Hands closed upon her hips and the guard began his defilement with a soft, casual rate, his grip strengthening in spasms as he reveled in the feel of the dangling inmate loitering upon his eager penis. The waters had made the entry far less painful than the other times, and the feel of a hard shaft riding deep into her was a hesitant pleasure. With the anguish of her form, her body responded to the soft joy with sudden enthusiasm, trying to counter the distress with the relish of coitus. The warmth in her belly helped soothe her, and swiftly she was offering small moans, the pounding throb in her body, her utter defeat adding to her arousal, her libido biting onto her debasement and turning it into an aphrodisiac.
“Tanto como piense,” announced a female voice, one that Lydia recalled as being one of the guards that had supposedly left.
Instead of fleeing or seeking to cover up his crime, he continued, too close to climax to stop now.
“Get lost, Rosalinda. This is nothing to do with you,” he barked through clenched teeth.
“Quiero Solamente mirar el espectaculo,” she uttered meekly, the false air of child like innocence a monstrous and radical lie.
“No! You can’t! Go away!” he panted.
In rejection of her words the woman walked closer, moving around to Lydia’s face and closing a gloved hand into her hair.
“Rosie! Will you get out!” he ordered.
“Ssssh! Keep quiet or you’ll cause someone else to come before you do. Now don’t worry, I’m not looking and I won’t tell,” advised the guard, switching to English as she lifted up Lydia’s enfeebled features and put her lips to those of the hapless prisoner, opening Lydia’s lips and stealing a kiss from them.
Unable to respond amorously due to her objection and denial of their rule, her lack of reaction had the woman whisper into her ear.
“If you don’t do as I wish, I will leave you here until the next shower is due,” she warned, and returned to the tender exchange, this time meeting Lydia’s cold response, the fright and trepidation proving more exciting for the guard than any genuine trace of passion.
Fingers brushed her nipples, tickling them and causing the tips to swell and stiffen against the teasing flicks and strokes. The ability of the guard to change from monstrous sadism to loving care was strange and disturbing, only testifying to the validity of their capacity to do and act as they wished in this domain.
The caresses melted the token reluctance and Lydia let her tongue emerge and meet the woman’s, the two organs curling on each other as the kissed wantonly. Panting with strain and lust, Lydia murmured and writhed on the impaling sex that was still thrusting into her as a tongue ran the perimeter of her mouth and then dove back in, the two of them exploring the depths of each other’s maws. Their kiss was wet and slippery from the waters coating Lydia and running down her face, the anguish of her bondage almost forgotten by her raging prurience.
The male guard broke into a series of spasmodic twitches, his thrusts uneven and corrupted by the blast of orgasmic fervor ripping into him. An injection of warmth was set within her, the feel of him swelling with climax and filling her causing Lydia to erupt with orgasm, sobbing into the woman’s smothering mouth as she endured intense spires of pleasure. The man slowed and stopped, pausing for a moment, his fingers tracing her supple body as it lay stretched and demeaned before him before he chose to withdraw. The exit made Lydia spasm wildly, a flash of ghost sensation ripping through her from his sudden departure.
The officer stepped around to the other side to hide himself while the woman continued with the kiss.
There was a soft click and a crackling growl from beneath her, the sound chilling her soul with its familiarity. The kiss broke away and before she could respond, the prod grazed her breast, making her shriek and cavort afresh within her prison, plundering her remaining vitality and reducing her to a shuddering dazed carcass.
The only reason she noticed her release was because of the stabbing pound of the shackles leaving her welt encircled wrists and ankles, the metal having painted itself a deep furrow of flushed purples and blues in which to reside. The trauma had removed all sensation in her fingers, leaving them dead, unable to move or do anything save remain limp and crooked.
Semiconscious, her senses wavering, her sight slipped into focus for a brief moment and then dropped back into blurred haziness as she was dragged from the waters, her skin testifying to being hauled across rough stone, the heat of the tropical locale rapidly drying her insensible body.
