Ravaged

RAVAGED

Chapter Four

       Standing next to the bed, looking down across her naked body, he glides the back of his hand across her glistening stomach, toward her equally damp thighs.   Reaching her left ankle, he unbinds it from her outstretched thigh, gripping, slowly straightening her leg with both hands.  Reaching across the bed, again slowly, gently, unfastening her right ankle, he straightens, slides her right leg down across the mattress, her ankles spread about a foot or so apart as he tosses the restraints toward his open satchel.

       Sliding his fingertips back up between her inner thighs, he flicks the glistening clover clamp back and forth a couple times before gripping it between his thumb, forefinger, gently spreading it apart.  Her hips jerk as he slips the pressing metal off her swollen clitoris.   Rubbing, massaging, manipulating the moist, flattened flesh as it swells, he senses an occasional twitch of its nub against his fingers, even as she boarders on unconsciousness.

       Taking a step toward the head of the bed, leaning over the shimmering, black bondage hood, he can hear her rasping moans as her head tilts limply back against the mattress.  Reaching across her bowed torso, resting his open hands across her shimmering, thrust out breasts, letting his thumbs, index fingers slide across the nipple clamps, he slowly twists, back and forth, tugs up and down, watching her naked body raising, arching upward, twitching, the induced pain nudging her toward consciousness.

       Momentarily in a state of confusion, in total isolation in her darkness, deafness, bondage, she quickly realizes her nightmare’s continuing.  Both legs, though now straightened, feel as if a thousand needles are poking, probing against her bare flesh from her hips to her toes.  Her clitoris, pulsing, burns, along with the constant pressure building in her engorged rectum.  Feeling her nipples now being slowly twisted back and forth in the metal tongs, she reflexively arches, thrusts her chest outward, somehow in a lame effort to relieve the pain.

       The heat’s stifling around her encased face, head, the leather shrinking, uncomfortably tightening across her damp flesh.  She can feel the sweat crisscrossing, dripping from most of her exposed skin, pooling beside, under her on the soiled, wet sheets as her body lifts, settles back down each time the tugging pressure’s momentarily relieved on her nipples.  Again she attempts to focus, to regain her sanity, but now, it’s just a little harder as she feels her nipples again twisted, stretched upward, slowly, tautly, more painfully.

       Setting toward the edge of the bed, he amuses himself with the pair of shinning clover clamps.  Listening to her subtle moans, watching her bare chest raise, lower, raise again as he manipulates the clamps in a gentle rhythm, he grips the springs firmly between his thumbs, forefingers, sadistically twists, jerks upward.  Again her torso’s forced to follow his lead, her back arching up off the mattress, her breasts transforming from symmetrical globes to oblong melons, to some sort of cone shaped parodies.

       Listening to her whimpers, watching foaming saliva beading, drooling out from the corners of the sewn slit in her mask circling her outstretched lips, he stops, holds his hands steady, feels her body weight tugging at the clamps, the engorged tips of her stretched nipples protruding above the glistening metal, her dark tan areolas melding into her lighter, substantial tit flesh stretching downward toward her trembling chest.

       Her soft whimpers become louder, more like hisses, music to his ears as he slips his elbows above the bottom of her ribs for leverage as he lifts just a little higher, holds his wrists firmer, his hands flat, the clamps steady.  Watching her tortured breasts stretching, tugging at the disfigured nipples agonizingly slipping down thru the hard, flat steel of the crushing clamps, he already feels his cock stiffening again.

       The burning pain of the fresh circulating blood thru her legs subside as the throbbing, searing pain of her tortured nipples increases.  Arching her back, her neck stiffening, her head pushing backward, also pressing the heels of her practically numb feet down against the mattress, she desperately tries to bow her chest, to relieve the pain of her nipples dragging thru the metal.  Even in her confused state of mind, in agonizing seconds, she realizes she’s forestalling the inevitable.

       Grunting, tensing, squinting her already closed, covered eyes, she makes an instant, incredibly painful decision.  Jerking backwards, twisting, kicking, her back slams down across the mattress, her breasts flailing across her chest, her nipples ripping thru the metal prongs as she screams, slobbers thru the “O” ring.  “Aaaaaggggggghhhh!!!

       Almost stunned, he sits with the clamps in his hands, actually impressed with her fortitude.  Intently watching her gyrations, he nonchalantly tosses the clamps into the satchel, grabs both breasts, and squeezes their base.  He can feel her heartbeat, her spasms transferring thru his fingers as he leans closer, examining her swollen, bruised, discolored nipples as he squeezes the quivering mounds tighter, further exposing the outlines of the prongs firmly embedded in both.

