her wrists cuffed half a
foot above. Since her backside was off the floor by a foot or more, all her
weight hung on her sore wrists and ankles, forcing her to stretch her arms and
bend her knees for some relief. On her side was the small Easterner, and upon
a gesture from him, Grod spoke mockingly "Welcome back, o gracious Queen. Our
friend Chang is not very comfortable with our tongue, but I guess he wants to
ask you if you feel like talking before he proceeds."
Her whole body throbbed in pain, and fear gripped her mind, but she found the
strength to keep silent somewhere between those words, "Warrior Queen". Chang
pulled, from a collection of ornate boxes, a thin, clear cord and started
tying it around her left thumb. The cord went through a small bronze handle,
whose function Chang soon revealed as he he twisted it between thumb and
forefinger to tighten the cord, at which point Kayleen discovered that the
cord had evenly spaced knots that dug painfully in the flesh. The pain was
mild at first, hardly comparable to the whip, but as circulation was
constricted she started to moan, at which point the man tightened it again,
until she hissed, and then dragged the cord forcefully around the full
circumference of her thumb, letting it slide in the furrow dug as it tightened
into the flesh and drawing a shriek of pain from her sore throat.
The man produced another cord, and repeated the procedure on her left
forefinger. She was gasping with pain, and she cried in anguish as he started
placing a third cord on her middle finger. He had not bothered to remove the
others, so even when he did not exert force, pain wracked her fingers as the
knots bit relentlessly her flesh.
After tightening yet another cord on her ring finger, he raised his hands,
first extending ten fingers and then folding four; six more to go. Defied by
her silence, he finished with her left pinky, moved to her right hand, and
after a brief respite her cries resonated in the hall again.
Time passed, with the pain in her constricted fingers increasing instead of
subsiding, but at last Chang moved to her left hand and twisted her thumb cord
backwards, at which Kayleen screamed again as the blood found its way again in
the now purplish flesh. As before, he did the same to each finger in turn, but
at the pinky he stopped and stared into her expecting eyes before reaching for
the thumb cord and tightening it again, wrenching a shrill "Noooo" from her
hoarse throat which rose into a screech as he pulled on it again.
After repeating this procedure a few times, he finally freed her fingers for
real, produced more cords, and grabbed her left foot. Horrified, she tried to
pull and twist her leg to escape his hand, but to no avail. She could not hold
a screech at his first pull, nor at each subsequent pull, as if the toes were
more susceptible to this torture. Her tormentor, on the other hand, proceeded
to alternate between left and right foot, as if to let the other recover.
Once more he tightened each cord around the respective toe, but this time he
took care to align all handles just the same, and then tied each to a cord
looped around the toe and affixed to a single hand sized handle, which he
grabbed. As fear silenced Kayleen's anguished sobbing, he pulled on the
handle, causing all cords at the same time to slide almost full circle in the
furrow dug around the base of each toe, the knots dragging over the
constricted flesh. Droplets of blood spilled on the floor, and the Warrior
Queen wailed yet again as pain rose from her foot through her writhing body.
Chang did the same on her right foot, and then moved to the left again,
reversing the sense of rotation to grind into already damaged tissue. Kayleen
screamed at each pull, shaking in pain under the thin man's attentions while
the other two gaped at her suffering body bending and twisting in pain, her
glistening breasts heaving and panting and her blonde mane shaking.
After yet another pull, in fact, Chang started freeing her toes from the
dreadful cord, and subsequently freed her from the stocks. She lay on the
floor for a moment of respite, bringing her fingers to her mouth as if to ease
the pain. The woman looked too tall for the wry Easterner to handle, but he
grabbed her hair and dragged her to a decorated bench, where she was chained
face up, arms over her head, her fabulous body taut.
