Barbarian Queen:

Captives of Lord Arrakur

 

 

Chapter Three

 

Playthings of His Excellency

 

“Everyone ready?”

Argan made one final glance at the men standing behind him, no more then twenty-eight he counted to his grim disappointment.

Not as many, as he had hoped for. But he remained adamant about his intention, the goal he had set himself: at the end of this night to be either free…or dead.

He refused to give in to the beguiling free use of Arrakur´s sleek, warm and willing slave-girls and of Arrakur´s delicious food and wine. And he refused to pay for those pleasantries with his freedom – his last dearest possession.

Since he´d seen his mate Amethea die in that burning hut a few days ago, he had felt dispirited, almost unmanned by his grieve.

But living out the rest of his life in servitude under that loathsome tyrant that caused the death of his love and so much suffering for his people was not the way he wanted to end. He had decided to fight Arrakur, to make him pay.

But Argan was no fool to lead those who felt like him and choose to follow into certain death. Yes, they would fight Arrakur. But first they had to escape.

If Argan had known, that his love was alive and had come for his rescue; if he had known that Amethea´s pain-throbbing body was raped by her torturer at this very moment…he would have chosen differently.

He would have given every ounce of his strength to get to her. To free her from torture. But since he did not know, his determination was aimed at avenging his fair-haired mate instead of rescuing her or die trying.

Fate did seem to take pleasure in toying with the two lovers, relishing in the anguish of their separation. One thinking the other dead, the other suffering horribly to protect her loved one.

The joints of the heavy door leading into the gladiator´s quarters screeched as the massive, wooden leafs opened.

Six guards came with a dozen fresh slave-girls for the gladiator´s pleasure.

“GO!!” Argan bellowed and charged the guards, his followers right behind him.

 

Arrakur held back an urge to purr.

He was sitting in his bed, still attired in a black night-cloak. It had been a tiresome, yet fruitful day and he meant to collect his rewards for the day´s work.

His reward was bending over his cloak-covered groin. Taramis was naked except from golden circlets enclosing her wrists, upper arms and ankles as well as a small, delicately crafted golden chain around her hips.

Her rounded buttocks were thrust in the air for Arrakur to behold as her bare breasts were flattened on his crotch. As instructed the girl gently rubbed her mammal globes back and forth, stroking her master´s groin with her tits.

Arrakur felt his member rising under the tender grating of the girl´s pliant domes of warm flesh. The little slut was learning the ways of pleasing a man very fast.

The sleek, warm sensation of her body was not new to him.

A few days ago, he had raped her at a river outpost, ruthlessly fucking her with viscous force. She had screamed and cried and begged him to stop, but naturally he had given it no heed. He had mounted her until his lust was sated and then left her at the outpost as entertainment for the outpost´s troop.

And then, two days later, she had come to the palace gates…begging for being allowed inside. As Arrakur realized, that she was the girl he had raped shortly before, his first response was one of suspicion. But the sheepish naivety of the girl had taken the edge of his suspicions.

True, she either had escaped from the outpost or someone had rescued her. And if he hadn´t been as taken by her grovelling at his feet as he was, he would have ordered her to be put to the question. Anyway, he had a scout sent to the outpost and should he return with news of an attack on his men at the river, the little blond slut would be made to tell them all about how she got away from there.

Until then, he savoured her tractable way of serving him.

He grunted in pleasure, as his cock hardened full and poked into the squashy mammal meat grating on top of it. His hand came down to stroke her breasts, tenderly kneading the flesh. Her tit felt hot on his fingers. He pushed the upper part of her body from his cock, meaning to liberate the hard, throbbing member of the cloak concealing it.

There was noise outside, then. A heated argument, barely audible behind the thick, wooden doors to his private bedchamber, followed by a knocking.

“Yes!” Lord Arrakur shouted, frowning.

He did not like being disturbed in his pleasures and promised himself a particular painful punishment for the one daring to intrude on his privacy.

On the other hand, no one would dare to disturb him right now, if it weren´t of the utmost importance. So best to let the wretch make his report and then decide, whether or not to hang him up by his testicles.

A guard came in, nervously bowing in front of his lord lying half-naked in his bed with a fully naked wench half on top of him. No servant gladly faced his master like this, knowing that whatever the reason for this undignified meeting, it would sit ill with the lord.

“Please forgive my intrusion, excellency.” The guard stammered.

“What is it, man? Speak or leave, dog!” Arrakur grumbled.

“A group of gladiators have escaped. They took the guards bringing new girls to the gladiator´s harem by surprise.”

