Of Pain and Delight

by Heidi Stone

  He moved behind her again and she turned once more to face the wall. Surely he would take her now? No man had ever before been so reticent to ram his weapon into her. His swollen knob touched her sex lips again and he recommenced his agonisingly delightful circular movements, opening her without entering her sweet chalice. She began to tremble violently.

  ‘Ah, princess,’ he breathed malevolently, ‘you are hot for it, are you not?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ she panted in reply. ‘I yearn for you to fill me with your wondrous stalk.’

  He sniggered cruelly and began to slide the wet end of his tool up and down along the cleft of her bottom. Sahria considered for a brief instant that she would even let him take her there, in that forbidden place, so badly did she need to feel him inside her body. But no, that was not right; she could not allow such a thing. Whatever they said, she was still a princess.

  He pressed the head of his cock against her tight virgin sphincter, and she tensed in order to stop him violating her there. But she heard him chuckle. It was as he had insisted; in her restrained position she would have no choice. He could do to her whatever he pleased. If he wanted to fuck her in the bottom he could. She braced herself in readiness for the pain, but he moved suddenly and forced his full length deep into her welcoming cunt with one harsh jab. She cried out, more from shock than relief. He held himself still. She could feel him stretching her tight flesh, sensed him throb within her, and prayed shamefully that he hadn’t come. She needed more – much more.

  He gripped her stinging buttocks and dug his fingernails into her soft globes, causing her to wince with the pain. Steadily, he began to move in and out of her. At last she was getting the fuck she so desperately craved.

  The thickness of his rod caused her some discomfort at first, and she began to wonder if she would ever be able to accommodate Prince Sarne’s mighty weapon. Rapite matched the prince for thickness, but was probably less than half his length.

  Such thoughts were driven from her mind, however, as her inner muscles became accustomed to the stiff intrusion and he moved steadily in and out of her. She moaned softly and relaxed. Normally she would have responded to her lover’s movements with wild thrusts of her own, but such behaviour was impossible, tethered as she was to the unyielding frame.

  He started to plunge in and out of her with urgent purpose. Sahria matched the rhythm of his thrusts with her laboured breathing, occasionally moaning loudly with the sheer delight of the moment. The searing heat between her legs was building fast. Her release was imminent. ‘Yes… yes… harder!’ she cried involuntarily. She was close, very close. ‘Yes… yes…’ she cried again. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming…’

  Rapite suddenly withdrew from her and laughed as she whimpered. Her moment had been cruelly snatched from her. ‘Please,’ she sobbed, ‘please…’

  ‘Ah no, sweet princess,’ he sneered, ‘you seem to forget that you are here for punishment.’

  Sahria began to sob uncontrollably and her tears streamed down her soft cheeks. Her sex was on fire. She stiffened the muscles of her inner thighs in a desperate attempt to take herself over the edge, but it was too late. The urgency had passed. Suddenly she hated the man with venom that was unknown, even to her.

  Rapite stroked her bottom with an incongruous tenderness. She relaxed again. His touch, although insufficient for her rapacious needs, was at least soothing. His fingers felt rough and the nails snagged her skin, but the caress seemed strangely delicate. She stopped sobbing, took a deep breath, and glanced over her shoulder. He was staring at her bottom with the expression of a man possessed. His stalk was as erect as before and glistened in the flickering torchlight. She turned her face away again, sadly. How could a man taunt her so? How could he taunt himself so?

  Suddenly, and without warning, her bottom was once more seared with pain as he slapped her forcefully with the palm of a hand. Sahria yelped, and the sound of her cry echoed around the chamber. Another slap followed quickly, then another and another. Each one was delivered with such power that her breath was knocked from her body. The ache for release was rapidly building between her legs again. More slaps; five, ten, fifteen. His assault was unrelenting. He seemed to be possessed by some manic force as he rained blow after sweet blow against her quivering backside. Her pussy throbbed heavily and her juices flowed. The sounds of flesh striking stinging flesh reverberated against the damp stone walls of her prison.

  The heat within her loins rose sharply and she knew she was beyond the point of no return. Her sex lips felt as though unseen fingers were tugging them apart, and her tiny bud seemed to be on fire. With a stabbing thrust of sheer pleasurable release she came at last. It was probably the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced, even more violent than the one she’d enjoyed whilst cruelly shackled in the dungeon that morning. She filled her lungs with the acrid air and then screamed as a thousand needles seemed to jab into her most intimate parts, over and over again.

  Rapite slapped her six more times as she shuddered and climaxed again and again, but she was oblivious to the pain in her bottom. Every feeling, every sensation emanated from between her legs.

  Slowly, she relaxed. Her breathing was heavy and her pussy was throbbing wildly. She peered wearily over her shoulder. Rapite was standing slightly to one side of her, masturbating openly. She watched as he massaged his thick stalk, until he grimaced and his cream jetted from the eye of the monster to streak across her glowing buttocks. His orgasm seemed endless. More and more of his juices gushed from him to soak her hot bottom, and she could feel the warmth of his release against the heat of her tortured skin.