With practiced swiftness, the Easterner looped a thick hemp rope around her
slender waist, constricting it and pushing the knots along its length into her
wounded flesh, drawing a hiss from behind her lips which turned into a moan as
he started to tighten the rope twisting its handle. Another two coils of rope
were similarly wrapped around her ribcage, one just above and one just below
her sculpted breasts, painfully marked by the whip but still proud and firm.
More rope was looped and tightened around her legs, thighs and arms, digging
in her limbs as the Easterner looped it across the coil in order to tighten
it fully before twisting the handles and sending the knots into her. The
ropes around her ribcage and waist constricted her breathing, lending to her
stifled cries a tone of anguish as she gasped for air.
After more tightening, her silent tormentor rose, grabbed the handle of the
rope clinching her waist, put a boot in her stomach and pulled with all his
strength, dragging the rough rope three quarters of a circle around her waist
and digging an agonizing trail of chafed skin in her once perfect midsection.
Unable to scream at the top of her lungs, she choked as pain deluged her.
Her only respite soon became the time it took the wry Easterner to circle
around the bench as he alternated the left and right side, and the ropes
started getting red with blood. Her body attempted to escape the pain, but as
her muscles contracted and flexed in vain, seared by the ropes constricting
her arms and legs and stabbed by knots digging in her flesh, she could not
help herself as her aching limbs started burning with pain of her own making.
Devious as it was, this torture in the eyes of the old man from the Southern
Desert lacked visual appeal, so he commented "You could do us a favor and put
up some kind of show for our benefit, you know". In spite of her pain, Kayleen
noticed a cold sideways glance on her tormentor's face at this comment, but no
good came to her from this as he stopped her trashing, produced two loops
of knotted silken cords and tied them around her nipples.
Her heart sank as she fought for breath, envisioning yet another assault on
her femininity, which had never been specifically targeted before all this.
The cords were tied to a chain, distorting her firm breasts into cones of taut
flesh which he then proceeded to bind with a single knotted cord drawn behind
her neck, reaching to her left breast, and circling it in a counterclockwise
spiral, down to her muscular chest where it snug under her bondage, while the
other extremity was similarly wrapped around her right breast.
The thin man pulled viciously on the left handle of the cord, savagely
tightening the spiral around her left tit, the knots digging gashes as they
chafed skin, and she gasped and choked under the assault on her mauled breast.
He made a short pause before letting go, then braced placing a boot on her
muscular chest and pulled again, wrenching another strangled scream, before
circling the bench to similarly shear her right breast. After a number of
pulls, he paused to add more cords to her bondage, in order to prevent the
ropes from dislodging as he pulled repeatedly at them, and pulled up her bound
nipples some more, to make the spirals wrap around her breasts just right
before the next of many round of pulls and cries which were to follow.
When the ropes binding her were finally unwound, causing gasps of pain as
blood rushed back into the offended limbs and large swaths of skin chafed to
bleeding were revealed on Kayleen's still beautiful body, she was doused in
cold water on the floor and made to drink the same stuff again. Any trace of
good intent she could find in her tormentor's ministrations, however,
shriveled as her legs were doubled over and chained ankle to thigh, her arms
cuffed behind her back in a reversed prayer position which strained her
shoulders but pushed out her chafed breasts to the delight of the onlookers
and she was hung by her splayed knees, the head two feet off the floor.
The Easterner produced a thin, bristling rope whose knots looked like lumps
of boar hair, proceeded to wrap it around the base of each breast, and then
coiled more ropes across her chest, flattening her tits onto her sculpted
ribs. Twisting the handles at the end of the each rope, he would tighten the
one at the base of her globes, making them bulge, and then the one flattening
them against her chest, basking in her anguished wails and strangled gasps.
Unlike on the bench, Kayleen's pain found no respite when her tormentor busied
himself otherwise, as her position forced her to lift her constricted chest to
breathe, and relative freedom of movement made her trash in her bonds, chafing
her pain wracked orbs against the knots biting her flesh. The silent Easterner
produced more ropes, which he bound around her waist and at the base of each
thigh, and then another bristling cord which he wound over her shoulders,
under her breast bondage in spite of her cries, and then through her crotch,
soon followed by a similarly arranged rope, the two squeezing her poor love
button outwards as they sunk savagely into her vulva.
