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Inga Weber screamed in anguish as the branding iron touched her inner thigh. The searing agony was the likes of which she had never known; a unique indecision between heat and freezing cold. Her body convulsed causing her hands to jerk backwards. They were bound behind her back as she lay across a small wooden framework which had been secured to the dungeon floor. Her legs were secured in shackles which were rooted to the ground. As her wrists jerked upon the rope, a second howl of pain filled the room that did not issue forth from Inga’s throat. The rope which held her wrists trailed along the length of her legs and between them to extend a further ten feet in length to end tied to a large steel ring.
The tears fell from Heidi’s eyes as the flesh of her labia tore, slightly. She knelt with her thighs apart and her hands bound to a short stake in the dungeon. Her body was severely bruised and lacerated from countless floggings. The ring had pierced both sides of her vaginal lips which gave way to the spasmodic reactions of Inga’s insufferable pain.
“Remember how I begged you for mercy when you branded me, you fucking bitch?” cried their torturer in a bellowing rage. He turned his attention to Heidi who gazed into his eyes with pleading in her own. “Do you remember how much you enjoyed my suffering as you forced my own friend to place his tongue upon your evil flesh?”
“Please,” cried Heidi. “I beg you, please forgive us.”
“Forgive you?” he retaliated. “Forgive you? Did you forgive me for simply touching my own body?” His eyes were the living embodiment of hatred. His only wish was for him to see his two persecutors in the pain that he had suffered and to know that their fear was as his had been. “You like the tongue, don’t you?”
Heidi squinted and further tears fell from her eyes.
“Don’t you?” he barked again, insistently.
“Y-yes,” she replied through her trauma and incessant sobbing.
“You like attention to be paid to you down there, don’t you?”
She nodded her head in reluctant affirmation.
“Well, you are certainly getting it now! Poetic Justice!”
He raised the branding iron again. Both women screamed for him not to touch Inga with it again, but to no avail. He pressed it mercilessly into the opposite thigh and held it for several seconds. Inga screamed again as her bonds jerked backwards with desperate force. The ring tore through Heidi’s labia and the cell suddenly became a deafening shrill of female agony.
Paramount Rule:
Poetic Justice
A male-dom special by Tanya Simmonds
During the summer of 1960, the notorious Turkish prison known as the Gaol of Kirnan fell to the impassioned vengeance of one lone young woman. Celia Sezer, the heinously sadistic Governess of the Gaol was annihilated: charred beyond recognition upon her own instrument of death in an episode of poetic irony.
In the weeks that followed, Celia’s army of cruelty were brought to justice. They were a total of eighteen beautiful females whose hearts and souls belonged to the tempests of Hell. Their leader, Inga Weber, the former Madame of an exclusive sado-masochistic fetish society in Istanbul had been the second-in-command at the Gaol. She had financed the conquest of the prison with a small fortune in Jewish money which she had acquired from her late husband; an officer of the SS. With the gift of her fortune and the promise of unlimited sexual services, Inga and Celia had successfully managed to bribe Niyazi Baden, the head of The Board of Governors into surrendering the Gaol to them.
Following the death of Celia and the exposure of the Gaol by her step-daughter, Baden arranged for the hurried arrest of the eighteen Hell-cats who had presided over the insidious jail. For the sake of his own career and reputation, he had secreted them away to a secluded location close to Kayseri on the edge of the Taurus Mountains.
The World remained unaware of the Kirnan Eighteen. The story of how they had managed to rule over the prison, their cruelty and the bribery would remain within the walls of the Taurus dungeon. Baden had arranged for the release of the prisoners of Kirnan in return for their silence. As an additional incentive, they were offered the opportunity to be transported to Taurus for regular episodes of vengeance against their persecutors and the pleasuring which the eighteen were to perform upon them under threat of further torture should they ever resist. Inga and Celia’s original offer to Baden had been beyond his ability to resist. Similarly, the prisoners from Kirnan were each subject to the same weakness.
It had worked out perfectly for Baden. Not only could he continue to enjoy the delights of the eighteen, but should his activities be exposed, Taurus would be brought to an immediate end along with the enjoyment of the vengeful, former victims. For this reason, the prisoners from Kirnan remained silent and continued with their regular journeys to revenge and sensual delight.
The most handsome and physically fit of the former male guards of Kirnan prison had been re-recruited to preside over the eighteen in Taurus. Those guards had resigned from their posts following Celia and Inga’s take over of the Gaol. In the new dungeons, they enjoyed their torturing and the pleasures of the most hated women in Turkey and aside from their firearms; they patrolled the grounds naked! The eighteen were kept in a constant state of sexual arousal and the penalties for masturbation were varied.
*****************************************************************
“Is she one of them?” asked Niyazi Baden of the young man who stood with him as he pointed downwards into the dungeon. The young woman was stunningly beautiful as she sat, huddled and naked in the corner of the dark and bleak cellar. The two men peered down into the well to study her face.
