Cruel Devices: Taboo Punishment Collection (Extreme Bondage)

by Cirque, Jacqueline D

  Cruel Devices:

  Taboo Punishment Collection

  Jacqueline D Cirque

  * * * * *

  Published by J D Cirque

  Copyright © 2014 by J D Cirque

  Note: All characters depicted are over 18 and not related by blood. All sex is consensual.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Punished On The Rack

  I wait until I hear the activity of the marketplace. I see castle folk going about their daily business through the hay that covers me. We’re well past the castle walls now. If I don’t egress soon, I may be captured, and that must not happen. My entire family, stricken with famine outside the castle walls, depends on it.

  As soon as the cart stops, I break free, throwing the hay off and slipping into the crowd before the driver is any wiser.

  It’s a beautiful day. The sky is a cool blue above and the marketplace is in full swing. I’ve chosen this day well. The crowds will better conceal my crime.

  It’s not my first time thieving. Far from it. Eighteen years of hunger will sharpen any skill. I weave my way through the people, using my slim frame to skirt underfoot, crouching low and shielding my face away, moving with rapidity.

  A fruit seller is barking out his wares. A juicy selection of exotic fruits waits before him. I gather a stone from the ground and cast it at a horse waiting beside his stall.

  My aim is true. The horse bucks, allowing me distraction enough to slip past and pocket two apples, tucking them into the folds of my tunic before spinning back into the crowd.

  I glance around. No one has seen me. Even the stall keeper shakes his head and continues his spiel, winking at a turquoise-fashioned maiden as she walks by, entourage in tow.

  The day proceeds well. My mid-morning I’ve already gathered enough food to last my family a month, the many folds and loose fabrics I’ve adorned for this day providing ample concealment.

  I eye off a sweet seller in the distance just as two hands grab me from behind. I spin around in terror, almost dropping my bounty in the process.

  This is it, I think. This is the end.

  But it’s only a young solider with his friends. They’re drunk. Laughing. “You are a pretty one,” he says. “Fancy a quick fuck?”

  They continue to laugh as I dart away, putting as much distance between us as I can. It’s not the first time I’ve been accosted. With my fair hair and high cheeks I’m a constant target of such unruly behaviour. Even the hood I wear today doesn’t fully hide my beauty.

  On the walls of the castle high above I see a series of pikes. Heads in various states of decomposition feature upon them. A sign below reads, “thieves, condemned to death”.

  I’ve heard the tales, of course. The king has taken a particular dislike to thievery in his kingdom, even though his own taxes fall under the same definition. He rarely steps outside his rooms, but the castillian, a dark-featured man by the name of Doran, is all too happy to take charge, prowling the streets and kindly executing any criminal he finds with his own hands. I’ve heard he has a special dungeon, a chamber of torture devices from all over the world. Such stories cause me to tremble inside. I pull my clothes tighter around myself as I move through the crowd.

  I know the risks. Every trip behind the walls could well end in my execution, but the alternative is far worse.

  As the sun drops, my clothes heavy with spoil, I decide to call it a day. I find another hay cart in the shade, the owner setting the harness in preparation for departure. I wait until just the right time, slipping under the bulk of the hay and pulling it over myself. The world darkens out to leave only sound.

  The telling clack of hooves on cobblestone is a good sign. We’re nearing the gate.

  “Hold!” says a guard. My heart stops. Getting caught now, with so much food, would be the end of me. I hold my breath.

  Finally, the guard laughs and the cart owner takes up his reins again.

  We start to move, but another voice bellows out. “Stop right there.”

  This voice is much more measured, filled with authority. Its owner jumps down from his saddle. I can hear him walking around the cart, inspecting it.

  The owner protests but is quickly silenced.

  Suddenly something comes through the hay, hard and sharp against my belly. It doesn’t take me long to realise it’s a sword.

  “Step out, thief.”

  Shaking with fear, I throw off the hay and step out, my breath catching completely when the black form of Doran stands before me, sword out, guards flanking his sides.

  He smiles. “What a find we have here, friends.” His eyes roll up and down my body. I feel naked, see-through under his penetrating gaze. “Search her.”

  Two guards step either side of me, groping through my folds and uncovering the fruit and vegetables I’ve spent all day collecting.

  There is no hope for me now. I know it. I submit, hoping simply that the end will come fast and my family will be spared the embarrassment of seeing my head on a pike, staring with dead eyes over the castle walls.

  “What is your name?” Doran asks, the smile still on his lips.

  I can’t answer. I’m paralysed with fear.

  “Your name, thief!”

  “Avice,” I get out, mouth suddenly dry.

  “Seize her,” Doran commands. “Bring her to the dungeon.”

  The two guards take me underarm and lead me away. I don’t resist. There would be no point. I hang my head in shame as the crowds taunt me, prodding at me, spitting in my face as our sombre party makes its way to the tower.

  *

  I’m moved by the two guards deep into the tower. Light disappears and I begin to lose my bearings as we spiral down into the black.

