Having stolen enough lubrication, he moved back and kissed her sphincter with his length before driving in again, parting the tender opening and rolling himself through her rectum. The shock of initial entry faded into relish once more, the warm glide of him into her rear a delightful experience after all her dismal confinement.
The lethargic withdrawal was accentuated by the rending thrust of his entry, the motion causing her sphincter to light up with friction wrought heat, the tender skin clinging to his shaft, elevating the strain of his ravishment.
The hands of the guard returned to massaging her buttocks, skipping up on occasion to paw at her assets, the movement of the flesh making the havoc of the clamps increase in short bites. But at least his grip helped keep her steady, for his pounding thrusts kept forcing her back and forth and cause the restraint at her neck to constrict her breath.
“Does this feel good?” he uttered on ragged breaths as his pleasure grew ever more potent.
“Yes,” she croaked, feeling him accelerating towards climax, the trespass of his rigid shaft causing her to quake with stolen pleasure.
“Do you want me to play with your clamps?” he continued, adding the knowledge that should she decline, he might use it as justification to withdraw from his promise of granting freedom. Was he obliged to set her free? Was her sentence up? If so, her ordeal was fictitious, simply a ruse to gain her compliance. But if she resisted, would he not just concoct some lie to justify the reinstallation of her sentence?
Obedience was her only salvation, as it was in the prison in general. If her sentence continued at such a tyrannical pace, she would have to spend her time a whimpering servile automaton just to try and alleviate her torment and preserve her sanity from the full wrath of her harrowing sessions.
“Yes, do it for me, I need to feel them,” she murmured, worried as to how the manipulation of the implements would affect her.
With a dark chuckle he began to flick and turn the cruel toys, making her teats stab with new riots of discomfort, banishing the numbness the compression had imparted. Spasming in his grasp, gasping and trying to keep her spluttering squeaks in the realms that could permit them to pass as pleasurable responses, she endured his spiteful play.
Suddenly he snatched them and began to apply a steadily ascending pull, making her grit her teeth and struggle to keep her screams buried in her lungs, but as he neared fulfillment of his quest, the pangs he was inflicting continued to spiral. Her wail rose in her throat, being fed with every new centimeter he pulled, the guard dragging her nipples up in the pinch as her face reddened with the battle to remain stalwart.
A quick jerk of his hand when she felt a splash of warmth inject into her rear had Lydia throwing open her teeth and venting her piercing holler. Shuddering jabs of his sex continued, increasing the distinct feeling of his seed within her as more was deposited. The grip on her clamps suddenly let go, letting her fall slack within her bonds, the hold on her neck keeping her upright as the stabbing flashes in her hide started to gradually subside. Gliding free, he moved back and stepped away from her.
With beads of sweat winding paths down her face, she listened to the silence and started to feel concern when no hands touched her restraints.
“Can I be set free now?” she petitioned earnestly.
Footsteps sounded and the guard walked before her, towering over her, his form revealed only in subtle hints from the meager light slipping in through the partially open door.
“Kiss me first,” he smirked, lowering down and lifting her chin with his hand, presenting her lips to his.
The guard opened her mouth with a probing tongue and sought to kindle a reaction from her. It was a difficult intimacy to reciprocate, but Lydia could only think of her freedom and forced herself into using her tongue as an instrument for his pleasure. Slithering upon each other, she exchanged a long and deep kiss with the guard, letting him cup the nape of her neck as he drew her deeper. His other hand moved back to her body, fully appraising himself of her body as though to remind his closed gaze of her pleasing and salacious visage.
Drawing his lips back, he smiled with an evil grin, his teeth winking in the feeble light.
“No,” he stated flatly, and laughed as her face dissolved into a mask of incensed dread.
“But, but you promised,” she begged.
“Did I?”
“Please set me free, I’ve done as you ask, I’ll do it again, just tell me what to do,” she burbled, frantic to find exit from the web of torment.