“Look up, bitch!” commanded Baden. The young woman immediately complied with a start. Baden turned to the young man and asked again: “is she one of them?”
The response came in the form of a mere nod of his head. The rage in his eyes was totally apparent. “There were two of them,” he spoke in a hushed whisper.
Baden closed his eyes and nodded. “I think I know who the other might have been.”
“You do?” asked the young man with an eager passion.
“Yes. We think that the other was a girl named Emel. Now she is known as number six.”
“I want to see her, Baden,” insisted the angry young man. “I want to do them both together.”
Baden rubbed his eyes momentarily. “That may be quite difficult. You see you are not the only one who despises that one.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She is being tortured as we speak. A twenty-two year old Dutch man as I believe,” he paused as he sought the circumstances from his memory. “I can’t think what she had done to him. It will come back to me, I am sure.”
“Well, I want to do her,” said the angry former-prisoner, pointing down into the dungeon, “and I want to do her now.”
“As you wish,” came the reply in a most accepting tone of voice. “I understand that her name is Nazan. Ironic really. It means “reluctance.” I am sure that you will find that most fitting. To us, however, she is simply number nine.”
The young man nodded.
“And don’t worry,” said Baden as he placed a sympathetic hand around the man’s shoulders. “You will have your day with number six; it’s just a matter of time.” The Governor led him forward towards the ancient spiral steps which led down into Nazan’s cell and a time of vengeance.
The two men stepped into the cell. The echo around the dungeon which arose from the unlocking and creaking of the door was a menacing chill to the senses. Nazan cowered in the corner with a look of terror in her eyes. Baden and the young man briskly walked over to her and seized her by her arms.
“No,” she shrieked. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t…..”
Her pleas were ignored as she was harshly cast into a chair which stood in the centre of the cell. The young man held her down as Baden bound her wrists to the back legs of the chair with two ropes which lay in preparation underneath the seat. He shackled her ankles to the awaiting chains which were secured to the ground before standing. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he produced a key, which he handed to the younger male. “This is for in there,” he said as he pointed towards a bolted doorway in the wall which appeared to lead to another ante-chamber.
The young man took it from him and nodded, again without speaking a word.
“I will leave you to it.” Baden turned, walked out the way he had entered and closed the door behind him; the chilling clang of metal permeating the chamber, once more.
The young man looked down into Nazan’s quivering eyes.
“N-number seventy-seven?” she asked through her tears.
“So, you remember.” His voice was cold and filled with anger as he looked upon one who had been a party to the destruction of his life.
“Oh, dear God!” she cried. “What are you going to do to me?”
Without answering, he turned and walked over to the door in the wall, opened it and disappeared into the other chamber.
Nazan waited for several minutes in unbearable anxiety.
Finally, he returned but not empty-handed. He held a slender sword, a pair of pliers and a bullwhip. Casting the sword and the pliers onto the floor, he retained the whip in his right hand and moved over to his prey.
“It wasn’t me,” she pleaded with him. “It was Celia, you know that. You know that!”
“You helped her,” he snapped back at her. “You helped her and you laughed as you pulled on the cord, you fucking bitch.” He raised his arm and slashed the whip downwards, across her breasts. She cried out in anguish with the cutting pain. He continued to flay her aimlessly across her torso, legs and inner thighs, ensuring that at least two strokes lashed at her pouting vulva. Her screams were tangible as his own had been on that terrible day in the Gaol. As she cried out, he experienced the relieving sensation of satisfaction beginning to comfort him. He threw the whip down and unbuckled his trousers.
She looked away in her knowledge of what was coming. She could not face the consequences of her actions and the destruction that she had joyfully assisted with. His garment fell around his ankles.
“Look at it!” he barked.
With tears streaming down her cheeks she glanced over to see the source of his rage: his testes hanging below a scarred stump where his manhood had once been. She instantly snapped her head away from the ghastly sight.
“She made it last,” he cried as the tears began to well up in his eyes. “She made it slow while you and that other bitch pulled upon the cord, laughing.”
“I-I am so sorry,” she wept in a begging manner. “I will do anything for you, just please don’t hurt me anymore.”
“Didn’t I say something similar at the time?” he countered. “You were the one who caught me masturbating. You knew that it was my third time. You knew what was going to happen to me and still you reported me to her….” He paused momentarily before re-iterating his greatest point of contention, “…..and you laughed!” He pulled his trousers back up again and bent over to the pliers and the sword at his feet.
“What are you going to do?” she cried.
“I will never be with a woman again,” he barked. “I will never know climax again. I will be alone for the rest of my days.” He drew closer to her and she recoiled from him as far as she could extend her body into the back of the chair. “So, I thought that I would return the favour!” He took the pliers to her vulva and pried her labia apart with absolutely no grace to his movements. He used his thumb to raise up her clitoris as a memory from his insidious ordeal crossed his mind. “She did cause me to come before she did it though, didn’t she?”