The air seemed to cool and the light seemed to dim and as she dropped onto blissfully chilled stone she stirred to find herself laying in a small barren chamber, devoid of all furnishings, with sturdy rings set in floor and ceiling. The brick room bore no windows and the only light that entered was pouring in from the corridor without. A wooden chest lay in the corner, and at the foot of one wall ran a row of equally spaced, small circular hatches with holes in the center and weighty padlocks sealing them.
Without word or explanation the guards dragged her over to this area and unfastened a lock. The hatch reluctantly parted at the center like the block of a guillotine and exposed a thin dark pit, the bottom lost within the blackness. Barely able to struggle against their designs, she was threaded feet first into the slender tube, her body just fitting into the narrow confines, the pencil thin prison trapping and compressing her tightly. Her forearms were lifted up before her torso was entered so that she would not be able to lower them, the length of her arms too long to negotiate the diameter of the prison and descend. Seizing her head in a fixed grasp, they dropped her further, her entire frame hanging from this hold as the metal slats were slipped back. The aperture shut snugly about her neck, gripping her throat and holding her up as the modified pillory was locked into position, leaving her trapped in a tiny cell, dangling by her neck, unable to alleviate the stress of such suspension in any way. Her head was free, but it was able only to peer only at the feature-free chamber. The guards turned and marched from the cell, leaving her to the callous mercies of isolation. They shut the solid door and complete and impenetrable darkness was added to her sentence, removing a valued sense to disorientate and bewilder the captive.
At first she was glad of the chance to rest. Even though her body was shrouded in contusions that let their presence be felt with even the slightest movement. Plus the drag at her neck from her cruel confinement made breathing a chore, stretching her already tender frame abominably, yet she was able to find a small sliver of comatose slumber.
Her iniquitous jailers had sealed her in here to keep the legacy of their actions in the shower secret from their fellows, to stop her talking and perhaps informing on them, but also they had removed her from the evil attentions of her cellmates. The two twisted psycho lesbian sluts were firmly intent on making every second of her incarceration a chapter in misery. Only by being allocated punishment by the guards did she find reprieve and finding bondage and abuse to seek refuge from the same was a strange paradox she could not untangle.
Despite her initial amiable attitude to this discipline, after a period of furtive repose the true measure of her ordeal began to manifest and grow with every passing hour. The featureless void of her surroundings, the strangling confinement, the isolation, all started to conspire and etch deep cuts into her sanity. Delirium arose like a specter from a restless grave and played freely with her mind. Shrieking for attention, trapped in an oblivion, lost and terrified, Lydia voiced her distraught wails in vain.
Fighting against her bonds she pounded and clawed her hands to the metal sheath in which she lay until the skin was raw and she was hoarse from her pitiful keening lament.
The darkness was steadily devouring her with its blank, terrifying canvas, her eyes finding no distinction between when they were open and when they were closed. The sense of consuming exiled separation, the lack of any outside stimuli save the strain of her incarceration and the pull at her throat, all of it was eating at her mind, leaving her in a fit of panic and desperation. T
he all-consuming need to escape from this hell began to fill every harried thought. All desire to remain stalwart against this trial was useless, there was to be no weathering of this hateful entrapment.
Time limped out of her ability to keep track of it, becoming forgotten and camouflaged in the eternal monstrous night that was her sole existence. Days, perhaps weeks were passing, and she could not recall what was real and what was deranged conjuration, for many times she pictured her release, of being fed, of drinking a cup of cool, crystal water, of being free to stretch and move without impediment. The realization that they were but illusions left her weeping in frustration once the fanciful truth was snatched from her.
Starvation gave her a pitiless and pernicious companion who conversed with her through the growling murmurs of her belly and the withering ache in her limbs, the language plain and easily understood. The gnawing drought of her throat began to leave her parched, unable to swallow, her lips dry, her throat barren.
