Barbarian Queen:

Captives of Lord Arrakur

 

A story set in an alternate universe.

We all know, that Amethea and her friends overcame all the trials and hardships. They triumphed over suppression, injustice, rape and torture.

They defeated Lord Arrakur and ended his merciless rule.

 

But what if...

 

They failed?

 

What if the capture of Taramis, Estrild, Tianara and Amethea was not the rebellions darkest hour, which preceded the dawn of victory?

 

What if this was the beginning of a different kind of tale.

A tale of four woman-warriors, who fell into the hands of a ruler of utter cruelty and recklessness.

A ruler with a fondness for inflicting pain, dealing out suffering and crushing women beneath his heel.

 

Now hear a tale of suffering unheard of...

Of tortures untold of...

Of cruelty undreamed of...

Hear the tale of proud Amethea

The bravest of all...

 

 

 

Captives of Lord Arrakur

 

 

Chapter One

 

The Tools of Pain

 

Amethea couldn't move.

As much as she tried to, she couldn't.

The iron shackles around her wrists and ankles were tightly and secured her beauteous form on the rack.

Her body was covered with sweat, glistening in the lights of the torches at the dungeon walls.

In addition she wore an iron collar around her neck. It wasnīt connected to the rack itself, although there were four iron rings attached to the collar - two at his side, one in front and the fourth at the back of it. Right now, the only purpose of the collar was apparently to make breathing a bit harder for her.

The rack was positioned at the far end of the spacious chamber. Since the apparatus was standing almost upright, keeping Amethea in an almost standing position, the warrioress had a good view of the chamber.

What she saw made her skin crawl and her heart sink. Of some of the devices she saw, she had heard of before.

There were pillories and thick wooden poles set in the ground, with iron cuffs attached to them. Chains were hanging from the stone ceiling, swinging in the air and making a continuos clanking sound. There was an odd, T-shaped wooden table with iron cuffs on its surface as well. There were braziers, some of them filled with heated coals. And there was a seemingly endless variety of whips, clubs and tongs hanging all over the walls.

And there were more devices, which Amethea had never seen or heard of before in her life.

But no one had to explain the purpose of those strange objects to her. Everything around her served one, and only one purpose.

To inflict pain.

And it had been made clear to Amethea, that she had much... very, very much pain coming to her.

Amethea had fought many battles before in her life and everyone had seen her as the winner. But she knew, that she was about to fight the most terrifying and powerful enemy of all - pain.

Amethea had been brought down here for torture.

Arrakur had given her the choice. Telling him about the rebels and become his newest whore... or finding out, how painful it was to oppose him.

She chose the latter, fought him, and even wounded him.

Alas, the joy of this small victory faded quickly, as four guards dragged her fighting, spitting and cursing down the stairs to the lower dungeons beneath her cell.

For as brave as Amethea was, she knew that there was nothing worse that men could do to men, than to torture them.

The guards had knocked at a small wooden door, belying the vastness of the torture chamber behind it and a low voice has told them to come in.

They had done so and Amethea had had her first look at the chamber and its horrors. She had also had her first of many hateful looks at the master of this evil domain.

A tiny, humpbacked man, wearing a flat leather hat and a strange set of glasses on his nose. He had let his gaze wander up and down her body, hovering over her naked breasts for a while.

Then he had looked into her eyes, meeting her defiant gaze with a wicked smile.

"Hmmmmm... a feisty one. What does Lord Arrakur want to know from this one?" he asked one of the guards.

"A rebel, Master Zohar." One of the guards replied.

"Lord Arrakur wants to know where the rest of that rebel scum is hiding."

Zoharīs eyes wandered from Ametheaīs face back to her exposed breasts and sighed.

"Almost a pity. For a moment I hoped, this one was... ah well. Tie her to that rack, there!"

The guards complied and fastened the struggling woman to the vertical rack at the end of the torture chamber.

After Zohar had checked the bonds and convinced himself of that Amethea could not free herself from them, he dismissed the guards.