Nazan cried as he spoke and before she could respond, she gasped as his tongue found its way onto her. Hungrily, he lapped away at the taste of her as he succumbed to the mild satisfaction of acting as a man with her. He sensed the strange surging of a phantom erection swimming through his groin and was possessed of an urge to reach down to touch it. But alas, it was not to be. For long minutes he feasted upon her clitoris, raising indescribable pleasure within her loins.
For a brief moment, she considered that perhaps he may be forgiving her and with the sense of relaxation that came with her comforting, if not deluded thought, she climaxed in a convulsive rapture of release.
He withdrew his mouth from her sex and stood with the pliers in his hand. “It is time.” Reaching down, he clasped her clitoris between his right thumb and forefinger and guided the nub of tender flesh into the pliers. Nazan winced as the cold, sharp iron bit into the very heart of her womanhood. She cried out with pain as he pulled and stretched her clitoris to almost one full inch away from her body. He lifted the sabre high above his head with his free hand.
“Oh, my God, no,” she cried. “I beg of you please don’t do this. Please.”
He looked her in the eye one last time before issuing his justification to her once again. “You laughed! Poetic Justice!” The term Poetic Justice had become the universal battle-cry which each victim of Kirnan cried out at the moment of their vengeance. With that, the sabre fell, cutting through the extended morsel of flesh which came away without the application of effort.
Nazan’s bone-chilling cry of pain and sadness penetrated his soul as he recalled his own anguish as the blades of the Devil’s Jaw had cut through his penis. Without a word, he let the pliers and the sabre fall to the floor, stepped behind his hysterical victim and made his way out of the dungeon.
*****************************************************************
In an upstairs chamber, Emel lay back shackled to a bench with her legs stretched wide apart by chains; an instrument of phallic qualities inserted into her orifice.
Sofia Cenci was chained to the ceiling, naked before her as they waited. As was usual, neither of them knew the game to which they would be subjected. They wracked their own minds trying to recall all of the atrocities that they had committed in Kirnan in an attempt to estimate what their ordeal might entail. The games and torments were always variants of their own actions. Whatever they had done to a prisoner in Kirnan, the prisoner would revisit upon them.
The door to the chamber opened and two men entered. Sofia turned her head and recognised one of them immediately. Oh, my God, she thought to herself. Not that. Please, not that!
The other of the two men stepped up close to Sofia, grasped her jaw with the thumb and fingers of his right hand and turned her head from his companion, to himself; eye to eye. He noted that the fear that she had for his companion was a sign of recognition on her part, however no such recognition was apparent towards him. “You don’t remember me do you?” he asked, gently.
She was surprised to hear him speak her own native language of Italian, but with a strong hint of Dutch.
Through her tears she mouthed an almost incoherent, “no!”
“Understandable,” he replied. “I mean, how could you? You were on your back with your head thrown backwards. How the hell could you possibly see the man who was inside you…?” He paused to release her head and turned to point to Emel, “…..while that fucking monster and her bitch-dog friend almost flayed my ass off if I dared to slow down.” He turned back to her, gazed into her eyes again and immediately noticed the recognition. “Oh, so now you remember me.”
Sofia nodded, repentantly. She remembered the game only too well. If he were to ejaculate during the forced intercourse, he would lose his penis in a duplicate of the Devil’s Jaw. Nevertheless, ejaculate he did and they strapped him into the evil contraption as a penalty. When Inga had pushed the lever to release the blades, nothing happened. A safety catch had been set to ensure that the blades remained locked. The whole fiasco had been nothing other than a brutally cruel practical joke.
“Well,” he continued, “My friend here has a bone to pick with you also. Apparently, you and the Governess sat back and gave him continuous electric shocks through a wire which you put in his cock, while having your pussies licked by two of his fellow inmates.”
Sofia squinted in dread at knowing that she had no defence. The two men had her dead to rights, in every conceivable way.
“We all remember the Paramount Rule, you know,” he taunted her. “Remember how Celia made it worse by having you suck us and if we came we would be flayed, almost to the bone?”
She nodded mournfully, once again.
“Well, we’ve got an even better idea.” His voice was oozing with vengeful glee. “It has become known that number six over there is what they call a squirter when she gets excited.”
“I-I don’t understand,” she cried with horror in her voice.
“Well, let me explain so that even you will understand,” his voice had the unmistakable undertones of angry sarcasm. “She can’t hide it if she comes and we are going to drive her out of her mind with lust. If she comes – you will pay the price!”
“Oh, God, no,” begged Sofia. “Please forgive me. Please.”