Several times she gathered a memoryhat bore greater clarity than the others, the figments so strong that they may have actually been true. The image of a guard was always corrupted, the light sheathing it from the corridor making the overseer appear almost angelic, or when the shadows caught her face they reduced her to a sinister demonic beast. The amounts she was given seemed meager and sparse, maintaining her life, but doing nothing to replenish her strength or beat back the ghosts of starvation.
Chapter Seven
After what seemed like years of purgatory, she was enduring another episode of feeding, the sensation of a waterfall of icy nectar pouring down her gullet making her quiver in rapture. The amount increased, the waters stinging her desiccated lips, reviving her, bringing the person feeding her to increasing clarity until she detected that this was a true form and not a being pieced together by her fractured reason.
The need to beg for her release could not be fulfilled, the influx of water and her body’s desire to guzzle it preventing her from addressing her captor. The flow increased beyond her capacity to ingest and as excess began to trickle over her lips, running down her body, she tried to raise her hands and protect herself, the influx starting to clog her nose, staining her breath with flecks as she tried to avoid the deluge.
The act of mercy that was her feeding had become an ordeal, the drowning driving her into paroxysms. Pummeling the prison, spinning, trying to escape, the guard giggled as she continued to assail the trapped head with a dogged stream. Lydia spluttered and spat, seeking to open a clear path to a decent inhale. The flow ended and she was reduced to coughing fits while she recovered from the attack, the guard setting aside the pitcher and rising.
Straightening her jacket with a tug to the hem the woman looked down and presented her toe to the head on the floor, her footwear a set of jackboots with a stiletto heel.
“Lick my boots,” she demanded, pushing the gloss tip to Lydia’s cracked lips, but she was still crippled by her lengthy stay in the pit, the waters having refreshed only to have the smothering cascade steal all that had been imparted.
A leather palm slapped her cheek, drawing her attention while the command was repeated.
Her tongue lolled weakly from her mouth, the tip grazing the toe, her contorted pose unable to properly attend the task desired of her.
“Pathetic!” grumbled the guard, and lodged the toe under the trapped chin, lifting it up as she leaned in to put an elbow across her knee and scrutinize the prisoner.
“I think its time for a change of position. Would you like that?”
Lydia gave a flimsy nod, the pressure under her chin escalating, her thoughts assuming the guard meant to release her.
Dark sheathed digits began to unlock her prison, opening the jaws to a slight degree. Before she could fall, the guard snatched her throat and hauled her out, dropping her lifeless frame to the floor. Instantly she began to sag, her body having wasted from its denied use. The guard left her in this tangled heap and proceeded to the chest, wherein she began to prepare the new locale for Lydia’s restraint, the offer of freedom denied and a change in the nature of her solitary confinement promised.
Laying upon the floor, she looked at her wrists, the injuries now reduced to a mere discolored line of skin, the extent of her recovery testifying just how long she had been incarcerated in this segregated domain.
The polished boots of the guard stepped before her gaze, the gleaming fabric glittering like jet.
“Lick them,” came the terse demand, and a toe edged forward within her reach.
The straits of her seclusion had left her thoughts scrambled, her mind functioning slowly, and it was this delay in responding to the villain’s wishes that prompted a sudden flurry of truculent slashes into Lydia’s exposed back. The slender cane fell from a great height with the added ferocity of frenzied exertion behind it, making the illustrations of pain it carved into her flesh all the more deep and agonizing. The blows made her yelp and jolt, unable to forge her own evasion of the attack because of her feeble state. At least a dozen were deposited before a respite was granted, and so as to repeat the objective the guard pushed the toe of her boot to the grizzling wretch’s lips.
“Worship my boots you maggot, or I’ll beat you senseless before I tie you up.”
Defeated and desperate, she opened her dry lips a little and let her tongue fall from slack jaws, running the shaking organ across the smooth plains of the footwear, the humiliation tearing at her with notched blades.