He then pulled her nipples through her breast bondage as she writhed in pain,
looped more knotted cord around each, did the same to her outstretched bud
and then tied the three together, shortening the loop to force her to bend
her head up towards her belly to reduce the searing pain. He allowed her to
writhe in her new position for a while, until her aching back gave and her
head lowered, tightening the cords around her nipples and clitoris and jerking
her head back up with an anguished cry as she understood her predicament.
He wound two more bristling ropes across her crotch, rubbing her cunt lips
into the pair already searing her love bud, so Kayleen's writhing body would
find no respite, her aching back unable to keep her bent up to spare her
nipples and her ravaged love button the bite of the knots. As she oscillated
between one painful position and the other, her tormentor bid his time, while
the others savored the sight of the suffering Warrior Queen. He knew she would
pass out eventually, even hanging upside down, so he positioned himself behind
her back, and twisting its handle tightened her crotch rope, which pulled her
backwards and made her efforts to spare her feminine charms harder and harder.
When her crying and writhing started to weaken, he talked to her for the first
time, asking "You talk ?" as she once more failed to raise her head enough. In
spite of the maddening pain, however, the Warrior Queen's lips proffered no
word, so he moved behind her again and pulled the handle up with both hands,
which rushed the bristling crotch ropes through her labia and rubbed them
violently against her tender parts, the knots mauling her as she howled.
"You talk ?" he asked once more before pulling the ropes downward, reversing
their action and bringing renewed pain met by a scream of despair. No answer
was forthcoming, so he pulled up again, and then immediately down, and
repeated the questioning and pulling until she passed out after a seemingly
unending nightmare of gasping, forsaken screams.
When the acrid smell of salts brought her back, she found herself hanging
spread-eagled between two posts, her chafing wrists but one of the voices in
the concerto of pain which ravaged her body. Judging from the intent gaze of
the old Southerner, however, neither the welts on her strong arms, nor the
chafed skin on her muscular chest, the angry whip marks on her generous, firm
breasts, the stings peppering her sculpted abdomen, the gashes dug by the
knots between her thighs, nor the crisscrossing of red stripes on her slender
thighs and legs, nothing had diminished its beauty.
"Please, no more" she begged, but only to herself, since at some level she
knew that they were exactly after that. She had to find somewhere the will to
defy them, lest they gathered from her mouth the whereabouts of poor Lyral and
brought her to suffer the same horrors she was being subjected to. Or was
about to be subjected to, she reminded to herself as the swarthy old man
brought forth a large case containing leaves and branches, some fresh and some
dried, which he dug into only after putting on thick leather gloves.
With raptured eagerness, his hand brought a shrub draped in dark green leaves
against her calf, watching her gasp as the leaves stung fiercely and repeating
the application until tears filled her eyes. "They are called stinging nettles
for a reason, my dear." spoke the Southerner before drawing the shrub against
the back of her thigh, still enjoying her hisses and cries, which turned into
stifled screams when he grabbed the shrub with both hands and started sawing
back and forth at the soft flesh between her upper thighs and her ass cheeks.
He then kneeled and proceeded to wipe the sole of her left foot with the same
back and forth motion, her head shaking as the skin burned under the sting and
the welts from Grod's bullwhipping made their presence painfully known again.
She had learned to avoid stinging nettles as a nuisance when she was but a
child, but now in the hands of the old man they had turned into yet another
instrument of torture. Her right foot was now trashing under their sting, and
then the assault moved to her legs, as what little resolve she had mustered in
her brief respite waned, and her attempts to preserve some dignity instead of
crying at the top of her lungs declined one cry at a time.
