by Argus, JJ
I relaxed my legs entirely, and all my weight came down upon that narrow edge of wood. I shuddered and closed my thighs tightly around it, arching my back slightly, working my lower hips in an attempt to slide. I could not, and pressed my toes against the floor once again, relieving some of the pressure. That relief felt heavenly, and as I slid my groin forward a gush of hot, liquid heat flooded my lower belly.
I slid forward several inches, until the chain was digging in hard against my throat and I could not breath. I held my position, shuddering, letting all my weight come down upon my sex, then pressed my feet down once more and slid myself backwards. It hurt, but it hurt so wonderfully I almost climaxed.
I slid back until my clitoris was straining, until my nipples ached, and then arched my back, leaning back further so that the pull on my nipples would grow even more strongly. I was being tortured, a poor, helpless, beautiful naked girl being outrageously brutalized by an evil and disgusting heathen.
I leaned forward, slightly dizzy, and felt another wave of delicious relief as the sting on my nipples eased. I let all my weight down once more, gasping and shuddering as I lifted my feet off the floor, holding them locked together at the base of the post. I let my weight ease forward and then back before finally taking some of my weight on my feet once more. Heaven! The relief was intoxicating, and I slid slowly forward, letting the wood saw along my sex. The wood was slick now, moist with the juices of my throbbing sex. Orgasm approached, hot, heavy and powerful, and I slid further forward, letting more weight fall against the wood.
Then it hit, and I shuddered, my body convulsing. I raised my feet and rode the wood, my hips and weight rocking me back and forth, my body swaying and trembling as the power of the climax swept powerfully through mind and body. I felt the tightness of the chain around my throat, the throbbing in my head from pleasure, pain and lack of oxygen, yet had to go on, had to continue grinding myself down upon the harsh wood for as long as the orgasm continued. Any movement back would rob me of that glorious storm of ecstasy, and I could not bear the thought.
A part of me realized the inability to breath, yet still I was unwilling to relax my body, to give in to the growing desperation for oxygen, not if it meant easing the strength of length of that wondrous orgasm. My lower body continued to buck and hump, my head jerking back and forth, my body rocking in place.
Then the climax faded, and with an explosive gasp I slid backwards, loosening the chain and drawing deep breaths.
I was sick, a sick girl. I deserved to be tortured.
Yet even as I breathlessly acknowledged this the warm, delicious tingle of orgasm was still just barely detectable in the back of my mind, and the memory of what it had been made me willing to do anything to gain it back.
I was not to be given that opportunity, for the door opened and my master walked in. He gazed me with another smirk, fondling my breasts and whispering what I imagined were threats into my ear. He bent, sliding his hand along my trembling thigh, and unfastened the chain binding my shackles. He then lifted my right leg up and back, fitting the ankle to the side of the horizontal bar behind and below my "seat". A moment later he lifted my left ankle, and did the same, forcing all my weight down upon my sex.
I moaned in growing discomfort, for even with the sense of sexual need still gripping me this made my pussy ache more powerfully.
I clenched my teeth and choked back a cry as the hard edge of the wood was forced up even harder between my swollen pubic lip.
He smiled, running his hand along my sex where it was split by the wood, then removed the chain from around my neck, moved behind me and seized my still braided hair. He pulled back slowly and smugly, forcing my head backwards inch by inch. As my back arched the flesh tightened across my hot, sensitive breasts, pulling much harder against the cords bound to my nipples. Soon I was looking almost straight to the roof, and then my hair was bound behind me to the rear post.
He left me again then, to try and make some accommodation with my steadily rising pain. The stinging of my nipples soon began to fade into the background as the soft, warm flesh of my groin pressed against that narrow length of wood with unrelenting pressure. I could not now do anything to ease my weight and bring myself even temporary relief. The ache grew sharper, the pain hotter, until that part of my body was afire with a terrible agony.
