Babala sighed in the chill of the cave. If only she was still in the arms of the Taskmaster, but she was not. She lay in the sand that formed the floor of the filthy cavern, and all these men had used her. The Lady Fazath seemed to sense that she was dreadfully unhappy and began to caress the softness of her breasts, the little swell of her tummy and the tender mound of her cunny.
‘Can you never get enough of a girl?’ demanded a rough voice, and at the same moment the Lady Fazath was kicked from Babala’s arms.
‘Leave her alone!’ The mistress, although she must surely have been in pain from the kick, clung bravely to Capel’s leg.
‘Of course,’ he growled sarcastically, ‘the girl is yours, is she not?’ Having freed himself from her he flung his huge body upon Babala, his rough hands gripping her whipped breasts, making her mew in pain. His cock butted at her cunny, thrusting between the tender folds and penetrating her passage.
‘Haven’t you done enough? You said you would take us back to the castle once you’ve had your fill of us,’ whimpered the Lady Fazath, sounding nothing like her former warrior self.
‘Nowhere near enough, my lady,’ said Bart, his face contorted in an evil grimace. ‘Nowhere near. I intend to change you from a wilful disobedient hussy to a womanly woman...’ He looked over his shoulder to Babala, who was arching her body, offering it to Capel who gripped her buttocks the better to thrust into her fully. ‘Peli, use the manacles and spikes to chain her ladyship to the wall. We’ll take her one after the other. What you say, Graf?’
‘Aye, use her roughly,’ agreed Graf, ‘front, back and in her mouth.’
‘Use me,’ begged Babala, her voice husky as she approached her orgasm. ‘Do not taunt my lady any more. It is torture for her.’ Her slender body shuddered with the force of Capel’s thrusts. She knew the other men could see her naked breasts, their firmness quivering as the big man rutted against her; could see the tiny weals left by the tip of the lash; could see her swollen nipples, flushed scarlet from the rasping of Capel’s tunic.
‘No, no my sweet,’ said the Lady Fazath, ‘you have suffered enough.’
Capel rolled, sweating heavily from his exertions, from Babala’s body. She could feel the heat of his cream trickling over her sex lips, seeping through the lushness of the golden pussy curls and slicking the dark flesh of her sex folds.
‘Yes, you have suffered enough,’ repeated the Lady Fazath. ‘I shall do their bidding when...’ she paused, and Babala could feel the heat of the woman’s gaze on her slick and open cunny, ‘when these brutes have allowed me to lick their come from your lovely body, from your cunny, from your rose-hole and from the sweetness of your mouth.’
The cave was silent except for the harsh and rapid breathing of the men. Bart spoke first, although Capel picked up his long whip and loomed over the two females, his face contorted with anger.
‘Yes,’ said Bart, holding up a warning hand, ‘the woman suggests something which will be pleasantly entertaining; which will excite our appetites for what is to come.’
They meant to keep them prisoner forever, thought Babala. They would never let them go. She turned appealing eyes upon Peli, and he gave her a guilty answering smile.
‘Get on with it!’ growled Capel.
Lady Fazath needed no second bidding and, despite the cruel nature of her wounds, almost sprang to Babala’s side, caressing her breasts and kissing the angry looking teats.
‘Stop wasting time,’ grunted Bart. ‘Lick the little bitch.’
The mistress gave a smile and rose to her feet, hauling Babala’s ankles over her own shoulders until the girl’s cunny was close to her eager mouth, and then she licked her lips and drove out her tongue to pet the inner margins of Babala’s swollen outer lips. As she licked she weaved her tongue back and forth to show the men how well she lapped their issue.
Transferring her attentions to Babala’s inner lips she petted with her mouth, sucking the juices deep into her throat. Only then did she drive her tongue into the girl’s entrance and the men heard the slurping as she sucked and licked.
‘You were right, Bart,’ grunted Graf, ‘this is most entertaining.’ His cock was again stiff and upright as he slicked his fingers up and down its girth. His balls were full and taut and Babala could see, even from her up-ended position, that he was close to his orgasm once more.
‘Her bottom,’ ordered Capel. ‘I gave that a full measure.’