He moved behind her back and mocked "Now it gets better!" and draped a
bundle of shrub across her taut stomach, her fears coming true when he started
sawing it back and forth, but also up and down, as she writhed and cried
attempting to twist herself away from the burning embrace of the stinging
nettles. Her twisting turned to frantic buckling as his hands rose and the
bundle was draped across her chest, the leaves brushing her sculpted breasts
and rekindling the pain of all the abuses they had been subjected to so far.
Maybe the Warrior Queen could have understood that it was her own trashing
that ground the leaves into her ample bosom, but Kayleen had nothing on her
mind but the fire on her ravaged skin and the occasional burst of agony as her
nipples brushed against the hellish leaves. She was given some respite, as her
tormentor circled her and fetched fresh shrubs, but soon pain returned as her
buttocks were treated to the burning kiss of the nettles and soared when he
moved his attentions to the inside of her thighs, alternating left and right
and bringing the shrubs inch by inch nearer to her crotch.
With a glee, the old man draped a single leaf over her vulva, and kept rubbing
until her gasps turned to shrieks, then opened her lips and slid a small shrub
in between, dragging it back and forth leisurely. Her hoarse screams aroused
the old man, who kneeled and forcefully inserted two entire shrubs between her
parted lips, drawing them back and forth as pain shot up her body sending
her cries to lose themselves in the vaults of the chamber.
When she was lowered to the floor, Kayleen was but a whimpering girl in her
twenties, curled in a ball and vainly attempting to soothe her feminine parts
with her hands, a sight bound to inspire mercy in all but her tormentor. She
was dragged to a post to be tied again, her arms bent over the top beam,
cuffed at the elbows with her wrists behind her neck, her legs doubled under
her thighs and painfully bent outwards and up to cuff the ankles wide at the
low beam, her midsection pushed forward by a wooden wedge against her kidneys,
a position which put her weight on her shoulder and thigh joints.
The dusky old man then busied himself with a bristling collection of brushes,
rollers and hand scrubs, and following her gaze said "Looking for nettles, my
pretty ? We have nettles here." showing her a roller draped with the green
leaves, although interspersed with tiny thorns. He applied the roller to the
sole of her left foot, lightly at first, and then more forcefully, turning her
gasps into stifled cries again. The Warrior Queen could still manage the
strength to keep the whereabouts of Lyral from her tormentors, but her pride
had withered under the ordeal she was being subjected to.
The Southerner had a variety of rollers, from two hands wide to the equivalent
of just two fingers across, and switched from one to the other as he ravaged
her body prickling the smarting skin and paying special attention to the
objects of his ongoing arousal. He used a doughnut shaped roller in the crease
under her buttocks, dragging it back and forth under her as she shrieked at
the assault on skin which had been somewhat spared so far. Nor could she
stifle her screams as he moved to her abused breasts, one roller in each hand,
the thorns prickling at the smarting skin as he pushed the rollers into her
firm globes time and again.
Although her arms were not spared, it was against her legs and thighs that her
tormentor concentrated his attentions, turning them an angry red as he
repeatedly rubbed them with the hellish rollers. "Anything to say, before the
real treat begins ?" asked the leering old man, not even awaiting her answer
before rubbing her private parts once with one roller, then with other, each
time drawing a howl of pain which turned into a gasping screech as he fetched
a smaller roller and rubbed it viciously into her ravaged slit.
Kayleen was about to pass out again, desperately seeking some respite, but the
old man thought she could be broken now and so decided against a pause. He
fetched another instrument of pain, a hand scrub fashioned after a cupped
glove and bristling with stitched leaves. "If you sang so well for a stinging
brush, you'll sing like a nightingale for the stinging tree which begat
these." he said, bringing the scrub against her left breast and brushing it
vigorously, as if to clean it. She heaved, screamed and bucked, the ache in
her kidneys all but forgotten as her left tit was overwhelmed by pain. Her
tormentor pressed on, moving to her right tit and then alternating between
them, but soon her cries waned into moans and she was untied from the post.
