The urgency rises in the small space in which we’re gathered, the wood of the box creaking and dirt raining down from above as the Inquisitor shifts his weight on top of me, elbows pressed by my sides.
A scream builds in my belly, urgent and low, a voice not my own but primal that seeks only to find life.
The Inquisitor’s lips fall upon my own, warm and sensual, his breath full of pine and sandalwood as his tongue snakes inside and wraps around the prone prisoner in my mouth. Dimly, I respond, my lips twitching and beginning to move, the first signs the draught may be wearing off. And as we kiss his chest compresses against my breasts and the head of his member rises into the hot seat of my cleft.
With his free hand he lifts my buttocks and my thighs split wider, his cock head moving deeper.
I want him, I actually want him to take my virginity in this moment, compressed under a stranger, under the earth itself. If these are to be my last moments, I want to see them through as a woman.
His lips slide to my ear and he whispers in Latin before his hips rise and his shaft shifts forward to fill my folds.
His first thrust is brutal, almost desperate, rushing past my maidenhead and deep into my slick hole. I cry out silently as he lunges again and more dust and dirt spills over us.
How much earth is above us? How much movement will it take for the roof of the casket to collapse and crush us completely?
I just have enough strength to bite down on my lips and he pulls me to him and sinks again inside me as the rock of his hips jars against my own, our pelvises collected together.
Pain moves to pleasure as he takes me, his shaft splitting me apart but also filling me unlike anything I’ve known, reaching right into my soul and core until I spill myself around it.
The proximity is unbearable, the closeness we share suffocating as my ribcage hammers in tune with my heartbeat and my thighs fall completely open as he plunges his cock into me over and over, my cunt swallowing him up easily as it expands to meet his thrusts. His balls press up against my ass, against the tender buttocks that slide again the sodden silk cushion below.
He grinds against me, my hair in his mouth, as his pelvis drums against my sex, thrumming right at the apex, mashing against my most sensitive of areas as the tiny flower bud that has opened up my his touch.
I have never felt anything like it, sensation flowering out throughout my frame as he beats against me, reaching, clutching and writing against me as his buttocks hit the roof of the coffin and we’re again dusted in earth.
My limbs heat and I feel movement. My hands and fingers lift and fall on his ass, clawing into him to go deeper, to skewer my helpless body completely.
My mouth moves and a sound spills out. “Yes.”
More sensation returns and I snake my arms around his molten torso, rising and growing dizzy again as he slams against me as if trying to meld together our bodies with sheer violence.
Everything centres around my sex as I slip towards some great precipice, looking through the darkness at true death.
The sensations grow more urgent in time with his thrusting as I dig my fingernails into the flesh of his back. I moan and bite down on his neck as his balls grow against me. My hips move automatically, milking his cock as I moan and mew into his shoulder, clasping onto him for life. Overhead the drum beats in time with my heart, growing increasingly faster, the tempo increasing faster and faster.
The Inquisitor runs against the end of my sex and stiffens there, letting out a deep bellow as he’s taken and a warm ball of heat flows into my insides. Seconds later I tumble, spinning out of control as my cunt convulses and clamps around the organ embedded inside it, sweet release filling my body and head until I let myself go numb and the Inquisitor collapses atop me, crushing my lungs and body.
The ecstasy lingers, crawling across my skin as the Inquisitor rolls from me, cock birthed from my cunt fresh with my split skin and blood, creamy and coated.
I reach my hand across and stroke it until it becomes soft, hand sticky with the substance.
We lie next to each other breathing hard as the sound of shovels hitting earth echoes above. It seems like hours, days before the metal nose of a shovel connects with the top of the coffin, a hollow tap-tapping that signals our release.
The Inquisitor reaches up and gives two taps back before we’re tossed together again as the coffin is lifted.
Hands come underneath us, guiding the wooden box back to the Altar.
The top of the casket opens and moonlight breaks through like day. I sit, still weak from my climax, gasping for air as the hooded figures whoop and gather around the coffin, lifting me from its plush interior and casting me to the ground.
I look back and see the straps they’ve used to pull the casket from the earth. The wood is heavy with it, all gloss and varnish lost.
The drum beats faster and the figures dance around me, cocks and cunts and everything sexual swimming and mixing together in the firelight.
The yearning returns, the need to be satisfied and fucked and filled so unknown to me earlier today.
The Inquisitor stands in the coffin, his blood- and cum-streaked pole lifting once more to the heavens. His hood is gone and he smiles down upon me, handsome and proud.
“Begin!” he says, and the rites flow in full.
The figures rush towards me as the drum beats, fingers reaching for my body and orifices, seeking them out. I let them, anything to feel the crash of pleasure I felt within the coffin, letting my body be taken in any way that would allow me to draw closer to that everlasting climax, the eternal fall.
A bent cock spears towards my mouth and I open my lips to allow it inside. I pump another with my hand as the member between my lips slides back and forth. I’m flipped over onto my knees, another shaft gliding deep into my cunt cleared and seeded by the Inquisitor who watches on from above.
The man behind me releases and slides away to be replaced by another who sinks into me with a groan to deliver a series of slow, teasing thrusts that ignite the fire in my loins as a female suckles and plays with my breasts.
