Barbarian Queen:

Captives of Lord Arrakur

 

A story set in an alternate universe.

We all know, that Amethea and her friends overcame all the trials and hardships. They triumphed over suppression, injustice, rape and torture.

They defeated Lord Arrakur and ended his merciless rule.

 

But what if...

 

They failed?

 

What if the capture of Taramis, Estrild, Tianara and Amethea was not the rebellions darkest hour, which preceded the dawn of victory?

 

What if this was the beginning of a different kind of tale.

A tale of four woman-warriors, who fell into the hands of a ruler of utter cruelty and recklessness.

A ruler with a fondness for inflicting pain, dealing out suffering and crushing women beneath his heel.

 

Now hear a tale of suffering unheard of...

Of tortures untold of...

Of cruelty undreamed of...

Hear the tale of proud Amethea

The bravest of all...

 

 

 

Captives of Lord Arrakur

 

 

Chapter One

 

The Tools of Pain

 

Amethea couldn't move.

As much as she tried to, she couldn't.

The iron shackles around her wrists and ankles were tightly and secured her beauteous form on the rack.

Her body was covered with sweat, glistening in the lights of the torches at the dungeon walls.

In addition she wore an iron collar around her neck. It wasn´t connected to the rack itself, although there were four iron rings attached to the collar - two at his side, one in front and the fourth at the back of it. Right now, the only purpose of the collar was apparently to make breathing a bit harder for her.

The rack was positioned at the far end of the spacious chamber. Since the apparatus was standing almost upright, keeping Amethea in an almost standing position, the warrioress had a good view of the chamber.

What she saw made her skin crawl and her heart sink. Of some of the devices she saw, she had heard of before.

There were pillories and thick wooden poles set in the ground, with iron cuffs attached to them. Chains were hanging from the stone ceiling, swinging in the air and making a continuos clanking sound. There was an odd, T-shaped wooden table with iron cuffs on its surface as well. There were braziers, some of them filled with heated coals. And there was a seemingly endless variety of whips, clubs and tongs hanging all over the walls.

And there were more devices, which Amethea had never seen or heard of before in her life.

But no one had to explain the purpose of those strange objects to her. Everything around her served one, and only one purpose.

To inflict pain.

And it had been made clear to Amethea, that she had much... very, very much pain coming to her.

Amethea had fought many battles before in her life and everyone had seen her as the winner. But she knew, that she was about to fight the most terrifying and powerful enemy of all - pain.

Amethea had been brought down here for torture.

Arrakur had given her the choice. Telling him about the rebels and become his newest whore... or finding out, how painful it was to oppose him.

She chose the latter, fought him, and even wounded him.

Alas, the joy of this small victory faded quickly, as four guards dragged her fighting, spitting and cursing down the stairs to the lower dungeons beneath her cell.

For as brave as Amethea was, she knew that there was nothing worse that men could do to men, than to torture them.

The guards had knocked at a small wooden door, belying the vastness of the torture chamber behind it and a low voice has told them to come in.

They had done so and Amethea had had her first look at the chamber and its horrors. She had also had her first of many hateful looks at the master of this evil domain.

A tiny, humpbacked man, wearing a flat leather hat and a strange set of glasses on his nose. He had let his gaze wander up and down her body, hovering over her naked breasts for a while.

Then he had looked into her eyes, meeting her defiant gaze with a wicked smile.

"Hmmmmm... a feisty one. What does Lord Arrakur want to know from this one?" he asked one of the guards.

"A rebel, Master Zohar." One of the guards replied.

"Lord Arrakur wants to know where the rest of that rebel scum is hiding."

Zohar´s eyes wandered from Amethea´s face back to her exposed breasts and sighed.

"Almost a pity. For a moment I hoped, this one was... ah well. Tie her to that rack, there!"

The guards complied and fastened the struggling woman to the vertical rack at the end of the torture chamber.

After Zohar had checked the bonds and convinced himself of that Amethea could not free herself from them, he dismissed the guards.

Amethea was now in chains in front of the tiny man. Due to her struggles, her leather brassiere and her loincloth has been ripped from her. All that stood between her and total nakedness was a tiny, black crotch-strap she wore.

"Hmmmm!" Zohar purred, savoring her beauty.

"A feisty, lovely rebel-whore! I don`t suppose you will tell me what we want to know just yet. Don`t you?"

Amethea did not even look at him. She stared at the ceiling, instead.

"No, I suppose you wont!" the torturer said. He stepped closer and Amethea could feel the heat of his ridiculously shaped body against her leg, felt his hand tenderly caressing the inside of her thigh.

The sensation of his fingers on her made her skin crawl and she struggled against the cuffs and chains holding her in place. Her instincts yelled at her to kill that little pig right now. But the bonds condemned her to endure his sickening touch.

"Three kinds of people get send down here." He said.

"And I hoped for a moment, you would be one of the third kind. Would you like to know why?"

Amethea did not answer.

"What a tight-lipped little slut you are. No matter, I will tell you anyway: I love pain!"

For a second, Amethea could not help giving him a quick, wondering look.

"Oh, not my own, mind you!" the torturer said, chuckling.

"That would be rather sick, don´t you think?!"

"Oh no, its the pain of others, that I adore. And I thoroughly enjoy causing pain. Inflicting pain. You will find out all about that any minute now."

Now, a thin layer of cold sweat was transpiring on Amethea´s forehead.

"How does my fondness for inflicting pain relate to the three kind of prisoners being send down here? Well, I´ll tell you, my sweet.

The first kind are those, who do have secrets Lord Arrakur wants to know about and sooner or later tell me everything they know.

It is enjoyable to make them talk, of course. But as soon as they have given up, they usually get executed quickly at the town´s square. You might belong to that kind, but I would be somewhat disappointed."

His breathing deepened somewhat, as his hand began kneading her thigh with increasing force.

"The second kind, now. They are a lot more interesting. And I would welcome you being one of them. So please, don´t disappoint me!"

He smiled at her, a smile bereft of any kindness whatsoever.

"The second kind are those, who are suspected to know some secrets Lord Arrakur whishes to learn about - but are totally innocent. For that means, that I can torture them, for as long as Lord Arrakur remains suspicious of them and orders the questioning to continue."

He moved even closer and, to her horror and utter disgust, Amethea could feel his hard, erected member through his breechcloths on her naked thigh.

"Ooooohh... and you can believe me, my pretty one: If you don´t know anything, if you can´t tell me anything that could satisfy Lord Arrakur´s curiosity... then you will spend days, perhaps weeks in my capable hands until I have broken you so completely, that there will be nothing left of your will or strength.

Oh yes, I do hope that you don´t know anything!"

He had begun rubbing his hard manhood against her thigh, as he already contemplated the ordeals his newest captive would be going through.

"Alas, being suspected as a rebel, you are no prisoner of the third kind. Those are my favorite trait. Can you guess why?"

Amethea had closed her eyes and tried to block out the vile creature´s voice, tried not to comprehend the words he spoke. But she failed in both.

"The third kind are those, whom Lord Arrakur had sentenced to death. Sentenced to be tortured to death. And you can believe me: there can be no slower death than here in my chamber. Such a feisty one as you, I could surely torture each and every day and still keep alive for even a month.

Oh, I wonder when would you pride dissolve? After a week? Yes, even you would beg for mercy after a week. And when might you start to beg for death? Two weeks? Three?

How I would love to find that out."

Amethea´s mind was numbed with horror. Oh yes, she knew about torture. Although she had been spared it so far, she knew what torture meant.

But nothing she knew could have prepared her for this nightmarish ordeal awaiting her.

What worse could possibly have happened to her than this? With a sting of panic she realized, that she was about to be tortured by a merciless bastard, who felt "that" pleasure when inflicting pain.

If the devil would choose a hell for women, he would choose this.

"Now!" the humpbacked Zohar said, stepping away from his newest prey and looking at her trough slit eyes.

"It´s about the time, the two of us get started. Since you are not the third kind, I expect you to be the second kind, at least."

He lifted his right hand, his forefinger pointing in the air like a teacher lecturing his pupil.

"Don´t you dare disappoint me, whore! Don´t you dare to talk!"

He kept giggling, as he started to work on the rack and Amethea kept staring in the air, her check-bones working underneath her skin.

She heard a winch screeching and from above she saw a strange object attached to a chain descending down on her. It resembled a metal glove, shaped like a fist. The forefinger of the glove, however, pointed down at her.

As the device continued it`s descent, Amethea saw that the glove´s forefinger ended in a very sharp needle.

Amethea also realized that the glove was descending on her unprotected chest, aiming for her naked, exposed breasts.

She swallowed and wondered, how long she would hold out.

 

"I´m not here to torture you. We have a man, who does that!"

Tianara felt the heat of the torch held closely to her face changing it´s position from her left cheek to her right one, forcing her to turn her head from side to side.

Kaltar, the fat general of Lord Arrakur´s guards smiled mischievously and lowered the torch. Not to give his prisoner some relief but merely to let the torch travel over her barely covered bosom.

Not burning her... yet. Just letting her feel the fire´s heat and let her wonder just when he would let the torch kiss her young flesh.

"We have a man, who does THAT. And I am trying to keep you from having to meet him."

He moistened his dry lips with his tongue as he watched the black-haired girl struggle against her bonds, pushing herself against the pole at her back in a hopeless attempt to escape the heat of the torch.

"I just want a little information." He said.

Tianara stared back at him over the dancing flames of the torch hovering over her breasts, almost singing her mammal flesh with fierceness in her eyes.

"Other lives are more important then mine!" she replied proudly.

She knew, that there was little left for her to do than to display her bravery to her captors. She and her friends have entered the very lair of their enemy in their quest to save their people. They had gambled... and lost. Now, all there was left to do, was to stand up against them and protect their allies, the rebels hiding in the catacombs beneath the city, by taking their secrets into the grave.

"It´s not death that you face." The captain said, relishing in his domination over this beautiful wench.

"It´s a great deal of discomfort, while you are still alive. You really don´t want to get sent downstairs... believe me!" The last words, he almost purred.

He knew of the things, which could and surely would be done to this one. He very well knew of Lord Arrakur´s cruelty and the inventiveness of his torture-master, Zohar. And he most certainly shared their adoration for seeing helpless captives suffer.

He often thanked the gods for including pain into the creation of humans. Pain caused fear. Pain caused obedience. Pain caused captives to break down... to betray their comrades.

And pain caused pleasure.

In fact, he knew of no greater pleasure then dispensing pain. It always caused his belly to churn and his member to harden.

Just like this one in front of him supplied him with a feeling of gratification and raunchiness at the same time.

Just a few hours longer, and he could conscientiously report to Lord Arrakur, that the black-haired slut was as stubborn as the fair-haired one. Surely his master would order the torture of this one. And if he were lucky, he would be commanded to carry out the questioning in the lower dungeons for himself - since Zohar would surely be busy with the fair-haired whore.

Yes, he mused, watching the panting, sweat-glistening captive in front of him...

Life is good.

 

The needle-sharp end of the metal glove dug into Amethea´s left teat.

A sharp, piercing pain shot through her breast and made her cry out.

Involuntarily she tried to move her breast away from the needle, digging into her breast. And instantly her body was stretched a little more.

The rack she was trapped on was an ingenious device indeed.

Her ankles were fettered to the lower end of the rack with thick, heavy leather cords. Each ankle at the opposite edge of the wooden table-like device, she was laying on, which caused her legs to be spread wide open. Her wrists were manacled with similar leather straps to a heavy chain at the top of the rack. This chain went over a slick-oiled metal cogwheel at the top of the table. From the other end of the chain, behind the rack, there hung a huge boulder of some 250 pounds pulling at the chain with all it´s weight.

The boulder´s weight would cause the cogwheel to spin and thereby pulling the chain tighter and tighter. Since Amethea was tied to that chain, her body would be drawn tight as well, as if her body itself was a link in the chain carrying the monstrous, heavy boulder. The weight would have strained her body far beyond the snapping point, of course. Literally tearing her flesh, tendons and muscles apart in an instance.

But a tiny detail prevented her from being torn apart. Which were two steel rods, both attached to the top of the rack and arching down on the gearwheel, their sharp ends infixing themselves into the teeth at each side of the cogwheel. As long as both were holding the cogwheel, the wheel was carrying the weight of the boulder.

Unfortunately the rack-table was laying on a huge steel axis, making the table teetering slightly, unless Amethea held herself absolutely still on the table. As soon as she made the slightest move, the rack-table waggled and the steel rods at the top lost their grip on the cogwheel.

With a number of menacing clicking sounds, the chain was drawn tighter by the boulder´s immense weight and Amethea was stretched and racked a little more.

Already her body was stretched painfully tight. Muscles and tendons screamed in protest against the strain put upon them. But if she managed to keep the rack in balance, she avoided the strain to increase.

But Zohar was not about to allow her this respite. The last detail of this percular torture was the metal glove, hanging from a chain above her breasts. It was positioned exactly over her left breast and the sharp needle protruding from it´s metal forefinger was thereby positioned exactly over her left teat.

Now all Zohar had to do, was to lower the metal glove by giving the chain it was attached to some slack and the needle would prick Ametheas nipple.

However regal in her determination not to move, the jabbing pain would cause her to wince and thereby trigger the apparatus` horrible assault on her tender body.

Cold sweat covered her forehead and her breathing came through clenched teeth. Arms and legs quivered from the strain and her belly felt like being torn apart. Still she had neither spoken a word nor given voice to the true amount of her suffering.

Only short grunts and sobs of pain escaped her throat regularly, as her breast were stabbed again and again.

Her torturer watched her suffering with keen interest and visible delight.

And as if he needed to make up for Amethea´s contempt-filled silence, he spoke to her constantly.

"You must learn not to struggle!" he said, as if lecturing a dim-witted child.

"If it hurts, you have only yourself to blame."

Even if Amethea would choose to talk to her tormentor, she would never grace that infamous remark with an answer.

"Everytime you move, the machine tightens. So you don´t want to move anymore than you have to."

He gave a sigh of satisfaction and regarded the interior of his torture chamber,  inspecting his horrifying collection of instruments and devices.

"I made that all myself!" he pointed out with pride. "It´s very ingenious, don´t you think?"

All Amethea did in response was to look at him with utter contempt.

"Oooh! You don´t look like you appreciate science." Her torturer said in his maddening high-pitched tone. He approached her with a mug filled with water. He held the mug teasingly before Amethea´s dried lips.

