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RAVAGED
Part Five.
Arching, twisting, her buttocks scraping across the wet metal rim of the trough, she struggles with her bindings. The steady raindrops pelting across her naked body, dripping across the leather bondage hood, engulfing its mouth and nose slits, chokes her, forces her to gulp for breath.
Her tightly bound breasts pulse, still aching from the sadistic flailing with the strap. The ever tightening ropes hoist her upwards as she’s barely able to relieve the tension, her feet sinking deeper into the muck as she struggles, tiptoes awkwardly from foot to foot. The past hours have been surreal, a nightmare. The constant assault on both her body and mind is taking its toll.
Walking slowly out from the rear stable door, hesitating, he sets the satchel on the ground under protection from the rain by the stall’s overhang. Already chosen his next implement of torture, a small, slightly refined version of a Wartenberg pinwheel, he steps in front of his defenseless victim, rests the multipoint wheeled instrument just beneath the stretched areola of her right breast. Reaching down, spreading the puffy folds of her labia with the fingertips of his free hand, he arches forward, sliding the swelling head of his hardening shaft between her wet slit, gliding his cock four, five, six inches deep into her drenched vagina with a single, smooth thrust.
Her mind races as she feels his thick shaft spreading her apart, pressing alongside the plug engorging her rectum as her butt cheeks press back, grinding across the lip of the trough’s metal rim. It’s all she can do to shove her toes deeper into the mud, push upward while spreading her thighs, the ropes digging into her aching breasts as she’s forced to mount the hot, pulsing shaft.
Tiptoeing, he gives another upward thrust deeper inside of her stretching vagina as he feels her body lifting up, mounted on his shaft. Staring across the slackening ropes binding her drenched, bulging globes, raising his hand, cupping her breast, he lets his other hand glide forward, slowly roll the instrument upward, the pinwheel of needle tips circling sadistically over her quivering flesh. Closely spaced indentations sink into her soaked flesh, visibly tracking, piercing as the trail of tiny specks of blood instantly dissolve with the mixing raindrops. His face presses next to her mask as he watches the water gurgling from her stretched mouth, listens to the garbled grunts, groans of his tortured victim.
Continuing her maddening torture, thrusting once again between her spread thighs, pressing, grinding her hips against the trough, he firmly rolls the micro sharp needle points horizontally from the underside of her prickling flesh, across the bottoms of her areolas, the tips of her stretched nipples. Riding his cock, she reflexively strains to tiptoe as pain resonates throughout her tortured breasts, the sensations like a multitude of tiny electrical shocks, one on top of the other.
She’s continuously mentally, physically raped as he crisscrosses the wheel from one heaving breast to the other. Left to right, right to left, up and down, the instrument rolls, centering back and forth across her tugged, twisted, tortured nipples while he continuous to thrust his swollen shaft deeper and deeper into her gapped slit. Her body uncontrollably spasms, jerks back and forth, sinking deeper onto his pulsing manhood.
Enveloping his thrusting shaft, her buttocks scraping against the trough, the butt plug grinding against the metal rim, her breasts stretching in the flexing ropes, she continues to cough, choke on the constant cascade of water soaking through the mask’s slits as her body contorts out of control, her mind gripped in the darkened madness. Agonizing minutes pass as with each pounding thrust, his scrotum slaps between her thighs, raises her body a little higher, the wheel’s prongs sinking in a little deeper, relentlessly crisscrossing her swollen, twisting globes, leaving raw trails.
Reaching above and behind her with his bare hand, he grips, twists her matted braid of hair, twisting back, downwards. Again water streams into the mask’s slits, spurts out from the “O” ring, bubbles oozing out from the nostril slit as her naked body spasms as he finally steps back a step, slides his still pulsing cock out from between her jerking thighs.
Stepping back another step, he takes a few moments to collect his breath. Glancing skyward, he notices the rain’s intensity slackening, within moments to just a drizzle. The air’s still muggy, oppressive, the quick moving clouds separating; the moon’s light flickering across his drenched victim as he steps back toward her, watches her tortured, bound body spasm.
Continuing her torture, reaching lower, the pinwheel’s sadistically rolled down across her navel, pubic mound, across the puffy folds of her vulva as he watches her naked body reflexively quivering under the prickling pain of the trial of specks of blood. Rolled back across her inner thigh, he forces her to painfully tiptoe before the instrument’s twisted, rolled back out across the inner edge, the protruding labia fold, then pressed firmly, across the nub of her swollen clit, back and forth, crossways, back and forth again and again as it reddens. Her body jerks, bucks, twists against the trough, inaudible grunts gurgling from the mask, hoarse, raspy moans.
Nearly hysterical, she feels the stinging, burning pain searing through her pulsing clit as the needle tips roll back and forth, flattening and tugging the burning nub between her shaking thighs. Her raw throat burns, even as the water gurgles between her yawning lips. His cock pulled free from her gapping slit, her buttocks reflexively grinds against the horse trough as the pinwheel seems to roll endlessly back and forth between her shaking thighs.
Again stepping back a step, he watches with a certain amount of fascination at the pinkish tinted water dripping from her glistening flesh as the scores of pinpricks leave their crisscrossing patterns down her naked front side. Retrieving a bottle of alcohol from his black satchel, along with a hand size scrub brush, he steps beside her. Opening the bottle, he reaches above her shoulders, pours what he feels is a generous amount of the alcohol across the upper curves of her bound, bulging globes, watching as it cascades across her chest, splashes off her breasts, streaks down past her flexing, hollowed stomach, soaking her bare vagina.
“Aaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhhhhh!!! Aaaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!” The screams echo in the rainy night as he slides the brush across her breasts, the nipples, circles the bound globes, scrapes the bristles down from the valley of her breasts harshly across her jerking bellybutton. “Aaaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhh! Aaaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhh!” More screeches, wailings as her body twists, jerks, slams against the trough. The ropes dig into her bulging globes as her legs kick, her buttocks slams across the top edge of the trough’s rim.
Twisting, shoving, he forces the brush between her thighs, back and forth, side to side, across the raw, flesh of her swollen vulva and clitoris. The white bristles turn more crimson with each sadistic stroke even as her body slumps, hangs from the ropes binding her tortured breasts. Again stepping back, he watches her unconscious body spasm, notices the rain again picking up, just enough to coat her naked skin with a fine shower, dissolving the mixture of fluids, cleansing them from her raw flesh.
Capping the bottle, dipping the brush in the trough, he walks back to the satchel, drops them in. Returning to his victim, loosening the rope, he carries her unconscious body to the stable door, laying her on her side on a burlap sack. Taking his time, he carefully unbinds her naked body, even removing the bondage hood. Turning her on her back he unbinds the ropes buried deep into her swollen tit flesh.
Fitting a black cocker collar around her neck, he cuffs her wrists to rings on either side. Slipping a foot long chain between a pair of ankle cuffs, he secures her ankles. Placing everything else in the satchel, he leans back against the side of the stable, next to her naked body. Laying her head on his lap he listens to the steady patter of raindrops on the metal roof as he strokes her bare flesh, watches the color returning to her discolored breasts, deciding which one of his fantasies he’s going to play out with her next as he glances toward the satchel.
End Part five
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