And he was not the only one, thought Babala; her rose-hole was no longer the virgin entrance that the Taskmaster intended. Lady Fazath eased apart her castigated buttocks to reveal the wrinkled rosebud, and Babala gasped as the woman opened the place and drove her tongue deep inside.
‘We did not tell you to enjoy yourselves,’ Capel spat angrily. ‘You are doing this for our entertainment. Understand?’
With slicked lips the Lady Fazath smiled and bowed her head obsequiously. ‘Of course, my masters. It is the girl who is at fault.’
Babala was aghast at this, and was hard pressed not to speak out in her own defence. She felt her breasts tremble as the Lady Fazath let her slide to the sandy floor of the cave.
‘She cannot control herself so far as sexual pleasures are concerned.’ The mistress sank down to the floor beside her and gave her a warning frown. ‘She is an ill-disciplined hussy, which is why I was taking her from the castle. Such a bad influence on the other girls.’
It was then that madam fastened her lips upon Babala’s, her tongue darting deep into her throat. Babala could taste her own cream and the bitter taste issued by the men, but this was nothing, was no punishment compared with the lies told by her ladyship.
The Lady Fazath had stolen Babala from under the Prince’s very nose. The serving women were about to dress her in the jewelled gown but the Lady Fazath tossed the rich garment into a corner and made off down the maze of passages which led to the drawbridge and the castle grounds, with Babala slung like a sack over her shoulder.
‘Lies,’ murmured Babala, as madam took a gulp of air. ‘That was not the reason. I was not a bad influence.’
‘Be quiet, you little fool,’ hissed the Lady Fazath. ‘Be quiet.’
‘Silence, the pair of you!’ growled Bart, and Babala saw him take the long whip from Capel and swirl it above his head. She heard the whistle of it in the air and she felt her body tense, waiting for the cruel sting of it. ‘Get away, witch!’ he rasped, and it was the Lady Fazath who felt the cut of the leather.
Babala shrank away, hugging her arms about her breasts and crouching in the darkest corner of the cave. She heard madam whimper and heard the men laugh as they manacled her to spikes they had driven into the wall of the cave. Through the gloom Babala could see the spread-eagled form of her mistress. The strongly muscled legs were spread to their widest extent, the apex of them marked by the dark thatch of her pussy bush. Madam’s arms, too, were widely spread, making her full breasts flatten upon her ribs and this served to make the teats stand out fully like dark brown nuts.
The men teased her ladyship with their lips and teeth, biting the hard and wrinkled nuts and sucking her cunny lips.
‘A fine moist pouch of flesh,’ grunted Capel, and Babala gasped as she saw her ladyship throw back her head. Surely it was pain that made her do this, and not enjoyment. Capel buried his lips between the pink sex folds, searching out the pert bud of madam’s nubbin. ‘And a dripping funnel,’ he added, as he drew his mouth away and thrust two fingers deep into the open slit. He grinned cruelly as madam writhed on his probing digits, but whether this was in pleasure or distaste, Babala could not discern.
The other men, all except Bart, who so far as Babala could make out was the chief among them, took their turn at taunting the Lady Fazath. Capel, who teased her nubbin and thrust fingers into her depths, finished his humiliation of her by working his huge cock with his fingers and spraying madam’s spread cunny folds with
jet after jet of his issue.
‘And how do you like that, your ladyship?’ he grunted, as the creamy arcs splashed upon her flesh.
Babala peeped between her fingers, for she could not bear to witness her madam shamed in this manner, and saw that her ladyship had her head thrown back and her eyes closed.
Encouraged by the other men the young fellow, Peli, lifted his brief leather loincloth and approached the Lady Fazath. To Babala, who still peeped between her fingers, he seemed nervous as he drew back his foreskin to bare his swollen and shiny globe. It was as if he thought that madam was a magical creature who could make his cock shrivel and die.
‘Go on, lad!’ urged Graf, pushing the young man so hard that he fell upon madam’s shamed body. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘Shall we guide your cock in?’ asked Capel with a cruel chuckle. ‘I’ve greased the path for you.’