       The pain’s excruciating, consciousness is a curse as her mind races.  Again struggling to catch her breath, feeling on the verge of hyperventilating she twists her head back and forth in the bondage hood, gasping for breath thru the “O” ring, her flailing nostrils.

       Slipping off from the bed, he stands, watches as she slowly regains some sort of composure, her legs spreading, twitching, her feet sliding together, apart, her breasts swaying toward her sides, her head tilted back, toward the mattress.  He can still hear rasping sounds, gurgling sounds from her shimmering bondage mask.

       Again stepping toward the window, he leans out.  The steady rain’s still warm, splashing off the back of his head, bare shoulders, but the air’s breathable, soothing.  Glancing back toward the bed, he grins to himself, decides its time to take her for that walk.

       Stepping back toward the bed, leaning over his satchel, he looks in, shuffles about, finds a couple, three strands of supple white rope.  Searching a little further, he finds an old brown leather piece of a barber’s strap, the kind to sharpen razors with, five, six inches wide, less then a foot long.  Slipping his shoes on, satisfied that’s all he’ll need, he reaches above her head, grips the mask, and twists her upright on the mattress.

       Feeling hands forcing her into an upright position, twisting her around, she feels her legs dragged across the edge of the bed, her bare feet sliding against the floor.  Legs still burning, she at least has some feeling back as she’s hoisted upright off the bed by the hands now gripping the bindings on her elbows.

       Standing her upright, he gives a quick once over, watching her firm, out thrust breasts bounce, sway as she awkwardly stands up.  Turning her, he gets a side profile, even more impressive, her breasts standing well out over her hollowed stomach, an incredibly thin waist, the slightest of a bulge from her pubic mound, her butt cheeks almost boyish, her rump barely rounded.

       Fastening a rope to the right wrist restraint behind her back, sliding it between her butt cheeks, out the front, wrapping it around his wrist, the end in his fist, he opens the bedroom door, lets the other ropes circle his shoulder, folds the strap in two, drops it over the elbow cuffs behind her back, leads her thru the adjoining kitchen, thru it’s door to the porch.

       She blindly follows, literally, almost stumbling as she tries to keep up, her legs still aching.  She feels the rope grinding between her cuntlips, stretching up across the end of the butt plug, across her clit as he keeps a taut grip on it, tugging, pulling as he steps out into the rain.

       Turning, backing across the wooden porch floor, he watches her naked body leave the shadows of the doorway as she’s forced into the light, but steady raindrops.  It’s light enough to quickly adjust to the shadows as he watches her initial reaction out in the weather, the steady rain quickly mixing with her sweat, the remnants of his sexual encounters with her.

       Again he feels the twinge between his legs as he watches the rain patter down across the shinning black hood, her bare, arched back shoulders, especially her naked, thrust out breasts.  Stopping, having her stand motionless, he watches streams of water quickly trace across her bare flesh, running in thin zigzagging streams over her firm, symmetrical globes, down the hollow of her chest, even dripping off her quivering, hardening nipples.

       Feeling the wetness, realizing she’s outside in the rain, she struggles to breathe, quickly tilting her head forward, her face down, the rain covering, streaking over the hood, across the nostril, mouth openings.  Her emotions are mixed, none good.  Questions, doubts, anxiety flash thru her thoughts.  What’s she doing outside… Where’s she being taken… What’s going to happen to her next… Then?  The only thought remotely positive is the rain, in a way, is refreshing to her overheated body.

       Backing, tugging, he slowly steps down the three wooden steps into the puddles in the gravel, slowly pulling her along with the rope, a helping hand on her left hip.

       Feeling for the steps, even having used them hundreds of times, she nearly stumbles off the bottom riser, her foot slipping in the wet gravel, as ignoring her problems, he turns, tugs the rope, continues across the driveway toward the stalls.  Feeling the wet, sharp gravel under her feet, then the obvious soggy ground around the stall’s entrance, mixed with the odor, she realizes where she’s being led as she’s finally shielded from the rain from under the tin roof.

       A single dim light shines down from the rafter as he walks her thru the pathway in front of the stalls.  Glancing toward her inquisitive, neighing horse as they pass by the stall, chuckling, he wonders if she realizes she’s being lead like her horse.