"Drink some." He offered his captive.

The warrior woman hadn´t had something to drink since this morning, when she and her friends entered the rebel´s hideout. She was thirsting badly and involuntarily tried to reach the sweet wetness inside the mug by raising her head. She even managed to move her head without triggering the rack but Zohar rewarded her effort by pulling the mug away.

"Say please!" he requested, depriving Amethea the relief of quenching her thirst.

Amethea´s head fell back on the surface of the rack and she turned her face away determined not to beg for the water.

"No manners at all!" Zohar complained. "Well…I´m not one who tortures somebody." He moved the mug back within Amethea´s reach. Despite herself, she raised her head again…her lips almost reaching the edge of the mug, almost tasting the sweet, clean liquid inside.

Grinning viciously, Zohar twisted the mug. He slowly spilled the water on the woman´s chest, making her groan in frustration as not a single drop of the water had reached her lips.

Why do you do that? Amethea admonished herself. Hurting you already gives him pleasure. Do not add to this swine´s gratification by degrading yourself before him!

"You must learn to say please!" her tormentor said in a donnish cadence.

"You must learn to say all sorts of things." Zohar continued. "Like how you got into the city. And what you came here for. And where your rebel friends are."

NO! Her mind cried out. Hold on! Don´t tell him anything. Fight it and find a way to get out of this hellhole. That´s the only chance we got, if we want to survive this.

"Ahem…please let me interrupt."

This wasn´t the voice of her tormentor. The door to the torture chamber had been opened and Arrakur had entered. Amethea couldn´t help wince as she saw him in the company of her sister Taramis. She was scantily dressed, as it was becoming for a slavegirl of Lord Arrakur. And Amethea had no doubt whatsoever, that her sister has served as a female slave in that monster´s bed.

Zohar cranked a winch at the side of the rack and with a sickening cracking sound the cogwheel was revolving half a turn before stopping. The boulder´s weight was pulling Amethea´s body another inch apart and making her cry out in terrible pain - for the first time since the torture had started.

Arrakur knew, that Zohar intended to demonstrate his captive´s suffering for his master. Partly for showing his own effort in making this whore talk, partly because he knew that Lord Arrakur was just as fond of watching a woman suffer as he was.

And indeed, as Arrakur had entered the torture chamber, the sight of Amethea, almost nude, tied to that rack had generated that well known pleasure in his belly he felt when watching a defenseless creature suffer at his command. And although he had spend himself inside his newest whore quite thoroughly, he felt his cock rising behind his gown yet again as he listened to her agonized scream.

"She still has nothing to say to us?" he said, taking a step closer.

"She is a strong one." The torturer conceded. And Amethea proved that fact by suppressing any further breach of self-control. By suppressing any more sounds of pain escaping her throat and glaring at Lord Arrakur with utter contempt.

The tyrant merely smiled knowingly at the impotent fury of his captive.

"You have broken stronger." He noted. Casually he turned to his newest pet-whore a bit suspicious.

"You don´t know her…do you?!" he asked Taramis. The dim-witted girl looked back at him fearfully, her gaze briefly shifting to her tortured sister on the rack. When she looked back at her master with all the credibility of a child not lying to her father.

"No." she said, chewing at her thumb.

Satisfied by this Arrakur addressed his torture-master again.

"I expect answers in the morning!" he said turning about his heel and leaving the chamber. Taramis looked briefly at Amethea. Her sister returned her gaze and Taramis was not sure what to read in it. She did not understand all of what was going on around her but she understood this much: her sister was being hurt terribly. And if the man, whom´s bed she shared, found out of her being Amethea´s sister she would also be hurt. And Taramis did not want to be hurt ever again.

So she left her sister without another word, hurrying to catch up with her master.

Amethea fought hard to suppress the tears, which threatened to fill her eyes.

She wanted Argan back. And she wanted to protect her sister. And look what was happening to them. Argan was fighting for his life as Arrakur´s gladiator. He could die any second without her knowing. And her sister was Arrakur´s whore. She refused to think about what that pig was doing to her in bed, while she was down here being tortured.

I have to get out of here. I have to. Somehow, anyhow get out of this hellhole.

Was it coincidence or a generous gesture of the Gods? Amethea did not know and did not care so much. What she did realize was, that a link in the chain holding both her ankles down at the bottom end of the rack was broken.

Perhaps the link had been insufficiently forged and probably countless victims having been ripped apart on this rack had put so much strain on the chain that it might tear apart anytime now. The question was whether it would be the chain or the muscles, tendons and the spine of Amethea that would tear first.

The torturer stepped in front of her again. Zohar felt fresh excitement, knowing that Lord Arrakur would not make another visit to the torture chamber tonight.

That meant the two of them would be undisturbed until morning and Zohar had some very special plans for his captive. After all, a slut of such beauty was seldom in his domain and he did not wanted to miss the least bit of pleasure this whore could give him besides suffering pain.

He was a man after all, wasn´t he.

"You heard his excellency!" he purred in his infuriating tone of disapproval. As if Amethea was a lazy pupil who was too stupid to understand his teacher´s lessons.

As if he was saying: You dumb whore. All you have to do is to tell us about the rebels. And then we won´t torture you anymore. We´ll just make you a slavegirl for our master´s pleasure. And you will serve him as long as he finds you amusing. And then…well the gladiators` brothel perhaps. Or you will be used up as a whore for the guards. That can´t be all that bad now, can it? But no…you want to fight us? Then fight for all you are worth. I`ll break you anyway in the end. You´ll have gained nothing except serving MY pleasure!

He raised his hand to grope Amethea´s right breast. With a snarl that evolved into a battle cry Amethea`s head leaped forth, her teeth creaked. Zohar barely managed to get his hand away from her breast, before she could sink her teeth in it.

A little taken aback, he quickly recovered as he noted with satisfaction that her attack had loosened the rack once more and increased the strain on her body even another agonizing bit.

And he also noted with gratification that the fair-haired whore could no longer hold back a gut wrenching sobbing of pain and despair.

Won´t be long until you talk…or beg for mercy, slut. He said to himself.

 

Lord Arrakur rested on his seat in the arena and watched the bloody battle down below in the pit.

Two gladiators were fighting against each other to the death. The victor was selected to fight at the anniversary celebration, which were to be held in three days.  The dead one was carried out of the arena and another pair of gladiators entered, knowing that only one of them would leave the pit alive. And so it went on.

Arrakur enjoyed the spectacle. Still, he had some regrets about leaving the interrogation of the blonde beauty to Zohar alone. He himself enjoyed participating in the torture of his captives. Especially such a feisty and pretty one as her.

But in the end, the selection of the gladiators for the celebration was as important to him. Besides, he had given Zohar specific orders concerning that blonde whore.

"Find out, if she knows anything about the rebels. But see to it, that you don´t destroy her beauty just yet. I have additional plans for that one!"

Oh yes, Zohar would make her talk. Or ascertain, that she does not know anything about that rebel-scum. And after that, he would take care of her personally. He would break her completely. He´d make her crawl at his feet and serve his every whim. And then…then he would have her very, very slowly tortured to death.

As he watched the desperate men beneath him fighting for their lifes, he leisurely contemplated the many ways he would make the blonde whore suffer for his pleasure.

 

"I really am ahead of my time!" Zohar mused, regarding his arsenal of fiendish devices with pride. Amethea merely moaned on the rack. He had secured the chain holding the boulder in the air, so that allowed her to move on the rack as little as her bonds permitted her. The strain on her body was still considerably painful. And Amethea was increasing the pain to herself by pulling at the weakened chain at the base of the rack, whenever her torturer paid no full attention to her.

He did so now, so Amethea halted her efforts again.

"You must be very proud." He kept teasing her. "You are making a contribution to science!" The disdain in her eyes made it perfectly clear to him what she thought about the science of torturing women. He merely grinned and approached his defenseless captive. Amethea tried to steel herself against the inevitable that was about to happen. A moment before, Zohar had ripped away the black crotch-strap she wore. Although it was a tiny piece of garment, it still humiliated her to be deprived of it. Now she was completely naked and her legs were spread apart sufficiently for her torturer to gaze at her disposed and unprotected womanhood.

Unfortunately, to gaze was not enough for him. He had taken of his breechcloths and exposed his hard and throbbing member. He moved closer and closer, his stiff cock pointing straight up at her. He took a step up, standing on the beam at the base of the rack, which supported Amethea´s feet as well.

She felt her stomach knotting and bile gathering in her throat as the tip of his penis, hardened by her suffering, touched her labia, forcing her dry, reluctant lips aside and forcing it´s way into her belly.

She made an indefinable sound of utter disgust, as he pushed his cock inside her silky depths. She doubled her efforts in tearing the chain below her apart. It just wouldn´t give in. All she could think of was:

Break! Break, damn you! Gods, he is inside me! INSIDE ME!! Let me off this thing!!

Her rapist was in no hurry. Zohar took his time sliding his cock back and forth inside her with maddening leisure. He wanted to savor every second of this.

Better appreciate my self-discipline, you slut! He thought, fucking his captive slowly but constantly. After I spend myself inside you, I intend to use some interesting toys on you - down there! You´ll beg me to put my manhood back inside you, for sure!

"Just a little more, my sweet!" he teased, feeling his balls swelling and gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts. He watched in fascination as each thrust made her breasts jiggle and listened to her moans accompanying his each and every intrusion inside her. As determined and feisty as she was: that sound was something she just couldn´t suppress.

"I´m not quite there, yet!" he said. Gods, what a pleasure it was mastering this beautiful whore. Play with her ability to feel pain, and then play with her ability to feel pleasure. Doing to her whatever he wanted to. Zohar was in ecstasy.

SNAP!!

For the first fraction of a second, Amethea couldn´t believe it: the chain was broken. Her legs were free. In a split-second decision, she did the first thing she could think of. She wrapped her legs around the hip of her rapist, trapping him inside a vice-like grip. It was amazing to her, that she could muster that much strength in her fatigued muscles, but the desire to punish this swine fueled her will.

Zohar stared into her baleful eyes in shock. He realized that he had lost control over her in the passing of a second. She began to tighten the embrace of her legs around his waist and started to cause - pain. His cock was still inside her, but it quickly softened and glided out of her as she squeezed his hip tighter and tighter and…tighter.

"Wait…wait….you´re moving away!" he complained, then shouted: "Stop squeezing!"

Amethea had to take pain and rape from him, but there was no way in all the hells of the netherworlds that she would take orders from him now.

Zohar felt cold sweat on his forehead as the squeeze evolved from painful to insufferable. She would break his hips, he realized. He´d be mutilated for the rest of his life - if he´d survive her attack at all.

"To tight!" he wailed. "To tight!! To tiiiiight!"

Amethea wanted to punish him, like she wanted nothing else in her life before. She wanted to pay back the pain he had caused her…give him a taste of what he had done to her as long as she couldn´t defend herself. Even the touch of his slackened member against her labia gave her a feeling of triumph. Now she was in control.

"Free my hands!" she commanded, giving him another squeeze. He screamed in fresh pain.

"I…will! I will!!" he babbled his trembling hands rising towards the top of the rack.

Yes, free my hands you little maggot. And as soon as I am free, I´ll make you curse the day you were born, whatever vile creature gave birth to you. You raped me, you bastard. You swine. I´ll rip it off of you. By the Gods, I swear I´ll rip it off!!

But instead of freeing her wrists, Zohar´s hands halted on the iron collar she wore and twisted the iron ring in front of it. He frantically turned the ring and Amethea realized to her horror that the collar quickly tightened around her neck. The collar was choking her, quickly depriving her of oxygen.

She squeezed as hard as she could making Zohar almost weeping in pain, but the lack of air already pulled down her resources of strength.

She gasped for air, as the collar got tighter and tighter, like a fish out of the water.

Zohar felt her grip around his waist slacking with painful slowness. Nevertheless, the pain eased and finally her legs dropped down as she fell unconscious.

Zohar panted, still standing in front of her his shrunken member pressed against her slit. He felt an outrage, he´d never felt before. That slut had attacked him.

She had caused him PAIN. HIM!

He could simply let her die like that. Being choked to death by the collar. She would simply not wake up from unconsciousness and die.

Of course he opened the collar again. He held his palm against her open mouth in order to ascertain whether she was breathing or not. She was.

She would stay unconscious for a while, though. Of that he was certain enough to free her hands from the top of the rack. Amethea glided of the rack like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He watched her for a moment. Then he pulled his booted foot back and kicked her viciously in the belly.

She only grunted. That convinced him that he did not need for calling the guards to prepare Amethea for the next stage of their business. He would do so himself.

He dragged her along on the rough floor of the chamber towards the T-shaped wooden table.

You think you could get away from me, didn´t you? Whore, I´ll make you pay dearly for that. The rack was just the slightest of starts for you my pretty one.

Now, it´s going to become painful.

 

 

 

 

Coming next….

 

Chapter 2: Deeper into Pain

 

Barbarian Queen:

Captives of Lord Arrakur

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Deeper into Pain

 

Estrild was kneeling on the cushioned floor of one of the separees of the gladiator´s brothel. Her hands were tied behind her back with leather cords and her belly was resting on a stool. Her sparse clothing had been ripped from her body and she was naked except from the bracelets on her wrists and ankles, the golden circlets on her upper arms and the bells tied into her full, brown hair.

She had been so close. She had seen Argan at the corner of the great hall of the brothel but before she could call for him a beefy gladiator with a bald head and a thick black moustache had grabbed her and dragged her into this separee he had reserved for himself and his friends. She had resisted and he had slapped her in the face a few times. Then he had tied her hands behind her backs and thrown her down on the floor and raped her with devastating, brutal thrusts inside her.

After that his friends had joined him. Guzzling wine and offending her with obnoxious remarks, they had forced her to dance for them. Estrild was not trained as a dancing girl, so her performance couldn´t have been worse even when her hands would not have been tied behind her back. But evidently, her struggles to please were as excitingly zestful to the men as the performance of the most beauteous and shameless dancing girl could have been.

Then they had thrown her on the stool, spread her legs apart and started to rape her. There were seven of them in the beginning, but to Estrild´s dismay more and more were joining in on the sport.

One cock was constantly ramming into her from behind and one man was always kneeling in front of her, his member buried inside her mouth and throat.