The other men laughed at this, and Babala saw the young man blush to the very roots of his hair. Tentatively, she crawled across the dusty floor of the cave. The men were so engrossed in their teasing of the Lady Fazath that they did not notice her until she reached Peli’s feet and caressed his ankles. Looking up she could see the lad butt the globe of his cock at madam’s vulnerable cunny. He frowned and gestured that she should crawl back to her hiding place at the rear of the cave, but it was too late.
‘It seems the young filly is envious!’ Bart exclaimed, and Babala whimpered with distress and pain as she was hauled roughly to her feet. She tried to protest but no words would come. She was not envious, simply sorry for the young man, feeling his humiliation as he was almost forced to take the Lady Fazath with his inexperienced cock.
‘Well, my pretty?’ rasped Bart. ‘Do I understand correctly?’ He held her close, lifting his leather skirt and brushing the thickness of his cock between her thighs, sawing it back and forth between cunny lips made slippery with the Lady Fazath’s spittle.
‘Yes, sir,’ Babala lied softly. ‘Yes, I am envious.’
‘You want to feel the power of a cock within you?’ Bart’s voice was thick with lust. ‘Opening you, pressing the soft cushions of your sex outwards, is that it?’
Perhaps, thought Babala, if she offered herself to the chief of these men they would stop torturing the Lady Fazath, release her from the manacles which she could see were making ankles and wrists raw.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Babala meekly. She hung her head, letting the golden cascade of her hair spill about each pale cheek.
‘Then that is what it shall be,’ said Bart, his words muffled against the softness of her neck, and a large rough hand cupped the underswell of a breast while the other slapped each thigh in rapid smacks until she opened her legs wide enough to his satisfaction.
‘Have your fill of the woman,’ he said, thrusting thick fingers into Babala’s opening until she could not help but gasp at the force of it. She heard the other men grumble at their having to take second best, and she mewed miserably that her ploy had not worked.
‘Come, my pretty,’ said Bart, holding her prisoner. ‘You and I will take our pleasure at the back of the cave.’
There was nothing Babala could do but submit, and to aid the man to take his fill of her. As his thickness drove into her she arched up to him, lifting his heavy body with her own slender one, and her mind drifted back to the Taskmaster, and his tenderness as he broke her virgin maidenhead. The memory took away the roughness meted out by Bart, and her climax was swift and endlessly pleasurable.
Chapter 3
Early the next morning Babala awoke feeling stiff and weary, and her cunny felt raw from its rough treatment. Her breasts were sore by days of less than gentle handling and her belly, buttocks, thighs and back were covered with welts, some fresh and red and others fading.
While the guards still slept she crawled to the entrance of the cave. In the pale dawn light mists moved like wraiths over the valley below. She saw, just a short distance away, a small lake as blue as her sapphire eyes. Although she was naked and shivering in the early morning chill she longed to immerse her aching limbs in the icy water.
With an apprehensive look over her shoulder at Bart, she edged close to the rim of the cliff in which the cave was situated. He was deeply asleep, mouth open and leather loincloth pushed to one side to reveal a cock, which even in sleep was stiff and upright, its globe bare and slick with issue. He smiled as if he dreamed of impaling Babala, and his forefinger and thumb rested at the base of his thick stem, pulsing the fleshy shaft.
The other men were similarly unconscious, weary from their sexual labours. Lady Fazath, drooping in her bonds, was suspended from the manacles driven into the cave wall. Babala felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman, but had she not brought all these troubles upon them by stealing the Prince’s prize?
Babala sighed as she thought of the comfort and sensual delights of the palace, of her tender taking by the Taskmaster, and the waiting to be called from the harem to the presence of the Prince. That waiting made her belly liquid with joy and her sex moist with excitement.
The first rays of the sun appeared over the far horizon and Babala knew she must hurry if she was to experience the luxury of cool, refreshing water in her hair and enveloping her body. The chill would surely soothe her many wounds as well as slake her thirst.
As she turned to make her way down the short stretch of steep mountain she dislodged a stone, which tumbled noisily down the slope. She clung to the crumbling cliff face, her body tense, fearing reprisal from the guards if they should wake and catch her. She looked back once more to check them, but Bart merely grunted and turned on his side, still cradling his cock and thrusting into his dream woman.