       Getting back on track, almost as familiar with the surroundings as she is, he leads her on thru, out the back entrance, turns left.

       Again she feels the rain pelting her naked body, now seemingly picking up in intensity as she shuffles thru the muck, nervously realizing from the smells, the touch of her bare feet, that she’s passed thru the stable, but too where?

       Leading her out into the yard toward the rear edge of the stable, just a few feet from the stable door, he stop, turns her backside against a galvanized water trough off to its side.  It’s rounded, double walled top band presses across the back of her thighs, virtually flush with the bottom of her butt cheeks, scrapping the very tip of the butt plug’s knob.

       Feeling the cool wet metal tub across her twisting backside, she instinctively realizes where she’s at, the horse trough.  But, what’s happening, what’s next?!  Feeling her feet being spread apart, squashing in the soaked mud, sparse grass, a rope being tied across her left ankle, her thoughts are quickly answered as she feels it being bound to the bottom of the tub’s angle iron leg.  Her right foot’s next.  Forced out from her side, her right ankle’s quickly tied to the bottom of the trough’s matching front metal leg with the other end of the rope.

       Finished tying her ankles, stepping between the stable’s rough hewn barn wood and the narrow galvanized tank, he tugs the lead rope back out from between her legs, pulls it across the top of the tank.  Pulling at her tied wrists, twisting her torso to the left, he stretches the rope, quickly wrapping a slip knot to the bottom of the rear angle iron leg to her right.

       Stepping behind her, around the tub, grabbing the leather barber strap out from her elbow restraints, he drops it across the soaking ground.  Tying the third rope to her left wrist cuff, holding the rope tightly, restraining her, he starts at the top, unsnaps the clips from between her shoulder cuffs, then elbow cuffs, finally down to the wrist cuffs.  Pulling the rope back, he stretches her left arm backwards, down, slips the end of the rope around the bottom of the forth iron leg, jerks, tugs it tight.

       Feeling her arms being painfully spread, her shoulders jerking, bowing back across the tank, she flips her head backwards, her left arm stretching out across the tank’s rim.  Rain pelts across the mask’s face, pours across the nose, mouth slits, she struggles, gasps for breath, panics.

       Double checking, he’s satisfied with her left outstretched arm, firmly ties a slipknot. Stepping back around the trough, he tugs the rope on her right wrist tighter, harder, jerking, bending her even further backwards, into a tightening, inverted arch as her drenched, naked body flexes, jerks, her reared back head twisting back and forth below her shoulders.

       Forming her pain wrenched arms into a crude crucifix position, her breasts spreading, flattening across her chest, her chest muscles, tendons quivering, defined, tracing past her taut, hollowed armpits, he gives a final tug, adjusts the slipknot.

       Helpless, terrified, every joint in her body screaming in pain, she’s forced to tiptoe, feeling her rain soaked body bending spread-eagled, impossibly backwards into a tight semi circle, her heels scraping under the bottom of the tub, her hips flattened against the rim of the trough, the butt plug ramming deeper inside her rectum as its exposed end harshly scraps across the galvanized metal.

       Finally satisfied with his elaborate version of hog tying her, like he’s practiced so many times before, he steps in front of the trough, himself soaking wet as the rain continues its steady pace.   Picking up the strap, stepping around the end of the trough to begin administering a few good, hard lashings to her wet, naked, flesh, he looks up, struck by the almost surreal, incredibly exotic, side view of her, illuminated between him and the stable.

       Her silhouette stands out in the darkness, the slanting raindrops, the obviously painful but erotic, serpentine pose her soaked body’s forced into.  The highest point of her bowed back allows a good foot or so of light from the stable’s door to shine through, above the trough, reflect across the rippling, half filled tub, the constant rain pelting across her naked breasts, stomach, streaking, dripping into the tank below her.  Again, the reality’s so much better then the fantasy.

       Her mind’s screaming, or is it actually her voice?  Past any fear, anxiety, terror she’s ever felt, surely, there’s no other pain possible, mental or physical that can be further forced on her tortured, twisted, bent, drowning body, she terrifyingly thinks to herself.

       Or is there?  “Thwack!”  Her head jerks, fingers clinch, her fingernails digging into her palms, her toes curl, digging into the wet muck.  She feels her right breast crushed, flattened across her torso.  “Thwack!”  The next lashing, within a second, or less, flattens her left breast against her chest, burning, pounding.