Taramis yelped in pain. Arrakur had still had his hand at her left breast and as the guard had started his report, his fingers had dig into her tender globe, squeezing the tit in growing rage.

“With the guard´s weapons, they attacked another palace patrol, taking their weapons, as well. Before alarm was given, they were at the palace gate, hacking their way through the men posted there and escaped into the city.”

Arrakur´s ire rose, as he listened. Almost unaware of it, he aimed his fury at the first best vulnerable target at hand. He crushed Taramis breast in his hand with frightening cruelty. The girl whined and squealed, as her young tit was mercilessly swatted in an iron grip of steel-like fingers. Tears welled up in her eyes and dripped on Arrakur´s jiggling paunch.

“Search the city! I want those men found and brought back alive, you hear?!” he shouted.

“It´s already being done, your Excellency.” The guard gulped.

A man was entitled to many pleasures in service of Arrakur. The lord handed out drink and especially women generously. But as generous as he was in those respects, as unforgiving he was in dealing out punishments for failures.

Perhaps it was well for the guards that were attacked at the gladiator´s harem, that they had all died. If any of them had survived, they surely would have been put to the question, just in case they might have collaborated with the escaped warriors.

Arrakur grunted. He let go off Taramis´s bruised globe and brutally pushed her off the bed. She fell down hard on the stone floor with a heart-wrenching cry of pain.

He paid no attention to her, as he rose from his bed closing his nightgown.

“Tell captain Kaltar to lead the search!” he ordered. “Let him tear the city apart, if he has to. But I want those men to pay for their insolence! Let him put anyone to the question, who might be involved. Any man, woman or child! You hear?!!”

The guard shifted uneasily on his feet in front of his master.

“Your excellency, “ he stammered. “we may already have captured someone involved.”

“Oh?”

“Ahem…yes. There was a slavegirl following the gladiators. She was screaming a name…Ardan, Artan…or something, and pleading him to take her with him. Apparently, whoever this Arpan was, he did not hear her in the midst of battle. The other gladiators still true to your excellency grabbed her and turned her over to us.”

Arrakur hissed in disdain.

“So I can be thankful to those drunken brutes for fulfilling the duties my warriors are completely unable to do, eh?! Nevertheless, have that slavegirl brought to Zohar. I want to know, what she had to do with those rebellious gladiators. I want to know before the sun goes up! Tell Zohar; the blonde whore will be returned to him later!

Now GO!”

The guard saluted and swiftly left Arrakur´s chambers.

The sovereign paced back and forth in front of his bed, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration. Rebels everywhere. A plague on them!

But he would find them. Each and every one of them. And they would pay dearly for defying him. They would pay.

 

Zohar let out a heavy sigh.

He did not mind working all night. He did not mind that at all.

But this night had proven a bit too tumultuous for his tastes. First he was to make the blonde whore talk before the night was over. Not an easy assignment, but manageable. Not nearly so difficult, that he would deprive himself from taken advantage of the beauteous slut chained up in his dungeon.

But as soon, as he felt he was making some progress in picking holes in her iron-willed defiance, he was ordered to stop the torture and start on another captive.

Since that other trull was of more immediate importance, Lord Arrakur had ordered the fair-haired slut to be taken back to her cell.

To be honest with himself, he had taken a fancy in that strong one. Not the least because of her hair, she reminded him of a captured lioness. A strong creature to be broken by it´s master. In fact, he could not easily recall another whore ever having been as enjoyable to torture, as the lioness has been. He truly looked forward to resume working on her.

But first the matter at hand.

He gazed at the brown-haired girl in front of him.

The lioness had left to make way for a mouse, he thought to himself.

This would not take very long.

The girl was sobbing and weeping although naught had been done to her, yet.

The girl was hanging in midair. Her wrists were manacled to a chain hanging from the ceiling. Her legs were bend back, each of her ankles tied to the corresponding thigh with broad, blackened leather straps. Her taut, aching knees were dangling a hand´s width above the stone floor.

Her nude body glistened with the sweat of fear, every curve of her supple shape highlighted by the torches´s light reflected on her shiny skin. Her large, green eyes were filled with terror and she was quivering in fear…gaping in unbelieving dread at the assortment of torture devices surrounding her.

She sniffed and whimpered, watching every movement of the dwarfish torture-master with chicken-hearted anxiety.

