THE ESCORT

THE ESCORT

Prepared for her next session, Amy’s exotic moves are put exhaustingly on display as she tries to avoid further punishment while receiving an uninvited, painful visit from an old nemesis.  Forced to take an even more painful ride, her belligerence gains her the taste of leather, this time across her breasts, before a chilling trip to the discipline area.

Chapter Four

       The plunging décolletage of the sheer chiffon dress drapes down across the firm rounded slopes of Amy’s braless, symmetrical globes as she stands obediently motionless.  Her thrust out chest rising and lowering with each anticipating breath, the gold stitched neckline highlights the pure white material embedding, lazily sliding across her prominent nipples, exposing just a hint of her puffy areolas.  Translucent, erotically designed to appear almost less then transparent, the rest of the brief, form fitting dress accents the already seductive curves of her panty less hips as golden hemmed slits spread to just below her waist, exposing her taut thighs, the hemline barely covering the creases of her buttocks.

       From behind, the plunging ‘V’ of the fabric exposes her tapering shoulders down to the hollowing of the small of her back, highlighting the matching dimples just above the pronounced curves of her butt cheeks as overall her tanned body exudes sexuality, the exotic dress just capping her erotic appearance.  The pair of black five and a half inch stiletto heels only adds to the chiseled shape of her athletic legs, the slender gold bracelets affixed to her wrists, ankles with a matching gold band circling her neck completing her wardrobe as elaborate restraints.

       Fitted, stuffed into the dress after being prepared by the blonde, her hair formed into a bun tightly woven above her head, her makeup impeccably applied with the bright red lipstick contrasting with her brilliant blue eyes, the Elder’s pair of bodyguards has escorted her to his private, invitation only gathering in a reception area of the ship well over an hour ago.  Required to exhibit herself in front of the curtain covering the wall between the pair of entrances to the hall, she’s been standing statuesque between the two black robed men, the same men who sank their shafts into her the day before, the same that flogged the redhead last night.

       Nervously waiting as the Elder’s guests in the conference room slowly arrives, intermingles, she frets over the fresh aches and cramps surpassing the residuals of her recent abuses that have already pretty much subsided. The added tenderness of her breasts, the churning in her stomach, the tinge of nausea, all caused by that familiar monthly female curse combined with her excruciatingly painful inherited family trait of Dysmenorrheal is pointing toward a very probable humiliating experience.

       Knowing her birth control regimen, the obvious familiar discomforts of her time of month, she’s almost certain by the sharp flashes of wrenching contractions she’s less then an hour or maybe even minutes away from nature taking its course.  The added anxiety of the past few days certainly hasn’t helped, obviously intensifying the problem as her anguished thoughts also drift back and forth on what’s going to be expected of her shortly, what she’s going to be subjected to, even with the oncoming circumstances of her female disorder.  The short cramps intermittent, still some time apart, she agonizingly keeps her eye on the room filling with the Elder’s guests, hoping she can make it through whatever he has in store for her before it invariably happens.

       Remaining obediently motionless, her duel purpose to also suppress the contractions, she silently waits as the time slowly passes while the contingent of men in the conference room continues to swell, most taking time to inspect her like some kind of door prize.  Her practically naked body already glistening from the humidity, the mugginess of the filling room just adds to her discomfort, her nausea, as she stares past the men, isolating her attention toward the thick rugs draping the rear wall. 

       The waiting finally passing, her perspiring body trembling as most of the contingent has found their seats, the room quiets with most eyes glancing her way, transfixed on her exotic looks as she’s directed forward toward the center of the floor, surrounded by the tables positioned along the three walls facing inward.  Quickly glancing toward the Elder seated in the middle of the center table, she feels her stomach churning, her body aching but thankfully between cramps that’s still spaced apart as she awaits his attention. The two men stepping away from her, walk back toward the wall, leaving her standing alone on the Persian carpet as they turn and position themselves by the curtain.  The music rising in level, an obviously Arabic style beat, she senses almost every eye in the room now on her

       “Dance!”  The elder’s eyes gleam as he stares forward, barely nodding his head.  “Dance well for me and my guests!... Let that body escape the confines of the dress by your movements… Entice us… Dance until you’re naked and the music ceases, Amy… Or it’s a quick trip back down to the discipline area… Now dance… Dance until you’re exhausted!”