It was such a terrible thing to do to a woman, to attack that place which was designed to give her pleasure, to bring such crude force to bear upon that place where she was so sensitive and defenceless. And this again raised my ardour. A strange kind of fever began to run through my blood as endorphins flooded through me to fight the pain. I felt almost a sense of euphoria, a light-headedness.
He entered the room once more, accompanied by three other men. The newcomers stared at me in delight as the man who had placed me in that cruel position spoke. Pride and smugness filled his voice as he waved his hand at me, pointing towards my red breasts and outstretched nipples, then plucked the cord attached to my clitoris.
I moaned as they stared at me, shifting my weight as much as I could on the hard edged wood, rocking back and forth as the pain and pleasure warred within me. Their eyes surrounded me, staring, excited, aroused by my pain, by my nudity, by the wickedness of what was being done to me.
They touched me, my breasts, my buttocks, my hair, and fingered the rings of my clitoris and nipples. They spoke questioningly towards him, and he replied knowingly. He ran a hand along my chest, stroking my arched body, sliding his fingers between my legs to press against my burning labia where they were jammed harshly into the wood.
My body was trembling violently by then, the pain having twisted into a throbbing, aching pleasure as lust swept through my body. I felt as though I was being cleaved in half, as though the edge of the wood had shrunk to razor sharpness and was slicing slowly but surely up between my legs. Yet a kind of rapture gripped me, and every inch of my skin tingled with life and desire. Another climax roared down upon me, and I screamed, my body jerking spastically. I felt a sense of overwhelming pressure in my head, and the light began to fade out around me.
Chapter Eleven
I coughed, my throat aching, and spit out water. A moment later I opened my eyes and licked at my lips, some part of me recognizing the extreme thirst which had been gripping me since I had landed in this country. I looked up from where I lay on the floor in time to see another pail of water thrown upon me and opened my mouth to capture what I could. Water sprayed over my still pink and sore breasts, and ran down between my legs to where my groin ached hotly.
He took one of my ankles and dragged me aside, and I saw that a small, narrow portion of the floor had been raised up. Beneath was a well-padded space something less than six feet in length and quite narrow. It was to this I was dragged, and dropped into, my arms still bound tightly together behind me, elbows locked as one. The sides of this little coffin pressed in tightly against my shoulders, and my feet were firm against the bottom as he knelt above me.
In short order strong straps bound me in place at ankle, calf, knee, thigh, hip, waist, chest, throat and head. Two blocks of padded wood were pressed in to either side of my head, jamming in against my ears, then the turn of a crank produced a pressure against the top of my head as the little box grew smaller still.
He stepped back and lowered the lid, which was padded thickly along its lower part, and less so at its top. The lower part pushed down firmly against my legs and belly, while the top only brushed my lips. I could not move in any slightest way, nor hear, nor see in the darkness. I was alone, as in a coffin, alone with my pain and bruises, with my misery and fear.
I was not claustrophobic when I entered that tight, suffocating box, but I certainly was when I was dragged free of it. Hour after hour of complete immobility with only my own screams of frantic despair for company. Hour after hour of desperately wanting to move even a little, to bend my aching back or legs or scratch my thigh or above all to relief some of the intense, agonizin
g pressure on my tightly bound arms and locked shoulders, pressure which threatened to break my mind, to turn me into ravening insanity.
Every few hours water spilled from a crack or hole which was located above my mouth, and I would snap at it like a starving beast, licking and sucking at whatever moisture I could reach. The rest of the time I bathed in the sweat of pain and misery and heat, trying to draw shuddering breaths through that same small hole and expand my chest against the relentless pressure pushing down against my breasts.
I was probably in that horrible pit, that coffin, for no more than a day. I do not believe my master's patience would have permitted him to spend any longer upon a torture he could not witness. When I was dragged free I was barely human, ready to do anything, including throwing myself off a cliff, to ensure I was never again returned to it.