Estrild had always looked up at Tianara and Amethea. Had admired their fighting skills and their seemingly unyielding bravery against impossible odds. There would have been few others among her fellow villagers, whom she would have followed on this seemingly infeasible quest of rescuing their enslaved people from those marauders. But now that quest had led them all into captivity as well. Worse then being enslaved, too: arrested as rebels. Even as she was mauled and raped by the brutish gladiators, Estrild had considered herself lucky having been taken for a mere peasant girl and put into Lord Arrakur´s flesh-pits to serve his warriors.

Amethea and Tianara, who had been captured coming to her aid as the guards had raped her on the market square, had undoubtedly being put to the question by now.

Estrild wondered, whether they had betrayed the rebels or not. Were they even still alive? Her concern for her friends vanished instantly as the torture-master approached her. He was holding a large wooden truncheon in his hand. Due to the way she had been strung up, she was forced to look slightly up at the face of the tormentor. She could see the controlled eagerness in his eyes to begin the questioning and her heart throbbed furiously against her ribs.

Estrild was not among the bravest creatures and the expectation of being tortured filled her with nothing short of panic.

“So, you are the slut that conspired with the gladiators to kill numerous guards and run away. To join the rebels, no doubt!”

He pushed the tip of the truncheon against her chin and forced her head up. He looked into her fear-filled, wide-open eyes with smug enjoyment. This one would talk very soon, he told himself. If she knew anything, that is.

“Please….” She whispered. Her whole body shaking like a frightened whelp.

“Please, my lord. I don´t know anything.”

“That is what every other whore before you has said in here at first. Some were lying... some were speaking the truth. Unfortunately for the latter, it takes much longer to make sure they speak the truth. Now, let us see to which it will be with you!”

Zohar raised the club behind his head. Estrild began to whine in anticipation of the first blow and tried to twist her body away. But the other hand of the man was taking a grip on her right arm, holding her in place.

Then the length of the wood hit her square across her abdomen. The sickening sound of hard wood crushing into female flesh filled the torture chamber, instantly followed by Estrild´s response.

“UUUUUMMMMPPPFFFFF!”

All the air was driven out of her as the insides of her belly exploded in pain.

Instinctively, she pulled up her legs and if it weren´t for her arms being chained above her she would have curled herself up for long, long minutes to mend the pain.

Zohar would not give her any time for mending, of course. He hit her again; this time the tip of the truncheon embedded itself with terrific force into the tender, mammal cushion of her left breast.

Estrild howled in pain as her tit was squelched under the impact. The room began to spin around her and a feeling of dreadful sickness sided itself with the unbearable agony gnawing away at her breast.

“Don´t spend all of your voice at once, slut!” Zohar sneered. “This is merely the beginning!” He raised the club anew and Estrild shook her head in helpless denial.

“Please, Please do not do it!! I do not….AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!“

The wood slammed into her right breast, sinking deep into the mammal globe as the girl´s piercing scream of pain made the torturer´s member jump inside his breechcloths.

 

Arrakur had broken fast in the throne room.

His mood was grim and neither the musicians playing in at the other side of the hall, nor the three slavegirls serving him the food with naught to wear than silken, almost invisible sashes flowing down between their legs, fastened with slim, golden chains wrapped tightly around their slender waists had managed to better that condition. After having eaten, he had ordered the three girls to dance for him with the promise of having them soundly flogged if they failed to please him.

The sleek pleasure-slaves had danced for him with beguiling eagerness, hips swinging, breasts bouncing and rolling and their curves and clefts beneath displayed with utter shamelessness. He had watched for an hour with a frown that grew deeper and deeper. An hour during which the girls were permitted no pause and they danced and kept dancing long after their strength had almost come to an end and rivers of sweat ran down their naked curves, as well as tears streaming down their sweet faces. Yet they kept on leaping, twisting, wrenching and meandering their exhausted bodies in fear of the whip.

He got some satisfaction from wielding his power over those wenches but not enough to make up for the events of the night.

The gladiators had not been captured. Even worse: not only have they escaped the castle; to make the insult even greater they had escaped the city as well. Killed the gate-sentries and ran out into the woods even before dawn.

He hissed in frustration and got up. He looked at the girls, still frantically dancing their delightfully rauncheous dance at the brink of despair and at the verge of collapsing from the exhaustion.

“You keep dancing, whores!” he bellowed.

“See these guards?” he hissed, pointing at the sentries standing at the door.

“They will watch you dance. The first of you, who seizes to dance will be tortured to death! The second will be branded right inside her whorish shaft! And the third will be merely flogged on her breasts! You hear?!”

He left them, gasps of numbing shock, wails and groans of despair and pleads for mercy accompanied his exit.