       Given a couple brief belly dance lessons jammed into her first couple days on board, she instantly thinks back to those few minutes of time.  Gently, slowly beginning to sway, her hips gyrate back and forth as she stares back toward the elder’s returning lewd glances while she desperately tries to ignore the initial stages of her nausea, cramps, also the threat of punishment.  Trying to concentrate on the music, to also ignore the leers, the number of humiliating comments of the men crowding the back three sides of the tables surrounding her, turning, twisting, she raises her swaying arms, lowers her head while provocatively dipping her face forward, down between her out thrust breasts.  Her bare nipples already exposed above the stretching material, her cheek brushes past the rounded curve of her left breast as the swaying globe flips completely out across the gold seam.  Twisting, weaving to the beat, her hemline also stretches upwards, slipping up around her wavering hips, exposing her fine as silk pubic hair neatly trimmed around the still puffy folds of her bruised labia.

       Continuing her seductive moves to the music as she’s humiliatingly forced to flash everything she’s got in front of the ensemble of enticed men, the terrifying thought of the redhead’s ordeal that’s still going on down in bowels of the ship flashes through her mind. Apprehensively trying to concentrate on entertaining the onlookers, on pleasing the Elder, struggling to keep her balance in the exaggerated heels, she twists, turns, the gold cuffs glistening from her wrists, ankles, neck.  Hips swaying, she lets her stomach roll like a gentle wave from just below her swaying globes to mid thigh, her bellybutton flexing, her abs rippling as her long legs seductively glide in her not so bad version of a belly dance.

       Continuing to gyrate across the floor, her left breast flipping free again as she leans forward, the exposed rounded globe bounces over the gold stitching of the plunging hem line as she arches back, her humility overshadowed by her nervousness.  Continuing to glance occasionally toward the Elder as she arches, sways, the skimpy dress continues to drop across her arms, also riding well above her gyrating hips, wrinkling, collecting across her flexing belly button.  Her symmetrical breasts jaunting outward, both swaying free, her body layered in perspiration erotically glistens in front of the crowded tables.

       Staring forward, keeping her eyes focused just above the heads of the leering men, concentrating her sight on the various Arabic designs of the thick drapes carpeting the walls in their backgrounds, she provocatively twists and contorts with the sounds of the shrieking music.  Obediently dancing non stop to the first couple, three tunes of the Mid Eastern instruments, she performs from one side of the room to the other, working her now virtually naked body to the brink of exhaustion.  The minutes slowly ticking by, her blondish hair unraveling from atop her head brushes across her shoulders, mats to her forehead as she finds herself struggling to keep her drenched body in a seductive rhythm.  Each breath of air almost stifling, the odor of the tobaccos, the crowded confines of the hall filled with perspiring men leaves an acrid stench in the air, an especially nauseating stench for her condition.

       By the forth song, her sheer dress soaked, practically ruffled together around her hips, the straps having long slipped, dropped below her elbows, her gleaming body’s now virtually naked as her struggling motions become noticeably more abbreviated.  Her bare breasts sway, now longer bounce, her arms reach, no longer stretch as she still determinedly forces her body to continue to dance, though slower, as her gyrations wind down in front of the semi-circle of tables.

       Finally, the speakers become silent.  Trembling, practically slumping to the floor as she falls to her knees across the rug, her head slowly lowers as she nearly regurgitates, tastes the acidity in her throat.  Grunting as she feels the initial contraction of a serious cramp deep in her womb, her breasts heaving with each rasping breath, her hands slip down across her soaked thighs, frantically reaches and grips her constricting stomach as she can barely glance up through her damp matted hair toward the Elder.  Trying to catch her breath, to fight off the inevitable, the room’s almost steamy; eerily quiet as she breaths in, out, in again, in rhythm until the cramp passes.