The young man turned to his companion and nodded. Upon that signal, the Turkish man moved over to Emel and looked into her terrified eyes. He was determined to make her climax and that he would have his revenge upon his torturer. He recalled how he had been working in the hills of Kirnan when Sofia had called him across to perform cunnilingus upon her. She had been a little sensitive without him knowing and she had corrected him upon his technique. Because of his failure, she had instigated and assisted in the execution of the most excruciating pain that he had ever known. It had been so extreme that he had lost consciousness. Now was his time for retribution. He grasped the handle which was connected to the dildo which had been inserted into Emel in preparation. At the rear of the device was a switch which he flicked on and immediately the humming sound began. Emel squirmed as the vibrations surged through her loins, filling her with wondrous pleasure. She moaned uncontrollably through the gag which had been bound across her mouth. Sofia’s victim gripped the handle and began to rotate the dildo around to reveal soft barbs which brushed her clitoris with each revolution. Her moans grew louder as her lust mounted. Sofia and the Dutch man looked on: Sofia with desperation in her eyes and the young man with glee. “Do her, Atan,” he cried in Turkish. “Do that bitch!
Atan turned the dildo with greater rapidity causing a cry of ecstasy to issue forth from Emel’s throat. “How did you learn that bitch’s language?” he asked his companion as he continued the rotations.
“I am European,” he replied. “Been around, you know. Italian better to me than Turkish.”
“She seriously likes this, Van Der Put,” said Atan as he looked down at Emel.
He continued to pleasure her for another ten minutes when the first throws of climax began. Both men had developed powerful erections in their trousers by that time and Sofia looked on, wide-eyed with horror. “Please, Emel. Please,” she cried. “Hold back, I beg you. Don’t come, don’t come!”
Emel cried out as the first involuntary emission spurted forth like a geyser from her vagina and around the dildo. Sofia’s heart sank as she saw her friend’s release. It was repeated three more times in succession as Atan continued to rotate the vibrator; draining the last traces of sensation from her loins.
Finally, it ended.
“Ok, friend,” said the young Dutch man, motioning towards Sofia, “she’s all yours.”
Atan stepped forwards and moved over to Sofia. He began to unshackle her wrists when his companion handed him a length of rope. “You’re going to need this. She’s a feisty little bitch!”
“Thank you,” he replied and took the rope. He released Sofia who cried out in distress as he twisted her right arm behind her back, incapacitating her.
He forced her wrists together and bound them tightly with the rope. “Now you will feel my pain, monster,” he barked and led her away out of the cell.
“Have fun,” shouted the young Dutch man after his friend before returning his attention to Emel. He began to release her from her bonds.
Outside, Atan and Sofia were led by Muhammet, the former second-in-command at Kirnan to their place of justice. Through the halls of the Taurus dungeons they walked. All around them were scenes of incredibly beautiful women on their knees performing fellatio upon the tall, handsome and muscular guards. Through the door of one particular chamber, a naked guard had one of the eighteen bent over a punishment bench whilst ravishing her sex from the rear with his thick and rampant organ. In other rooms were scenes of men flogging women: the most common form of chastisement at Kirnan. Almost no prisoner had managed to evade the lash. Following Celia and Inga’s conquest, some had lost their lives during the whippings. The two fiends had replaced the use of the bullwhip with the cat and increased the lashes to a minimum of fifty strokes; effectively skinning the victim alive. For this reason, they had employed the use of an alternative technique of distributing the fifty strokes as twenty five to the torso and twenty five to the back, so as not to focus upon one area to the extent that they would lash them to the bone.
Van Der Put secured Emel in the shackles where Sofia had been.
“Why am I here?” she demanded. “You said that if I climaxed, Sofia would pay.”
“I lied,” he smiled. “After what you did to me, do you think that I was going to let you get away with an orgasm?”
“W-what are you going to do to me?” she stammered.
He stepped back to the wall behind her and removed a slender cane, approximately one metre in length. He stepped around to the front of her and flexed it before her eyes. Her heart rate began to race. “Oh, God,” she uttered.
“What you did to me is as I will do to you,” he replied. “Poetic Justice!” He stepped around to the back of her and gently caressed her buttocks with his left hand. She bit into her lower lip as she anticipated the searing pain.
Finally, he reached the cane backwards and slashed it forwards into her soft, tender flesh.
Emel screamed.
*****************************************************************
“It all changed when Sezer brought his first wife to Kirnan,” said Muhammet with bitterness as he led Atan and Sofia down into the lower chambers. “That Romanian piece of Hellspawn was able to manipulate him like a puppet on a string. It went from bad to worse over the years.”
“I remember the stories,” replied Atan as he held a firm grip on the bound arms of his captive. “Years after he banished her, he brought Celia from England, who eventually took over the Gaol. That was around the time that I arrived.”
“What were you in for?”
“Assisting in smuggling hashish.” His reply was without emotion or regret. He no longer considered that any of the crimes which led to Kirnan justified the cruelty of Celia and her army of vixens. All of the men concerned, prisoners and guards alike were outraged at the abuse they had endured at the hands of women: women of all people – the cultural servants of men! The humiliation of that was equal to the atrocities which they had committed against the inmates.