His fingers dug at the straps around my arms, and then, my mind still swimming in dazed pain felt a new gush of agony as my shoulders, so long forced back, were finally released. I screamed through my dry, ragged throat, sobbing and wailing at the return of sensation, at long frozen muscles at last set free.
Perhaps he was feeling more kindly towards me now, for after sodomizing me, he merely strapped my ankles against the backs of my thighs, shackled my wrists behind me and had me kneel upon the floor in the corner where he settled my still badly bruised and aching sex down upon a thick, ridged metal penis bolted to the floor. It ached as it forced the lips of my sex apart, but compared to the pain I had already endured it was as nothing.
I was expecting something much worse, and waited anxiously for him to do worse. Even when he left I did not believe he would leave me long in such calm circumstances. Yet after long minutes had passed, minutes which had, I think, become hours, I accepted it with gladness. Despite the thickness of the metal impaling my aching sex I was no longer in extreme discomfort. My arms were gloriously free, even if my wrists were bound together behind me. Every movement made my shoulders ache and groan in the joy of release. I felt an almost sensual delight in simply shrugging my shoulders and shifting my torso. Such freedom was intoxicating.
I thus had time and the ability to think upon my situation in this new place, and to recognize that I had a need to do something, however desperate, to free myself before my twisted master damaged me permanently, or worse. I did not know what that something would be, but I resolved to be alert for any opportunities in future.
It was only a few hours later before my master returned, and he immediately removed me from my comfortable position and set about preparing me for one which would be considerably more awkward.
He placed me on the floor on my belly, then quickly attached ropes to the shackles about my wrists and ankles. Moments later those ropes were joined together and I was being lifted upwards, still in a horizontal position, wrists and ankles pulling together above me so that my torso was bowed and my back ached.
As before, the little man watched me with excitement, standing back as I hung in place, turning slowly in the centre of the frame, all my weight focussed on a single rope bound to the hook above. After some minutes the weight of my torso had bowed my body further, and I was lowered so that my belly touched the floor. This was not to be a reduction in my discomfort however. With the slackening of the ropes binding me new ones were added, and the old ones removed. Now both wrists were placed directly against the sides of both ankles, and all four were bound tightly together. That done, I was again raised high as my master watched with excited eyes.
He moved about me, viewing me from different angles, then darted to the corner and there drew a long length of cord. He returned, roughly gripping my long braid, then bound the cord into it and tied the other end to the ropes looped about my ankles and wrists. This had the effect of forcing me to hold my head horizontally, or accepting the pain as the cord yanked on my hair.
Not done, he dashed behind me, tying ropes to both legs just above the knee, and running those ropes to opposite sides of the frame, so that my thighs, still aching and burning from previous torments, were spread wide once again.
As before, he circled me, smiling in self-congratulation, observing me from all angles. He then stood before me, his groin at the same level as my face, and drew out his erection. Due to the taut pull of the cord on my hair my mouth was forced wide, and into it he plunged his erection, unhesitatingly thrusting it deep into my swollen, bruised throat.
He then grasped my head between both hands and began to use my mouth and throat with long, frenzied strokes, his erection pumping wildly inside me, his belly slapping painfully against my face, crushing my nose with each thrust. He lasted only seconds in this manner before I felt his cock softening. He withdrew at once, beaming at me and then turning away.
He left the room, and my body, already in discomfort and pain, began to throb and go numb, to burn and ache. What felt like hours passed as my mind slowly developed that same numbness, a sense of dazed incomprehension. It was some time before he returned for me, but I remember nothing of it. I wakened to some sanity in the cage, once more, still without food or water, and spent the night clutching my empty stomach and trying to sleep.
Morning came, or what I assumed to be morning, and the return of my tormentor. This time I was stood straight and my arms chained overhead. He threw several buckets of water on me, then soaped me from head to toe before rinsing me off with more water. He wrung my hair dry, then produced a brush to work out the worst of its tangles before leaving me alone. It was perhaps an hour or two later when he returned, bound my wrists behind me, and led me out of the room. We went down the stairs and along a somewhat more comfortably furnished hall. Yet there was to be no improvement in my fortunes.