Amethea was now in chains in front of the tiny man. Due to her struggles, her leather brassiere and her loincloth has been ripped from her. All that stood between her and total nakedness was a tiny, black crotch-strap she wore.

"Hmmmm!" Zohar purred, savoring her beauty.

"A feisty, lovely rebel-whore! I don`t suppose you will tell me what we want to know just yet. Don`t you?"

Amethea did not even look at him. She stared at the ceiling, instead.

"No, I suppose you wont!" the torturer said. He stepped closer and Amethea could feel the heat of his ridiculously shaped body against her leg, felt his hand tenderly caressing the inside of her thigh.

The sensation of his fingers on her made her skin crawl and she struggled against the cuffs and chains holding her in place. Her instincts yelled at her to kill that little pig right now. But the bonds condemned her to endure his sickening touch.

"Three kinds of people get send down here." He said.

"And I hoped for a moment, you would be one of the third kind. Would you like to know why?"

Amethea did not answer.

"What a tight-lipped little slut you are. No matter, I will tell you anyway: I love pain!"

For a second, Amethea could not help giving him a quick, wondering look.

"Oh, not my own, mind you!" the torturer said, chuckling.

"That would be rather sick, donīt you think?!"

"Oh no, its the pain of others, that I adore. And I thoroughly enjoy causing pain. Inflicting pain. You will find out all about that any minute now."

Now, a thin layer of cold sweat was transpiring on Ametheaīs forehead.

"How does my fondness for inflicting pain relate to the three kind of prisoners being send down here? Well, Iīll tell you, my sweet.

The first kind are those, who do have secrets Lord Arrakur wants to know about and sooner or later tell me everything they know.

It is enjoyable to make them talk, of course. But as soon as they have given up, they usually get executed quickly at the townīs square. You might belong to that kind, but I would be somewhat disappointed."

His breathing deepened somewhat, as his hand began kneading her thigh with increasing force.

"The second kind, now. They are a lot more interesting. And I would welcome you being one of them. So please, donīt disappoint me!"

He smiled at her, a smile bereft of any kindness whatsoever.

"The second kind are those, who are suspected to know some secrets Lord Arrakur whishes to learn about - but are totally innocent. For that means, that I can torture them, for as long as Lord Arrakur remains suspicious of them and orders the questioning to continue."

He moved even closer and, to her horror and utter disgust, Amethea could feel his hard, erected member through his breechcloths on her naked thigh.

"Ooooohh... and you can believe me, my pretty one: If you donīt know anything, if you canīt tell me anything that could satisfy Lord Arrakurīs curiosity... then you will spend days, perhaps weeks in my capable hands until I have broken you so completely, that there will be nothing left of your will or strength.

Oh yes, I do hope that you donīt know anything!"

He had begun rubbing his hard manhood against her thigh, as he already contemplated the ordeals his newest captive would be going through.

"Alas, being suspected as a rebel, you are no prisoner of the third kind. Those are my favorite trait. Can you guess why?"

Amethea had closed her eyes and tried to block out the vile creatureīs voice, tried not to comprehend the words he spoke. But she failed in both.

"The third kind are those, whom Lord Arrakur had sentenced to death. Sentenced to be tortured to death. And you can believe me: there can be no slower death than here in my chamber. Such a feisty one as you, I could surely torture each and every day and still keep alive for even a month.

Oh, I wonder when would you pride dissolve? After a week? Yes, even you would beg for mercy after a week. And when might you start to beg for death? Two weeks? Three?

How I would love to find that out."

Ametheaīs mind was numbed with horror. Oh yes, she knew about torture. Although she had been spared it so far, she knew what torture meant.

But nothing she knew could have prepared her for this nightmarish ordeal awaiting her.

What worse could possibly have happened to her than this? With a sting of panic she realized, that she was about to be tortured by a merciless bastard, who felt "that" pleasure when inflicting pain.

If the devil would choose a hell for women, he would choose this.

"Now!" the humpbacked Zohar said, stepping away from his newest prey and looking at her trough slit eyes.