“That’s it, keep going, you know you love it,” crooned the tyrant, turning her foot slightly to expose fresh zones to Lydia’s slobbering attentions. “Don’t rush it, and do a good job or I’ll make suffer, worm.”
Her devotions left the foot and began to circle the upper reaches of the tall boot, the wearer grinning broadly, totally enthralled by this act of degradation.
There was a hiss of air parting on a thin strip, and a bolt of fiery torment was laid into her flank, the blow making Lydia jerk and release a croak as she stopped in her task. Wondering what she had done wrong she screwed up her face and waited for the pulsating heat of the injury to subside to less vibrant peaks.
“Just to make sure you’re keeping your mind on your job,” purred the guard, and viciously applied another overhead lash, this one goading Lydia back into her allotted task with increased speed. “After all, I don’t want your thoughts wandering, I want them fixated on doing this right.”
Lydia used her aching limbs to rise into a crooked squat, fighting to keep herself elevated so she could finish the top of the boot before moving herself back into the infinitely less taxing position of a sprawled pile.
“All done?” asked the guard.
Lydia nodded sedately, her eyes held low in humbled fury.
“You are sure? If there is a single mark…” warned the woman, granting her opportunity to question her work and fear that she had missed something. “Very well, start on the other one then.”
The second boot was moved forth for her to attend, and shuffling forward Lydia repeated her toil in the same manner, slowly coating the saliva-slickened panes with a lapping vigor to remove any smudge or mark that might exist.
Without any real care or enthusiasm for her task she finished quickly and backed away, deeming herself debased enough.
“Finished already? My that was quick, your tongue just flew across that boot. You must really enjoy this work,” announced the woman and then stepped back, looking over her footwear in the light, examining Lydia’s efforts, and suddenly her rampant smirk of glee dropped into a frowning scowl that had Lydia quailing in fright.
“But that does not excuse the fact that there is a giant smudge on my right toe,” she growled, and stepped towards Lydia with menace in mind, her body rigid and tensed, making Lydia cower away.
“Do you see the smudge?” she spat, and pushed the tip of her sole onto Lydia’s face, forcing her head to the ground and then squashing it underfoot while she applied more of her body weight to the limb.
“See the smudge!” she repeated with asperity, slipping the boot away and jabbing it into Lydia’s features, the light kicks feeling akin to heavy-handed slaps. The chastisement made her fight to back away, only to have her abuser follow and continue the attack until she had been backed to a wall. The boot moved up and pinned her to the stone, the heel digging in and readying to pierce her breast while Lydia gurgled and scowled.
“I told you to take care! I warned you! I gave you a second chance, so instead you insult me with your botched efforts and lack of proper respect,” the woman said with rigor, closing her gloved hands about either end of the cane and flexing the supple rod in her grasp. Tightly clenching her jaw, she spoke again through bared teeth, the severity in her voice making Lydia burble her pleas and apologies.
“Well I’ll teach you respect, worm. I’ll teach you not to insult me with your lazy ways.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll do a proper job, just give me a chance, I couldn’t see, it was dark, I’m exhausted, I can’t think straight, pl—”
Lydia barely saw the stroke fall because it came so quickly, the woman hacking into her with such lightning speed that the assault was reduced to a blur of movement and the sudden white heat of her form being torn into by sanguinary blows. The cane whistled through the air, the dull thwack of it slamming to her flesh filling her ears, her screams saturating the air with its hellish din of suffering. She bucked and tried to cover herself as she remained anchored to the wall, but the guard simply assailed whatever bare flesh she could find, distributing the horrendous impacts across the entire arena of Lydia’s frame. Her arms pawed with frailty at the boot trapping her, her fingertips brushing the rigid leather and the smooth Lycra, the flesh beneath taut from its applied pressure.
Condemned to Slavery Page 9