Her head was bobbing frantically in the urgent attempt to bring the gladiator off, swallowing his cum and getting the briefest of reprieve and a few full breaths of air before the next cock was forced between her lips. Anything less then earnest work got her a slap across the face or across her dangling breasts. So d

Estrild couldn`t tell how many men had raped her already and how long it had gone on. Her labia and cunt-shaft were grated raw and her jaws ached with overuse.

Her breast ached as well from being brutally fondled, groped, pulled and kneaded.

Her world was reduced to an endless stream of hard members fucking her and male hands exploring every part of her body with brutal force.

Trough a haze of grunts and drunk laughter she heard the two men raping her cunt and mouth exchanging a few menacing instructions while continuing their attack on her body. Then suddenly the man fucking her from behind put his arms underneath her armpits and closed his hands around the back of her neck.

He pulled her up, her mouth gliding off the cock she was sucking and held her close to his body, his hard cock still inside her.

The other one in front of her was looking at her exposed breasts and belly, an evil grin on his face. His cock was still hard as well, all wet and shiny from her saliva.

He slapped her breast with the palm of his hand. Then he slapped them again with the back of his hand. He kept slapping her pain-filled mammal globes with the cruel force of his callused hand, making them bound and jiggle on her ribcage.

Estrild screamed in pain and begged him to stop. The other on kept rutting inside her with even more raunchiness as before, her pain no doubt increasing his zest.

"Now, do it now!" he urged his companion, as his cock began to spend himself inside her. The other one let go of Estrild´s breasts, pushed the stool aside and punched his fist into her belly.  She grunted in pain. Before she could absorb the pain, he punched her again into her pelvis, right on the triangle of her pubic hair.

He punched her there again. And again. Each time, his fist dangerously close to the balls of his companion, as he was shooting his hot semen into the poor girl.

As horribly painful as the blows to her pelvis was for Estrild, as lustful it was for her rapist feeling her body absorbing the hits, feeling her cunt-shaft contracting around his cock with each impact.

 

A flush of icy water awakened Amethea.

She opened her eyes and shook her head, her eyelids blinking in an effort to clear her vision. Her first cognition was that she was lying on her back and couldn´t move. Her first sensation was a terrible straining pain in her groin.

She managed to blink away the water in her eyes and got a look at Zohar standing at her side, holding the bucket he´d just emptied on her face and smiling down at her viciously.

Slowly, Amethea realized her new predicament.

She was still stark naked. The only article she wore was the collar around her neck, with which her torturer had choked her into unconsciousness.

She had been taken down from the rack, but freedom was not granted to the warrior-woman. Not in the slightest.

She was now tied down on a wooden bench-like table. Her arms were tied down on the upper end of the table, held tightly fixed by iron cuffs directly attached to the surface of the table. Two cuffs were closed tight around her wrists, two more around her elbows. When she turned her head, she could see the cuffs around her elbows and realized with dismay that those were strong, thick iron manacles, which did not allow the slightest movement of her arms. There would be no way to break free from those. But that was by far not the worst of it.

The lower part of the table was shaped like the top of a T - meaning the table ended in a wooden beam of 3 meters. Amethea raised her head as much as she could and gazed down the length of the body. The reason for the strain in her loins became obvious. Her backside was resting on the center of the beam and her legs were spread as wide apart as humanly possible. Two cuffs around her ankles and two larger ones around her upper thighs secured the lower part of her body on the table.

Virtually immobilized on the table, her body equaled the letter T perfectly.

A fine layer of sweat was covering her naked form, the light of the torches set on the walls dancing on her curves.

Besides the pain, this bondage caused her; Amethea realized of course, that this rendered her vagina totally unprotected. She strained the muscles in her thighs against the bonds around her legs. It was completely hopeless. Her legs remained spread wide apart, held by those immovable cuffs on the table.

Zohar put off the bucket and stepped closer. He was wearing his jacket, glasses and the small hat on his head. His breechcloths were gone, however, and his semi-hard cock was pointing directly at Amethea´s breasts. His hand came down on Amethea´s left breast and he began kneading it brutally.

"Well, well. It seems we have that problem with your legs fixed, eh? You could have killed me, you whore!" His voice, soft at the beginning, now started to rise.

"You HURT ME, SLUT!" he cried in anger, his hand squeezing her tit as hard as he could.

Amethea clenched her teeth and endured the pain in her crushed mammal flesh.

"Still not screaming, aren´t you? Well, we can fix that, as well!" He let go of her crushed breast and picked up a whip. Amethea couldn´t suppress a shudder as she looked at it. It had a wooden handle, wrapped in leather stripes. It had four leather tails. Each tail contained a number of iron balls. Still she fought to keep her stony composure of contempt although she dreaded what was to come.

"I take it that there are a number of things you would like to do to me if our positions were reversed!" Zohar purred, running the tails of the whip over the bound woman´s naked breasts. The iron balls were tugging at Amethea´s nipples, promising to give rise to horrible pain.

"But whatever you would do to me, would be child´s play compared to what I am going to do to you, whore!"

He raised the whip high over his head and brought it down on Amethea´s breasts with brutal force.

Sheer agony exploded in her mammal globes. The blow of the whip covered her entire bosom, the leather cords biting into her flesh and the iron balls striking her breasts like the hardest hail imaginable. Every muscle in Amethea´s body was taut and she trembled in her herculean effort to hold back the scream of pain, which tried to fight it´s way out of her lungs.

The only sound that did escape in the end was her heavy, rapid breathing. Crimson, bloodshot lines and dots appeared on her franticly heaving breasts. The pain made her head spin and her stomach clench. She briefly wondered whether her breasts would ever feel the same again, whether she would ever be able to breastfeed a child after this attack on her bosom.

Then the second blow hit her. Zohar did not merely strike down on her breasts. This time he rather pulled back the whip just before the tails made contact with her fleshy globes. The result was that the four tips of the whiptails with their iron balls were building up even greater speed before trashing into her left breast, singling it out for a devastating blow. Amethea´s face offered a display of suffering, which would break every sane man´s heart. For Zohar it was just another stimulant for his twisted pleasure.

She still denied herself the tiny relief of voicing her pain. Since she was completely defenseless and had no way of stopping her torturer from doing to her whatever his fancy was, she had only one pitiable small stand to make. And that was denying him the additional pleasure of listening to her screams.

Zohar was well aware of that. And he didn´t mind at all. Some started screaming and begging for mercy, before he even began the torture; some started later on.

In the end, they all screamed for him. This one would be no exception.

"My, you are stubborn, aren´t you? You think you putting on a sword make you a warrior? You think you are tough, don´t you my sweet? We will see just how tough you really are, won´t we?"

He raised the whip again and brought it down with all his strength. Only this time he was bringing it down on Amethea´s cunt.

The tails of the whip were crackling against her labial lips, the iron balls adding to the impact in the most horrific way. And this time Amethea screamed at the top of her lungs. The sound of it gave Zohar´s cock a surge of pleasure, hardening it to it´s full size.

"Well…." He said as the woman´s cry subsided. "I guess we found ourselves a soft spot there, wouldn´t you agree?"

He was bending down bringing his face closer to hers, so he could observe the tears filling her eyes more closely. Amethea spat in his face.

Zohar got up to his full height, wiping of the saliva from his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Insolence. Why do I always have to put up with this insolence?" he lamented, as if Amethea was a disobedient pupil and he the ever-patient teacher.

"Now, let´s see if your soft spot will make you sing for me! Surely you know some wonderful songs I´d like to hear!"

With that he hit her cunt again. The pain was so terrible, that Amethea nearly passed out. Unfortunately she remained conscious and screamed out in hellish agony.

"Aaah…yes!" Zohar mocked. "That´s exactly the kind of song I´d like to hear from you, my sweet!"

He hit her again. And again.

Each time, the whip covered all of her completely exposed labia. Each time it brought her pain, she had never dreamed of being capable of taking.

Her body arched on the table - the only slight movement the bonds allowed it to make. She was shaking her head from side to side, as blow after blow landed on her tortured cunt. The muscles in her thighs were clenching and unclenching frantically in a pitiably hopeless attempt to close her legs and protect her sex against the terrible beating. And her screams filled the torture chamber, each time following the sickening sound of leather and iron slapping against the tenderest part of a woman´s body.

Then, after a dozen strokes or more, the beating stopped.

Amethea was panting, catching her breath after the screaming. Her breasts were heaving rapidly. Tears were freely flowing down the sides of her head.

"Why?! Such a fierce warrior-woman and crying already? It seems that soft spot of yours makes you considerably less tough then you think you are! Doesn´t it, whore?!" Zohar reached down and patted Amethea´s cunt with his free hand, as if her sex was a dog, which had pleased his master by learning a new trick.

Amethea managed to suffer the slapping of her now hypersensitive labia with clenched teeth and a deep sob of pain.

Her helplessness almost made her burst out in fresh tears. The cuffs held her legs spread wide open, mercilessly, and there was nothing she could do to protect herself, nothing standing between her exposed womanhood and the twisted cruelty of her tormentor.

Smiling knowingly, Zohar slapped her cunt one last time with all his might. Amethea screamed in fresh agony and Zohar giggled maliciously.

"You don´t like that, don´t you? No one ever treated that whore-slit of yours like this, hmmm? All you knew about is being caressed there and having it filled with the unwashed member of one of your tribe´s savage males, no?"

He began poking at her cunt with the handle of his whip. Amethea stared at him in pure hatred and disgust, steeling herself against whatever was coming.

"But in here," Zohar said, making a sweeping gesture at his torture chamber, "that whore-slit of yours is put to quite a different kind of use!" With that the respite for Amethea ended. Zohar raised the whip for a new blow and gave her a devastating one on her cunt.

The woman yelled out even louder as before. One of the iron balls had hit her directly on her clit.

Her torturer sighed in satisfaction and lowered the whip. Amethea lay there, trembling in pain, her eyes closed and her clenched teeth shining whitely through her full, red lips. A tear protruding from her right eye and rolling down her face.

Zohar stepped back from her side and moved in front of her. He positioned himself right between her widespread legs. The table was crafted in the exactly appropriate height to position Amethea´s cunt at exact level with Zohar´s hard cock. His member was fully aroused and pointing straight up.

As it always did, when female flesh was punished.

He watched Amethea´s sweat-glistening body for a moment – her heaving breasts, her firm, trembling belly and her ruthlessly exposed womanhood, merely an inch away from his erected member.

He then took a grip on his cock, forcing it down and pushing its head against her aching labia.

Amethea grunted in repulsion as she felt his flesh against hers. But any attempt at resistance was rendered totally hopeless by her bonds. Spread out like she was, she could not offer the slightest defense against the intrusion whatsoever.

Zohar`s hard cock slid into her wide-open pussy without any effort.

With a surge of tingling pleasure, he felt her silky flesh covering his member as he glided all the way in, until his pubic hairs mingled with hers and his balls pressed against her tight ass-cheeks.

He pulled back only to push himself back in, making Amethea groan.

Although short in height, Zohar´s member was quite large, as if the gods wanted to compensate his diminished growth with a substantial tool for pleasuring women.

So Amethea felt her cunt-shaft filled to its threshold by the intruding member of her tormentor as it glided in and out of her in slow, casual strokes.

Each thrust made her moan involuntarily. Those were no sounds of pleasure, of course. Her cunt-lips were beaten raw by the whip and the friction of Zohar´s cock moving against them caused her intense pain.

Knowing this only added to Zohar´s pleasure as he fucked his helpless victim.

He caressed her firm belly and groped her still pain-throbbing breasts. He put his hands around their bases and squeezed them, turning her soft globes into two taut balls of tight flesh.

Inside, Amethea howled in despair as he molested her. But she fought to betray as little of the pain and humiliation she felt as possible.

Again and again she tested the strength of her bonds, only to realize that there was no way to escape them; that she could do NOTHING to defend herself.

Hold on. She told herself. Endure this…somehow. He will spend himself inside you, he may torture you again. But sooner or later he will have to release you, so he can do something….different to you. And then you will kill him. You´ll get another chance.

 He will not torture you bound to this table forever.

But from deeper inside her, somewhere beneath her stern determination, there was another voice speaking to her.

Perhaps not forever. The new voice piqued. But don´t you think he will enjoy you in this position for quite some time? After all, he doesn´t merely enjoy hurting you….he obviously enjoys hurting you THERE quite thoroughly. You do understand that it is your pain that makes his member hard, no? You do understand that it is your pain that makes him feel THAT pleasure, don´t you?

So what makes you think that he will not keep you like this for the next torture? Don´t you think he will torture you THERE again? And rape you right afterwards? Because hurting you THERE makes him feel THAT pleasure again? Let us be candid: you do realize that you should savor his rape of your body, no? Surely that´s the least painful of all the inevitable things you´ll still have coming.

Amethea grinded her teeth and clenched her fists as she silently cursed the second voice and told it to shut up.

Zohar fucked her calmly, using up every inch of his cock and her cunt-shaft for his pleasure. He gazed down at her.

“You want to hurt me again, don´t you? You´d like to kill me slow! Don´t you, slut?!”

He pulled his cock back, holding just the very tip of his member at the entrance of her pussy. Then he rammed his cock inside her with a horrible, brutal thrust that made her cry out in pain.

He pulled back again. Again holding his cock-head just barely inside her pussy, his hands holding tight around her slim waist.

“You´ll pay dearly!” he said and rammed his cock back in with brutal force, making her cry anew. He relished in the feeling of her tender, silky flesh being forced aside by his huge prong. He watched her breasts jiggle with the force of his attack inside her with delighted fascination.

He repeated the act again. And again. And again.

Each horrible, brutal thrust made Amethea yelp in pain. As much as she desired to keep her silence, those testimonies of her ravishment were beyond her power to contain.

After a dozen, or so, of these perfidious and painful jabs into her cunt, Zohar proceeded to rape his victim with normal pace and strength.

Calmly and leisurely, he moved his cock back and forth inside her silky tunnel and Amethea lay there and felt disdained surprise by the fact, that her rapist had not spend himself inside her; nor that he seemed to be especially aroused by the rape.

He kept fucking her in complete control of his lust and showed no indication of reaching the climax of his pleasure, anytime soon.

Amethea raised his head and peered between her twin breasts-globes down the length of her body. She saw her flat, taut belly and the fair-colored pubic hair of her crotch. She could see Zohar´s thick, long member appearing and disappearing as she felt it gliding back and forth inside her.

She grated her teeth in new horror as she felt something, she had not felt since the last time she and Argan had made love by the fireplace inside his hut.

