by Argus, JJ
It struck again, and again I could not repress the scream of tortured pain which flew from my ragged throat as it snapped about my waist, leaving a red welt as a belt. Again it struck, and again, slashing into my upper back, then my lower. My insides twisted and roiled, as the pain built up around me. But then it could climb no higher, it seemed, and began to form a screen of heat around my mind and body which diffused and softened the sharpness of additional blows.
My body continued to jerk to the violent blows, and I felt a sense of amazement that I was to be the victim of such cruelty, yet also an excitement, for that dark hunger was coiled deep within me, slowly spreading out as it gloried in the heat and lust of the men surrounding me, as it revelled in their despite, in their desire to see me punished and tortured. My pussy throbbed more than ever before, and the pleasure continued to grow, soaking up much of the pain even as my master changed the direction of his blows.
He turned slightly, shifted his arm and snapped it out sideways, and the long whip flew, striking my back with a sideways motion which curled the first foot around my ribcage and sank the tip into my right breast.
I was shocked, stunned, and as the pain flashed through me I screamed in agony. My body thrashed and twisted in frantic desperation as the watching men leered in delight. Again the whip slashed around my chest, and again sent my already wounded breast bouncing upwards from the force of the blow. The whip landed again, this time lower, curling around my hip and downwards. The tip sank into my inner thigh, but even as I screamed I knew it had missed its target.
Oh no! Oh no!
Yet that dark, terrible side of me exulted.
Yessss! Yesss!
To be whipped there! Not by the soft, light strips of a flog, but by a real whip, the whip of pirate fantasies, the whip of slave masters in the deep south of the United States! The hiss and crack as it struck was a vivid aural shock which drew me into the realms of cruellest fantasy, but even there I had not imagined anyone would be so terrible as to let the hard, sharp wicked lash of such a whip even approach the delicate centre of my mons.
I tried instinctively to twist my body in some way as to block the following blow, to close my legs to protect myself. Yet I could not, and some part of me did not wish to anyway. I felt the lust and desire of my sex, felt the soft lips swelling, opening slightly, pouting with desire, and then the whip curled around my hip once more, slicing downwards across my abdomen, the tip making a soft, wet crack! as it bit into the soft flesh of my sex. My hips were thrown back and up, and the air left my lungs. A crescendo of agony and ecstasy screamed within me, roaring together in a maelstrom of sensory overload. The impact of the harsh leather gave me a horrible, shocking gush of savage exultation.
A few of the watchers applauded, but I could hardly hear them through the roaring of blood in my ears and the shriek which erupted from my mouth. I swung, gasping and gurgling, from my wrists, legs twitching and jerking spastically as I instinctively tried to close them. Yet I could not, and a mixture of horror and carnal delight gripped me as I waited the next blow.
Again! Again! the darkness cried.
No! No! my mind wailed.
The whip landed again, no more than an inch lower. I felt it slice into the soft flesh just above my buttocks, hissing along my fragile flesh as it curled over my hip, then sink into the quivering skin of my abdomen before the tip struck just below my clitoris with a powerful blow of agony.
I screamed again, hips exploding backwards, body swinging wildly as my legs jerked and twisted. The pain was horrific, yet the rush, the rush was... indescribable. I felt as though my sex were a volcano ready to explode, as if the heat inside it would gush out onto the floor, as if the sexual pressure inside my head would tear me apart.
Again the whip hissed through the air, curling around my shaking body and snapping at my groin. Now it curled around my left hip, now my right, but always the tip was directed at my burning, swollen sex, and the pain and pleasure both became unbearable, tearing at my strength and sanity.
The tip of the whip slashed in between my legs now, as my tormenter became more cunning, slicing in and upwards directly along the line of my bare sex.
And I came. I came like a maddened, frenzied animal, my body thrashing wildly, head jerking violently and bonelessly about as the storm of sensation lashed my fragile mind. Muscles spasmed and nerve endings snapped and crackled as the climax rose higher and higher still, fuelled by still more blows from my master's terrible whip.