"Itīs about the time, the two of us get started. Since you are not the third kind, I expect you to be the second kind, at least."

He lifted his right hand, his forefinger pointing in the air like a teacher lecturing his pupil.

"Donīt you dare disappoint me, whore! Donīt you dare to talk!"

He kept giggling, as he started to work on the rack and Amethea kept staring in the air, her check-bones working underneath her skin.

She heard a winch screeching and from above she saw a strange object attached to a chain descending down on her. It resembled a metal glove, shaped like a fist. The forefinger of the glove, however, pointed down at her.

As the device continued it`s descent, Amethea saw that the gloveīs forefinger ended in a very sharp needle.

Amethea also realized that the glove was descending on her unprotected chest, aiming for her naked, exposed breasts.

She swallowed and wondered, how long she would hold out.

 

"Iīm not here to torture you. We have a man, who does that!"

Tianara felt the heat of the torch held closely to her face changing itīs position from her left cheek to her right one, forcing her to turn her head from side to side.

Kaltar, the fat general of Lord Arrakurīs guards smiled mischievously and lowered the torch. Not to give his prisoner some relief but merely to let the torch travel over her barely covered bosom.

Not burning her... yet. Just letting her feel the fireīs heat and let her wonder just when he would let the torch kiss her young flesh.

"We have a man, who does THAT. And I am trying to keep you from having to meet him."

He moistened his dry lips with his tongue as he watched the black-haired girl struggle against her bonds, pushing herself against the pole at her back in a hopeless attempt to escape the heat of the torch.

"I just want a little information." He said.

Tianara stared back at him over the dancing flames of the torch hovering over her breasts, almost singing her mammal flesh with fierceness in her eyes.

"Other lives are more important then mine!" she replied proudly.

She knew, that there was little left for her to do than to display her bravery to her captors. She and her friends have entered the very lair of their enemy in their quest to save their people. They had gambled... and lost. Now, all there was left to do, was to stand up against them and protect their allies, the rebels hiding in the catacombs beneath the city, by taking their secrets into the grave.

"Itīs not death that you face." The captain said, relishing in his domination over this beautiful wench.

"Itīs a great deal of discomfort, while you are still alive. You really donīt want to get sent downstairs... believe me!" The last words, he almost purred.

He knew of the things, which could and surely would be done to this one. He very well knew of Lord Arrakurīs cruelty and the inventiveness of his torture-master, Zohar. And he most certainly shared their adoration for seeing helpless captives suffer.

He often thanked the gods for including pain into the creation of humans. Pain caused fear. Pain caused obedience. Pain caused captives to break down... to betray their comrades.

And pain caused pleasure.

In fact, he knew of no greater pleasure then dispensing pain. It always caused his belly to churn and his member to harden.

Just like this one in front of him supplied him with a feeling of gratification and raunchiness at the same time.

Just a few hours longer, and he could conscientiously report to Lord Arrakur, that the black-haired slut was as stubborn as the fair-haired one. Surely his master would order the torture of this one. And if he were lucky, he would be commanded to carry out the questioning in the lower dungeons for himself - since Zohar would surely be busy with the fair-haired whore.

Yes, he mused, watching the panting, sweat-glistening captive in front of him...

Life is good.

 

The needle-sharp end of the metal glove dug into Ametheaīs left teat.

A sharp, piercing pain shot through her breast and made her cry out.

Involuntarily she tried to move her breast away from the needle, digging into her breast. And instantly her body was stretched a little more.

The rack she was trapped on was an ingenious device indeed.

Her ankles were fettered to the lower end of the rack with thick, heavy leather cords. Each ankle at the opposite edge of the wooden table-like device, she was laying on, which caused her legs to be spread wide open. Her wrists were manacled with similar leather straps to a heavy chain at the top of the rack. This chain went over a slick-oiled metal cogwheel at the top of the table. From the other end of the chain, behind the rack, there hung a huge boulder of some 250 pounds pulling at the chain with all itīs weight.