  When he was done he smoothed the juices over her bottom and massaged the cream into her soft flesh. A finger once more strayed into the tightness of her virgin anus, lubricated by a combination of their juices, and Sahria began to wonder if, one day, she might allow a lover to penetrate her in that most intimate place.

  And then, once more she realised that she would probably have no choice in the matter.

  Chapter 3

  Sahria hung motionless in the silent darkness of her prison, her limbs aching and the tortured skin of her bottom feeling as though it was on fire. How long she had been there she couldn’t guess. Time had ceased to have any meaning.

  Rapite had extinguished the two torches and left her alone without a word. She seethed with hatred for the man. How dare he beat her? How dare he penetrate her body with his fat, ugly stalk? Once again, Sahria vowed revenge on him and on Prince Sarne. She silently swore to herself that one day they would bitterly regret their impudence!

  She tugged weakly at one of the leather straps binding her wrists. The result of her action was a sharp stab of pain as the iron buckle bit into her flesh. She wondered fearfully how long she would be left to dangle like a piece of meat, naked and totally helpless. Perhaps it would be forever.

  She shivered with the cold, and she was hungry.

  Inextricably her thoughts turned full circle and she pictured herself lying prone on the cold stone floor as a dozen faceless men stood around her, openly masturbating until they sated themselves over her naked body. She imagined their pricks to be huge, jutting ghost-like within eerie clouds of translucent mist.

  She began to sob quietly as her anger built once more within her cold body. How could she, a royal princess, find herself in such a vulnerable position? What was to become of her? Would she be left to die? Sahria felt utterly hopeless and wretched.

  Her bottom began to sting again and her thoughts returned to the beating she had recently endured. The cane had cut deep, seeming in her imagination to tear the very flesh from her body. The sweat of terror had trickled down the backs of her thighs, but after the shock of the first three or four strokes the pain had become strangely pleasurable. The memory of her orgasm ripping through her loins like fire made her realise that she was beginning to crave for more.

  She thought of th
e whip with which Rapite had initially teased her. She imagined the vicious strips of leather lashing her stiffened buttocks. Just the thought of it made her juices flow as her sex lips opened as if in readiness for some unseen lover. She wondered, more in hope than expectation, whether Rapite would return soon and this time take up the whip. She longed to hear the sounds of the door being unbolted and yearned to sense his squat form moving menacingly towards her as she hung helplessly at his mercy.

  She tried to understand why she felt this way, although she knew in her heart that she quite simply craved the kiss of the lash. Thoughts of a queue of strong men waiting in line to thrash her filled her hungry imagination. She felt she could see their naked, oiled bodies and their rippling muscles. She imagined their faces covered with sweat as they whipped her mercilessly, and pictured their erections waving rhythmically as they laboured.

  Her pussy ached for release and she clenched her inner thigh muscles to heighten the sensation. She tugged at the leather straps around her wrists and took pleasure in their unyielding restraint. They could do anything they wished to her. They could lash her, they could cut her with the cane, and they could slap her buttocks with their rough hands. When they tired of this, they could ram their stiff pricks into her soaked cunt. She would take them all, as many as wished to use and abuse her. Perhaps they would take her final virginity and fuck her bottom. The more she considered this ultimate penetration the more she found she quite liked the idea.

  The queue would be endless. She would spend the rest of her life tied and trussed to be fucked and beaten. She began to shake with lust. Her clitoris ached to be touched by a finger, a tongue, or anything. She had never experienced such lascivious desires before. The feelings were overpowering. Damn Rapite, she thought, why didn’t he return to the black chamber and at least cane her again?

  She was desperate to come. She thought once more about the line of naked men, each carrying whips or vicious flails. She sensed that she could actually feel the pain as they lashed her poor bottom. Suddenly it was too much for her. A searing sensation of pure joy tore through her loins like a bolt of lightning as her orgasm took control of her very soul. She cried out involuntarily, the sound echoing around the grim stone walls of her prison. She shook violently as wave after wave of delicious sensations ripped through her body.

  There was a loud crack and one of the leather straps binding her wrists snapped. Immediately she clutched her pussy with her freed hand and dug all four fingers into her wet flesh. She eased her thumb inside and curled her fingers to form a fist within her luscious pulsating grip. She plunged her hand in and out of her silken honeypot as a second wave of orgasmic joy hit her. She cried out again, then bit her lower lip painfully in order to stifle the sounds of her pleasure. She tried to imagine two, or even three men thrusting their massive pricks into her at the same time while others continued to lash her bottom in perfect unison. Her mind reeled as the pain of perfect release overtook her, screaming uncontrollably as the final joyous sensation turned her loins to fire. Her juices burned as they slipped from her and the hard bud of her clitoris felt as if it would burst.

  At last, the feelings subsided and she eased her hand away. She gasped for breath, taking in the foul air gratefully. She put the tips of her fingers to her mouth and tasted the sweet nectar of her release. Prince Sarne had spoken the truth; she had become a slave to the lash. She knew that whatever happened, whatever they had in store for her, it would only serve to heighten her delight.