  An iron door opens and we come into a low-roofed dungeon. It takes my eyes a while to adjust, for the dungeon is only lit by firelight, but when they do, I stop in my tracks.

  Adorning every wall are sinister implements of torture – chains, whips, cages and coffins, iron, metal and leather. The dungeon floor itself is no less empty. Odd machines and contraptions fill it – wheels, boxes, some spiked, others with channels and blades.

  With horror, I realise the rumours are true. Daron’s personal dungeon is no myth.

  Daron himself turns before us, arms wide. “How do you like my chambers?”

  I can’t reply.

  He steps forward, stroking my face with the back of his hand.

  I flinch away.

  “So soft,’ he says. “A petal. That’s what I shall call you. But,” he looks around, “of which device is worthy of such a rose?”

  I shake quietly in my rags as my heart thunders against my ribcage.

  It will be over soon, I try and comfort myself, but no implement I can see looks like it was built for a quick death.

  I look down and see there are layers to the floor –
old blood.

  I feel faint, but the guards hold me up.

  “Strip her,” Daron commands.

  Smiling, the guards begin to tear the clothing from my body. It comes away easily, pulling apart like cotton. My undergarments follow, even as I try and cover my modesty.

  The guards take my arms and stretch them out, holding me naked and exposed before their master.

  Daron approaches, admiring my body. “A petal indeed.” He runs his hand over my abdomen and down into the golden fleece below.

  Please, let it be quick.

  “The rack,” he decides.

  The guards lift me, pulling me across to what appears to be a wooden table in the centre of the room.

  As we get closer, I see the table is actually a rectangular frame with multiple wooden rollers down the centre.

  The guards lift me easily, laying me on my back on the rollers. My wrists are bound above my head with tight rope and my ankles likewise. The guards pull the bonds tight, smiling wider when I cry out.

  Secured thus, Daron orders the guards to leave.

  One leans close to my ear. “You don’t know what you’re in for, my love,” sniggering as they depart and the iron door closes fully.

  Flat, I can only turn my head side to side, my breathing increasing with my panic.

  To my side, Daron begins to strip, removing his shirt and pants carefully, folding them and placing them on a nearby table.

  He motions his head at a large handle attached to the side of the table. “That, petal, increases tension on your bonds. Each crank will bring with it more pain, slowing stretching you out until your joints dislocate or simply separate completely. Sometimes things go ‘pop’ – bone, cartilage, ligaments. That’s my favourite part.”

  He strips off his underwear and his cock comes free, big as a baby’s arm. Until now I’d only seen my brother’s member, a pale imitation of this veined monster.

  Daron catches me looking. “Does it please you, my cock? It soon will, I assure you. You will beg for me to put it inside you. Shall we begin? Simply say ‘stop’ when you’re ready for me to fuck you.”

  I know exactly what the word ‘fuck’ means, but hearing it used in this context brings it to horrific clarity.

  I will try, I tell myself. I will let my body break rather than let this brute defile me.

  But with the first crank of the lever, I start to think otherwise.

  My ankles and wrists pull away from my body, stretching me out, my spine straight against the rollers. I breathe in rapid puffs.

  Daron cranks the lever again and his cock grows harder. I scream as surely my joints are pulled to their limits. I’m dizzy, the room starting to spin at the edges.

  “Any time,” he reminds me, and cranks the lever again.

  The pain is so excruciating now I cannot summon another scream, instead left open-mouthed as my breasts flatten into pancakes and my joints pull to their absolute extremity.

  “Are you ready to be fucked yet, my petal?”

  Yes, no. I cannot decide. Anything to end this pain, to be free of it even for a few minutes.

  “Very well.” Another pull of the lever and my body actually creaks, something giving way, on the very edge of destruction. I can only inhale in short rasps.

  “The next pull of this lever will break you. Trust me.”

  Daron holds the lever, baiting me.

  I relent. “Stop!” I scream.

  He smiles, hand lifting off the lever. “As you wish.”

  He moves to the foot of the rack, fire dancing on his body. I see the battle scars there, rigid muscle of a man in his prime. In any other circumstance I might find him attractive, but his torturous ways now only serve to increase my loathing.

  He signals at the table. “This particular rack was a favourite of William DeGrey.”

  ‘Do you know him?”

  He laughs. “Of course not, I would not expect a common peasant girl, let alone a thief, to know such a glorious man.”

  He runs his hand over my bonds, bonds that dig painfully into my soft flesh. “Many a man, and woman, has been broken on this rack. It’s a special order, you see.” He takes hold of a smaller lever in the corner and begins to turn it. My legs begin to spread apart.

  “There we go.”

  Daron keeps turning until I’m spread-eagled on the table, stretched to breaking point, my cunt yawning open before him.

  He kneels up onto the roller between my legs.

  The chamber is dim. Shadowy figures crawl out behind instruments of torture and cruelty all around me. Daron kneels between my legs like an ebony Adonis, all playfulness gone and stripped away to reveal the sadist devil below.