They arrived at the designated chamber in the bowels of the fortress. Muhammet unlocked the entrance and they entered. It was a stone dungeon as were all of the others; identical in their sinister appearance. In the centre of the room was a chair which was rooted to the floor with no surface to support the buttocks. Atan unbound Sofia’s wrists and Muhammet grasped her ankles. With Atan grasping her tightly around her voluptuous breasts, they lifted her from the ground and carried her, struggling and screeching over to the chair. It was an awkward and time-consuming task. Her legs were fed through the gaps of the armrests and over the sides of the seat; her vulva spread wide in preparation for her ordeal.
They shackled her wrists to chains which were secured to the ground behind the seat and her ankles to the two front legs.
“Almost done,” said Muhammet, nonchalantly. He stood and moved over to a table at the far side of the chamber and took a peculiar-looking device which resembled a telescope, which rested upon it. “This is it,” he announced to the former prisoner as he stepped over and handed it to him. Atan took it and looked at it derisively.
“You know how to use it?”
“Yes,” he replied with certainty.
“Let me put it in for you.”
Atan handed the device back to Muhammet who manoeuvred it under the chair and up into Sofia’s waiting orifice. “I will hold it in for you while you undress.”
“Thank you,” he replied and began to strip naked. His lean physique and genitalia came into view in seconds as Sofia watched in terror. Already, he displayed the first stirrings of an erection. “I am ready.” He knelt down next to Muhammet and placed his hand upon the device.
“Ok, I will leave you to it.” Muhammet stood and made his way out of the chamber.
Atan looked up into the horrified eyes of his prey and savoured her fear. Without warning, he depressed the trigger on the handle-grip of the device and a sharp jolt of electricity shot upwards into her cavern. Her eyes widened and her body jerked upwards.
“That is the same voltage charge that you witches gave to me.”
“Please, stop,” she cried. “I am so, so sorry for what I did to you.”
“No you’re not,” he replied. “You loved every minute of it. You’re only sorry that there is a price to pay.” He depressed the trigger once again and she jolted upwards, once more. He recalled how it felt when Sofia and Celia had inflicted the same torture upon him and how it was a pain which caused him to believe that a grenade had been detonated underneath his groin each time they had pushed the buttons on the dial. His erection began to swell and he reached down with his free hand to assuage his lust. He closed his eyes as the pleasure of masturbation consumed him. As his passion increased, he depressed the trigger once again and held it for a moment longer than the previous infliction.
Sofia cried out in agony, uncertain that she could withstand another. Nevertheless, five further jolts were fired into her, until he noticed consciousness begin to fail her. As his lust reached a crescendo, he removed the electrical torture device from her body and stood with laboured breathing. His right hand moved rapidly back and forth along the shaft of his erection. Sofia’s lips were lightly parted as she groaned in her delirium. He pushed himself forwards, bringing the tip of his penis to her mouth as he began to ejaculate. A powerful gusher of semen flew from his member and he cried out in release as his seed flooded her lips and poured into her mouth.
She revived and gagged as the warm liquid slid backwards and down into her throat.
“I forgive you now,” he said as his breathing began to regulate itself. “Poetic Justice!”
*********************************************************************
It had been four weeks since Heidi had experienced the trauma of a steel ring ripping through the flesh of her labia. In that time, her injuries had healed and she had been placed on full-time fellatio duty. Hour after hour, her mouth worked upon the penises of the guards during floggings in a mirror of the performances at Kirnan. Back then, each day, a prisoner had been assigned to perform cunnilingus upon the Governess during a flogging whilst she watched and until she had climaxed three times. Only upon the completion of her third orgasm would the chastisement cease. In Taurus, when any one of the eighteen was flogged, Heidi had found herself rapidly sucking the penis of a guard until he ejaculated into her mouth. Upon his climax the flagellation of her friend would come to an end.
Despite the harrowing circumstances, the relentless act of performing fellatio upon such beautiful young men had aroused her, deeply. It had been weeks since she had been able to steal a little masturbatory relief in order to ease her hormonal frustration. The injuries to her vagina had additionally assured that touching herself was too painful for her to derive any pleasure from her body. Nevertheless, she was healing and the time had arrived for her to risk breaking the Paramount Rule.
It had past the witching hour as Heidi lay upon her bunk in her cell. She could not detect a sound coming in from the outside. She turned herself over to face the wall and casually allowed her right hand to fall between her legs. Within moments, her fingertips made contact with her vulva and she began to caress the soft, warm lips which were coated with her juices. Her passion was beyond measure and her need for release; a desperate obsession. She hurriedly located her clitoris and began to rotate her fingers around it using her own lubricant to accentuate her pleasure, struggling to stifle her moans but failing to avoid the involuntary jerking of her buttocks. For long minutes she pleasured herself, bringing herself closer to the point of no return. She bit into her lower lip as the throes of delight approached.
The clang of her cell door was a shocking sound.
Heidi threw her arms down to her sides and hurled her legs off of the bunk; her eyes, the living embodiment of guilt and fear.