       Giving her a couple minute respite without actually knowing her predicament, finally nodding, pointing a finger toward the wall behind her, the Elder speaks.  “After you catch your breath Amy, approach the golden pony…  Show my guests and me how well you look mounted on it, naked… Then receive its gilded shaft between your thighs like you did last night… Only this time in your cunt… Then ride it like the whore you are, in rhythm to the music.”

       The ominous order resonates through her exhausted mind as her already rapid heartbeat escalates, but the contractions thank God, fading.  Glancing back over her shoulder, almost unbelievingly, she can practically feel the phallus inside her, much like the one that nearly tore her apart the night before.  The black robed men having swung the curtain aside, a gold, gilded saddle’s displayed above the floor.  A phallus, long in length, thick in girth jaunts what must be at least a foot upwards from its center.  The gold gilded saddle gleams under the lights, strangely beautiful in a way, yet the huge gold phallus portentous.

       Remaining sloped over, breasts swaying free beneath her arched torso while still in somewhat of a daze, she exhaustedly watches the robed men step behind her, one grip her hands, her wrists from behind, the other slip her stilettos from her feet.  Arms forced around behind her, her wrists raised up behind her neck, the gold cuffs are clamped to the rear of the matching chocker collar with her hands immediately crisscrossed up behind her shoulders.  Naked breasts forced to thrust out even further, beads of moisture tracing across her swaying global melons drip off her twitching nipples, across her thighs as she feels herself lifted upward from the carpet, the remnants of the expensive dress stripped down off her hips, across her now bare feet.

       Forced to turn, walked toward the apparatus, the closer she gets, the larger the glistening phallus rising up from the saddle appears.  Led around, positioned behind the mount, she’s forced to face forward toward the center of the tables, toward the Elder.

       “When the music commences… Mount and begin your dance… Show us how you can work those magnificent titties!”  He orders, almost quietly, before adding.  “Don’t worry… You will be assisted onto it since your arms are shackled behind your back… And you will be aggressively motivated to dance… With the straps across those breasts from either side if necessary… Take a moment to collect yourself… Remember the discipline chamber… Nod when ready!”

       Glancing from one side to the other, noticing the damp leather straps in each man’s fist beside her, her heart races, pounding in her chest as she again glances down toward the obscenely large phallus, glistening with moisture, at least half again larger then the butt hook forced deep into her rectum the night before.  Again the ache between her thighs escalates as her stomach churns.  Subconsciously pressing her trembling legs together, the room remaining deathly silent, she struggles not to think of what the pain will be like, especially knowing the cramps will be even more devastating if induced by that shaft.  Not wanting to move, but sensing a strap being threateningly swung beside her, she bites her lip, slowly, almost apprehensively steps toward the rear of the saddle as she stares downward between her swaying breasts.  Finally, a deep breath before she barely glances from one bodyguard to the other, apprehensively nods her head.

       The music begins, softer, slower then the previous collections.  Feeling her thighs, forearms gripped, her legs spread apart, she finds herself being lifted, straddled across the rear of the gilded saddle.  Hoisted even higher over the simulated shaped knob molded somewhat thicker then the shaft, she feels it pressing across her sore vulva, squeezing between her spreading labia as her bare breasts sway, bounces as her body’s manipulated.  Wiggling, squirming, she feels the solid shaft consuming her sore vagina, stretching at the ultra tender walls as it glides between her moist thighs.  Her torso jaunting outwards, her breasts continue to bounce side to side as she’s roughly positioned onto the thick shaft, harshly lowered across the gleaming saddle.

       The shaft feels even stiffer, thicker then it appeared as it presses painfully inward, six, eight inches. Just as she’s sure it can’t glide in any further; she feels her thighs spread even further apart from both sides by the men’s manipulating hands, her buttocks forced to jerk downward another couple inches, the cheeks pressing onto the curved surface of the gilded saddle.  Grunting, her legs bowed, the balls of her feet barely grip the carpet as her fingers clinch into fists behind her neck, her head tilting forward as she grunts.  Glancing through her matting hair toward the Elder as her arching, twisting body strikes an erotic serpentine pose, she forces herself to painfully wiggle, to gyrate, to secure her aching vagina around the thick metal twisting deep inside her as she slowly begins to somehow slowly grind to the awful music, fearfully anticipating the next gut wrenching contractions.