It was not far down the mountainside, but the stones chafed Babala’s bare feet as she scrambled to the bottom. She was oblivious to the pain, so anxious was she to soak the filth of the guards from her skin and hair and soothe the many abrasions that marred the previous perfection of her body.
At last she reached the foot of the cliff and ran swiftly along the short path that led to the lake. With a soft laugh of joy she dived into the icy water, cutting it like a knife with her perfectly arched body. It was bliss to feel the water cleansing her hair, washing away the dust from the cave and the evidence of the guards. Spreading her legs and using her fingers to open her sex folds she allowed the water to seep into her cunny. She dipped her head and took draught after draught of the cold water, drinking it down.
Lifting her hands she scrubbed her scalp. Water dripped from her breasts and shimmered like diamonds in the rising sun.
At last satisfied that her hair was clean she sank down beneath the surface of the lake again, allowing the golden cascade to float behind and above her. The chill of the water soothed her sore skin, cleansed the many hurts the men had inflicted upon her, and she closed her eyes, drifting languidly.
So lost in the ecstasy of this small luxury was she that she did not see a dark shadow casting narrowed eyes over her from the edge of the lake. It was a shock, therefore, to feel the sharp pain in her scalp, and it was as if her hair would be pulled out at the roots as she was dragged to the surface.
‘Try to escape, would you?’
Babala was pulled from the lake by her hair. Her slender body, so recently cleansed by the water, was hauled through the mud at the edge and was streaked with dark earth.
‘No - ouch!’ she squealed, her fingers clawing uselessly at the hands that were wrapped around her long fall of wet hair. ‘I was bathing!’
Plaintively, she looked up at Bart’s coarse features, tears of pain coursing down her cheeks.
‘Liar,’ he grunted, and he slapped the still tender heaviness of her breasts. Babala dared not pull away, for she knew she would be punished further if she did. ‘You were planning to run back through the forest, to tell the Prince what mischief we have enjoyed with you and the Lady Fazath.’
Wi
th tears of pain blurring her vision Babala ventured a look into his dark eyes, and her own widened with surprise for she could see much more than anger in them. Much more. There was fear plainly written on his coarse features; a twitch at the corner of his mouth, the eyes looking furtively this way and that, the nostrils wide as he breathed rapidly as if gasping for breath.
‘No,’ she managed. ‘I merely came to the lake—’
She got no further, for the breath was wrenched from her body by Capel’s whip snaking about her slender waist. ‘Lying bitch!’ he growled. ‘They’re all the same, these women. Can’t wait to fuck and tell.’ The whip snaked over her shoulder, knocking her to the ground, rolling her in the squelching mud.
‘You came to wash, did you?’ It was Graf’s voice, growling and peevish. ‘Look at you, you filthy whore. Breasts streaked with mud...’ He rolled her over and she looked up at the three men, choking back sobs. ‘Somehow it has even slithered here!’
The other men laughed as Graf slapped some of the thick dark mud upon her inner thighs, spreading her legs wide and smearing the filth in a thick cake within her cunny.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this...’ it was Peli - nervous, timorous, trembling. ‘We’ve been gone from the palace for five days. There’ll be punishments waiting for us, I’ll warrant.’
Graf, on his knees beside Babala, smoothing her body with the dark slime, shrugged, uncaring. ‘We’ll say they struggled and it was necessary to punish them, to restrain them until they learned how to behave.’ He pinched her muddy nipples until she whimpered, and when she mewed in pain he slapped her belly, her breasts, enjoying the slurping sound of his hands on her muddy flesh.
‘Peli is right,’ Bart said with a nod, confirming the fear Babala had seen in his eyes. ‘Do you think the Taskmaster will not be ordered to use his skill to test here and here?’ He bent down beside Graf and probed his fingers between Babala’s flesh leaves, opening them out, thrusting two muddy fingers into her cunny. That done he flipped her over and spread her buttocks to thumb the wrinkled bud of her anus, feeling the fresh give of the opening. ‘He will know and we’ll be punished severely.’ He paused, lifting her bottom and spreading her legs as if he was enjoying the sight of these pretty parts for the last time. ‘Maybe even executed.’
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