Muhammet stepped over to her, menacingly. “Open your legs,” he ordered sharply.
She complied with great reluctance. He knelt down between her thighs and touched her orifice with his fingers. He rotated his fingertips around her clitoris momentarily, causing her eyes to roll back with pleasure. “I have known oceans that are dryer,” he snapped and withdrew his fingers. “I will inform Governor Baden of your masturbation and then you will be sentenced.” He stood, departed the cell and locked the door behind him.
Heidi watched him disappear away from the cell, through the bars set high in the cell door. After several moments, her head fell into her hands as she wept.
The following morning, Heidi lay upon a bench in one of the lower chambers. Her arms were shackled to a stone pillar behind her and her legs were held wide apart by a handsome young Turkish guard. Two of his comrades, one naked and the other wearing only trousers laughed as they watched their colleague tongue her vagina, vigorously. She squirmed in anguish as he brought her close to orgasm for the third time.
“Careful,” said the guard to her left who was looking into her eyes intently. “I think she’s going to, again.”
The tongue suddenly ceased lapping away at her sex. Heidi slumped backwards in despair. She found orgasm-denial cunnilingus to be unbearable to the extent that she would have preferred that they had caned her. Caning had become a common punishment for masturbation in Taurus, however as severe as such chastisements were, the frustration and anxiety which was caused by orgasm-denial torture was maddening. Heidi knew that he would bring her to the point at least another seven times – and then what? She suspected that there would be something else afterwards but for now, there was nothing other than the incessant licking. And he was so gorgeous; such a beautiful physique and so well-endowed.
As he became satisfied that her immediate spasm had abated, the guard resumed his licking. Heidi gasped again as he inserted his middle finger inside of her and began to stimulate the small sponge protrusion at the top of the wall in her uterus as his tongue probed her clitoris, simultaneously. Her body shuddered with desire and frustration time after time for the following hour, until the guards tired of their cruel game. Her torturer finally removed his tongue from her and stood with his mighty erection jutting forth. “I’m going to get me some of this,” he announced to a response of cheering from his two piers. He thrust himself inside of Heidi’s pudenda and began to rock back and forth without finesse or grace. It was purely an act of self-gratification which demonstrated an utter contempt for its recipient.
“Oh, God,” she cried out, knowing that there would be no mercy afforded to her. Her tormenter continued to ravish her and increased his pace. After a mere two minutes, he withdrew as a spray of thick, white seed raced away from his body to land upon her abdomen and groin.
Showing no regard for her, he slapped his deflating erection onto her vulva and wiped himself upon her lips.
“Let’s get her ready for her punishment,” he suggested to his two colleagues.
The three men unshackled her and led her exhausted form into the middle of the room where she was shackled to over head chains. “Is it ready?” asked her torturer.
“It’s here,” replied the trousered guard as he stepped over to the corner of the chamber. He returned with a tall rod, at the top of which was a semi-circle of sharp barbs.
“Oh, my God,” she uttered at the sight of it.
“Hold her legs,” he said as he came towards her with it.
The other two guards grabbed her by the knees and lifted them off the ground. Heidi screamed as she looked down to see the tall staff fall down into a hewn hole in the ground. Almost two thirds of it went down until it stopped at the bottom. The staff stood barely more than two feet above the ground; the barbs hovering between her quivering legs.
“Lower them,” said the guard. The other two gently eased her labia onto the spikes as her feet touched the ground. She winced with the pain and instinctively raised herself onto her tip-toes. Two of the guards dropped to their knees and secured her ankles in the shackles which were secured to the ground at her feet.
“For the rest of the day,” said the guard who had tongued her as he looked her in the eyes, coldly.
She began to weep, knowing that she would not have the strength to remain on her tiptoes for another seven hours. As her calf muscles would cramp, she would sink down onto her feet with a need for release, only for the spikes to cut into her labia. Already, they were burrowing their way through her skin and into her tender flesh. A chorus of “Poetic Justice” sealed her fate.
The three men departed as two more entered the chamber. They led in a naked young Polish woman whom Heidi had known for years, firstly as a dominatrix at Inga’s club in Istanbul and then as a guard at Kirnan. “Lidia!” she cried to her friend. “What are they doing to you?”
Lidia replied with a quavering voice. “I made mistakes when sucking a cock.”
The two men shackled her hands above her head opposite Heidi and in identical fashion. The civilian who had entered brandished a cat-o-nine tails in his hand. Before departing, the guard turned to him: “thirty lashes. I will leave you to it.”
The door closed behind him as the sound of the screams began to echo through to the outside.
***********************************************************
And so it continued for the following year.
The Kirnan Eighteen were sexually enslaved by the guards of Taurus and tormented by their former victims. Given that every one of them had committed atrocities against multiple men individually, the number of times that they received torture was considerable. They had spent two and a half years in Kirnan where each day had been a sadistic delight filled with countless screams of agony.