       Glaring forward, still catching the sights of both dangling straps from the corners of her eyes, she somewhat quickens the pace, grunting to herself each time as she tries to block the inevitable pain, to try to still move seductively to the rhythm of the music even as the shaft impaling her feels as if its pressing against her navel.  Lips pouty, her stringy hair swaying, sticking across her shoulders, her bloated tummy pushes outward around the outline of the tip of the phallus inside her as her hips and shoulders arch backward.  Riding the thick metal shaft, beginning to feel the humiliating sensation of the tingling of her clit stretching in and out with the motion of her hips, she experiments with her movements, trying to relieve the chance of forced contractions as she gently raises and lowers herself on the balls of her feet.

       Her breasts riding high on her chest sway gently apart as they softly bobble, her areolas and nipples spread out flat and shinny, pointing in almost opposite directions as they jiggle in rhythm with her butt cheeks grinding across the saddle.  Trying to appease the Elder and his guests, desperate to avoid the flogging across her breasts, her nausea mounting, she closes her eyes, grunts as she raises and lowers herself in a hectic rhythm.

       The room still quiet except for the music, the men’s transfixed as Amy rides the golden pony, her naked body glistening, perspiring in the humidity, gyrating, provocatively contorting as her highlighted hair sways in unkempt strands around her shoulders, across her hazing eyes.  Parts of her naked body shine, almost golden itself.  Reflections shimmer off her hollowed stomach directly under her heavy globes as three, four, then five inches of the golden shaft appears, disappears, reappears at a quickening pace, erotically ramming between the stretching folds of her labia, casting more golden reflections while her exhausted body curls and twists to the music.  Her trembling knees bending, her glistening thighs and calf’s flexing around the gilded saddle, she senses the next wave of cramps gnawing deep inside, the cramps in her womb.   

       The men in black robes positioned beside the saddle, straps in hands concentrating on her tantalizing, swaying bare breasts have appeared almost eager to lay the leather across her global melons thrust out in front of them, bouncing in rhythm off her bare chest to the continuous beat of the music.  Glancing occasionally toward the Elder, awaiting a signal as his hands remain below the table between the folds of his robe, the men keep the dangling leather straps at the ready.

       Well into the second song, trembling, a debilitating contraction jolts her stomach, tying her womb in knots.  Barely able to continue to grind across the saddle as each quickened breath’s a hoarse rasp, each movement a searing pain, Amy’s eyes almost glare toward the Elder with her head tilted forward, her naked body bordering on spasms.  Shoulders thrust back with her breasts jaunting outward; her nipples quiver as she grunts, fights the searing pain deep inside.  Tiptoeing, driving her hips downward, aggressively twisting as the shaft rams even deeper, the hated music burns in her ears.  Heart pounding, her pain and fear almost suddenly turning to anger, she sits, lowers her eyes between her heaving breasts as she grits her teeth, feels the unbearable contraction ripping through her insides as she tries to remain motionless, every muscle in her body tensing.

       The slightest nod from the Elder, both straps instantly curl through the air. 
“Thhhwwwwaaacckkk!”  The resounding sound of the pair of damp leather straps flattening across the outer globes of both her swaying melons resonates throughout the room.

       “Ooooommmmpphhh!”  A loud grunt emits from between her parched lips, her hair flailing across her face as she continues to tilt her head forward, grinding her teeth as she thrusts her chest even further outward with that inflicted pain practically meaningless, almost taking from the searing pain deep inside.  Her flogged breasts bouncing together, reddish splotches instantly marring the outer curves of both as she quivers, sinks deeper onto the phallus, unnoticed traces of blood begin to trickle down across the golden shaft.

       “Thwack… Thwack!”  The straps slam into her right, left breasts again, flattening both areolas, nipples.