I beg. “Please,” I tell the stranger with his cock in my sex. “Please.”
He starts to ram into me as I squeeze my eyes shut to recreate the darkness. In my mind colours coalesce and bloom together as the pleasure in my sex swells with each downward thrust and new fingers slide above, teasing at the centre of it all. With a grunt he’s gone and once more my sex is void.
The shaft in my mouth convulses and pushes forward to eject against the back of my throat. I swallow his seed hard as I feel a strange pressure against my tender asshole.
No. It’s too tight. You’ll never fit!
But the stranger does not care for my protests, stifled as they are by the cock filling my mouth. I manage to pull it free and wail as the cock behind me presses past the clamp of my anus and into my the tight shaft of my ass.
The stranger drives into my rear with a twisting motion, pushing back and forth as the root of his member bumps the opening of my ass and he has filled me completely.
My eyes roll and my mouth hangs loose as a female body slides below me and new lips attach to my sex.
My ass yields and with it comes a new pleasure, deeper and darker than the fucking the Inquisitor provided me only moments ago in the coffin. My ass strains around the intruder as he fills half my body, my teenage form wracked and ravaged continually. Cock after cock deposits in my holes to leave them stretched, open and spilling onto the earth or to waiting mouths below.
I grasp at another length, all members blurring together, but this one is different. I taste myself upon it and lift my eyes to meet those of the only figure without a hood – the Inquisitor. His cock has grown stiff again and I take it greedily, amazed by how primal and keen I have become. More cocks attack me, my ass, cunt and mouth filled with hard flesh, muscles releasing and gripping until I give a long groan of satisfaction around the Inquisitor’s length and he comes, hot and fresh in my mouth.
I climax hard, waves of bliss clutching at me as my ass and sex squeeze together in tandem and the men behind me bellow as they spill their seed. Others leak over my back, my face, my ass cheeks as I slump off the cocks that impale me and roll onto the ground completely exhausted.
I’m used until the moon fades overhead to be replaced by the break of day. The firelight loses its glow and the mystery of the night leaves.
When they are done, when my torn and prone body is caked in semen and sperm, the shadow of the Inquisitor looms over me. He extends a hand towards me. “Welcome, my love, to the Six Feet Under Society.”
PUNISHED ON THE GALLOWS
The sound of the trapdoor fills my dreams. Seven of our ten-strong crew have now been relieved of life by the gallows, necks broken as the boards under their feet fall away and they plunge into the darkness below.
Our cell is little bigger than the ship store, the three of us left forced to fight over what little bread and water we’re provided.
Enrique, the master gunner, sits in the corner as he has for days. A fat, squat man, he often speaks of his own coming death.
“They come early in the morning,” he tells us, “kicking you awake like a dog. They drag you out there pleading, dragging you right up onto the deck of the gallows, a noose around your neck, hands bound behind your back. One pull of the handle by the masked man, that’s all it takes and ‘poof’,” he throws his hands up, “you fall, noose tight around your neck until ‘snap’, there it goes, shit and all. Oh, and you better hope they do it right, that your head doesn’t pop off completely or you’re left to twitch their like a poppet. That’s why they leave you hanging for an hour or more, to be sure.”
I try not to listen to him. This isolation has sent him mad.
In the other corner is one of the mates, the one known only as Foul, a young man who I’ve shared a tryst or two with in the ammo store, hands heavy on my thighs as he lifted my skirts and ran his fingers inside me, but never more than that. As I’ve wished it, and much to Foul’s displeasure, my maidenhead remains intact.
He smiles at me, but I do not have the strength to smile back.
Of course, we all knew this was the price of such a life, that of a pirate, but it’s a life I did not choose, a life I was forced into. I have known nothing else.
Now we all sit waiting, waiting for our doom.
What little sleep I have that night is lost when the cell door swings open and Enrique is pulled screaming from down the hall. Wide awake, we follow his cries from the gaol to the square outside, no view as he’s pulled up onto the gallows. We cannot see him as he’s read his sentence and crimes. There’s only the screaming, loud and constant, before the handle, the fall and the terrible crack that rings through the night.
There is no crowd to watch, no witnesses bar the executioner and commander himself. Such is the way it is done here.
The next day passes quickly. The weather has turned outside. Heavy clouds sweep over the island. Rain falls on and off, leaking through the walls and pooling around our feet as the wait continues.
Sleep comes uneasily again. I see a dark mass in my dreams, engulfing me, swallowing me whole.
There’s great pain, a fire burning in my body until I snap awake and release I’m being booted in the side.
The commander stands tall above me. “Morning, my love.”
Behind him is a large, hooded figure – the executioner. The black hood covers just half of his face, his chest and arms bare, all muscle and might.
The executioner takes me under the arms and begins to drag me out of the cell.
Foul stands, makes a go for the commander’s sword but finds the commander’s boot collecting with his face instead, toppling him back into the corner. I can already see the bruise expanding on his cheek.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
The cell door is shut and locked as I’m dragged down the hall, my bare, pale feet collecting over the cobblestone as I’m hauled out into the night and waiting square.