A tiny spark of pleasure came to live inside her belly, growing and growing with each thrust of this vile creature´s cock inside her. Her neither lips began to swell and her clit began to send tiny ripples of delightful heat into her belly. Ripples that slowly but steadily grew into waves of lust.

Amethea had no intention of feeling that pleasure, of course. Just as Zohar had no intention of giving her pleasure. But as much as she hated and despised her tormentor, her body was designed for responding in this manner. Although her body still was in pain from the racking and the beating, it held no memory of the one responsible for it´s pain. Her body only reacted to the steady stimulation of its sexual organs in that way, nature had designed it to.

And to her dismay, the pleasure grew and grew. It began to overwhelm her senses and seize control over her body, separating it from her mind and power of will.

Her breathing became heavier, her breasts began to swell and harden and her ravaged, beaten pussy-lips began to moisten and coating Zohar´s prong.

Amethea fought desperately against the pleasure and felt more degraded than ever before during her captivity. Although the pain of torture was far worse for her body than the pleasure, the rape caused her – the latter was far more painful for her warrior soul.

Betrayed by her body she shook her head to and fro as her tongue gave voice to her helpless raunchiness.

“UUUUNGGHHH….AAAAAAAHHH……UNNGGGHH….OOOOOHHH!!”

Zohar´s cock moved back and forth inside her, relentlessly. He looked down at her with a sneering smile on his face, watching her tied-down body´s squirming, the reddening of her cheeks and chest and listening to her grunts and sobs of helpless lust.

“Whore!” he hissed, resuming her punishment with one horribly viscous thrust into her cunt that made her yelp in agony.

“Slut!” he spat and gave his captive another attack of his hard male flesh with all his might.

He then speeded up his ramming into her slightly. His hands came up to her chest and he began rolling her rock-hard nipples with his thumbs.

Amethea´s head was spinning and her cunt and breasts were sending unbearable surges of pleasure into her broiling, churning belly. She felt his cock ramming into her with quick, lustful strokes. The constant rubbing of his hard member at her clit shot wave after wave of lust through her loins. His hands caressed her swollen, hardened breasts tenderly… only to attack them in the next second. His fingers dug into her mammal flesh, taking a grip on her nipples and twisting and pulling at them.

Amethea laid there, her body squirming in its bonds just as it had mere moments before under the pain of torture. The bindings made the lust that overwhelmed her senses even more unbearable, denying her even the slightest relief a woman being free of restraints could get in such heat of passion by moving her body in harmony with the motions of her lover. No, Amethea was condemned to almost total immobility and had to endure the lust as defenseless as she had to endure the pain before.

She desperately struggled against the bonds, holding her down, as her pleasure mounted. Feelings of self-worth and hatred for her rapist were swept away by pure, carnal instincts. Almost dementedly, she tried to push her loins up to meet the prong ramming into her She arched her back in a mindless attempt to push herself against her rapist, taking him into her arms, wrapping her legs around his waist to bury his hard member even deeper into her quivering, wet cunt.

Her grunts of heated lust became cries of sheer, carnal bliss, which became louder and louder with each new stab into her cunt.

Then, suddenly, her eyes snapped wide open and her whole body stiffened.

 Her back arched as far as the bindings permitted her, then her body shook and trembled with so much force it came close to shaking the heavy oak tree table as well. The trembling went on and on as she screamed and babbled incoherently. Zohar felt her cunt contracting around his cock, sucking at it ferociously.

He gathered all his strength and power of will in order not to loose control, not to shoot his semen into that fair-haired trollop just yet.

He watched her convulsions ebbing down, listened to her mindless babbling subsiding. He stood there for a moment, wallowing in his complete mastery over her. Feeling pride in his prong having aroused this slut, even trough her pain.

Amethea laid there, the last of her strength swept away by reaching the peek of carnal passion. She was panting rapidly, her eyes closed and her face and her entire body covered in sweat.

But as the pleasure ebbed away, she was overwhelmed with anguish and shame. She felt ashamed, as she never has felt ashamed before in her life. And that shame rekindled her righteous ire. She did not want this to happen! She had no say in this!

And still, she felt like having given into her tormentor. Subjecting herself to his power over her. She fought against the desperation and shame rising in her soul. Eyes still closed, she set her jaw. Grinding her teeth and steeling her resolve.

This meant nothing.

She felt a hard slap against her right breast. She yelped in pain. Due to the beating and the sensual heat-weaves, which had ploughed through her breasts, the two mammal globes` sensitivity was heightened indefinitely.

Her eyes snapped open and she glared up at Zohar´s gloating face.

His cock was still inside her. And it was still hard. He resumed moving it back and forth inside the slippery wetness of her cunt.

“A whore!” he hissed, backhanding her left breast. “That´s all that you are. A wanton slut!”

He began fucking her hard, the pacing and force of his thrusts increasing.

“I´ll make you crawl and beg for this!” he spat, fucking Amethea with vicious brutality.

He reached for her throat with a wicked grin and took hold of the iron ring in front of the collar, she still wore. Then he began twisting it with swift turns of his hand.

Amethea realized, what he did to her and her eyes widened in anxiety. The collar tightened fast, closing her windpipe mercilessly. Within seconds, the woman was unable to breath.

Zohar continued fucking her as he watched her eyes bulging out, her arms and legs struggling with renewed desperation against the bonds holding them down on the table. Her instincts howled inside her mind to free her arms in order to remove the object at her throat as her lungs began to scream for air.

But it was utterly hopeless. As her arms and legs were pinned down, her trunk was the only movable part of her body. And it writhed piteously on the table, her stomach desperately heaving, her muscles clenching and unclenching. Her mouth was gaping open, as if she was a fish out of water.

Zohar watched in delight, as her fucked her relentlessly. He felt his climax approaching. Felt the surges of pleasure mounting inside his scrotum and hard member. All the time he watched her agony, felt her still-wet cunt contracting around his cock with the force of her struggle against suffocation.

He fought against the climax, endeavored to prolong his pleasure for as long as possible.

Amethea had been without air for two full minutes now, and still struggled against the horrifying ordeal her rapist enjoyed putting her through. The pain in her lungs was beyond description. She banged her head against the wooden surface of the table in mindless frenzy. There was nothing left in her mind except sheer and utter panic. Her face was darkly colored, now and her eyes were at the brink of popping out of their sockets.

Zohar was getting closer and closer at the edge as he watched her suffering. He felt his hot semen building up inside his cock, shooting through the length of his prong. Then hot gushes of white, salty seed shot into Amethea´s silky womb.

He sighed in pleasure as more and more of his semen sprayed into his victim´s tortured, convulsing body.

Amethea did not feel the final desecration of her body. She had been without air for almost four minutes and her struggles were weakening as her mind began to slip into blissful unconsciousness. Her vision was a dark-red haze that grew darker with each beat of her heart.

She felt the darkness claiming her mind, shutting down her tortured body.

Then she felt the collar releasing its grip.

Instantly, she took in the most desperate breath of her life, trying to take in all the air in the torture chamber with one gulp. The blackness retreated into the back of her mind as she exhaled and took in another gulp of air.

She breathed like being almost drowned.

She hardly noticed Zohar pulling his softening prong out of her. All she felt and knew was the sweet air filling her lungs, providing her body with life.

Zohar came to her side, looking down at her through slit eyes.

“Well, slut. I hope you enjoyed your little reprieve. But you kept me from our business for quite long enough.”

He took a grip of her right breast, kneading if brutally – and then yanking at it, repeatedly.

“Now, you will tell me why you came here. And you will tell me, where your rebel-friends are hiding!”

Amethea stared up at him with the same hatred, as mere three hours ago, when her questioning began.

Zohar sighed in feigned discouragement.

“Ah, well! Not much else sense can be expected for a savage like you, slut.”

He reached for the collar again, tightening it once more.

And as before, Amethea writhed and trashed on the wooden table, choked by the collar into total lack of air.

Zohar left her like that, as he retreated into his private side-chamber to clean himself up. And he took his time before he returned.

 

 

 

 

Tianara was lying in her cell.

The general had questioned her by singing her breasts. Then he had slapped her face and breasts. Then he had punched her stomach and rammed his knee into her crotch. Again and again and again.

After quite a while, he had let go of her. But only to assure her, that she was the next to be brought down to the torture chambers, just like her fair-haired rebel-friend.

“You will regret not telling me, what I wanted to know, slut!” the general spat at her.

“Down there you will suffer, like you never would have thought possible for a woman to suffer. And our torture-master does not settle down for making you talk, wench. He will make you beg for ALLOWING you to tell him everything you know!”

With that, Tianara was hurtled into her cell, naked with her hands manacled behind her back.

She tried not to think about the hopelessness of their situation. She tried not to think of Estrild and Taramis. She tried not to envision them being raped by the palace guards. She tried not to think about Amethea. Tried not to think about the pain, she undoubtedly must be suffering right now. She tried not to think about the same suffering waiting for her, as well.

Yes, she tried hard. And yet she failed.

 

At dawn, Amethea was laying in her cell, as well.

She was naked. Her arms manacled behind her back, her feet chained together as well. Her body was surprisingly unmarked and it would have surprised the black-clad, gloating guards, who had carried her naked and chained like this to her cell, had they known how much pain was actually gnawing away at Amethea´s body.

Zohar had used the collar to choke her nearly into unconsciousness several times. Then he had beaten her belly with a small, hard-wooden paddle. Then the paddle had danced on her breasts for several minutes.

After this, he asked his questions again. As she refused to talk, he focused his attentions to her wide-open crotch again. The paddle smashed against her inner thighs, her underbelly and against her labial lips for an hour, at least.

She screamed, as the wood crashed against her cunt-lips but still refused to talk.

Then he took a wooden club, half and inch wide and eleven inches in length.

He fucked her with it. Its hard wood filling her cunt-shaft to its limits, stretching her elastic tube painfully out. He made the tip of the club smashing against her cervix every time he thrust the large wood into her.

After that, he pulled the club out of her and produced a wooden rod, as thick as a man`s finger. At its tip there was a hard, round iron ball of the size of an eyeball attached. He used the rod to flog her cunt. Or, to be more precise: each and every one of the countless blows to Amethea´s cunt drove the iron ball smashing directly on her tender clit. Each and every one.

Despite all her pain she had suffered, the woman managed to hold back her screams during the first dozen blows. But after the twelfth she began to give voice to her agony. And she remained doing so during the remaining 50 – 60 blows; Zohar bequeathed the tenderest part of her womanhood.

Amethea was barely conscious, as someone interrupted her torturer´s beating of her clit by knocking at the heavy, wooden door to the torture chamber.

She could not hear, what was said could hardly care. The world, her senses could register, was shrunk to her body and the pain it suffered. All else was outside her capacity. Her world was her clit and the horrendous, pulsating, nauseating pain it send into her belly.

The next, she knew, was her being taken from the bench by several guards. They manacled her arms and feet and carried her lifeless, limp body like a sack of coals outside the chamber, along a corridor and up the stairs to the prisoner´s cells.

Arriving there, they threw her onto the ground of the cell.

She lay there for long hours as the sun climbed higher outside. The pain, she felt was devastating. Her cunt was a blazing ache, that just wouldn´t go away. Her breasts were two hot, pulsating globes of agony. Even the most cautious movement, she made, that caused her breasts to shift their position on her chest in the slightest made her yelp and wince in pain.

Hunger and thirst gnawed away at her body, as well.

Amethea wondered, why her torture had been interrupted. She recalled Arrakur “expecting answers in the morning”. She was sure that she had not betrayed her allies. Had Tianara been broken? That was possible, of course.

For a second, Amethea felt relief that Tianara had given up the information and their now was no more reason for her to be tortured anymore.

She felt a pang of shameful guilt at the thought and cursed herself for her moment of weakness and the foolishness of that idea.

She had seen the look in Arrakur´s eyes as he watched her racked on that infamous instrument in Zohar´s dungeon the night before. He was just like his torture-master. A creature that felt a man´s pleasure when he caused a woman pain.

It did not matter, if Tianara talked. Amethea knew, that even if she herself talked, Arrakur would still have her tortured for the pure pleasure of it.

And she had no doubt, that it would be a long suffering for her. For if Arrakur derived as much pleasure from the beauty of her body as he did from causing it pain, he would have Zohar torture her in such a way, that she would suffer indescribable pain without having her beauty destroyed, for as long as possible.

And she was sure of it that Zohar was capable of prolonging her suffering without damaging her beauty much longer, than she dared to imagine.

And what would he do to Taramis, if he found out, that she was Amethea`s sister? Did  Estrild get away? Or was she a prisoner, just like her?

Were Argan and the others even still alive?

A wave of despair swept over her. Amethea listened carefully, if there were any guards patrolling the cell-corridor at the moment. There weren´t any.

So, the warrior-woman let out a sob of anguish. A sob, that was followed by another….and another.

And soon she began to cry, her tears flowing freely, her chest heaving through her gut wrenching sobs of misery….sending fresh surges of pain through her maltreated breasts.

Was there any way out of this?

 

 

 

 

To be continued in….

 

Chapter 3:

Playthings of His Excellency

Barbarian Queen:

Captives of Lord Arrakur

 

 

Chapter Three

 

Playthings of His Excellency

 

“Everyone ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Arrakur held back an urge to purr.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” Lord Arrakur shouted, frowning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

Arrakur hissed in disdain.

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

Now GO!”

The guard saluted and swiftly left Arrakur´s chambers.

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

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

 

Zohar let out a heavy sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

But first the matter at hand.

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

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

This would not take very long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“UUUUUMMMMPPPFFFFF!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Arrakur had broken fast in the throne room.

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

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

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

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

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

“You keep dancing, whores!” he bellowed.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So she needed the food.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arrakur peered into the dusky cell trough slit eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she told Lord Arrakur… everything.

 

To be continued in….

 

Chapter 4: Absent Friends

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Absent Friends

 

Lead by Argan, the group of runaway gladiators marched on, each step taking them farther and farther away from their previous thralldom.

They had moved with the utmost care, hiding in the thick green of the forests whenever Arrakur´s patrols were nearby. It had been Argan´s careful planning of their route and his rigorous leadership of the pack following him, that had saved them from being recaptured.

Not so few of the more brutish fighters had openly vocalized their intention to plunder a few of the solitary farms along their way for drink and food.

Argan´s harsh words had put most of those endeavors to a halt, before they were brought into action. Most of the time.

One those occasions, were words were no longer sufficient to subdue the lust for pillaging; he put his iron fists to use. So far, they had kept the loudmouths of his company in line.