But even their begging for his pity did not stop them from continuing their frantic dance.

Then, the sovereign was gone. But the musicians played on and the girl danced with the last ounces of strength in their cramping, tired legs and cracking bones. Each if them was desperately hoping to make it farther then the other. Each of them was in utter panic of being the first to fall to the floor.

 

Amethea heard the wooden door to her opening, the hinges squeaking.

She had been drifting in and out of a fatigued daze during the last hours but the sound caused her to regain her full senses instantly.

She sat up on the bench she had been laying on, wincing at the pain her sudden movement caused her. The hours past had not mended the aftereffect of her ordeal. Her cunt and breasts still ached and all of her muscles felt as if she had been carrying rocks for days without rest.

Her heart began to throb against her ribs as she expected to be taken out of the cell to be tortured again.

Three guards entered. Their gaze wandered over her delectable, bound body. Since her hands were chained behind her back she had no way of covering her swelling breasts from the men´s lecherous eyes lest to turn herself away from them. But her warrior pride forbad her to do such thing and she endured their lewd staring at her nudeness while balefully staring back at them.

One of the guards carried two bowls, which he put down at the farthest corner of the cell. One other of the guards carried a strange, black iron pole. It was about one and a half meters in length and had two manacles attached to either end. In the middle of the pole there was a heavy, black leather ring attached, as well. A chain hang down from the middle of the pole, clinking menacingly as the guard approached Amethea, holding the device in both hands.

The first guard, having placed the bowls, joined the third man and dragged Amethea from the bench and forced down on the scantily hay-strewn floor of the cell. They kept the woman kneeling down in front of the guard with the device and Amethea was to weak to put up a greater fight than a mild struggle against their strong hands holding her down.

Sneering down at her, the guard placed the leather ring of the pole around Amethea`s neck and closed. It caused her difficulty breathing, but was not that tight that she might choke to death. Then she felt the manacles around her wrists opened and her arms forced up in the air.

Torture, hunger and thirst had weakened Amethea sufficiently for the guards to force her wrists into the manacles at the end of the pole and close them. The woman´s arms were now raised in the air, her wrists shackled to the end of the pole at the same height as her neck. Next came the chain hanging down her spine. The guards behind her pulled it tight making her upper body bend backwards, her full breasts pointing up in the air. The chain was locked to the manacles around her ankles.

As the guards released her from their grasp, Amethea was kneeling on the cell floor, arms stretched out to either side and her body arched backwards be the chain running from her ankles to the collar around her neck.

“That whore does not seem so tough as they say, eh?” one of the guards said.

“Tough enough to kill three of our comrades, mind you.” The other sourly replied. He stared down at her through slit eyes. Amethea just stared back in contempt.

“You think yourself something special, don´t you slut?!” he said. “Believe me, you are not. A few more hours in the dungeons with Master Zohar will squeeze that insolence out of you.”

He turned away and the guards started to leave the cell.

Amethea blinked in surprise. She expected to be taken back to Zohar and now she would be left in the cell bound like this.

Before he closed the door, the guard turned towards her for a parting comment.

“Both the bowels and the yoke you carry, we brought you by Master Zohar´s command. He wishes you enjoy your meal, slut!”

And with that he closed the door behind him, leaving Amethea alone.

As she did not have to concentrate on her contempt for the male intruders, the warrior-woman gazed at the bowels on the floor. They were about two meters away from her kneeling position. One was filled with gruel, the other with water. Both smelled sweetly for the starving and thirsting woman. Her mouth watered and hunger attacked her belly, strained by the bondage, with a frightening fierceness.

She needed to feed and drink so very, very badly. And as the made a hesitant move towards the bowels, the malicious intent of her captors dawned for her.

The one and only way she could get to the food was crawling on her belly. And the yoke on her neck holding her arms apart would prevent her to protect her still aching breasts from being crushed underneath her.

Being alone, she allowed tears of frustration and misery welling in her eyes.

Those bastards, she cursed inside her mind. Plainly, Zohar enjoyed hurting her, even when he wasn´t present to savor her pain.

She cursed him again, imagined putting a dagger into his crotch and twisting it around as he screamed like the pig he was.

But there was really no choice. Despite all the pain and the hopelessness, Amethea wanted to survive. She had not given up. She wanted to see her people free. And to accomplish that, she had to fight. She had to endure…had to stay alive.

So she needed the food.

She pushed her weight forward, swallowing anxiously as she balanced perilously on her knees. She shifted her balance forward as cautiously and as slowly as possible.