Ultimately, they all fell to submission. The women had become cowering wrecks who would flinch at the quietest of sounds.
All, that is, save for Inga!
Inga Weber resisted and spat in the faces of the guards and her persecutors at the beginning of each torture or order to sexual service. She was subsequently brutalized beyond belief and yet nothing quelled her hatred and rebellion. As one of the most sensual women among them, she was called upon to provide gratification on a frequent basis and she had become the favoured fellatrix of Niyazi Baden.
She knelt before him, sucking upon him eagerly in the dungeon as he sat in the chair. His hand gripped her hair and forced her head to rise and fall upon his penis with violent force.
He braced himself for his oncoming climax and gritted his teeth as the arrival of his crisis began to force itself through his groin. In one final moment of resentment, Inga bit into his flesh, cutting off the orgasmic sensation in one agonising move.
He screamed as he attempted to pry her head away from him, but it was a futile effort. Her jaw was locked upon him. Finally, in a move of desperation he raised his fist and hurled it with all of his might into her jaw, sending her limp form soaring across the chamber to land in a corner as a naked sack of flesh.
The tears fell from his eyes as he gripped his severely lacerated penis. The blood oozed through his fingers, causing his hatred towards her to evolve into a seething, uncompromised wrath.
Inga had finally sealed her own fate.
************************************************************
The heat was intense in the mountains on that day.
The small caravan that tread the terrain of Taurus consisted of Baden, three guards, a young Greek man known at that time only to Baden - and Inga. She staggered, naked and barefoot upon the rock, weighed down by the heavy wooden beam which had been bound across her arms and shoulders.
“Don’t think that I don’t also hold you responsible for what happened to my brother, Baden,” spat the young man who accompanied them. “I could expose your entire twisted set-up here and you know that.”
“But you won’t,” replied the Governor, calmly. “You won’t!”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because as long as “our set-up” is here, you can be satisfied that justice will continue against those who tortured and murdered your brother among many others.”
“I only want this one.” The young man’s eyes were focused and strong. His soul belonged to the spirit of Sparta and he would receive his vengeance, honourably.
“He fought back, didn’t he?” he demanded of Inga.
“I don’t know,” she said through laboured breathing. “I wasn’t there. Celia executed him.”
“And you gave her the idea.” His voice raised in feverish anguish and rage. “You gave her the money to have it built.”
“And she died upon it, herself.”
“Not good enough.” He turned his head as they arrived at their destination.
“This is a unique honour for you, Inga,” said Baden with a hint of morbid sarcasm. “You are to die by means of one of our Mesopotamian traditions.” He gestured towards the three guards officiously. “Unbind her!”
The three men set about unbinding Inga’s arms from the beam as Baden let the contents on his right hand fall to land upon another, longer beam, approximately two metres in length. Inga looked on in horror as the three seven-inch steel spikes sprinkled onto the wood.
“Oh, dear God, no,” she cried. “You can’t. You simply can’t!”
“So, finally you submit, Inga,” he responded with ice in his tone; “too late.” He nodded to the guards who threw the beam from Inga’s back onto the ground. One of the three picked it up by its end and dragged it over to the second beam whilst the other two guards restrained their captive.
They waited whilst the two beams were secured together to produce a “T” shaped frame. “It’s ready,” came the chilling announcement.
The two guards dragged her, unceremoniously, to the frame and cast her down upon it. The three guards held her legs down and her arms outstretched upon the horizontal wood which she had been compelled to carry from the dungeons.
Baden reached down and collected one of the three spikes from the vertical beam, just below Inga’s feet and handed it to the young man. “For your brother,” he offered. The man took the spike as one of the three guards handed him a hammer from a small sack which he had been carrying. Two more hammers were taken from the sack, one of which was handed to the guard who pinned down Inga’s left arm.
The young man crouched down next to her right arm with his hammer and nail.
“On my mark,” said the Governor as he raised his arm.
The guard rested the point of his nail on Inga’s left wrist and the young man did likewise with his upon her right.
“Please don’t do this, I beg of you,” cried Inga. “I will change my behaviour, I promise you.”
“That time is past.” Baden’s arm fell down in a gesture of execution.
The two men raised their hammers and drove them down onto the nails simultaneously and with brutal force. Inga’s howl of agony was indescribable. Never had she imagined such a terrible pain. The nails broke through her skin and pierced her flesh, severing the median nerves as they passed through to the wood below. Her thumbs autonomously sprung into the centre of her palms as agonising shooting pains surged through her arms. As a child, Inga had experienced an extreme episode of toothache. The torture of the nails reminded her of that experience, although enhanced one-hundred fold. The two men drove the nails into her a second time which further exacerbated her trauma. Her scream was not the cry of a human. It emerged as the howl of a creature that was not of the Earth. The torture was so extreme that had she thought of it back at Kirnan, the execution of it would have resulted in exquisite delight for her.
Her consciousness began to fade before the third and final strike.