  It was some time before Sahria became relaxed enough to use her free hand to unfasten the remaining three straps that bound her to the frame. At last she was free, at least of the painful restraint. She moved cautiously in the darkness until she found what felt like a small cot in a corner of the dungeon. She sat down and rubbed her tender joints. As the blood began to once more course through her veins the pain returned to her wrists and ankles. She lay back on the cot, drew the single rough sheet over her exhausted body, closed her eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.

  Sahria awoke with a start. She had been dreaming; a meandering vision which had suddenly turned into a nightmare of startling reality. She opened her eyes and attempted to make sense of the strange shapes in the darkness of the room. Suddenly she realised that the nightmare had been true. She was a prisoner in her own dungeon, held at the mercy of the evil Prince Sarne and his foul cohorts.

  She made to sit up. The sudden ache in her bottom brought back vivid memories of her recent punishment, and she stood and stroked her buttocks carefully. Her fingertips traced the numerous welts left by the stinging rod, but she smiled to herself; it had been good.

  She sat down again on the cot with her hands clasped between her thighs like a small child. There was nothing she could do. She had to wait – wait until Rapite returned. He would surely thrash her when he saw that she had managed to release herself from the frame. She pondered as to whether she should shackle herself again in the hope that he wouldn’t notice one of the straps was broken, but thought better of it. What was the point? He would discover her deceit soon enough, and it would be all the worse for her.

  Sahria lay back on the cot and drew the sheet over her nakedness once more. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what forms the torture and humiliation that awaited her might take.

  Suddenly, she remembered Calema. How could she have been so selfish, so stupid? While she had been enjoying her pain at the hands of Rapite she hadn’t given a moment’s thought to her beautiful friend’s whereabouts. Had she been harmed? Was she even alive?

  She pictured Calema’s lovely face, with its incongruously virginal expression and her innocent eyes that made men fall hopelessly in love with her at first sight. Little did they know her true insatiable appetite for pleasures of the flesh. When they learned the truth, of course they would take her lithe young body and enjoy her waif-like curves and apple-firm breasts. Many would think they were the first, and Calema did little to dissuade them. Sometimes they were, Sahria mused, at least that day.

  She smiled as she remembered one particular time when Calema had pleasured eight men simultaneously. She could still picture the sight of her beautiful friend lying across the supine form of one man so that his cock slipped effortlessly inside her soaking pussy, while a second pushed his erection into her sweet and inviting bottom. Two more of the athletic hunks managed to push their raging stalks into her mouth, and Sahria could still visualise Calema’s pouting lips stretched around their hard flesh. Reaching out with her hands, Calema had then grasped the pricks of two more willing victims and masturbated them expertly whilst rubbing the soles of her feet against yet two more!

  How the court enjoyed her delicious demonstration. And how desirable Calema had looked when they had sated themselves. Sahria could still see her, lying on the couch with her entire body, face and hair streaked with the cream of eight men’s lust. Sahria saw Calema’s happy face as if it were yesterday, a trickle of sperm slipping from the girl’s cute lips, and her bright eyes sparkling with joy.

  Sahria had to find her – and quickly.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of the bolts being drawn on the other side of the door. She jumped from the bed and stood proudly, her back arched and her breasts jutting firmly, ready to face her tormentor. A shaft of light broke through the oppressive darkness. Then suddenly, a small figure was pushed unceremoniously into the room and the door was slammed shut. The walls echoed to the sounds of the bolts being secured once more. The silence returned with the darkness, broken only by the quiet sobbing of the prone form on the cold stone floor.

  Sahria’s heart leapt. ‘Calema?’ she said excitedly, ‘Calema, is that you?’

  ‘Sahria? Oh, my dear sweet sister, I thought you were dead!’ Calema’s voice sang in the darkness and echoed Sahria’s delight. Her eyes were better used to the blackness and she managed to clutch her friend’s arm and help her to her feet. The two girls hugged eac
h other tightly and let the tears flow.

  ‘Oh, Calema,’ sobbed Sahria, ‘I thought it could be you who was lost. What have they done to you?’

  ‘It is so strange, sister. There was pain, but there was also so much pleasure. I could never have imagined having so much joy.’

  Sahria helped her to sit on the cot and wrapped the sheet around the girl’s shoulders, and then sat next to her. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I was walking in the forest with two handsome Nubian slaves,’ Calema began. ‘You may remember that my father hates me to consort with the Nubians, but you will also know how much I enjoy the sight of their ebony flesh. These two were particularly fine specimens, and very compliant.’ Despite their predicament, she couldn’t suppress an impish grin at the thought of them. ‘I had just beaten them soundly with rough branches which they obediently cut from a spruce, and was just about to impale myself on one of their delicious cocks when we were interrupted by a messenger.’

  ‘You know that my father, the king, has fled the country?’ said Sahria quietly.

  Calema nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘but I was told that he fought bravely. My own parents have vanished also, and I pray they have not been harmed.’