He shifted his aim once more, letting the whip strike against my back, and the stunning heights of pleasure began to sink.. Then he sent the terrible thing curling around my ribs once more, causing my breasts to dance and shake, to recoil against the violence inflicted upon them, and the climax seemed to spiral upwards once more, spreading out, seizing me in its grip and shaking me like a rag doll. I could not think, could not breath, and soon even screams were beyond me as blackness began to fill my vision and the pain and pleasure faded away with the light.
I lay on my back in my cage, semi-conscious, throat sore and swollen, body on fire with pain, swimming in sweat, hair a tangled mass, much of it matted against my perspiring face.
At some point water, a pail of it, was thrown upon me, and I half woke from my haze, sputtering weakly. Bowls of water and some foul smelling food were placed beside me, and the shadowy figure who brought them withdrew, slamming the door behind him. My trembling hands fumbled for the bowls, almost spilling the priceless water. I quickly gulped down the entire bowl, despite the pain to my aching throat, then somehow managed to force down some of the soft rice-like food.
Four more times came the pail, water splashing over my naked body and running out of the cage and onto the stone floor, and thence into a drain in the corner. After the pale would come the small bowls of food and water. I do not know if this was once each day, or twice, or three times, though I believe it was twice.
Finally, he pulled me out once more, then forced me to my feet. He reached above him to where a pair of shackles hung from a chain, lifting my left wrist up to place it in position. I did not think to resist. Resistance had been beaten out of me, yet some instinct for self-preservation caused me to shoot up my other hand and to grab at the shackle. Without my mind forming any thought or plan, in nothing but ragged determination I slapped the shackle around his wrist and then fell back as he cursed and yanked at it.
His other hand was free, yet one was caught immovably in the shackle, and he could not release it. I saw his eyes shoot across to the table a few feet away, and the key sitting on its edge, yet try as he might he could not reach it. He turned on me with fiery eyes, cursing me in his own language, no doubt threatening immense pain and torment did I not release him at once.
I simply sat back on my heels, panting for breath, fighting against the weakness and pain, watching him dully. The door was heavy and closed, and no one came in answer to his shouts. Slowly, some semblance of intelligence returned to my mind and I realized my inevitable pain would now only be increased for such temerity. Yet I regarded my tormentor with loathing and hate, and contempt, for he was no true master, a weak man in mind and body.
I stood up, and he rained more threats upon me, yet a nebulous plan formed in my mind. I moved to the desk and took the key, then went to him. He handed his hand out impatiently, yet instead I raised the key high to the shackles. His free hand rose at once, as if to snatch the key from my hand, and as he did so I dropped the key and seized his wrist in both hands. I was strong, from my exercises in China, and he was weak and spindly. Before he understood my intent I had his other wrist into the second shackle and the iron closed tightly about it.
More shouts and snarls of rage followed, yet I did not care. I moved to the wall, to the crank I had seen him use, and turned it, not without effort, so that his feet rose off the floor and he dangled from his wrists. There was much satisfaction in seeing him so, and I sat back down against the wall to rest.
Perhaps an hour pass
ed, or two, before I rose once more. He was hanging limply by then, for hanging from ones wrists was exhausting. I removed his clothing, and then began to beat him. I was still somewhat dazed, but enjoyed myself even so, raining blows with the whips which had caused me the most pain, focussing as much attention on his groin as he had mine, but neglecting no part of his spindly body. I whipped him until my arms were too tired to raise, then sank exhaustedly to the floor once again to rest. By this time he was trembling and sobbing and begging, and I felt even more disgust for him.
It was time to leave, if I would, and though I was not thinking very clearly at this time, I had little doubt about what my master would do to me when someone eventually came along to free him. I squeezed through the door, closing it behind, and made my way slowly and tentatively up the hall. In the next room I found a water tap, and drank deeply, until it seemed my belly sloshed with liquid, then ducked my head beneath, soaking myself.