       Red welts instantly cover the surfaces of her drenched globes, areolas, nipples, the leather tearing into her body, her psyche.

       All she can do is gurgle, groan, foaming spittle spurting from her mouth, the sounds barely noticeable to him above the pelting rain as he engrossingly watches the areas of her bare flesh, momentarily dried by the wide, flat leather strap smacking across it, instantly soaking up the fresh wet raindrops again.

       Stepping in front of his bound victim, bound so tight, she can barely struggle, he watches the water splash across her naked torso, her spread, flattening melons springing, bouncing in the dim light flickering thru the rain, just the outlines of her thick nipples jiggling, glistening above the wide red welts, the width of the strap, he’s raising again.

       “Thwack!”  The flat, wet, leather strap smacks across her sternum, between her spread breasts. The tip landing just below her throat.

       “Smack!”  Another overhand lashing with the tip of the leather landing just below her visibly twitching sternum causes her breasts to spring toward her sides, then slap together, swaying, settling back again.

A half a minute or so passes. “Thwack!”  Yet another lashing, lower, harder, the wide, flat leather tip snapping across her rippling abdomen, belly button, again her naked body jerks in its bindings, water sprays, breasts bounce, the air crushed from her burning lungs.

       Coughing, wheezing, chocking, she feels the stinging, burning across her naked, wet flesh, her tortured mind bordering on madness, now sure the constant, rhythmic slashing directed across her defenseless, stretched, crucified body is being administered by a group of sadists, some insane cult!

       “Smack!… Smack!… Smack!… Smack!!!”  Back and forth, up and down, left breast, right breast… Left… Right!  The wet, leather strap flicks moisture from its flexing end each time it curls back and forth in his grip, smashing across her flailing globes, flattening, slamming both mounds across her thrust out chest, smashing them together like a pair of ripe melons.

       The pain overrides her senses, all she feels is the “Thump” of the leather flattening across her chest, echoing in her plugged ears, a hallow, ringing sensation, just in the confines of the dark, masked hood.

       Squinting his eyes from the rain splashing across his bare head, shoulders, he watches her drenched body shaking, her soaked, dark, single braid of hair sticking, wrapping across the top of the bondage hood, her wrists, ankles, red, raw as they reflexively twist, jerk.   Sliding the palm of his left hand across her rounded pubic mound, feeling her involuntary fluttering, rippling spasms under the steady streams of water pouring down off her reddened flesh, twisting his fingers, he spreads the tender flesh, exposing her soaking clit.

       “Thwack!… Thwack!… Thwack!”  Three more, snapping flicks of the curling leather strap, each harder.  The first smacks across her spread vagina, splashing water, the second flattening her puffy vulva, the folds of her labia, the third directly across her tortured clit.

       The darkness, deafness, is now madness.  Her mind screams, specks of light flashing thru her skull with each savage lashing exploding thru her pain wrenched womb.

       An exaggerated sense of her lungs filling with water, gasping, spitting, gurgling, suddenly, almost a calmness spreads, consumes her very sole, her mind drifts into darkness, her body goes limp.

       Realizing her difficulties breathing, the steady rain pelting her facemask, he wants to keep her alert to feel her punishment; after all, the night’s young.  He quickly decides to give her a hand, to be able to breath easier, to feel her torment.

       Dropping the strap, glancing across her limp body, up toward an exposed hook holding the end of the overflowing gutter on the edge of the stall’s roof, he steps behind the trough, unties the slipknots from her wrists, the rear iron tub legs.  Reaching under her shoulders, he quickly snaps just the clamp fastening her wrist cuffs together, allowing her limp body to settle back above her arms, across the rim of the tub.

       Using one of the ropes, stepping up on the slippery corner of the trough, he quickly double ties an end to the metal hook, letting the rope’s free end dangle down across the edge of the tub.  Stepping down, standing behind the tub, he reaches across her shoulder, grips the base of her right breast, squeezes.   With his free hand twisting, looping, he begins snugging the end of the flexing rope around her wet flesh, each tug, jerk, bulging her melon into a rounder globe.

       Reaching across, gripping, twisting her left breast, the other end of the rope’s quickly wrapped, stretched, tied off.  Reaching up, tugging the end of the swaying rope hanging down from the gutter, he loops it around the rope binding her breasts.  Carefully stepping up on the rim in the continuing rain, straddling the tub again, he yanks, tugs the rope upwards.  Slowly, carefully, her limp torso’s lofted higher by her bound, naked breasts.