Then she reached the point of no return, her bound and stretched body falling towards the ground in front of her.

Her belly hit the ground, knocking the wind out of her. That was painful in itself but absolutely nothing compared to the pain she felt as her breasts where thumping into the ground and being crushed beneath her. It would have hurt terribly if her breasts had been in their normal condition. Having been slapped and beaten and whipped without end mere hours ago, had made them tenfold as sensitive as they normally would be. The agony was too much for Amethea to refrain from crying out…a cry that proceeded into a series of sobs.

Nausea attacked her and she almost lost consciousness as she lay there panting, her full, tender breasts squashed between her chest and the rough floor.

She remained in that position for long minutes, as the white-hot agony slowly faded into a fierce, throbbing pain. Then, gnashing her teeth, she began to crawl towards the food. Her grunts were accompanied by sharp squeals of pain as she was forced to grind her mammal globes on the floor. Her bondage did not allow her to offer her constantly crushed tits the slightest relief as they were pressed and squeezed and dragged across the hard, rough surface of the cell. Amethea was gasping as she forced herself farther and farther. Cold beads of sweat covered her forehead and the rest of her body as she crawled on, the food and the water getting closer with maddening slowness.

When she finally reached her goal, her breasts felt like being scraped raw. She did not know, how long she had tortured herself in order to reach the food. All she knew was that she had reached it.

But now she realized that there was another obstacle in front of her. There was only one way to actually eat and drink due to the way her body was bound.

She pushed up her head and with a final series of frantic, crawling motions that sent new flashes of pain through her tender mammals, she positioned her face above the bowel with water. Straining her muscles to the limit of their endurance, she lowered her face towards the bowel and frantically slurped down the clear liquid.

Knowing that too much water would cause her only additional suffering, she side-crawled towards the bowel filled with gruel and ate it like a dog.

After having devoured the food she licked the insides of the bowel clean with her tongue. Then she finished the remains of the water.

As refreshing as the nourishment was, the cruelness of her bondage had made the consuming of it a trying one for Amethea.

She made some half-hearted attempts to get up, but as she had anticipated the bondage rendered those efforts totally hopeless. All she accomplished was grinding her breasts on the ground and sending new flashes of pain through her tortured mammaries. Sweating, panting and sobbing in frustration she gave up and remained in her position.

After some time, the white-hot pain in her tits made way for a relentless ache. Then, after some more time passed, the pain became almost bearable.

And finally, the warrior-woman succumbed to the exhaustion of her body and her soul. She closed her eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep, right there on the floor of her cell.

 

Arrakur descended the stairs leading to the dungeons of his castle.

Even his ire, born by the gladiators` escape and nurtured by one patrol after another returning to the city with nothing to offer than humble apologies for their failure in finding the renegades, could not deviate from the surge of pleasure he felt each and every time he descended into these premises.

When this castle was built, he had made sure that the dungeon beneath it was build as spacious as possible. Not only did Arrakur intend to hold as many prisoners as possible in the two dozens cells below. In addition, he considered one chamber of torment somewhat insufficient. So he instructed his architect to design a dungeon with no less than five torture-chambers. Two general interrogation chambers, where prisoners of minor importance were put to the question. Two larger vaults were the domains of Zohar, equipped with those special devices the torture-master had invented and designed over the years of Arrakur´s rule. And there was a fifth chamber. This one was isolated from the cell and the other chambers and only accessible through a long passage leading some forty paces downwards…even deeper into the earth beneath the castle. This chamber was as spacious as the other ones higher above. But this one was Lord Arrakur´s private torture chamber. Equally equipped with Zohar´s fiendish inventions, this one was solely intended for the Lord´s twisted amusement. 

With a regretful sigh Arrakur forwent to descend the passageway to his private domain. Right now was not the time. But just a few hours from now, he promised himself, he would spend a highly entertaining evening down there. And there was not the slightest uncertainness about, which of the wenches in his custody would have the misfortune of providing his pleasure.

But his abdication did not diminish the joy tickling his belly and the delightful warmth and commencing hardening of his male flesh, which he always felt then entering the dungeons. His joy of pain was always fueled when being here, for there was never a moment when there wasn´t a muffled scream of pain coming from the torture chambers. There was always a male or female prisoner put to the question to find out whether they were rebels or not…or knew something, anything about this mutinous scum or not. Others were merely tortured for punishment, females mostly. If a beautiful wench resisted being raped by the royal guards in the taverns or back alleys of the city she would surely find herself arrested as a rebel and put to the question. On the other hand, giving into the guards lewd demands in fear of being hurt almost always resulted in her being arrested as a whore and thus punished by torture just as well. So Lord Arrakur´s torturers had plenty of work to do.