       “Oomph!”  Another grunt as she leans even further forward, raising a few inches off the saddle, her body more then trembling as again she rams harshly downward with an audible grunt, her bruised breasts bouncing, springing upward just beneath her locked, firm jaw.  Eyes becoming narrow slits, still fixed on the floor straight in front of her as more then a trickle of her blood drips across the saddle from her oozing vagina, her womb pounding, pulsing through its contraction.

       Almost in spite, arching, clenching her fists behind her back as she thrusts her bruised globes forward, she stares from one reddened breast to the other before glaring toward the man to her left, then to the right.  Making eye contact through her squinting eyes, gnawing on her bottom lip, her mouth silently forms the words flashing through her mind.  “Fuck you…Motherfucker!” 

       “Thwack!... Thwack!... Thwack!... Thwack!!!”  Back and forth, both men alternately deliver curling blows from the flexing leather straps across her bouncing, flailing breasts as the dampened leather flattens across her naked flesh.  “Thwack!...Thwack!... Thwack!!!”

       Twisting, swaying, a now noticeable flow of blood trails down from the corner of the saddle, dripping to the floor as her head jerks back and forth.  Hips flinching, jerking upwards, thrusting back down to engulf the impaling phallus in her swollen, crimson soaked vagina, her naked body curls above the saddle, bucks uncontrollably as she slams downward, arches, slams downward again as her breasts flail across her having chest, until she again sits defiantly still.  Swollen eyes glaring, her discoloring breasts still defiantly arched forward with the imprints of the leather straps overlapping across the outer curves of the rounded globes,  tears streak off her cheeks, mixes with a trace of mucus trailing from her nostril, drips across her chest as she emits an animalistic grunt, scream.

       “Aaaaaggggggghhhh!!!”  One more time grinding her hips up across the saddle, ramming the phallus deeper into her spasm wracked womb one last harsh thrust as the slurping sounds of her fresh blood pressing between her thighs and saddle resonates between the men. Her naked body contorts, slumps forward as she goes limp, unconscious.  The robed men glance toward one another, toward the Elder, each gripping an arm as the music stops.

       Nodding, pointing, a frown on his face, the Elder notices the mess, has the men hoist her up from the crimson stained saddle.  Slid up and off by her hips, her back arched upwards, her global, but now elongated breasts hang down, swaying back and forth across her tilted face slumping down between her shoulders.  The golden shaft’s retracted from her bleeding vagina, her inner thighs also stained red, glistening wet.  Carried from the room, unconscious as she willfully struggled to become, she didn’t realize she’d only be carried back down to the bowels of the ship, to the discipline area.

       In a matter of minutes, her naked body’s carried into the chamber, past the various torture devices, into the glass booth just recently evacuated by the redhead.  The booth still wet inside, not washed or sanitized, the pair of bodyguards affixes her naked body across the metal slates, binding her face up, spread-eagled and bowed.  Waiting for the Elder and a select number of his guests, they leave her naked body un-cleansed, blood still smeared across her inner thighs, still dripping from her widely spread slit as they patiently wait to finish her preparations.

       Her head twisting, the bitter odor of the snapping capsule jolts her awake.  Arched spread-eagled on her back, feeling the narrow metal slates crisscrossing her bowed backside, she stares wide eyed at the pair of men finishing her bindings inside the booth.  Glancing back and forth, the glass door open to the discipline area, her fear overrides the pain of her contractions as she frantically struggles to free herself, her stark realization of where she’s at and what’s going to happen.

       Feeling the leather sliding over her hair, tugged across her forehead, her eyes, she grunts as the stretching latex covers her nose and mouth.  Pitch black, hardly able to breath, the bottom of the bondage hood fastened around her neck, she frantically struggles.  Feeling the tube slid into the mask, between her lips, she can only grunt as her naked body arches, twists on the very apparatus where she just recently witnessed the redhead’s torture.  Feeling a hard red rubber ‘O’ ring being harshly forced into each of her stretched orifices between her spread thighs, she can hear the glass door shutting, sealed.  Twisting her masked head back and forth while barely able to flex her fingers or toes, her heart races as she struggles to breathe, anticipates what she’s facing, replays her glances inside the booth at the redhead’s treatment, nauseated at the thought that she’s now the redhead.