Although he could understand his mens` dissatisfaction to some extent, he insisted on living of the food they hunted and slew themselves.

As the company settled for the night, Strymon approached Argan standing at the edge of the sorry excuse of an encampment.

Argan looked at his friend. Strymon´s bearded face was mostly blazoned with a slight, good-natured smile, as if life itself was all in all very amusing. Now his face was darkened with concern.

Being almost a head taller then his life-long friend, Strymon looked down at Argan and sighed wistfully.

“The men grow more and more discontent, my friend. If you will not let them plunder on the farms nearby, they may be off quite soon.”

Argan sighed as well, gazing into the dark of night.

“I know. But I will not have it.” He turned his head to look at his friend, his eyes blazing with cold fire.

“Strymon, I don´t intend to run from Arrakur´s tyranny much longer. I intend to take these men to the mountains. Many of fled there from Arrakur. It is there I will build an army…an army to battle this swine that destroyed our village and almost killed all of our tribe. And if we do return, I don´t want to face a band of enraged farmers and villages, whose crop had been stolen, whose men had been killed and whose daughters and wives had been ravaged.”

The everlasting grin returned to Strymon´s face.

“I suspected as much. I thought you would let us escape slavery and leave it at that. By the gods, Argan, I am with you. Let´s gather an army and fight back at this pig!”

Argan tipped his head, acknowledging his friend´s consent to his plans. Then he gazed back into the darkness and sighed again.

“I just whish, she could be here!”

Strymon did not have to ask, whom Argan was speaking of. He too grieved for his friend’s lover, who´d died in battle defending their village from the marauders.

But his mourning could not compete with the anguish his friend must be feeling.

Nothing they did could bring Amethea back from the dead. But they would avenge her dead.

It would take weeks, maybe months before they would return to battle Arrakur´s tyranny. But they would make him pay for the death of Amethea and all the others of their tribe.

 

The squealing hinges of her cell-door wakened Amethea as it was opened.

Four guards entered and pulled her on her feet then dragged her out of the cell and down the hall.

She had no idea, how long time had passed since she fell asleep. She surmised that no more than a few hours could have elapsed, though, since she neither felt particular rested nor strengthened by her reprieve. The food and water had added a bit to her amenitious vigor, but her body and mind still felt fatigued and enfeebled.

Her unfavorable condition was compounded by the dull, aching pain that still resided in her breast-globes and womanhood. Amethea dimly tried to recall the feeling of her body not aching. But the constant, nagging pain in her tits and cunt seemed to have evaporated any other natural sensation; her nerve-endings were designed to transmit to her brain. Each step she was forced to take, send a piercing, stabbing pain into her beaten crotch. The slightest swaying of her brutalized tit-cones caused them to send tiny lightings of pain through her chest. She was tempted to yelp and gasp in pain with each and every step that she took but managed to suffer in silence. She was determined to offer her captors as little display of her agony as possible. Each scream unuttered, each tear unshed was a small victory over those, who enjoyed hurting her, and she drew strength from those puny triumphs.

And she doubtlessly would need all the vigor she could muster since she was surely taken to the torture-chamber for another bout with that twisted, little dispenser of pain. Amethea grind her teeth as her hatred mounted, focusing on that dwarfish pig awaiting her. She would not talk, she vowed. He would make her scream; he would even manage to make her cry. This she could not prevent, she knew. But she would not betray the rebels. They were the only chance they got.

But far back in her mind, there was that mocking voice of another Amethea.

Really? It whispered. My, we are brave and strong, aren`t we? You really think you won´t talk when that swine gives you another hell like the previous one? Your breasts still hurt, don´t they? And it hurts down there, as well, No? Think you can take more of this, given the pain already stored in those parts? When he tortures you down there again? Why don´t you admit to yourself, how scared you are of any more pain and… SHUT UP! Amethea snapped at that whispering, mocking voice and steeled herself against, what she was unavoidably dragged towards to.

The guards stopped at a wooden door at the perimeter of the dungeon and opened it. Amethea blinked in surprise as she gazed into the room.

It was not a torture-chamber. It was a spa.

In the middle of the room there was a huge, oval shaped, wooden tub. At the tub´s side there was a table filled up with soft towels. A huge kettle, big enough for Amethea to sit in, was hanging over a fireplace. Another slightly smaller kettle was standing beside it. The fair-haired warrioress could see that both gigantic cauldrons were filled with water. The water in the heated kettle was almost boiling.

An old woman, dressed in a simple brown robe, and two older men with similar wear were present. Although not being a pain-chamber, Amethea found two things to be of menacing foreboding. The hot water and four manacles, which were set in the bathtubs upper edges, two at each side of the tub.

The guards forced Amethea towards the huge pan and made her climb inside. They fastened her ankles inside the manacles at the nether end of the tub before removing the steel-yoke from her neck and thus freeing her arms…only to secure them in the two manacles at the upper end of the tub.

Amethea was laying inside the vat, her bottom resting on the wooden surface while her arms and legs were pulled upwards to the edges of the tub and spread wide apart. She growled at the guards, lewdly gazing down at her wide-open crotch and the pink slit exposed to their raunchy merriment.

Then the guards withdrew, two stepping outside the room to guard it from the corridor. The other two guards remaining inside, posting themselves at the door.

Amethea felt somewhat bewildered. But she did not let the puzzlement detract from her foremost intention to escape.

She pulled against the manacles with all the strength the previous ordeals had spared to consume. But she soon discovered, that those manacles were as relentless as any restraint she had been held defenseless by since her capture.

Then the two men lifted a huge wooden bucket from the floor and dipped into the kettle with hot water. Filled to the rim with the heated liquid they carried the bucket with united strength towards the bound woman in the tub.

They poured the water into the vat between Amethea´s legs. She gasped in pain, as the hot liquid sprinkled on her thighs, belly and cunt. She raised her backside of the tub´s floor by her bound arms and legs as the hotness distributed itself over the bottom. The men went to refill the bucket with hot water and returned to the tub. Another dozen gallons of water joined the first and Amethea already could no longer avoid contact with the surface of the zealous aqua. Her ass-cheeks were stinging. And another bucket of hot water was added. Now her belly was underneath the searing surface, as well. Then she almost screamed in pain, as another bucket made the water rise to such level, that the hot liquid streamed inside her open pussy-snatch. Then a bucket of cold water was mercifully added. And another.

But the remaining void inside the bucket was filled up with four additional buckets of hot water, until Amethea was almost completely submerged.

Only her manacled feet and hands and her head, from her chin upwards, was not under water. Since the two main concerns of the tub´s design were to keep the water inside and the prisoner secured inside the tub, as well, there was no platform of any sorts, on which Amethea could rest her head.

She had to strain the muscles in her neck, to keep her face above the water. As soon as she eased up her struggle, her face would sink beneath the surface instantly.

The old maid stepped towards the tub, a crude sponge and a piece of soap in her hands. She gestured one of the man. He stepped closer and put a hand under Amethea´s neck to support her head. Then the woman took Amethea´s, sloppy, fair-colored mass of hair out of the water and began to rub the soap into it. Amethea could not help but to let a silent sigh escape her throat, as the washing of her hair was the first and single pleasant sensation she had had during her captivity.

She looked into the face of the old woman but could find nothing in her hardened look that indicated her being concerned in any way about the woman in the bathtub.

The maid stuffed Amethea´s hair back into the water and rinsed the soap out of it.

As she was finished with her hair, the man let go of her Amethea´s head. Clearly it was considered the responsibility of the warrioress to prevent herself from drowning. The old croon then began washing Amethea´s face with the sponge. She rubbed more soap into the swam and began to wash the fair-haired woman´s neck, then her shoulders and arms. As the sponge traveled to Amethea´s chest, she hissed in pain, as her still aching, tenderized breasts were grated. The old hag did not pay the discomfort she caused any heed, though. She continued to soap Amethea`s rib cage, her belly and then the sponge rubbed over the bound woman´s nether lips.

Amethea gasped, but kept her tongue. But as the maid put the sponge away and took another item to hand, the bound warrior-woman refused to remain silent.

The old hag was holding another sponge in her hand. The sponge itself was cylindrical formed and enclosed around a wooden club of no minor length and thickness. As she lowered the soap-soaked sponge-cylinder into the water and pushed it´s tip against Amethea´s cunt-slit, the warrioress protested in outrage.

“You won´t put that inside me, you old croon!” she hissed.

The woman merely nodded at the man, still standing beside the tub and having witnessed the bathing of the beauteous female with as much indifference as the woman administering it. He grabbed Amethea by her throat and with little effort, pushing against her chin; he forced her head back and under water.

There was little resistance, Amethea could offer, since the muscles in her neck were near exhaustion from the constant effort of holding her head above the water.

The soapy fluid filled her nostrils and made her eyes burn. This was a minor discomfort, however, compared with the denial of oxygen. Her lungs began to burn and the lack of air made her fight against the manacles holding her arms and legs with new, albeit pointless, vigor.

Her body squirmed as much as it could inside the bath-tube, making her magnificent, wetly shining breasts break the water´s surface and submerge repeatedly.

The man held her head below for almost two minutes before he released the grip on her neck and allowed Amethea to get her face above the water.

She gulped in whole lungful of air in a frantic attempt to catch her breath, spluttering and snorting water out of her nose. The old woman and the old man merely watched her regaining her composure. No trace of emotion was evident in their faces. They seemed to be neither taking pleasure nor discomfort in hurting the fair-haired warrioress. She seemed to be nothing more to them than a thing they were to clean up. Nothing more.

Amethea felt the cylindrical spoon pushing against her neither lips, again. And this time, she did not protest.

Even as the old croon rammed the sponge inside her pussy with much more force then necessary…no doubt a bit of added punishment for her harsh words just before…Amethea did no more than utter a deep grunt of subdued pain.

She felt the sponge move back and forth inside her cunt-shaft, as the old woman was practically fucking her with it. She then felt the sponge being twisted around, while moving up and down her pussy-tunnel.

After a few minutes, the old hag pulled the sponge out of her and Amethea sighed with relief.

The old man reached down and with some effort removed a huge, wooden plug at the base of the vat. The water was gushing out and flowing along a drain set in the floor towards a grilled hole in the middle of the room, descending into the castle´s sewers.

Then, as the tube was empty except of the soaking-wet and still bound nubile warrioress, Amethea´s bath was finished by half a dozen buckets of hot water being poured out on her.

Then the guards from outside reentered to join the two remaining, who had watched the bathing with glee and amusement. The four of them opened the manacles around Amethea´s ankles and wrists. Before the woman could even articulate an attempt at fighting her way out of the spa inside her mind, the guards had her firmly in their grasp, each holding one of her arms and one of her legs.

They carried her towards a peculiar looking device. It was a wooden, horizontal board supported by two iron poles. The board was in level with Amethea´s neck, as one of the old men opened it, revealing three holes being sawn into the plank. As it opened, it split itself in the middle, bisecting the three holes.

She did not have the strength to fight against the four heavy-muscled guards, as they forced her neck against the larger hole in the middle and her wrists against the two smaller remaining holes. The plank was closed, after Amethea´s large fair-haired crest had been pulled free of her neck. It closed tightly around her neck and wrists, making it difficult to breath and impossible to pull her hands free.

She stood there on the tip of her toes, her upper arms held up at the same height as her breasts, while her forearms were pointing up in the air, pointing towards the wooden plank encompassing Amethea´s wrists and neck.

The guards then lifted her feet of the ground and fastened them to the iron poles, holding the plank. Amethea growled in wordless protest, as manacles snapped shut around her ankles. Not only were her legs spread wide apart once more; since her feet did not support her body anymore, she had to strain the fatigued muscles in her arms in order to relieve some of the pull on her neck.

Whereas the old men and woman, who had bathed her, were as indifferent as before, the guards snickered and leered at Amethea´s discomfort.

The old croon put a stool behind the dangling warriorress and stepped onto it. Before Amethea could begin to guess, what was to come, the old woman was starting to brush her hair. The last day´s ordeals had left Amethea´s mane quite tangled and the old hag began to grunt with the effort of putting the long strands in order.

The greater discomfort, of course, were suffered by Amethea as the woman pulled and dragged at her hair, relentlessly…sending an endless series of sharp, stinging pains into her scalp. Amethea did not utter one sound of pain, however. She had endured much, much worse.

When the woman was finished with her hair, it was drawn back completely from her face and dangling down in wet-soaking, straight strands, almost reaching the small of her back.

The old woman grabbed Amethea´s hair and simply put it on the plank around her right hand. Then she began putting perfumed ointment on Amethea´s exposed back and distributing it on her damp flesh. She anointed the bound woman´s entire back and arms. Then she began rubbing the ointment into Amethea´s ass-cheeks. Then her legs and feet.

The bound woman found her suspicions, she had held since the bath, confirmed. She may have the opportunity for escape, soon. She was prepared to please a male. Probably Arrakur´s groveling hound Zohar, possibly the tyrant-pig Arrakur himself.

In any case, a lecherous man could become careless and give her an opportunity to free herself from whatever bonds she would be subjected to at that time.

Whoever it was, she promised herself to rip off his manhood and crush his stones beneath her foot, before she would make her escape.

No man subjecting a woman to the horrors she had endured, deserved to life.

The old croon was finished with Amethea´s backside and concentrated her efforts on the warrioress magnificent breast globes. The mere touch on her tenderized mammal cones made Amethea wince, but she endured with her lips tightly closed as her breasts were rolled around on her chest. Soon, her tits were shining and glistening with sweet-smelling ointment, the two dark nipples pointing up proudly, glittering like two brown, wet pepples.

A sight that made the guards breathing heavier, as the old hag worked on Amethea´s flat belly, making her way down both her legs and feet in turn. Then, she deftly rubbed the ointment between the bound woman´s spread legs. She rubbed it into the cleft of her ass-cheeks and all around her pussy-lips. Amethea stared down at the old woman, harassing her womanhood with the ever-present detachment, in utter contempt. She could not bring herself to hate her, though.

She was just a tool, she thought. Just like the whip with the iron balls, that Zohar had used on her pussy a mere day ago had been a tool. There was no use in hating the whip. It was a waste of strength. But, oh, how she hated the man who had handled the whip. How she was thirsting to hear him scream in pain.

Soon, she told herself. Soon.

 

Estrild was dragged along the row of cell-doors by two guards.