The boulderīs weight would cause the cogwheel to spin and thereby pulling the chain tighter and tighter. Since Amethea was tied to that chain, her body would be drawn tight as well, as if her body itself was a link in the chain carrying the monstrous, heavy boulder. The weight would have strained her body far beyond the snapping point, of course. Literally tearing her flesh, tendons and muscles apart in an instance.

But a tiny detail prevented her from being torn apart. Which were two steel rods, both attached to the top of the rack and arching down on the gearwheel, their sharp ends infixing themselves into the teeth at each side of the cogwheel. As long as both were holding the cogwheel, the wheel was carrying the weight of the boulder.

Unfortunately the rack-table was laying on a huge steel axis, making the table teetering slightly, unless Amethea held herself absolutely still on the table. As soon as she made the slightest move, the rack-table waggled and the steel rods at the top lost their grip on the cogwheel.

With a number of menacing clicking sounds, the chain was drawn tighter by the boulderīs immense weight and Amethea was stretched and racked a little more.

Already her body was stretched painfully tight. Muscles and tendons screamed in protest against the strain put upon them. But if she managed to keep the rack in balance, she avoided the strain to increase.

But Zohar was not about to allow her this respite. The last detail of this percular torture was the metal glove, hanging from a chain above her breasts. It was positioned exactly over her left breast and the sharp needle protruding from itīs metal forefinger was thereby positioned exactly over her left teat.

Now all Zohar had to do, was to lower the metal glove by giving the chain it was attached to some slack and the needle would prick Ametheas nipple.

However regal in her determination not to move, the jabbing pain would cause her to wince and thereby trigger the apparatus` horrible assault on her tender body.

Cold sweat covered her forehead and her breathing came through clenched teeth. Arms and legs quivered from the strain and her belly felt like being torn apart. Still she had neither spoken a word nor given voice to the true amount of her suffering.

Only short grunts and sobs of pain escaped her throat regularly, as her breast were stabbed again and again.

Her torturer watched her suffering with keen interest and visible delight.

And as if he needed to make up for Ametheaīs contempt-filled silence, he spoke to her constantly.

"You must learn not to struggle!" he said, as if lecturing a dim-witted child.

"If it hurts, you have only yourself to blame."

Even if Amethea would choose to talk to her tormentor, she would never grace that infamous remark with an answer.

"Everytime you move, the machine tightens. So you donīt want to move anymore than you have to."

He gave a sigh of satisfaction and regarded the interior of his torture chamber,  inspecting his horrifying collection of instruments and devices.

"I made that all myself!" he pointed out with pride. "Itīs very ingenious, donīt you think?"

All Amethea did in response was to look at him with utter contempt.

"Oooh! You donīt look like you appreciate science." Her torturer said in his maddening high-pitched tone. He approached her with a mug filled with water. He held the mug teasingly before Ametheaīs dried lips.

"Drink some." He offered his captive.

The warrior woman hadnīt had something to drink since this morning, when she and her friends entered the rebelīs hideout. She was thirsting badly and involuntarily tried to reach the sweet wetness inside the mug by raising her head. She even managed to move her head without triggering the rack but Zohar rewarded her effort by pulling the mug away.

"Say please!" he requested, depriving Amethea the relief of quenching her thirst.

Ametheaīs head fell back on the surface of the rack and she turned her face away determined not to beg for the water.

"No manners at all!" Zohar complained. "Well…Iīm not one who tortures somebody." He moved the mug back within Ametheaīs reach. Despite herself, she raised her head again…her lips almost reaching the edge of the mug, almost tasting the sweet, clean liquid inside.

Grinning viciously, Zohar twisted the mug. He slowly spilled the water on the womanīs chest, making her groan in frustration as not a single drop of the water had reached her lips.

Why do you do that? Amethea admonished herself. Hurting you already gives him pleasure. Do not add to this swineīs gratification by degrading yourself before him!

"You must learn to say please!" her tormentor said in a donnish cadence.

"You must learn to say all sorts of things." Zohar continued. "Like how you got into the city. And what you came here for. And where your rebel friends are."