The guard who had nailed her left wrist moved down to her ankles, twisted them both to the side together and pinned them tightly. The third guard stepped over with his hammer and the final nail and placed its tip upon the flesh of her right ankle. Without instruction, he raised his hammer and drove the nail down into the wood. Inga revived instantly from her daze and screamed that inhuman bellow once again as the steel ate its way through her bone and sinew. Three further strikes of the hammer and she was secured.
The four men clasped the horizontal beam and began to raise up their grisly work of art. Inga’s limp form began to hang as her cross reached a vertical position. She revived once more as the bottom of the stake slipped into the pre-prepared hole in the earth; coming to an end with shattering force. The shock tore through her body and wounds once again. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Within moments she began to slip into catatonic shock.
The five men stood back and looked upon the naked form of the beautiful Inga Weber as she hung there, reduced to the status of a human fixture.
The young Greek man stepped closer to her and in a final act of hatred, spat onto her face. “Poetic Justice!” he murmured.
They finally turned and departed the site, leaving Inga to her solitary death.
As the hours past, Inga regained consciousness at sporadic intervals. Her ability to breath became increasingly difficult as her rib-cage had become depressed upon her lungs. The only means by which she could relieve her suffocation was by depressing her weight upon the spike which had penetrated her ankle. To do so was beyond her ability to endure and as a result, she sank back down into the depths of her anguish. It was a torture the likes of which she had never conceived of. The sum total of all of the pain that she had inflicted upon others in her life tormented her in a lingering agony of a death.
Such was her ordeal for the following four days as she rode her cross until the embrace of Hell finally claimed her soul of evil.
*******************************************************
In the weeks following, Inga’s body became the feast of the wildlife of the Taurus Mountains. In time, nothing would remain of her.
Life in the dungeon continued for many years. After three years, Heidi’s clitoris fell to the sword as a penalty for her irredeemable masturbation. None of the remaining woman survived to a great age. The relentless tortures, abuses and rapes drew the life from them well before their time.
Baden passed away in 1970 and the remaining guards continued to maintain the Taurus dungeons for their own amusement.
Sofia survived the longest. She died in 1990 at the age of fifty-four. As the anger of the prisoners of Kirnan began to abate, the guards of Taurus continued to ravish the survivors one by one until the end. Only one guard attended to Sofia by that time.
Even after the women had paid their debts, they continued to ravish and torment them. The guards of Taurus had become that which they had set out to punish in their rage; the ironic cycle of evil, ever enduring.
Until the end of time, the destiny of the Kirnan Eighteen would remain a mystery. No clue was ever discovered. From the perspective of the World, they had simply vanished from history.
Nevertheless, here in the hidden depths of cyberspace, it might be found.
…..for this is their story!
The End
Author’s Commentary
So, what was that all about? You may ask. Was it a sequel to Paramount Rule – The Gaol?
Well, yes – and then some.
Much has happened since I submitted my last story to the library. My original entry The Paramount Rule is now a full length, 55, 000 word novel which is currently doing the rounds with publishers. The novel is a completely new edit of the short story with new sub-plots, greater character development, a different ending and ultimately – a re-write!
I have developed the spin off, Paramount Rule – The Gaol into a prequel/sequel novel entitled Paramount Rule II: the Governess of the Gaol. The structure of the “Gaol” story has remained intact, although the expansion of the plot demanded the introduction of new characters and the greater development of those who were mere “extras” in the original short story.
So much for my not doing ultra-cruel again, eh! I suppose I just got harder!
This brings me to the story which you have just read. Over eighteen months ago, I began to receive requests for a “Gaol for females” story. Over time I realized that I had the plot sitting in front of me all along: what happened to Inga and the fem dom army of the Gaol? I created a fake trailer for the story and submitted it to some of my readers and the response was one of great excitement. After much procrastination, I set about writing it.
However, Poetic Justice is a story which I cannot sell. For one, it is too graphic for paperback publication and secondly, Paramount is a fem dom series, in which case this one deviates too far from the genre. Nevertheless – it is a short addition to Paramount Rule II: the Governess of the Gaol which is why you might have thought that some of the incidents mentioned were familiar and others were not.
I cannot put the novels on the site for business reasons. Nobody would buy them from me if they were available on the net for free.
Poetic Justice is my first attempt at writing male dom. I thought that as a non-BDSM subscriber (I am a romantic novelist, among other things) and in my naiveté, that the ending would shock you. Subsequently, my BDSM advisor told me that crucifixion is no big deal to you. So much for that idea, although I can’t imagine anything much worse!
I suspect that the story may fail for some of you given its focus on vengeance rather than sadism per se. However, as a lawyer, it reflects, very closely my own ideology of justice and the “revisit the sin upon the sinner” approach which I see so seldom in my day to day life (a slap on the wrist for burglary and “throw the book at the motorist!”)
Nevertheless, I truly hope that you enjoyed the end result.
Until next time, happy orgasms!
Tanya Simmonds
2/5/2008
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