To prevent her from fainting, she was suspended by her left ankle, the right
ankle tied to her left wrist and the left wrist behind her neck to a collar,
bending her back and exposing her sore, but still appealing, breasts and her
vulva to whatever he had in store for her. "We were almost done, my pretty,
but now we'll have to start over again." purred the Southerner, his words
betraying his irritation. True to his words, he picked up his rollers again
and rubbed them forcefully against her thighs, her buttocks and her taut
abdomen, renewing her pain as her skin suffered the kiss of the nettles again,
but soon he targeted the tempting undersides of her full breasts and the
inside of her slit, bringing a narrow roller against her love button with
eager viciousness as she screamed in despair.
As he put the rollers aside, dread filled Kayleen's eyes as her agonized tits
reminded her of the hand scrub, but worse was to come as he picked up a
different implement, a brush not unlike those used to clean bottles, except
for the menacing size and the stiff boar bristles circling its length. He had
seen her fear, and asked "Now, girl, want to tell us something ?" taking the
time to make abundantly clear where the brush would be inserted otherwise.
Despair and fear numbed Kayleen's mind, the thought of being violated by the
hideous implement of punishment most fearful of all, yet she still clinged to
some of her former self, enough to know that she did not want to surrender her
friend's whereabouts to these monsters. She attempted to steel her resolve,
gritting her teeth, but when her tormentor drove the brush down into her ass
a strangled scream escaped nonetheless, followed by more as he twisted and
dragged the brush as if actually cleaning something.
The brush was extracted, the bristles chafing at the rosette of her anus on
their way out but not bloodied, and then inserted again, and the old man did
his worst to break her using the hellish brush, adding nettle leaves which the
brush ground into her innards as she howled and cried pitifully. The brush was
then discarded for a larger one, which she eyed in horror as her mouth wanted
to beg, but only silence could be heard until her anguished cry broke it as he
forcefully inserted the brush down her slit, the stiff bristles rasping
against her womb, and then twisted it left and right, at length, before
extracting it with deliberate, excruciating slowness.
He pushed the brush down her love channel again, and then two more times,
adding nettle leaves to increase her pain, and finally stuffed her canal with
nettle leaves before driving it down one last time, the unyielding bristles
pushing the leaves into her as she cried out her misery. His hands now free,
he wrapped a stinging tree leaf around her left nipple and started rubbing it
with a straight brush, its short, stiff bristles grinding the thousands of
invisible needles covering the leaf into her abused flesh.
Her screams now resonated in the chamber, her resolve broken by the protracted
ordeal, and as her tormentor moved to the right nipple, the shell of the
former wizards known as Zhorun closed in, to savor her degradation and enjoy
her defeat. "Now tell us of the Priestess!" he hissed. If anyone else had
asked, she might have, just to stop the pain before the robed Southerner
targeted her poor love bud, but the Warrior Queen found the strength to spit
on the walking corpse's rotting visage before her mouth opened in a scream
when her tormentor started scrubbing a stinging tree leaf into her clitoris.
With the intent of breaking her before Zhorun, the swarthy Southerner insisted
with his scrubbing, her cries rising hoarse as he replaced the leaf with a
fresh one or twisted the brush in her womb. He replaced the leaf twice, each
time scrubbing her into maddening pain, then grabbed the brush and pulled it
half the way out before driving it back in, twisting it left and right.
"Now you talk" he added, his nervous tone betraying his dismay at her
stubbornness. With his thumb, he pulled out her love button, while his other
hand fetched shards of stinging tree leaves and stuffed them around her love
bud and under the hood, so when he released it they stuck in the fold and
seared her feminine flesh while she howled and screamed, unable to find
respite from the pain. Her torture continued uninterrupted, her voice rising
to heart rending screeches when her tormentor rubbed a hand scrub over her
breasts or twisted the brush in her slit, until her voice lost strength and
waned to a gasping, exhausted wail.
|
|
|