NO! Her mind cried out. Hold on! Donīt tell him anything. Fight it and find a way to get out of this hellhole. Thatīs the only chance we got, if we want to survive this.

"Ahem…please let me interrupt."

This wasnīt the voice of her tormentor. The door to the torture chamber had been opened and Arrakur had entered. Amethea couldnīt help wince as she saw him in the company of her sister Taramis. She was scantily dressed, as it was becoming for a slavegirl of Lord Arrakur. And Amethea had no doubt whatsoever, that her sister has served as a female slave in that monsterīs bed.

Zohar cranked a winch at the side of the rack and with a sickening cracking sound the cogwheel was revolving half a turn before stopping. The boulderīs weight was pulling Ametheaīs body another inch apart and making her cry out in terrible pain - for the first time since the torture had started.

Arrakur knew, that Zohar intended to demonstrate his captiveīs suffering for his master. Partly for showing his own effort in making this whore talk, partly because he knew that Lord Arrakur was just as fond of watching a woman suffer as he was.

And indeed, as Arrakur had entered the torture chamber, the sight of Amethea, almost nude, tied to that rack had generated that well known pleasure in his belly he felt when watching a defenseless creature suffer at his command. And although he had spend himself inside his newest whore quite thoroughly, he felt his cock rising behind his gown yet again as he listened to her agonized scream.

"She still has nothing to say to us?" he said, taking a step closer.

"She is a strong one." The torturer conceded. And Amethea proved that fact by suppressing any further breach of self-control. By suppressing any more sounds of pain escaping her throat and glaring at Lord Arrakur with utter contempt.

The tyrant merely smiled knowingly at the impotent fury of his captive.

"You have broken stronger." He noted. Casually he turned to his newest pet-whore a bit suspicious.

"You donīt know her…do you?!" he asked Taramis. The dim-witted girl looked back at him fearfully, her gaze briefly shifting to her tortured sister on the rack. When she looked back at her master with all the credibility of a child not lying to her father.

"No." she said, chewing at her thumb.

Satisfied by this Arrakur addressed his torture-master again.

"I expect answers in the morning!" he said turning about his heel and leaving the chamber. Taramis looked briefly at Amethea. Her sister returned her gaze and Taramis was not sure what to read in it. She did not understand all of what was going on around her but she understood this much: her sister was being hurt terribly. And if the man, whomīs bed she shared, found out of her being Ametheaīs sister she would also be hurt. And Taramis did not want to be hurt ever again.

So she left her sister without another word, hurrying to catch up with her master.

Amethea fought hard to suppress the tears, which threatened to fill her eyes.

She wanted Argan back. And she wanted to protect her sister. And look what was happening to them. Argan was fighting for his life as Arrakurīs gladiator. He could die any second without her knowing. And her sister was Arrakurīs whore. She refused to think about what that pig was doing to her in bed, while she was down here being tortured.

I have to get out of here. I have to. Somehow, anyhow get out of this hellhole.

Was it coincidence or a generous gesture of the Gods? Amethea did not know and did not care so much. What she did realize was, that a link in the chain holding both her ankles down at the bottom end of the rack was broken.

Perhaps the link had been insufficiently forged and probably countless victims having been ripped apart on this rack had put so much strain on the chain that it might tear apart anytime now. The question was whether it would be the chain or the muscles, tendons and the spine of Amethea that would tear first.

The torturer stepped in front of her again. Zohar felt fresh excitement, knowing that Lord Arrakur would not make another visit to the torture chamber tonight.

That meant the two of them would be undisturbed until morning and Zohar had some very special plans for his captive. After all, a slut of such beauty was seldom in his domain and he did not wanted to miss the least bit of pleasure this whore could give him besides suffering pain.

He was a man after all, wasnīt he.

"You heard his excellency!" he purred in his infuriating tone of disapproval. As if Amethea was a lazy pupil who was too stupid to understand his teacherīs lessons.