Since she had been taken to Zohar´s torture chamber, she had been naked and now she barely perceived her nudeness. She also barely paid any attention anymore to the ever-present noise in the background: the sound of muffled screams of pain and sobs and subdued, threatening voices of torturers and the high-pitched voices pleading for mercy or swearing to not knowing anything

The guards stopped at a door, unlocked it and pushed the dainty, green-eyed girl into the cell. Estrild looked around in fear, apprehensive of finding any tools of torture inside the cell and hoping to just being locked away. Amazingly to her, she wouldn´t even mind the guards raping her that much. Just no more torture. Not ever again.

“Well, rebel-slut! Would you not greet your companion in treason?” one of the guards said with a chuckle.

Estrild blinked, trying to pierce the semidarkness of the cell. As her eyes adjusted themselves to the twilight, she saw someone else in the cell beside her and the guards.

Tianara was hanging from the ceiling of the cell. Her wrists were locked into a set of manacles. Her ankles as well. To the raven-haired warrior-woman´s dismay, however, all four manacles were closely attached to one thick chain hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists had been bound to the chain first, and then her legs had been pulled back and up behind her. Farther and farther they had been pulled, until they met the chain, to which her hands were fettered. There they had been manacled as well, making her body arching backwards and putting terribly agonizing strain on her lithe form. She was hanging in midair like a perfectly shaped ring of female flesh on a chain, dangling helplessly and quivering with pain. Pain that had increased with each minute she had been kept in this cruel bondage. She felt like her stomach splitting open at any second from the incredible strain, her posture put on her belly. In addition, there was the near blinding agony of her arched back, making her believe and almost wish for her spine to break with each beat of her heart.

She moaned constantly, occasionally yelping and crying out when a fresh surge of pain attacked her tautened body.

Estrild looked at Tianara with pity then new fear crept up inside her belly, as the guards pulled her arms up and put manacles around her wrists. She looked up and saw her hands being cuffed to a large chain hanging from the ceiling. Only two of the four manacles being occupied by her wrists.

Before she could even begin to plead with her henchmen, her legs were pulled up behind her and fastened to the remaining cuffs on the chain above her head.

Estrild´s big green eyes snapped wide open as the terrible, painful traction began torturing her slender body.

“Noooo…please!” she screamed. “No, please! I told you all I know. Why are you still torturing me!” she wailed.

One of the guards merely snorted.

“Stupid slut!” he said, playfully squeezing Estrild´s right nipple.

“This isn´t torture. It´s just a little something to keep you two occupied until his Excellency decides what is to become of you. And if I were you, I would enjoy this as long as it lasts. You will get Lord Arrakur´s attention soon enough. And as soon as he deals with you two rebel-sluts, you will wish to be back in this cell strung up like this again. You will beg to be strung up like this, I would say. Come to think of it, I would predict you two will be begging to be allowed to do all sorts of things for his excellency in exchange for a tiny reprieve from his special tortures.”

Warming to the subject, the guard took a good grip on Estrild´s right breast and began twisting the entire tit-globe around. The girl screamed in agony, as her tortured mammal flesh was brutally twisted and squashed. It would have hurt sufficiently, if Zohar had not tortured her breasts so viciously just before. As it was, the pain was simply unendurable.

Estrild scream faded into a gasping and sobbing string of pleas for mercy and yelps of pain. Fresh tears streamed down her face.

“But first, his lordship will deal with your yellow-haired friend. And you would not want to be in her skin right now, I can promise you that.”

The guard clicked his tongue, bringing the image of Amethea fighting his comrades at the market square and killing quiet a few of his drinking friends before being overpowered and arrested.

“Being a rebel will make her suffer under his Excellency’s special care. Being such a pretty slut-whore will make her suffer at least five times more than what the two of you are going to get. And being such a haughty one, from what I´ve heard….my, she will probably get more torture and pain than any whore in this dungeon had ever known. So you better pity that bloodthirsty sword-slut, you sniveling whore. Because I for one look forward to stand guard in front of his lordship´s torture-chamber and listen to that slut´s screaming her lungs out and begging for mercy!”

He finally let go of Estrild´s breast and turned to leave the cell together with his comrade. Just before closing the door, the guard took one last look at the two nude women hanging in midair, their bodies pulled into two O-shaped forms of relentless agony.

“If you try to moan a bit less, you may be able to hear her screaming, as well!” he chuckled and closed the door.

For some time, the only sounds in the cell were the squeals and moans and occasional yelps of pain coming from the two women in torment. Their strained bodies dangling in the air, slowly swiveling.

Then, as if she had to gather her strength for some time before she could utter the words, Tianara spoke with a strange mixture of frustration and sorrow.

“You told them everything.”

It was neither a question, nor really an accusation. More a statement of another heart-shattering fact in a long row of misfortunes that had haunted their lives in the past week. The attack on their village, the killing of their loved ones, their journey into danger on a quest to save their remaining tribesmen, their capture….and the raping and torturing of their bodies.

Tianara fought down her tears. She would not permit herself to give into hopelessness. They would find a way out of this. She would find a way. And if not her, Amethea would find a way. She always had before, had she not?

Tianara repeated the words inside her head, over and over. Amethea would find a way. She would.

Then she heard something. A sound that came from far away, yet powerful enough to overshadow the constant noises of anguish and pain outside and the ceaseless moaning by herself and Estrild inside their cell.

At first, she could not fully ascertain what the sound was. But then it came again. And again.  And then, with a sinking feeling, Tianara realized, what it was.

It was Amethea.

And the sounds were her long-drawn, piercing screams of agony.

 

 

To be continued in…

 

Chapter 5: Finally Alone

 

Chapter 5

 

Finally Alone

 

 

Shortly before, Amethea was not yet screaming.

She was, however in pain. The guards had put her in heavy chains after the old woman had finally finished with the anointment of her nubile body and taken her to another room, which was seemed to be located farther away from the main dungeon and the cells. Inside that room they replaced the chains with four other ones.

The new chains held her body spread-eagled in midair, each chain linked to heavy iron manacles set tightly around her wrists and ankles and pulled viciously taut. The other end of each chain went to two thick, wooden pillars standing almost four meters apart from each other.

Between those posts, Amethea was hanging – arms stretched out to either side of her torso and slightly raised, so that her fisted hands were about two inches above the height of her head. Her legs were spread apart wide enough to put uncomfortable strain on her thigh tendons. Her feet twisted in their fetters in a vain attempt to touch the floor, a few inches below.

The guards left her alone in this position and closed the heavy, wooden door behind them. As the minutes passed, Amethea´s arms and legs began to hurt from the constant strain put on them by the chains and the weight of her body. Pain also began to grow in her abdomen, due to being pulled in four different directions. 

To make matters worse, the constant, gnawing pain inside her breasts and her brutalized cunt had not yet decreased.

As she looked around the room with growing anxiety, she realized with a feeling close to hopelessness, that those special aching body parts would not get a chance to recover in the immediate future. This was another torture chamber.

Torches were set in the walls all around and illuminating the frightening equipment that presented itself to the defenseless woman.

The wooden pillars, she was chained to, were standing at one wide corner of the chamber. The rest of the chamber was filled with more than a dozen of strange, sinister looking objects and devices. Tables with restraining cuffs at the edges, a wooden yoke like the one she had been bound to in the spa and a number of other devices made of wood or iron with restraining cuffs attached to them. In what position a human being could possibly be restrained on those objects was beyond Amethea´s imagination. She had no desire to find out, either, but had little illusions she would learn about the exact functions of some of them.

There were numerous chains hanging from the ceiling, mostly with iron rings or manacles attached to them. One side of the chamber was covered with iron rings set in the wall. At the opposite side was a huge table standing with large drawers. The tabletop was covered with cuffs, whips, pincers, branding irons and many other things, she could not or refused to recognize.

At the other end of the chamber, right opposite of her, there was a huge, soft bed with silken sheets. At each of the four corner of the bed, there were chains with cuffs attached to each leg of the bedstead.

Amethea caught herself breathing heavily and tried to calm herself.

Despite knowing better, she tested the strength of the chains holding her spread-eagled in mid-air like a butterfly on a pin. Not the slightest bit of slack. Hopeless.

Suddenly, she heard the door open. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a last deep breath. Then she opened her eyes to stare blankly at the wall over the bed at the far end of the torture chamber.

Steps were approaching, but she did not take her gaze from the wall to see who it was. She did expect to see the little piggish torture master step into her view, but was not entirely surprised to see Lord Arrakur step in front of her.

He was wearing a black, silken robe, which fell down to the floor. The robe was cut in front and the upper part was open to reveal some of his hairy chest and the upper bulge of his well-fed belly.

His gaze went up and down her body, a cold smile around his lips. Amethea gazed back in contempt.

Nevertheless, Arrakur clearly liked what he saw. The perfumed body-oil had given her skin most of it´s healthy tone back, and Amethea´s magnificent, stretched body shone in the light of the torches. Her face was still unmarked and radiated with arrogant beauty. Her freshly washed hair was again just like a lioness` crest, framing her pretty face and falling down over her shoulder blades and almost reaching the small of her back.

Her body was not completely unmarked, of course. There were some bruises on her full, taut breasts with their brown nipples standing almost arrogantly out on top of her perfect tit-globes. And another set of bruises barely visible between her widespread legs. Yet, considering the amount of pain and abuse Amethea had to endure so far, her body was in surprisingly good condition.

“Well, well.” Arrakur said, crossing his arms on his chest. “I can see that Zohar has not damaged your beauty while questioning you. You should be thankful for that, should you not?”

Amethea did not answer. Her breathing, formerly calmed down, now quickened a bit, causing her breasts to fall and rise more prominently.

“But you would not know of such. You rebels are all alike: troublesome and insolent.”

Arrakur stepped around the left pole and began circling Amethea, letting his gaze wander all over her magnificent, nubile body.

“Whatever you think, I am no rebel. There is nothing I can tell you!”

Amethea bit her lips, the moment she said those words. She knew that every word she spoke to her captors would not improve her situation. Worse yet: everything word she uttered could become a step into submission. Silence was the only real weapon she had at her disposal. And as a warrior she was obliged to use that one weapon against her enemies.

Arrakur, slowly stepping around and facing her again, merely smiled.

“You are lying, of course. But that is no longer of any consequence. You are not here to be interrogated.”

He stood in front of her, hands placed on his hips and his smile widened.

“Your name is Amethea. You and two of your friends, who fancy themselves as warriors came here to free some slaves I commandeered from your village. You joined forces with the rebels, who hide themselves in the catacombs under the city. The catacombs have been searched and quite a number of rebels have been killed. We may have not taken care of all of them, but I am quite convinced, your rebel friends will pose no immediate threat to me.”

Amethea closed her eyes in dismay. How many rebels were actually killed? Was the little girl, Dariac, still alive? Was her father still alive? In any case, the rebels would not make an attack against Arrakur´s forces anytime soon.

If they ever will.

“That little green-eyed slut told us everything. You suffered for nothing, your dumb whore!” Arrakur chuckled.

“So, there is no point in interrogating you anymore. Is there?”

As he stepped closer, his hand came up and began fondling her breasts, tenderly.

“But that does not mean, that I will not torture you, my pretty. In fact, I intend to torture you quite thoroughly. And since this is done only for my pleasure and not to make you talk anymore…well, there is actually no way for you to put an end to it by giving me those information, I already have!”

Amethea glared with absolute hatred in her eyes into his wickedly smiling face. Only a quick movement of her larynx, as she tried to moisten her suddenly dry tongue, betrayed the anxiety his words raised in her.

He stepped behind her again and put both his hands on her firm, perfectly shaped buttocks, digging his fingers into her flesh and kneading the muscled cheeks.

Amethea´s breathing quickened some more. Partly because of the repugnance she felt as the tyrant fondled her ass-cheeks, partly because of her worst fears having become reality. Estrild has been caught, she had talked, and the rebels have been defeated. And now she faced the worst fate a woman could meet.

Arrakur went to the table, picking up a simple, wooden cane. He balanced it in his hand, then resumed his position behind the spread-eagled, hanging woman.

The cane sliced through the air and cracked against Amethea´s left buttock.

She grunted in pain, as the cane sank into her cheek. When Arrakur withdrew the switch, a darkened welt appeared on the exquisite roundness of her backside. He raised the cane and brought it down again, this time on her left ass-cheek.

Again, the blow drew a grunt from the proud warrioress` throat. The pain was bad, but not as bad as other things, Amethea had experienced at the hands of Arrakur´s henchmen. That did not comfort her, though. She knew that this was just the prelude for worse things to come.

Arrakur began to switch Amethea´s ass in earnest, letting the cane dance on her quivering, spasming buttocks as she grunted and hissed with each impact on her tender backside. Her subdued outbursts were accompanied by the sound of the wooden cane cracking against her firm buttocks relentlessly.

Her assailant felt his cock twitching and stiffening beneath his robe as he watched her ass taking impact after impact of the switch. He wore nothing beneath it and had to restrain himself from tearing it off his body and ram his cock inside her.

This wasn´t the moment, he told himself. Not by far.

After about three dozens of strokes the caning stopped. Amethea panted, sweat glistening on her body and mingling with the perfumed oil making her smelling all the sweeter to her torturer.

Her ass was crisscrossed with dark welts and a few trickles of blood were slowly running down her legs. Arrakur was panting himself as he admired his handiwork.

He put the cane back on the table and returned with a whip. It was two meter in length and very sturdy. Arrakur took a grip on Amethea´s hair and pulled it away from her back. He shoved it over her shoulders, making it fall down over her breasts. Then he took a long, appreciative look at her exposed back, the smooth muscle-tissue working under the skin and rippling around her shoulder blades.

“This is not to make you talk, slut. But that does not mean you have to stay totally silent.” He smugly passed on. “It certainly in order for you to scream. And it will heighten my pleasure doing this to you!”

Amethea replied with one word spoken in a low, venomous tone of voice.

“Pig!”

The first blow of the whip cracked against her back, right over her shoulder blades.

Amethea felt the air pressed out of her lungs by the force of the terrible impact on her back. She inhaled sharply, making a hissing sound as she filled her lungs again. Then she struggled with all her might against letting a furious scream of pain escape her throat as she exhaled.

Arrakur watched a deep red welt appearing on her back where his whip had hit her. He drew back the whip and let it crack against the bound woman again. This time she was hit right over her kidneys.