The room we entered was large, but bare and windowless. The walls had been painted with scenes of women in torment, but were obviously ancient, the paint faded and in some cases flaked and peeling. An empty, roped-off area covered its centre, and two score men circled its edges, most in small groups, chatting and sipping from cups and glasses.
I was led forward naked into the midst of their hungry, staring eyes, and leering teeth and felt a growing sense of anxiety - mixed with the arousal I had come to expect now as my exhibitionistic side came into its glory. I was taken into the centre of the roped off area. There my wrists were lifted high above me and chained to opposite ends of a metre long steel pole. My legs were spread apart similarly chained, then the chain holding the pole above me was raised upward.
Moments after my feet left the floor I was jerked to a halt, for the lower pole was, it seemed, chained in place. Yet the pressure of the chain above my head was unrelenting as it sought to raise me higher. I felt the pressure of the shackles digging into wrists and ankles, my flesh burning and aching. My arms and shoulders strained, and the pressure ran along my spine so that it seemed to pop and creak.
There was no gag to silence my gasps, which became cries and then sobs as the pain mounted. I attempted to restrain myself, even as the sweat stood out on my naked flesh and the pain tore through every part of my body.
The little man who was my master was speaking to the men viewing my torment, and I could see the pride in his movements and hear the satisfaction in his voice. The pressure mounted higher still, and my entire body screamed in agony - causing me to do the same. My voice echoed about the vast, empty room, yet none of the men appeared disturbed. Quite the contrary, each of my shrieks and cries seemed to raise their excitement, and I perceived that they, like my master, were deeply aroused by my agony.
My four limbs strained in different directions, and I felt more popping in my shoulders and knees. I thought that I was about to die, that the peak of the spectacle would be my flesh torn asunder so that the leering jackals surrounding me could achieve the satisfaction of seeing my beauty destroyed. Yet my torment was not to be so quickly complete.
Just as the agony became such that my vision grew hazy and I began to feel faint it eased off, bit by bit, relaxing its pull on my body until I merely hung l
imp from the upper pole. I was able to breath somewhat easier now, and a feeling of deep relief spread through my body.
My new master began to beat me then, with a short flog against my back. It stung, of course, yet it was as nothing compared to the feeling of being pulled apart, and as I saw the excitement in the eyes of the men watching I felt a small quiver of arousal between my legs. To be whipped so, in front of so many people, hanging from my wrists, struck to the soul of my dark, masochistic desires, and even as the flog lashed my soft flesh and I cried out in pain the throbbing between my legs grew more powerful.
He dropped the flog, and I turned my head briefly, eyes widening, chest tightening to see him carrying a heavier Cat `O nine tails. It lashed my lower back, and my cries rose higher. The cat stung much more, like claws across the skin, and my body jerked and swung to the pain.
Yet still my sex hungered, excited by such torment, and even through the pain I could sense the moistening of my pussy, the desire to feel the touch of a hand, or a man's penis, or even, and I gasped at the thought, the cat itself.
The blows halted, and I hung weakly, quivering, my body twitching. My long hair was tangled about my face, and I shook my head slightly to clear some of the golden tresses from my eyes, then shuddered as I saw him approach me carrying a long, thick whip. It was a bullwhip, and never before had I tasted its kiss. It dangled from his hand and slid along the floor behind him like a dangerous snake as he moved out of my sight and behind me.
I tried to brace myself, feeling a wonder and fear that he would use such a thing on my soft flesh. The whip made a sound like none I had heard before as it was cast through the air, and the force of the blow as it cut across my back was a hammerblow to the needles I had already been given. It sent the breath exploding from my lungs in an animal howl of agony, and left my flesh feeling ripped, torn and burning from my right shoulder to my left waist.