I don’t know how I managed to continue to move. I was an automaton, unthinking, operating solely on instinct. I made my way through the quiet corridors, past sleeping or drunken guards, and out an unguarded door and thence to the street.
Naked, I staggered through the street until a kind hearted person - I know not who - seeing my dazed and unclothed state, and concerned about my welfare, took me a little ways up one street and down another and then guided me towards the American embassy. Those worthies, seeing a white woman turned up at their door, perhaps assumed I was one of theirs and took me in. However, I was not to long remain.
I do not know if news of my true identity arrived, or if news of a search by my master caused them to react. Most likely, they wished to avoid any unfavourable publicity, anything which would cause them difficulties with the local government.
I was taken out of the place only two days later, and placed in a small car with tinted windows. We drove to the airport, and I was placed aboard a small private jet.
I was the only passenger, which I thought a bit of a shame. The aircraft reminded me of the one which had taken me to China a year or so previously, and thinking of the events of that trip aroused me quite a bit. Had there even been a single steward or stewardess I most likely would have attempted to draw them into sex, but there wasn't, and the door to the cabin remained locked.
I expected a long ride, and was more than a little bored and irritated at being locked alone without any form of entertainment. Partly to amuse myself, and partly excited at the wickedness of doing such a thing, I drew my legs up across the arms of my seat and began to masturbate. Then, my excitement rising, I dared to strip completely and, naked, pranced about the long cabin, going so far as to flatten my breasts against the door to the pilots' cabin.
Then I returned to the centre of the cabin, lay on my back in the middle of the floor, spread my legs, and masturbated, doing so as lewdly as possible, groaning in pleasure, rolling my hips wantonly, and thoroughly enjoying being a slut amid ordinary, respectable society.
I had just finished, and was laying still, sighing happily, when I felt the slight jerk which signalled we were landing. I stood up in surprise, going to one of the windows and staring in surprise at the small, dusty land around us, then turned and quickly got dressed. I thought perhaps we had landed for refuelling, and hoped to be permitted to go out and wander about. I thought that since we had been flying west towards England, we must be somewhere in the middle-east by then.
I wondered if I would be able to see the pyramids.
The aircraft came to a halt, and I peered around dubiously. The runway seemed to have been paved in the middle of a desert, with not a single building nearby. I looked towards the pilots' door, but there was no movement there. Then I heard movement behind me, and turned to see one of the aircraft's exit doors opening. I stood up curiously and walked forward, unsurprised to see an Arab man in a drab brown uniform pushing the door aside.
He looked at me, then motioned impatiently for me to come forward. I obeyed, and he took my arm and led me through the door and down the few steps required to reach the runway. At that he released me, turned back up, and closed the aircraft's door once more, shutting it into place. I stared at him in surprise.
"Here. What are you doing?" I demanded.
He ignored my question, presuming he understood it, and took my arm again, leading me away from the aircraft.
"Where are we going?" I demanded.
He led me further away and behind us the engines roared as the aircraft began to turn around and head back up the runway.
"What's going on?" I asked uncertainly.
The aircraft picked up speed and then took off. The man released my arm, looked me up and down, then moved to a small jeep I had not noticed previously, got in, and drove away. I stared after him stupidly, then looked around me at the runway, and mounds of sand in all directions. I still could see no sign of any type of building. Above me, the sun beat down, and then the wind began to blow softly, sending sand across the runway and swirling around my feet and into my hair.
"What have I done?" I said aloud, turning slowly in place and looking about me.
I was sure... well, not sure sure, but fairly sure they would not simply have sought to fly me here to die. They could have had me killed by simply giving me back to the Indians, after all. But where was I and what did they intend? I walked off the runway, which was helping to bake me in the heat, and quickly found the sand at the edge rather difficult to walk in.