Despite her tight bondage, Amethea felt herself being pushed forward against the chains by the force of the blow. Then her back exploded in pain. Again she fought against the scream of pain, that desperately tried to escape her lungs and testify to her agony.

The whip hit her back again. And again.

The blows came in regular intervals with vicious, yet not totally unrestrained force.

Arrakur was not about to whip her back into shreds completely. But that was a minor relief for Amethea. Regardless of the actual restrain of her tormentor, the pain was tremendous.

She grunted loudly with each blow of the whip cracking against her back.

As Arrakur had no more unmarked skin on her back to aim his blows at, Amethea did start to scream with the pain of having his whip beating already blemished skin and previously tortured nerve-endings.

He smiled in satisfaction, savouring the triumph of having made his beauteous prisoner scream and increased the force of his whipping.

The black leathery lash smacked into her back again and again and again, relentlessly throwing her forward in her chains and driving grunts, screams and sobs of pain from her lungs. Amethea shook her head in mindless pain, twisting her dangling feet in their shackles, fisting and un-fisting her hands in a hopeless attempt to do something…anything to escape the beating.

But the chains held her splendid body hanging in midair, unyieldingly.

In time, Arrakur was either finished, bored or fatigued by the whipping he had administered. The woman did not care the cause, but felt relieve flooding over her, when the last lash of the whip was not followed by the next. The relieve, however, could not eliminate the waves of pain, the wrecked nerve-endings in her back and ass-cheeks were sending into her body.

Breathing heavily, Arrakur gazed at the countless welts criss-crossing Amethea´s entire backside. He went around the bound woman towards the large table.

There was a carafe and goblet waiting for him and he poured himself some wine. He looked at the panting, chained woman as he slowly sipped his wine. His cock was still hard underneath his robe and he felt the silk caressing the tip of his male sceptre as he watched his victim and tried to decide what to do to her next.

He had so many ways of inflicting pain on that magnificent female, that it was hard to choose her next ordeal. He let his gaze wander around the torture chamber and it´s devices.

No, he thought to herself. None of the machines. Not just yet.

He put the goblet down and approached Amethea, standing in front of her and watching her proud breasts rise and fall, steadily. He looked into her hateful eyes, then redirected his attention at her full, firm mammaries.

He grabbed her nipples with each of his hands, trapping the hard, perky buds between his thumbs and first fingers. Amethea hissed in disgust, then in pain as Arrakur twisted the tips of her breasts.

Her stomach had turned to ice as soon as he had reached for her breasts. As tender as they were to begin with, due to the previous tortures Amethea´s breasts were basically two globes of incarnated ache. The slightest touch was enough to send a surge of pain through them.

Now, as her tormentor cruelly twisted her nipples, she felt as if two white-hot pokers had been plunged into the two centres of her tits, burning them up from the inside.

She bit her lip, trying to prevent the scream to come out. But all she managed was to subdue it into a drawn out moan of pain.

Arrakur grinned nastily at her and twisted her nipples the other way around. Then he began to pull. He pulled, his fingers clamped around her nipples, trapping her tit-tips in a vice-like grip. Amethea couldn´t help but whine in pain as he kept pulling at her nipples.

The agony in her breasts mounted steadily, as her two mammaries were drawn into long cones. He kept pulling at her tits until Amethea was certain that either her nipples would pop off her breasts or that the skin at the bases of her globes would tear.

The pain was so great, it made her see stars. Then it got even worse, as her torturer couldn´t possibly make her breasts go any farther and cruelly began twisting her nipples again.

Amethea´s whining became a cry of agony and anguish. Then she yelped with a fresh surge of pain, as Arrakur let go of her nipples and her breasts bounced and jiggled on her chest and instantly resumed their natural shape.

“It´s always the same with your kind.” He mused; watching her proud breasts rise and fall with her quickened breathing. Then he looked into her face, meeting the baleful look in her eyes with one of mockery.

“You and each other whore like you put on a sword and think yourself as strong and tough as a man. But as soon as we do a few things to these two beauties you start to scream and cry and eventually grovel at our feet.”

He slapped her right breast with the palm of his left hand. The sound of hard bones impacting on soft flesh filled the chamber, instantly followed by her cry of pain and outrage.

Then he slapped her left breast with his right hand. Then her right, then her left.

He went on slapping her tit-globes with both hands, making the meaty orbs dance and shake on her chest, the sensitive mammaries quivering under the relentless assault.

Amethea screamed in agony as her breasts took this punishment. She twisted and jerked in her chains, instinctively trying to turn her body and protect her defenceless tits. But it was hopeless. All she could do was hang there and take it.

Beating a woman´s breasts was one of the most vicious things a man could do to her. For one because of their tenderness, their vulnerability. On the other side it was such a perfidious act, considering that the man was beating away on the same symbol of femaleness that have nurtured and fed him when he was an infant. Amethea had no illusion about her captor´s cruelty. And still the little girl inside her, who she thought buried long ago under layers upon layers of hardships and privations, the little girl who still believed in the general goodness of people, cried inside her mind with baffled horror: why the breasts, oh why the breasts, it hurts SO MUCH, why does he do that to me, why there?!!

SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!! SLAP!!

Arrakur was enjoying himself immensely, as he kept beating and slapping the woman´s poor tits around on her chest. He loved the feeling of his hands clashing into the sensitive meat, feeling the fleshy orb yielding under his blow, quivering, shaking, then trembling under the next assault. And how he loved to watch her face twisted in agony, hearing her sobs and cries and yelps. His cock was so hard it almost hurt.

He pulled off his robe, baring himself in front of his victim, standing before her as naked as she was. His member pointing straight up at her. He was breathing as heavily as she was; as he watched her fiery red tits rise and fall through slit eyes.

Then he quickly went to the table and picked up something that looked like a fork, though much bigger and made of heavy wood.

The “fork” was about a three foot long with three thin, wooden teeth protruding from its tip. The “teeth” covered a grown male´s hand in width and length and were set apart with two fingers worth of free space between them.

He threw his arm forward, crashing the teeth across the Amethea`s right breast. The force of the impact crushed the soft meaty orb, the teeth slapping down on the malleable flesh with terrific force, spreading it apart, sending wads of soft meat up between them as they dug deep furrows in the already bruised tit.  She screamed anew, a cry of utterly helpless torment that resounded from the walls of the chamber and made Arrakur´s stomach twist and churn in pleasure.

He withdrew the fork, watching the pain-ravaged orb bouncing back into its normal shape, yet still quivering from the blow. Without delay, he hit her left breast, making the teeth of the fork digging into the tender mammary, literally dividing her tit into four bulging waves of tormented tit-flesh oozing out between them.

Amethea screamed at the top of her lungs as she hung in her chains, helplessly.

The pain was so incredible it almost made her vomit. For a crazed second, she almost felt relief as she thought off her breasts now as surely destroyed beyond repair. Relief at the thought, that they could not possibly be used anymore to cause her pain.

But that gleam of hope was shattered by another blow to her right breast, which was if possible, even more painful than the previous. Then he hit her left breast again.

Then her right. Then her left. Then her right.

He kept beating her poor tits with the fork, while she struggled in her chains, desperately trying to move her chest away from the horrible punishment, her screaming becoming more and more hoarse with each blow to her tits.

Arrakur was almost in ecstasy as he let the blows rain on her breasts. He hit them from above and below, then hitting them sideways, yet always making sure for the teeth to splat down on her entire breast-meat with each and every blow. He noticed in wicked fascination how her screams became just a little bit louder and more pitiful, when the middle tooth of the fork managed to hit her tender nipple.

His belly felt like being filled with warm honey as he dealt out his punishment on the helpless female. His cock was at the brink of bursting.

Then she cried out shrilly, as he hit her right nipple yet again, and Arrakur felt the hot semen build up in his member beyond the point of restraining it.

He gripped his cock and rubbed it two times before the white-hot wads of semen shot out of its tip. He sprayed it on his sobbing captive, the thick spurts splashing against her belly and thighs. She hardly noticed it at first, her head rolling with her eyes half-closed. All she felt was the absence of the next blow and the explosion of fresh pain inside her mammal globes now aching horribly and throbbing with relentless agony.

Arrakur grunted in brutish pleasure as his cock released the last wad of cum on his moaning victim. He stepped back and watched his work with the usual calm after the climax.

Her head was resting on her chest, the thick strands of curled hair wet from sweat. Her breasts were slightly swollen from the beating and purple in color.

He took a grip of her hair and pulled her face up. It was twisted in pain and misery, tears running down her cheek. Yet the look in her eyes hadn´t changed. It was still one of hate and contempt, promising him a gruesome death if their positions would be reversed.

“I….” She began, swallowing hard and trying to moisten her tongue so that she could continue to speak.

“…I had taken you to be a man of great swiftness….ungh…in matters of that worm-sized member of yours. You proved me right!”

Arrakur smiled, a terrible thing to look at. Although her words did sting, he found her defiance in face of her pain a most pleasurable thing, indeed.

He pushed the fork against her left breast, slightly pressing the wood of its teeth into her beaten mammary. He heard her hissing in pain and anguish and found it as delightful as the flicker of fear in her eyes.

“Insolent whore!” he said. “You think this was pain? You think this was the worst that you could get from me? Do you know, what I intend to do with you?”

He began circling the fork on her tit, rolling the pain-pounding globe over her chest as she winced and moaned in fresh pain.

“I will torture you until you beg for mercy. Until you crawl before me and lick the dirt from the soles of my boot. And when you are broken…then I will punish you for your insolence.

Then I will have you tortured to death as slowly as none of my prisoners before. And I will savor every second of it from right now until the last beat of your heart. So by all means, keep up the fight for as long as you can, slut! The longer you hold out, the greater the pleasure you supply me with.”

He let go of her hair and returned to the table, his formerly hard cock now dangling softly between his legs as he walked away from his captive.

Amethea´s chin again rested on her chest, as she tried to gather her strength for the next ordeal. She had no idea what he would do to her next, but the scrubbing sound of iron being dragged off the wooden tabletop made her heart pound in fresh anxiety.

Arrakur stepped back in front of her, holding a pair of iron hoops connected with several leather thongs in his hands.

The rings themselves were merely big enough to allow Arrakur to push three of his fingers through, should he wish it. Two straps connected them. One quite short, the other considerably longer. Two additional thongs were hanging down from each of the rings.

A fifth strap interlocked with the shorter one connecting the two loops. This one was the longest and had a sturdy leather belt attached to it´s end.

Grinning wickedly, the tyrant placed the long strap over Amethea´s head and around her neck, tucking it away underneath the fair crest of her hair.

He barely managed to get his hand away from her teeth, as she suddenly tried to bite him.

It did not faze him, however.

Smiling knowingly, he placed the leather belt around Amethea´s waist. He pulled the belt horribly tight, making it dig deep into her belly before he closed it.

Amethea yelped in pain, as the cold iron rings and the taut straps pressed down on her insufferably tenderized breasts. The rings were right on top of her nipples; making the two fleshy buds stick out from the center of each loop, while the straps were pressing down on her mammal globes. Having her waist compressed this way, caused the woman´s chest to rise and fall more prominently and added to her pain.

Arrakur´s member had begun to stir as he had placed the rings on Amethea´s chest. It slowly began to swell with renewed lust, as he tightened the two remaining leather straps around her back, forcing the rings even deeper into his captives cruelly deformed tits. Her breasts were now literally quartered on her chest by the leather straps, her aching tit-meat bulging out between the merciless bondage.

Amethea tried to steady her breathing in an attempt to ease the agony it caused pushing her mammaries against the cruel straps and iron rings crushing them. She stared into Arrakur´s smiling face with all the venom eating away at her soul.

His smile, however, widened into an almost insane grin of pure malicious evil as he placed one of his hand on the ring on her left breast while his other hand grabbed her strutting nipple…and began to pull.

Amethea screamed in pain and outrage, staring on her breast in disbelief as he pulled at her nipple relentlessly - inch by agonizing inch pulling her pain-wrecked breast trough the tiny loop. Suppose Amethea had ever in her life been as insane as her captors and considered doing this to her breasts, she would have deemed it impossible. Yet, it was possible.

But the pain was beyond any female endurance. She screamed and cursed and spat, as the entire length of her tit was pulled through the loop with maddening slowness. Nerves and glances were horribly compressed while being squeezed through the tiny opening sending shockwaves of unbelievable pain through Amethea´s breast.

Arrakur grunted with the effort of pulling the resisting flesh through the loop. Still the joy of her pain was overshadowing the taxation by far. He could feel her heart beating savagely against his hand pressing against her chest. He listened to her screams with utter delight and watched her breast oozing out in front of the tiny ring with fascination.

He finally got all of her tit through. He watched it for a few seconds before starting on her right breast.

Again, Amethea screamed and shook her head madly as her other breast was crushed and squeezed through the other ring. It seemed like an eternity before he finally finished and stood before her, panting with the effort, hands placed on his naked hips and his hard cock once more pointing straight in the air.

Amethea sobbed and wept, occasionally yelping with fresh pain. Her breasts were deformed into two horribly taut, bloated balls. Their natural shape had been transformed into a pair of mushroom-shaped globes of compressed mammal flesh, seemingly at the verge of bursting under the pressure any second, the skin drawn horribly tight around them. As Amethea stared down on them in disbelieving horror, they looked to her more like two totally alien objects attached to her chest then her own breasts.

Regrettably for her, however, those objects were her breasts. And if nothing else, they were attached to her by the constant, relentless waves of agony they send into her nervous system. Even through her suffering, Amethea asked herself in horror how on earth it would be possible to take the rings off again. If her tormentor was even planning to do so.

“Well, well.” Arrakur chuckled. “This was no easy task, I assure you. Those two seem to be as rebellious as yourself, you slut!”

He ran his fingertips over the incredibly taut surface of her breasts, as fascinated by the abnormal sight of them as he was by the horrible new pain this caused his captive.

“They do look pretty this way, don´t you agree?” he taunted, licking his dry lips.

“Let us see, if my improvement of their looks has heightened their resistibility, as well, shall we?” he moved back to the table once more to return with a simple, thin wooden cane.

Amethea shook her head in muted denial, eyes glued to the cane in his hand.

This could not be happening. Even he could not do this to her. No human being should be able to even think about doing this.

She stared at the cane being raised in the air, sobbing hopelessly.

Then the rod whooshed through the air and hit her bloated, right breast with devastating force.

It splatted down on her tit.... unbelievably calving her globe in half despite the mammary´s incredible tightness.