“No, you were not as entertaining as I hoped. So I think I shall leave you here,” he pronounced, and turned to depart.
“Bastard! Bastard!” she yelled, her voice saturated with rancor as she fought against her uncompromising bonds, striving to break free with all her might.
“Be silent!” he snapped, and suddenly a crop whistled and etched an illustration of contused fire into her rear.
Lydia’s curses evolved into a howl, a signal of her manifested pain that repeated thrice more as he applied the crop to her with added savagery, chastising her for her verbal crime. Her kicking legs tore at her teats, the mission of her arms to drop and protect her causing the noose to choke her yelps.
“Stop! Stop! I’m sorry!” she cried out as he continued to ravage her thighs and rear with the stout fiberglass stick, the leather hoop clapping as the shaft sent ripples through her flesh and left angry mauve stripes.
The lambasting ceased suddenly.
“Have you anything else to say?” he said with irked tones.
“No! No! I apologize, I didn’t mean it. Just stop, no more,” she blurted, hanging heavily by her collar of woven rope, the close clinch making her voice deep and croaking.
Another hack drew a line across the rounded aching cheeks of her rear.
“Stop!” she screamed. “I’m begging you, show pity, I haven’t done anything wrong!”
The shrill smack of the rod against her skin echoed and drew out another wail, dragging Lydia into a sobbing fit where she incoherently groveled, unable to tolerate any more, whimpering pathetically, all dignity lost, the goal of stopping the beating paramount. The words found reception and no more blows came, though it was probably due to an amused sense of attainment as opposed to pity.
“I shall leave you here for now, and I hope the renewal of your sentence helps soothe that disposition of yours. If it does not, I shall whip that attitude out of you, understand!” he stated.
Lydia closed her eyes, the truth of being kept here in this awful confinement rolling through her psyche.
“I asked a question!” he shouted, and applied another hot lick.
“Yes! Yes! I understand! I’ll do better! I swear it!” she sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks at the tragedy of her lot.
“You had better do, the other guards are not as lenient as I,” he professed, and with a leisurely, satisfied stride, he left her in darkness as the door slammed shut and was locked.
Lost once more to her tumultuous storms of insanity, she felt the residue of his attention leaking from her as the far more distinct presence of his blows continued to keep her rear and legs aglow with the welts he had used to discipline her for her outburst.
Chapter Eight
When the door finally opened, making her shrink against the harsh wall of dazzling illumination, she thought herself dreaming again, and it was only when the bonds and restraints were taken away did she dare believe her release had finally come.
Lydia was overjoyed, her glorious thanks to her saviors editing the fact that it was they who had been responsible for it. Her smile of gratitude vanished however when the clamps were removed, the sudden influx of feeling into the long compressed teats making them explode with bursts that had her filling the entire room with a reverberating yowl.
The guards dragged her forward and dropped her to the floor, the promise of freedom and the awful concept of being returned to her cell with the villainous females being dispelled as one of them pushed th
e door shut and flicked on a small torch.
The male guard sat down before her, closing a fist into her hair and drawing her forward on hands and knees until his back was to the wall. The woman stepped to Lydia’s side and put a boot onto her spine, pinning her down into a compacted ball, her legs folded beneath her, the pressure of the heel in her back gaining her full and immediate attention.
“Before we take you out of here, you will perform for us. If you do not do well, we will simply restore you to the arms of your allotted discipline. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Lydia affirmed weakly.
“What was that?” the woman snapped, digging the heel in after the prisoner’s response was deemed too quiet to hear.
“Yes! Yes, Mistress,” she shouted, the flare of discomfort magnifying her efforts.
“Excellent. Now keep still and do as you are told. I am going to punish you, and you in turn will use that treasonous mouth of yours to pleasure my partner there for as long as he wishes. Now get to it!”