       Standing just outside the booth, the Elder twists the handle on the wall to yellow, flips a switch.  Streams of water spurt out of several outlets splashing across Amy’s naked body.  Twitching, jerking, she feels the high pressured lukewarm water glancing off her breasts, pounding between her painfully spread thighs, drenching her aching vagina as the splashing water turns crimson as it drains.  Feeling another directed stream of water spurting against the top of her bondage hood, the sounds ringing in her ears, the drenched hood adheres even tighter across her covered face.

       Quietly observing, reaching for the knob, twisting it to red, the Elder watches as the water quickly slackens, almost instantly spurts again, a misting steam rising from the spray.  Watching her naked body bow, arch in her bindings as the water streaks across her naked flesh, he twists another knob, adjusts the spray to release just a little harsher.  Her breasts appearing to pulse, her nipples jerking back and forth, the water splashes off the inner portions, outer portions of her thrust out globes as they waver back and forth under the pressure.  Her bare flesh turning a slight crimson shade as she arches her naked body, the steam collects toward the top of the chamber.  Legs and arms stretching under their restraints, her fingers, toes clench in sequence with the pulses of water as her gapped vagina, rectum already filled, begin draining torrents across the drain in the floor.

       Slowly flipping the knob to green, he interestedly observes the steam almost instantly cease, as again the water slackens, then spurts.  Glancing at the thermometer on the booth, just over a hundred and ten degrees, he can see the hand slowly lowering, reversing downward in its long arc.  Inside the booth her reddened body quivers, her wet, steaming flesh morphing into a lighter shade, in just a few minutes beginning to frost over.  The pulsing, below freezing salt water spurts flecks of ice, sticking, collecting across her numbing torso, stretched limbs, the water draining from her overflowing orifices quickly becoming small, narrow cycles of ice before swelling into a combined cycle under the relentless spray.

       Setting the timer to five minute increments of hot and cold, allowing several others to collect around the frosting window of the booth’s entrance, he takes a step to the side to also enjoy watching her reactions, her torment as her naked body stretches, contracts, her tendons, muscles taut under her reflexively quivering flesh.

       The ravaging range of temperatures shocking her bare flesh, her global breasts harden, her thick nipples standing straight upward turning bluish with her round globes more of a light frost as her bare breasts turn to a pair of freezing mounds of ice.   Water collecting in her navel, filling her hollowed stomach, turn into a flat sheet of ice as she soon becomes that naked ice sculpture much like the redhead earlier.

       Watching the various cycles, back and forth, her body freezing, reddening, steaming, only to repeat the cycle again and again, the booth’s window steams, thaws, steams again as the group of men continue to watch the incredible naked body contorting, struggling from the heat between arching and stiffening from the cold.

       Barely able to breathe, at times feeling as if she’s drowning in the drenched mask, her alternately frozen, scorched body’s wrecked in pain inside and out.  On the inside, her contractions still twists knots deep inside her womb, antagonized by the water engulfing, distorting her ravaged orifices, freezing, swelling deep inside her bowels, before heating, melting, gushing out past her spread thighs.  On the outside, the freezing, searing of her naked flesh is as just painful as she’s turned to ice, thawed, her breasts alternately frozen numb, scolded, numbed again.   Her psychosomatic torment’s hideous, her ravaged mind silently screaming between the countless layers of steaming water and frozen ice shocking her naked flesh inside and out.    

       A dozen cycles completed, the Elder flips the handle to yellow, allowing the lukewarm water to rinse her exhausted body.  Watching the booth clear, her tautly stretched body sprawled face up and bowed back, her stomach gently raising and lowering, breasts swaying toward her sides, he flips the light off, allows the booth to darken as he turns, watching the group of naked women being led into the main chamber for the daily discipline session.          

                    

End Part 4