  He leans over and buries his face between my generous breasts, now flattened by the rack, licking down their centre, running his tongue up the sides before biting my nipples.

  I cannot help the feeling it has on me. Even captured, his prisoner, my body responds. My cunt grows wet as his teeth graze the rosy soldiers on my chest.

  He cups my sex with his hand. He leans further and nibbles at my lip before kissing me in full. I try to resist, but it’s useless. I comply, pressing my tongue forward to meet his own and hoping this will buy me mercy.

  He breaks away. His eyes look into my very soul. He stares at me, gauging the reaction of his prey. The folds of my sex are engorged, tumescent around his fingers as they probe my wetness.

  He holds his cock out, head like a mace and shaft thick. It is the weapon he plans to destroy me with.

  “And now,” he says, guiding his cock towards my folds. “We begin.”

  Fighting is useless. I know this.

  His dart presses up against the opening of my hole as his body rocks over me. He seems to be taking particular delight in drawing it out, keenly watching my face as he shifts forward and into the tight expanse beyond.

  I grimace. I can’t help it. His cock’s far too big for my tiny hole, even prepared as it is, leaking around him.

  He thrusts gently forward again and his cock head slides in, coming up against the barrier of my maidenhead.

  “An obstruction!” he comments, clearly amused. “How interesting.”

  He rocks his hips back and then thrusts brutally forward, my ankles pulling painfully as he tears through my maidenhead and buries half his shaft into my body.

  I roll my head from side to side on the roller as he moves out and shifts forward again, heading deeper into my cunt.

  He drowns in the folds of my flesh as he thrusts into my innards, concentric waves moving over my skin as he fucks me.

  I squirm as much as my bonds will allow, my cunt tight, holding him in a vice as his hand roams across my breasts, nails brushing my nipples to send fresh juices flowing below. He slaps them and pulls at my hair as he ploughs me, fucking me firmer and firmer until I find myself lifting upwards to meet his thrusts.

  The initial pain of the intrusion is slowly replacing with fulfilment, a shift from the primary sting to a taboo pleasure and desire to be filled, heat building between my legs as I allow this monster to have his way with me.

  My nipples stand tall, fiercely pink in the firelight. Beyond, the crevice of my navel bobs up and down. Below, all that remains is the meeting of our bodies, his dark thatch entwined in my golden nest, his shaft lifting out and plunging back into me glistening with desire.

  I begin to moan, softly at first but rising in volume until Daron thrusts forward with all his might and releases his seed into my body.

  “No!” I scream, but it’s too late. He does not pull out but continues to pump his spoil into my womb, smiling as he withdraws from my split cunt.

  He wipes himself on my thigh before stepping off the table. “What a fine cunt you have, petal. A most magnificent specimen.”

  “Guards!”

  The same guards enter, elbowing each other as they wait for their master’s instructions.

  Naked, cock still a stiff arm between his legs, Daron smiles. “Flip her over.”


  The guards undo my bonds, sperm dribbling from my sex as I’m flipped onto my stomach and the bonds reattached. I’m grateful for the relief, but it’s short-lived. As soon as I’m in place, one of the guards cranks the lever again, sending the same arrows of pain through my limbs and extremities.

  Again, the smaller lever at the corner of the table is turned until my legs are spread, but this time the centre wooden roller rises underneath my belly, lifting my ass and hips high, bending me over.

  I know all three are admiring the symmetrical orbs of my ass and what lies inside the fleece below, freshly fucked by Daron. Above will be the dark pucker of my anal opening ripe for their mutual edification.

  “Leave us,” Daron commands, and again the guards depart looking slightly deflated they are not to be part of proceedings. I see their tented pants, thankful only to be taken by one man… for now.

  The wood of the top roller is warm pressed against my cheek. I can smell its earthy undertones, the many bodies that have been broken on this cruel device.

  Doran steps in front of me. His cock is stiff as a post, head heated and balls swelled up tight to his body with new seed.

  Fight it as I may, the sight does not stir immediate revulsion. Quite the opposite. I almost beg him to fill me again, to finish what he started, but he has other ideas.

  He holds a curious device in his hands, low enough for me to see it.

  “Do you know what this is?” he questions, cock dancing before me.

  My reply is barely a whisper, my voice stained with unsolicited lust. “No.”

  He laughs. “Good, very good.”

  I take in the strange instrument. It’s long, made of metal, as if a series of spoons joined together or a demented baby’s rattle. At the end of this club is a kind of key. Whatever it is, I know its purpose is not pleasure.

  “This is a pear of anguish,” continues Doran. “It is one of the finest instruments of torture ever made. I acquired it from a Spanish lord after he…. well, lost his head, shall we say.”

  I don’t dare ask what it does. I know I will find out soon enough.

  “This particular pear has had a long and distinguished life in my chambers here. Many a criminal has departed this world by its hand.”