A hot rectangle was bored into her buttocks, a heavy strap having been applied with potency, the encouraging shock making her squeal. From her lowly position her hands instantly slipped forward and grabbed the man’s zipper, tugging it down as she reached hesitantly in. For a moment she vacillated her hindquarters upon feeling the bulging coiled phallus within, but another harsh stripe from the woman settled her decision and she hauled it out, working mostly by touch. The darkness of the room was thankfully coating the scene in anonymous depths, the torch fixating upon her quivering, targeted rear as the female sought to see her work in all its glory while she continued to paint the pale canvas with angry flashes of flushed pink.
Swallowing up the length, Lydia closed her lips to it and began to rock her head, her movements and rhythm being broken whenever the weighty strap was laid sharply to her flesh. She wanted to try and cover herself, but she knew the price of perfidy. Steeling her mind to the task, she endured the jolts of pain and continued to perform the demanded fellatio, his sex sinking deep into her mouth as she continued for his pleasure. The sense of abiding delectation in her was growing more distinct as the woman continued to force her onwards, Lydia’s lips riding upon the man, his grumbling hums of pleasure a wonderful song to her ears.
Under the arousing attention of the harried inmate, it was not long before he stiffened and shot a measure of warm viscous residue into her palate, the salty tang pervading across her taste buds as more was deposited with her continuing motions. With a sensual hunger, Lydia’s mouth extracted all he had to offer, but with hints of her rebellion still fighting against her submission she let it remain in her maw until she could spit it out.
“Swallow it!” hissed the woman, adding a particularly nasty strike into Lydia’s inner thigh as she saw her partner exhibit the telltale signs of his fulfillment.
Closing her eyes for strength, she gathered the thick reservoir and gulped, the shot of semen rolling down her gullet with lethargy, her belly tensing and squirming with demeaned rapture.
“Clean him,” she ordered, adding a further taste of the strap to have Lydia flap her tongue around his shaft, the slurping and sucking noises filling the gaps of silence where the strap was poised for attack. With a quivering sense of joy she completed her task, and the guard arose from his seat before stepping back, dusting off his trousers and accepting the strap from his comrade. To Lydia’s acute dole and hidden jubilation, the woman took the man’s place, hauling down her tight leggings and slotting the shivering head of Lydia between the gathered folds and her exposed pussy.
“You know what to do, so get on with it,” stated the man, and added a heavy-handed attack, the strap being used to punish the already well-warmed regions. The greater strength of the male caused far more pain, more than she thought she could stand, but with the possibility of a return to bondage still looming, she found resolve enough to stand against it.
Lowering her face into the shaven sex, Lydia flitted her tongue to the woman’s clitoris, taking long lingering explorations with her tongue and concentrating upon this exposed bud. The female shuddered and gasped under Lydia’s pandering. Her companion continued to punish her with a savoring intensity until the woman was croaking in rapture, extracting all the delight she wished before pushing Lydia’s head brusquely aside as though she were a mere sexual toy to be used and then dropped aside once its purpose was served.
Rising, the woman pulled up her leggings and tidied her appearance and together the two jailers lifted her up at the shoulders. Keeping her locked between them, they left the room with Lydia, her eyes wide, her mind tainted by the seductive charm of having been used by the corrupt guards. Lydia was also slightly disturbed by how her periods of enjoyment in her captivity were getting more frequent and more powerful, her need to feel the savaging of her body becoming a more pressing desire.
Chapter Nine
The two guards changed their grip to hold her arms and drag her onward, her feet scraping across the floor, her legs unable to support her as she was towed down the winding corridors and back up to the main penitentiary. The stories passed by and she was placed before her previous cell, the small prison unchanged, the two women lounging upon their bunks. They looked up as the door was opened, and with a rough shove Lydia was hurled within, her legs folding until she collapsed across the ground.
The door shut with a damning clang and the creaking tread of the guard’s jackboots started to fade. With weak limbs she hauled herself to the side and settled into a tight ball, seeking recovery and trying to come to terms with the insane desires curdling in her mind like infected sores.