As if he was saying: You dumb whore. All you have to do is to tell us about the rebels. And then we wonīt torture you anymore. Weīll just make you a slavegirl for our masterīs pleasure. And you will serve him as long as he finds you amusing. And then…well the gladiators` brothel perhaps. Or you will be used up as a whore for the guards. That canīt be all that bad now, can it? But no…you want to fight us? Then fight for all you are worth. I`ll break you anyway in the end. Youīll have gained nothing except serving MY pleasure!

He raised his hand to grope Ametheaīs right breast. With a snarl that evolved into a battle cry Amethea`s head leaped forth, her teeth creaked. Zohar barely managed to get his hand away from her breast, before she could sink her teeth in it.

A little taken aback, he quickly recovered as he noted with satisfaction that her attack had loosened the rack once more and increased the strain on her body even another agonizing bit.

And he also noted with gratification that the fair-haired whore could no longer hold back a gut wrenching sobbing of pain and despair.

Wonīt be long until you talk…or beg for mercy, slut. He said to himself.

 

Lord Arrakur rested on his seat in the arena and watched the bloody battle down below in the pit.

Two gladiators were fighting against each other to the death. The victor was selected to fight at the anniversary celebration, which were to be held in three days.  The dead one was carried out of the arena and another pair of gladiators entered, knowing that only one of them would leave the pit alive. And so it went on.

Arrakur enjoyed the spectacle. Still, he had some regrets about leaving the interrogation of the blonde beauty to Zohar alone. He himself enjoyed participating in the torture of his captives. Especially such a feisty and pretty one as her.

But in the end, the selection of the gladiators for the celebration was as important to him. Besides, he had given Zohar specific orders concerning that blonde whore.

"Find out, if she knows anything about the rebels. But see to it, that you donīt destroy her beauty just yet. I have additional plans for that one!"

Oh yes, Zohar would make her talk. Or ascertain, that she does not know anything about that rebel-scum. And after that, he would take care of her personally. He would break her completely. Heīd make her crawl at his feet and serve his every whim. And then…then he would have her very, very slowly tortured to death.

As he watched the desperate men beneath him fighting for their lifes, he leisurely contemplated the many ways he would make the blonde whore suffer for his pleasure.

 

"I really am ahead of my time!" Zohar mused, regarding his arsenal of fiendish devices with pride. Amethea merely moaned on the rack. He had secured the chain holding the boulder in the air, so that allowed her to move on the rack as little as her bonds permitted her. The strain on her body was still considerably painful. And Amethea was increasing the pain to herself by pulling at the weakened chain at the base of the rack, whenever her torturer paid no full attention to her.

He did so now, so Amethea halted her efforts again.

"You must be very proud." He kept teasing her. "You are making a contribution to science!" The disdain in her eyes made it perfectly clear to him what she thought about the science of torturing women. He merely grinned and approached his defenseless captive. Amethea tried to steel herself against the inevitable that was about to happen. A moment before, Zohar had ripped away the black crotch-strap she wore. Although it was a tiny piece of garment, it still humiliated her to be deprived of it. Now she was completely naked and her legs were spread apart sufficiently for her torturer to gaze at her disposed and unprotected womanhood.

Unfortunately, to gaze was not enough for him. He had taken of his breechcloths and exposed his hard and throbbing member. He moved closer and closer, his stiff cock pointing straight up at her. He took a step up, standing on the beam at the base of the rack, which supported Ametheaīs feet as well.

She felt her stomach knotting and bile gathering in her throat as the tip of his penis, hardened by her suffering, touched her labia, forcing her dry, reluctant lips aside and forcing itīs way into her belly.

She made an indefinable sound of utter disgust, as he pushed his cock inside her silky depths. She doubled her efforts in tearing the chain below her apart. It just wouldnīt give in. All she could think of was:

Break! Break, damn you! Gods, he is inside me! INSIDE ME!! Let me off this thing!!

Her rapist was in no hurry. Zohar took his time sliding his cock back and forth inside her with maddening leisure. He wanted to savor every second of this.