I’m let go in a heap, head falling against the stone.
“Stand,” the commander shouts, his voice deep and ominous.
I stand, my legs weak.
Before me are the gallows. The scaffolding stands as a giant structure of fresh wood that rises from the ground like a twisted leviathan of death. From the beam high above sways the rope and noose – keen to be filled.
My stomach clenches hard. I stumble.
“Up!” the commander shouts, all brass buttons and pressed uniform before me.
The executioner takes my hands behind me, collecting my wrists together painfully and binding them in hempen rope that burns against my skin.
Bound such, I am led up the stairs, each creaking with morbid delight as I rise higher and higher.
I try not to think of what is to come, the inevitable fall. I pray it will be quick, that my neck will be but a bird’s, easily snapped and broken.
The wind picks up and the noose swings again. The clouds rumble above, ready to release their sodden wares upon us.
I wear a simple shift, greased and dirty from my time in captivity. My hair hangs in twisted knots around my shoulders, lips dry.
Hands against my back, I’m led to a small square in the centre of the scaffold deck.
The commander stands to the side. His eyes rise and fall over my form. He smiles and I shiver again.
The hangman pulls the noose down and places it over my head, pulling the knot at the back tight until the rope bites into the tender skin of my neck, thick against the artery that beats in time with my racing heart below. The weight of it is absolute as it hangs poised. There will be no escape in its grip when the executioner pulls the handle and the trapdoor falls. Down I will go, five feet, six, before the catch. My feet shall never touch the ground again.
“Anne Bonney,” starts the commander, reading from a weathered scroll, “you have been found guilty of the act of piracy and sentenced to die by hanging. Do you have any final words?”
If I did, I would not be able to speak them. Only Foul will mourn my passing, and briefly at that before his own time on the gallows.
I shake my head.
“Very well.”
The smile pulls again on the commander’s lips. “First, however,” he says, looking towards the hangman, “I believe an inspection is in order.”
An inspection? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Again my stomach clenches and balls.
I’ve seen sailors walk the plank, I’ve seen the terror in their eyes, but it’s nothing like the fear I feel right now standing on a door that could open at any second and take my life. But worse is the grin on the commander’s face, a grin that hints at far greater evil.
The commander gives a signal to the hangman, who walks over to a lever and crank to begins turning it. The noose around my neck pulls tighter, the rope lifting and forcing me up onto my toes. My hands remain bound behind my back.
Frantically I try and balance lest I stumble and lose my footing altogether to result in a slow and painful death by strangulation.
The rope pulls at my neck again, eating into its supple surface.
Satisfied, the executioner comes in front of me. He makes no attempt to aid me. My toes scuttle on the boards for purchase as I stare into his eyes, his stubble-marked half-face below.
He reaches to the top of my shift and tears it from the top.
I gasp aloud as it separates down my middle, the thin material coming away in his hands easily as if he’s pulling cotton apart. He tears the shift until I’m naked before him, what was my only clothing discarded over the side of the scaffold.
The commander laughs, stepping closer.
My heart pounds, knocking hard against my ribcage.
“A female pirate is a rare curiosity.” He walks behind me. “Such a find must be examined, scrutinised before disposal.” His eyes drop and rise. “What’s that?” he says, cupping his ear towards me.
The noose is tight around m
y throat, gagging me. Speaking is useless.
His hand comes against a buttock and squeezes. I jump forward, quickly relenting to maintain balance. I let him fondle and grope my ass. There is nothing else I can do.
He pulls my cheeks apart, examining, murmuring.
Behind the hood I see the executioner’s eyes wandering over my breasts.
With horror I realise my nipples are stiff, raised far from the circular plates of my areole.
His eyes drop further again and I know he is contemplating my sex, imagining what may be under my dark pubic thatch.
Behind me, the commander tangles his fingers in my hair, tugging my head back cruelly. Again, I struggle, feet scrambling and knocking on the trapdoor.
My entire body is rigid with tension, frozen.
Just do it, I think. Make this humiliation end.
But it goes on.
The commander drops his voice to a low and ominous register. “I’ve never been sucked off by a pirate. Have you, hangman?”
The executioner slowly shakes his head in front of me, eyes still on my sex.
“Hangman,” the commander continues, “bring her down to her knees like the dog she is.”
The hangman walks back over to the handle and cogs, turning until my feet are flat again and the pressure on my throat relents. Slack builds in the rope above.
The commander comes back to stand in front of me. “Kneel, wench.”
I get down on one knee, followed by the other. The noose pulls taunt again, the hangman allowing just enough give.
I could refuse, but I know this type of man well. My non-compliance will only heighten my suffering in the time to come.
Kneeling, I watch as the commander withdraws his cock from his trousers.
It’s straight as a mast with thick veins and a twisted, angled head the colour of fresh meat.
He steps forward, pressing it between my lips, but I won’t open them. I won’t allow it.
The commander motions to the hangman, who begins to pull the lever to the trapdoor. It buckles below my knees. I scream. The commander seizes on this, running his cock into my mouth.
Cruel Devices 2: Taboo Punishment Collection (Extreme Dark Bondage) Page 2