“Look, the little baby’s tired,” crooned the youth, her burly compeer snorting with derision at the spectacle Lydia presented.
“Maybe she needs something to liven her up,” pondered the muscular prisoner, sliding out from her solid bunk now that their primary source of amusement was back.
Lydia tried to move back, afraid of the instigation of even more capricious sadism before she had recovered fully from her solitary hell.
A hand took a dominant bunch of her hair and used it like a leash, dragging her upright as the slender prisoner jumped spryly down from her lofty perch and began to apply the slither of torn blanket to her elbows. Hauling the joints back she connected them together, forcing her chest out in mockery of some brazen deportment stance while she hung in the other oppressor’s grip, her scalp flicking with riots of suffering.
“Stop, I—” she began with a whimper, her words vanishing as they were crippled and metamorphosed into a sudden gasping hiss, her hand being grabbed and turned, bending the wrist painfully.
“You forgot my title and you didn’t ask permission to speak!” snapped the woman, rotating the afflicted joint further and making Lydia gurgle and cavort upon the supporting grip in her hair.
A casual fling cast her face first onto the bottom bunk, the loose drop onto the thick planks making her cleavage and chest yell their pain throughout her body, the dazing tumble depriving her of breath. Left stunned and helpless, Lydia could do nothing as they renewed their quest to make her life unbearable.
The full significant weight of the tyrant’s eager enforcer sat herself across Lydia’s back and snared arms, squashing her into the bunk and making every breath a laborious struggle under the new burden. After taking up her slack wrists the woman leant back and turned, dragging the limbs against their bonds and turning them in an unnatural and ligament tearing direction, pushing them to their limits where they flared with prickly fires and made her croak and cry against the planks. Lydia’s legs pumping frantically, kicking wildly around as she fought to slip free.
The brittle crunch of parting wood pierced the sounds of distress and she saw the woman removing a single slender slat of timber from above. Tearing free this slim strip she stepped back out of Lydia’s reduced vision and aimed into the exposed and vulnerable legs and rear.
“What is my title?” she quizzed, and threw a powerful swatting
blow into the opened rump, the beam of wood striking across both her cheeks with a brutal clap, the blunt and heavy weapon proving to be most adept for causing mayhem.
Another stroke fell, catching her thigh and depositing a great flushed bruise that left the entire lower leg numb and insensible, the blow seeming to slay the limb, for as it received its punishment while cavorting maniacally, it dropped and remained indolent, twitching slightly as it lay defeated.
“My title!” demanded the woman.
Lydia howled through clenched teeth as the onslaught targeted the subdued leg, dropping onto her thigh again as she desperately tried to recall the words. Dredging in her mind it seemed like years ago when this act of derogation had been started, and she could barely recall the title this iniquitous cellmate had demanded of her.
“Divine Queen?” she spluttered, and dropped her head onto the bunk with a yowl as her energetic leg acquired a trio of manic impacts, the solid wooden paddle banishing all feeling from the limb while in no way diminishing its capacity to reveal the pain.
“Wrong! Try again.”
“I can’t remember, please stop,” she sobbed.
“That wasn’t it!” came the demur response, followed by another reprimanding heavy-handed spank into her rear.
“Supreme Goddess? Divine Goddess? Mistress? I don’t know!” she wept.
“No - no - no - no - no - you - retarded - foreign - slut,” murmured the woman, every word of her insult being delivered with an intemperate strike of the plank, the ruthless turpitude readying to start snapping bones should it continue for much longer.
“Supreme Divine Goddess!” she blurted with expectant yearning, the words seeming correct.
“Close, but wrong,” derided the woman.
The words suddenly came to her and she started to air them, but before she could finish the attack had begun, making her words incoherent as the rain of five steady blows crippled her offered respect.
Condemned to Slavery Page 11