Better appreciate my self-discipline, you slut! He thought, fucking his captive slowly but constantly. After I spend myself inside you, I intend to use some interesting toys on you - down there! Youīll beg me to put my manhood back inside you, for sure!

"Just a little more, my sweet!" he teased, feeling his balls swelling and gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts. He watched in fascination as each thrust made her breasts jiggle and listened to her moans accompanying his each and every intrusion inside her. As determined and feisty as she was: that sound was something she just couldnīt suppress.

"Iīm not quite there, yet!" he said. Gods, what a pleasure it was mastering this beautiful whore. Play with her ability to feel pain, and then play with her ability to feel pleasure. Doing to her whatever he wanted to. Zohar was in ecstasy.

SNAP!!

For the first fraction of a second, Amethea couldnīt believe it: the chain was broken. Her legs were free. In a split-second decision, she did the first thing she could think of. She wrapped her legs around the hip of her rapist, trapping him inside a vice-like grip. It was amazing to her, that she could muster that much strength in her fatigued muscles, but the desire to punish this swine fueled her will.

Zohar stared into her baleful eyes in shock. He realized that he had lost control over her in the passing of a second. She began to tighten the embrace of her legs around his waist and started to cause - pain. His cock was still inside her, but it quickly softened and glided out of her as she squeezed his hip tighter and tighter and…tighter.

"Wait…wait….youīre moving away!" he complained, then shouted: "Stop squeezing!"

Amethea had to take pain and rape from him, but there was no way in all the hells of the netherworlds that she would take orders from him now.

Zohar felt cold sweat on his forehead as the squeeze evolved from painful to insufferable. She would break his hips, he realized. Heīd be mutilated for the rest of his life - if heīd survive her attack at all.

"To tight!" he wailed. "To tight!! To tiiiiight!"

Amethea wanted to punish him, like she wanted nothing else in her life before. She wanted to pay back the pain he had caused her…give him a taste of what he had done to her as long as she couldnīt defend herself. Even the touch of his slackened member against her labia gave her a feeling of triumph. Now she was in control.

"Free my hands!" she commanded, giving him another squeeze. He screamed in fresh pain.

"I…will! I will!!" he babbled his trembling hands rising towards the top of the rack.

Yes, free my hands you little maggot. And as soon as I am free, Iīll make you curse the day you were born, whatever vile creature gave birth to you. You raped me, you bastard. You swine. Iīll rip it off of you. By the Gods, I swear Iīll rip it off!!

But instead of freeing her wrists, Zoharīs hands halted on the iron collar she wore and twisted the iron ring in front of it. He frantically turned the ring and Amethea realized to her horror that the collar quickly tightened around her neck. The collar was choking her, quickly depriving her of oxygen.

She squeezed as hard as she could making Zohar almost weeping in pain, but the lack of air already pulled down her resources of strength.

She gasped for air, as the collar got tighter and tighter, like a fish out of the water.

Zohar felt her grip around his waist slacking with painful slowness. Nevertheless, the pain eased and finally her legs dropped down as she fell unconscious.

Zohar panted, still standing in front of her his shrunken member pressed against her slit. He felt an outrage, heīd never felt before. That slut had attacked him.

She had caused him PAIN. HIM!

He could simply let her die like that. Being choked to death by the collar. She would simply not wake up from unconsciousness and die.

Of course he opened the collar again. He held his palm against her open mouth in order to ascertain whether she was breathing or not. She was.

She would stay unconscious for a while, though. Of that he was certain enough to free her hands from the top of the rack. Amethea glided of the rack like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He watched her for a moment. Then he pulled his booted foot back and kicked her viciously in the belly.

She only grunted. That convinced him that he did not need for calling the guards to prepare Amethea for the next stage of their business. He would do so himself.

He dragged her along on the rough floor of the chamber towards the T-shaped wooden table.

You think you could get away from me, didnīt you? Whore, Iīll make you pay dearly for that. The rack was just the slightest of starts for you my pretty one.

Now, itīs going to become painful.

 

 

 

 

Coming next….

 

Chapter 2: Deeper into Pain