I was still wondering what was going on when I saw movement in one direction, and followed it with my eyes. It was, I determined, approaching. After a bit I realized it was a horse, a man on a horse, and thought of how odd that was. The horse grew larger and larger, until I could make out that he was quite large, black, and bore a man in a black robe on his back. The man had one of those Arab type headdresses, but he seemed stern of face, and handsome as well. The horse drew up not far from me and the man looked at me silently from under his headdress.
"Uhm, hello?" I ventured.
He stepped down from his horse and crossed to me, then, without a word, backhanded me so that I cried out and staggered backwards. He gripped the front of my blouse and tore it open, then twisted me around and yanked the tattered remains off my back. A moment later my bra was off, and then I was thrown forward onto my face in the sand. I sputtered and cried out as he loomed over me, but he did not strike me. Instead he gripped my skirt and yanked it off, along with my panties, then even removed my shoes and socks before throwing me onto my back.
Still silent, he spread my legs, and I gasped and whimpered, not daring to resist as he opened the bottom part of his robe and drew out a long, thick erection.
I should say that I had been used, ravished and abused by many men to that point in my life, but never before had I seen such a monstrous erection. He looked fully a foot long, and immensely thick, and so despite my experience I gaped at it until his hand slapped against my face and threw my head back into the sand once more.
He thrust himself against me, and fortunately my pussy still held the moistness of my earlier self abuse, for he had little time nor patience for my body to accommodate itself to him. I cried out nonetheless as he crudely forced the soft lips of my sex wide and punched his long, thick member deep into my belly.
He seized my thighs roughly, spreading them wider, yanking on my body as he thrust himself forward, still soundless as he drove himself forward again and again, forcing inch after inch of his enormously thick organ into my quivering body. I sobbed weakly, but knew enough not to resist. His erection was like a club, like a spear thrusting deep into my body, reaching so high that the soft, spongy nose mashed against what felt like my actual cervix, then began to beat upon it as his hips thrust in angry, savage passion.
He used me violently, silently, his dark eyes boring into mine as his hips worked with deliberate force. His hands forcing my thighs back and apart, holding them in place with a grip of iron as he drove himself into me.
And then, just
like that, he was done. I had no warning of it, no realization that he had achieved his climax. He rose, gripping me roughly by one slim ankle and dragging me along with him through the sand to the side of his horse. He dropped my ankle then and opened a saddle bag, from which he took a long length of rope. He quickly unwound it, turning and pinning my wrists together, then binding them tightly in place.
Still not speaking, he turned and mounted his horse, wound the other end of the rope about the horn of his addle, and signalled the horse to start forward. Staring, mouth agape, I watched as the horse moved off, then abruptly realized my position and moaned as the rope reached its limit and I had to hurry forward, breaking into a trot.
Already I was sweating, exhausted, shocked by the sudden unexpected violence, and having difficulty with my heavy breathing in such a hot, sandy atmosphere. Yet he ignored me, the horse setting a deliberate pace which I had no choice but to match. It was too slow for a run, or even a trot, but too fast for me to walk. So I was forced to alternate, now trotting, now jogging, now trotting again, getting more and more out of breath as we left the runway behind and moved down a very narrow path between enormous sand dunes.
Nothing lay behind them but more sand, and I moaned helplessly as the horse continued blithely forward, the man never turning his back as I tried with more desperation to keep up.
My bare feet sank deep into the hot white sand, and I was soon lagging badly, the force of the rope often yanking me forward so that I stumbled. Twice I fell, and was dragged through the sand a short distance before managing to get to my feet. Finally I fell and could not stand, and was dragged through the sand by the wrists, coughing weakly and moaning in exhaustion and overheat.
I managed to roll onto my back after a minute, which eased the pain to my breasts, yet I had no way of climbing to my feet, and no strength left either. I stared up at the sun, panting for breath and coughing in the sand raised behind his horse as I was dragged through along wondering if I was, after all, to be killed.