The constant muffled screaming from the pain-chambers were accompanied by the sobbing, crying and pleading for mercy of the prisoners in the cells.

Arrakur loved the sound of it. There was no place in his kingdom where he felt as much an absolute ruler as in his dungeons. He relished in the endless, relentless suffering taking place by his decree.

A man´s arm reached out through the small, roughly grilled window of her cell-door, grabbing Arrakur´s cloak. He looked at it in disdain as the man begged for mercy in a high-pitched voice, offering him his wife and his three young daughters for his pleasure in exchange for being allowed to die.

A guard swiftly stepped forward and yanked the wretch´s weak arm away from his master.

“What crime did this pig commit?” Arrakur demanded to know. He made a mental note to dispose of the cloak as soon as possible. The guard took up a wooden plaquette from the cell-door and read the prisoner´s record.

“Stole two apples.” He read out loud. “Said his children were starving since his shop was closed by your lord´s decree. Sentenced to one year imprisonment as well as a day of torture at least once each week during this time. Ten months of his sentence still left.”

Arrakur peered into the dusky cell trough slit eyes.

“Well, let´s see if we can make the rest of his sentence a bit less solitary, shall we? Have his wife and children arrested and tortured to death in front of him. Each of them in turn. And make each one last a few days, so he can spend as much time as possible with his loved ones, whom he so willingly offer as sacrifice for his miserable life. He himself is to be tortured each second day. And if he survives the time of his sentence….torture him to death!”

A heart-wrenching wail came from the cell, as Arrakur demanded the whereabouts of the slave-girl who attempted escape with the gladiators the night before.

The guard let him to one of Zohar´s chambers and opened the door for the lord to enter.

Except for Lord Arrakur, of course, no one would enter one of the pain-master´s rooms in such manner. It was well known that Zohar pleasured himself with his female prisoners and no one wanted to be the next to suffer under his care because one had disturbed him during one of his more intimate interactions with his victim.

Then again, Zohar knew that his master visited the dungeons quite often during the daytime, so he generally raped at night.

Arrakur stepped into the torture-chamber and looked at the slave-girl hanging from the ceiling. Her ankles and thighs were strapped together and her arms were manacled behind her back. Which meant that her breasts suspended her in midair. A rough hemp was encompassing the bases of her tit-globes; crushing them together and making her mammal mounds look like deep-red, incredible taut balloons at the verge of bursting any second. The hemp went up towards the ceiling to a winch, which Zohar was operating by a wheel set in the wall.

The brown-haired girl was crying and whining as the pain in her tits grew with each second they were forced to support her entire weight.

“Your excellency!” Zohar courted, bowing his head before his master.

Arrakur nodded. There was no being in the world for which the warlord felt affection. But between the lord and his torturer there was a sense of respect and understanding. Not friendship, really, but a relationship of mutual passion, since they both relished in the pain of other human beings. Lord Arrakur gave Zohar the opportunity and means to honing his ungodly skills and Zohar in return provided the lord with a variety of ingenious devices and perfidious ideas. Between the two of them prisoners suffered tortures, no human being in the world had suffered before, since they haven´t been invented yet.

“So, have you learned anything from that trollop as yet?” Arrakur demanded to know.

“Your excellency, this one did not take long in breaking. I think she told me all she knows, already. Miserable, weak-kneed slut, that one!”

Arrakur pursed his lips and stepped closer towards the woman swinging in midair.

She looked at him through her tear-filled, green eyes, appealingly.

“Oh please!” Estrild sobbed. “Please! I told him everything. Please…I can´t take anymore!”

Lord Arrakur´s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, pitilessly. Then he grabbed her hips with both hands and lifted her up almost two inches. Then he let go of her and her body fell back towards the ground, only to be stopped by the rough rope around her breasts.

Estrild shrieked in pain and her body danced at the end of the hemp like a puppet compounding the pain in her crushed, bloated tits terrifically.

“You will tell ME, slut!” he barked at her. “And if there is the slightest difference between what you told him and what you tell me, you will spend the next week strung up like this. Now start!”

Estrild yelped in pain. But she managed to subdue her crying and sobbing more and more in order to give herself the breath she needed to form words.

And then she told Lord Arrakur… everything.

 

To be continued in….

 

Chapter 4: Absent Friends