       As her weight stretches the rope, he keeps an eye on the creaking hook in the gutter.  Satisfied it’s secure enough, he more aggressively manipulates the rope, lifting, hoisting her naked body into an upright position, her head still hanging limply back in the wet, black hood.

       Her breasts, bulge, stretch with each tug, her weight more obvious in his busy hands as leaning over, he sees her ankles lifting up from the muck, just her toes, the balls of her feet in the water, her butt cheeks sliding out off the metal rim.

       Tying off the rope, jumping off the rim, he quickly steps around, in front of her newly positioned body, slides his hands across the wet, rounded curves of her spread thighs, up across her slim waist, ribcage, to finally cup the pair of drenched, bulging melons, twitching, shoulder height, the hard nipples pointing upwards from the tautly stretched areolas.

       Lifting, tilting her head forward, he slips the sides of the slippery hood between the pair of bowing ropes stretching up from her twisting breasts, holds her head upright.  Water, salvia spills from her stretched lips, thru the gurgles.

Lowering his right hand, he slides his forefinger and thumb between her thighs, pinches his nails into her wet clit flesh, hard.  “Uuuummmphh!”  Hearing her grunt, he smiles, letting go of her clit, steps around the trough for the strap.

       Jerking, again semiconscious in her isolated state, she feels the instant. sharp pain of her pinched clit, the mounting strain across her chest, the weight of her body, now upright, tearing at her pulsing breast flesh, her wrists bound behind her back.

       Reflexively tiptoeing, she feels her feet sinking into the wet mush; she can barely relieve the constant pressure across her chest, her taut calves, and thighs already aching.

       Stepping beside her, he watches her stretched lips quiver, listens to her pitiful moans, is fascinated with the girth of her roped breasts, already practically half again as large as their already normal, substantial size.  Only able to imagine what kind of thoughts must be going through her tortured mind, figuring the darkness, shadows, rain will keep his face unrecognizable, he decides to let her get a look at those bulging globes, maybe watch as he works ’em over some more.

       Unzipping the left eye cover, then the right, he steps toward her side.  Flipping the blinders open across the mask simultaneously, he watches her eyes blink, squint, then widen, the whites visible around her brown pupils as she stares straight toward her swollen, round globes, stretching around both sides of the cheeks of the mask, her areolas, nipples pointing severely upward, tautly stretched to the size of silver dollars.

       Feeling the eye blinders flip open, water dripping across her blinking eyes, finally the sight of the bulging, roped flesh scraping across her facemask, pounding in pain, obviously her breasts, drives her closer to madness!    The sight’s nearly incomprehensible to register in her tortured mind.

       “Thwack!!!”  The flat side of the leather strap smacks squarely across the center of the left nipple, the swollen melon barely flexing.  “Aaaaggghhh!!”  Her nipple and areola share the full force of the flat, wet leather smashing against her rock hard globe.  Her legs flex, her toes slip lower in the muck as she’s virtually suspended in mid air.

       Inches in front of her face, eyes, she watches, stunned, as virtually in slow motion in her mind, she watches the wide, flat strap again flinging around from her left side, toward her pulsing breast.  “Thwack!”  “Aaaggghhh!”  Again her body rocks, her nipple the dead center of the strap smashing across the grapefruit sized ball of flesh stretching upwards in the jerking rope, her body twitching, toes clawing.

       Lowering the strap across the tank, he circles the mask with his hands, flicks, zips the leather blinkers shut, and picks up the strap.  “Thwack!”  Again, for the third time, the strap smashes across the same breast.  “Aaaggghhh!!!”  Another animalistic scream spurts from the hood, matching her mind’s scream in her head.

       Blinded again, water soaking the mask, eyes burning, jolting blows to her chest, reality’s becoming a figment of her imagination.  Obviously certain of the physical pain being inflicted on her tortured breasts, mentally her mind can’t grip what’s happening and what’s not.  Her breasts she just saw?… Huge, swollen, bound in rope!… Could she have even seen them?… Is this real?!  “Thwack!”  “Aaaagghhhh!!!… Aaaaggghhh!!!”

       Watching her body stretching, bordering on being suspended from the stretching ropes, her feet kicking at the splashing water, he smiles, lowers the strap.  Turning toward the stable, he leaves her with her thoughts.  As he meanders on back toward the house to retrieve his satchel, he thinks to himself, wonders if she’s appreciative that he really hasn’t hurt her yet.

End Part four