Amethea yelled in pain, the sound almost inhuman. Agony exploded in her tit, piling up on the constant ache of the previous beating and the ongoing pain caused by the cruel bondage.

Arrakur pulled the cane away and watched her tit bouncing back, resuming it´s unnatural, painfully bloated shape. The woman kept screaming, though.

He aimed the cane at her left breast, hitting it as hard as he could, making the wood slice into the agonized meat of her tit.

Her screaming went on and on, as he grunted in pleasure. His hard cock switching with pleasure and fuck-lust as he pulled the cane away again and hit her right breast.

Then her left. Then her right. Then her left.

Amethea roared in pain as he kept beating her poor tits, trashing wildly in her chains keeping her spread-eagled in midair, providing her tormentor with the twisted pleasure he sought for.

Arrakur was in a state of blissful raunchiness as he watched her struggles and listened to her pitiful cries of pain and sobs of utter despair. A fireball of pleasurable heat was burning in his guts and his hard cock was pointing up menacingly at the writhing nude body of the tortured woman. He loved the sensation of hitting her breasts with the cane, feeling the resilience of the flesh being driven inward by the impact of his blow, relishing in the knowledge of the pain he caused her.

In time, his beating of her tits ceased. Not out of mercy for his victim. Merely because his arm had grown tired and her shrill screams of agony had turned into grunts of pain.

He put the cane aside and produced another leather strap from the seemingly endless supply of torture items of the table. It was short and had a wide noose attached to its end.

The noose was placed around Amethea´s cheek and drawn tight. It was pulling at the corners of her mouth as it was fastened under her ears. He pulled her hair out from under the loop and tightened it further, making it digging painfully into her mouth. She moaned but was far to weak to offer any resistance like before when she had tried to bite him.

The other end of the leather thong was fastened to the straps of the breast-squeezing harness on her back. By pulling the strap tight and fixing it there, Arrakur was pulling Amethea´s head back, making her look up at the ceiling.

She then felt her ankles being freed from the chains and falling weakly to the ground. She could not muster the strength to stand on her feet, but her partial freedom was short-lived, anyway.

Arrakur pulled down other chains from the ceiling far behind the still bound torture victim and attached them to the manacles encompassing her ankles. He then pulled them back up by turning a lever at the wall and Amethea´s legs were dragged into the air behind her…still spread wide apart. Still smiling with anticipation, Arrakur operated another lever and the chains, from which she hung by her arms, were climbing down, lowering her body towards the ground. When it stopped, Amethea was still hanging in the air, arms wide apart, her underbelly arched backwards and her wide spread legs splayed out wide behind her.

Arrakur then stepped in front of her, licking his lips.

She was forced to look up at his smiling face trough bleary eyes, low moans of pain coming through the strap in her mouth, serving as an insufficient gag. Yet the purpose of the strap was not to gag her. It was meant to keep her teeth out of reach.

With a feeling close to disbelieving resignation Amethea realized what her tormentor intended to do to her.

Arrakur reached for her beaten, savagely aching breasts. They were exactly in level with his cock, hardened by the pain inflicted on them. He crushed her bloated tits around his cock as she screamed and whined in renewed agony. He buried his cock inside the cleavage of her breasts and used them to rub his cock with. The aching mammaries felt incredibly hot in his hands and around his strutting member.

He looked down into her face, twisted in pain and agony, with delight as he cruelly used her tortured breasts to pleasure himself. He dug his fingers into her taut flesh, viciously, eager to seize every opportunity to cause her pain and thus heightening his pleasure.

Amethea could do nothing but endure the act, suffering the pain of his cruel hands kneading her inhumanly tenderised breasts and using them to stroke his hard member. The sickening male scent of his cock filling her nostrils was nothing compared to the pain and the perfidious act in itself.

He withdrew his cock for a moment to poke its engorged tip against her bloated breast-globes. Groaning with lecherous delight, he rubbed the tip of his prick-head over her nipples for a while, making the hard, wrinkled tit-tip caress his sensitive piss-slit. He then slapped her tits with his cock, making the hard male flesh whack against her horribly aching breasts. Even those comparatively harmless attacks made her sob and whimper in anguish, much so to his twisted merriment.

He then buried his cock again between her breasts, once more crushing them around his twitching member with his hands and misusing her tortured bosom to stroke his cock. She sobbed and sniffed, then began to utter a long-drawn, crestfallen wail of torment as his pleasure mounted and he rubbed her breasts up and down his cock with more and more agitated movements.

Then his cock began shooting wads of white semen up into the air, most of them splatting on Amethea´s neck and face. He pulled his cock out of her cleavage and furiously rubbed it with his right hand, shooting the remaining streams of his seed against her tits.

“Slut!” he hissed as the last drop of jism trickled out of his cocks piss-slit. He felt his member softening as his lust was temporary satiated.

He went for another cup of wine, taking the sweet liquid in measured gulps as he watched the moaning, silently weeping Amethea hanging in her chains.

He found her a most pleasurable sight, indeed. Arms chained wide apart above her head, her lithe body arched back and her legs splayed out behind her, equally supported by the chains. And this delicious harness relentlessly torturing her breasts, which her hanging position in midair presented quite splendidly. The leather-strap pulling her head back only added to her display of utter vulnerability.

His gaze lingered on her purpled, bloated breasts as he stepped towards the lever at the wall, operating the chains.

“Well,” he said, holding his cup of wine in one hand as the other rested on the lever.

“Those udders of yours seem to be quite tough. And pleasurable to use, I would say. I wonder how tough they really are.”

Without further warning, he removed the safety hook on the levers cogwheel. The two chains holding Amethea´s arms suddenly had leeway and with a barrage of clanking sounds her upper body fell to the ground.

Since her arms were still stretched up high in the air and the chains holding her legs up were still under full strain…the only part of her body that took the full brunt of her impact on the ground were her breasts.

With a sickening sound they thumbed into the floor and were crushed under her upper body slamming down. Amethea´s eyes snapped wide open and she screamed at the top of her lungs, a long wailing cry of unbelievable torment that drained her of air. She inhaled and continued screaming, the pain in her breasts so utterly terrible she thought she could never in her life stop screaming again.

Arrakur laughed heartily, belly shaking with devilish mirth. He had given the chains just enough leeway so Amethea would fall to the ground, but not enough to actually lower her arms. He watched her pulling mindlessly at the chains in order to liberate her swatted breasts underneath her.

Arrakur watched for a moment, sipping the rest of his wine. Then he turned the lever at the wall, pulling Amethea´s upper body back up into the air. The woman was weeping and sobbing madly in pain and despair. Astoundingly enough, her breasts were still intact, yet their colour had changed from purple to deep blue.

The tyrant had not been certain that her strained, bloated globes could take that impact without bursting open like a pair of ripe melons. True, such damage would have greatly disfigured his torture-toy at a far to early time. But giving in to a whim, he had risked it and had been rewarded with a splendid display of suffering. Still he felt some relief that her breasts had endured it and that they were still available for numerous tortures once they would have somewhat recovered.

He stepped in front of her looking down into her upturned, tear-streaked face. Almost tenderly he rubbed his flaccid cock against her throbbing, aching tit-globes, making her burst out in fresh tears. Gut-wrenching sobs of pain shook her, yet Amethea did not plea for mercy.

Arrakur felt his cock coming back to life again, stimulated by her pain and the sweet feeling of her hot breast-flesh on his member.

He stepped back, returning to the levers at the wall and loosening the chains on Amethea´s ankles. Her legs fell to the ground, powerlessly. He then loosened the other chains as well. Following a whim, he lowered her torso slowly to the ground, giving her a chance to laboriously turning her body with the last of her strength as she descended. She came to lie on her back, mercifully avoiding her breasts to be crushed underneath her this time.

She lay there, panting, once raising one of her arms to grab the leather strap going from her collar to the two rings still compressing the bases of her tits. Yet her feeble attempt to rid herself of the devilish, torturous harness was thwarted by her exhaustion. Her sapless arm fell back to the ground at her side.

Arrakur went to her, looking down at the sweat-covered body of his victim. He bent down and released her iron cuffs on her ankles and wrists from the chains. He then grabbed her wrists and pulled her slack body across the room towards a wooden bench. Amethea grunted with pain, as the pulling of her arms put new strain on her breast-bonds. But she was too weak to fight against her tormentor. Even if every instinct in her yelled for her to get on her feet and kill this male animal, she could not muster the strength. Like a life-sized puppet, Arrakur pulled her up in the air and laid her on the bench.

It was half a meter wide and just long enough to support Amethea´s torso and head. Her arms and legs splayed over the sides of the bench. It´s upper end was slanted upwards, prying Amethea´s head up, uncomfortably. Arrakur had to hold her in order to prevent her body from slide off the side of the bench. He solved this quickly by using two wide leather straps set into the bench´s surface. One was fastened over her belly, pulled viscously tight and then closed. The other one went around her throat, fixing her head to the bevel at the upper end. He then pulled her left arm out and towards a pole at the side of the bench. The pole´s tip was at the exact same height as the surface of the bench and a thick, leathery cuff was attached to it.

Arrakur closed the cuff around Amethea´s wrist, tightly. Even in her dazed, weakened state her warrior instincts compelled her to assert her situation. She couldn´t turn her head, yet by rolling her eyes she could see the pole on which her left arm was tied to. She felt Arrakur tugging at her right arm and gazed in that direction, seeing him fastening her right wrist to an identical pole on that side.

Her arms were now splayed out to either side of her torso, the strain in their joints a mild discomfort compared to the painful tugging at her compressed tits.

She then saw two additional poles embedded in the ground, less then one meter away from their counterparts. Even if she had been in the position to struggle against her captor, it would have been to late, as she realized what was to come.

Arrakur held her right leg in a steel-like grip and pulled it up in the air. He then twisted it in its socket and forced it down again. Amethea grunted in pain, as her ankle was cuffed to the pole at the side of the bench. She feebly tried to kick at him, as he seized her right leg and mercilessly repeated the act.

He forced her right leg down and bound it to the last remaining pole. Having finished, he stepped back and admired his work.

Amethea body was quite effectively immobilized…and in quite a painful way.

Her arms were drawn out to either side of her body, leaving no slack whatsoever.  The thick, heavy straps around her throat and belly pinned her body down on the bench. Yet the worst was the position of her legs. They too were pulled out to either side of her body, perfectly paralleling her arms. In fact, her legs were spread as wide apart as humanly possible.

The lower part of her body was literally forced into an upended T-shape, the strain sending relentless waves of ache into her groin.

Since Amethea was forced to face front and could not lower her head, she gazed down between her grotesquely bloated breasts along the smooth surface of her belly - dented inwards by the strap - and at her impossibly wide-spread legs and the trimmed mat of her fair, curled pubic hair crowning between them.

She felt the anxiety rise inside her belly, as Arrakur stepped in front of her view, standing naked between her legs. She was totally immobilized and her crotch was wide open for everything and anything that monster could think off to do to her.

She had found herself in that same-self kind of bondage merely a day before. Obviously the master shared his piggish servant´s taste in restraining a woman.

She sobbed in horror, as she doubted that Arrakur was any less inventive in the ways of inflicting pain on her exposed womanhood. She even caught herself hoping for rape.

Just rape….please Gods! She prayed inside her mind. Make him just rape me! It can not be too much to ask. Please don´t let him torture me there! Just rape. He will rape me and then he´ll be finally satiated and tired and send me back to my cell. Grant me this, I beg off you!

She saw him step closer, his cock once again hard as a rock and pointing straight in the air.

He smiled at her wickedly, holding a pair of pincers in his hand.

If the gods had heard Amethea´s plea, they were either indifferent to it or as wicked and mean as her tormentor.

The pincers were differed from the common version, though. It´s tips were not sharp but flat. He clicked them together, playfully. Then he lowered them towards her unprotected pussy.

Amethea watched in horror and tried to steel herself against the pain to come. Although the tongs would not be able to cut into her flesh, the pincers could most certainly be used to rip out her labial lips.

Instinctively she pulled at the bindings holding her body down and her legs spread wide open. It was in vain, of course.

The pliers were right on top of her cunt, then they closed around one…just one of her tangled pubic hairs. Arrakur began to pull. Slowly building up the strain, drawing the hair tighter and tighter until it finally tore loose. The pain was mild compared to everything she had suffered before and Amethea felt strangely elevated, that she even for a second forgot her outrage bubbling up inside her at the act.

The pincers descended again, seizing another single hair of her pubes. Again it was tautened more and more, the pain mounting slowly until it too was torn out of her skin. She winced as he did it again. And again. And again.

Each time, he seized one; only one of her curled pubic hairs and pulled at it with maddening patience until it finally tore loose. He seemed to have infinite patience with this procedure. For Amethea, it became increasingly painful. With each new hair being pulled out, the aching mounted. Her groin slowly began to flare up in pain.

At the time when Arrakur had pulled out some forty or fifty of her pubes, she was sobbing and cursing. He kept on pulling out her pussy-hair ever so slowly, smiling down at her.

Her crotch ached horribly, yet when she looked at her pussy she could not make out any difference. He must have pulled out nearly seventy of her hair and there still remained an encouragingly uncountable number of hairs to plug out.

She closed her eyes in misery, then snapped them open as a fresh surge of pain exploded in her cunt.

The pliers had closed around her left labia and now were crushing the tender fold of female flesh between their teeth.

“It´s high time for this rebel-cunt of yours to learn it´s place, slut!” Arrakur purred and twisted the pliers around, making his victim scream in pain yet again.

He let go of her nether lip, only to crush the other labia between the plier´s tips, the metal threatening to crush the delicate outer flesh of her sex to dust.

All the woman could do was to scream and endure the attack, watching the cruel pliers being applied to her wide-open genitals and doing it´s horrible work.

Arrakur watched her face with his everlasting fascination for pain, observing the changes in her facial expression as he reduced and increased the pressure of the pliers on her labial lip.

Reducing caused her tautened, pained face to relax ever so slightly. Increasing the tension made her draw back the corners of her mouth, made her close her eyes, thus pressing fresh tears out. Twisting the pliers made her scream and drove her into a fit of gut-wrenching sobs.

After a few moments, he became tired of this play and put the thongs away. In addition, he decided that he had waited for this moment, the moment he had longed for since he first had visited this slut in her cell merely a day ago, long enough.

The moment, when he aimed his rock-hard cock against her pain-throbbing slit, being splayed out defencelessly in front of him. The moment when the tip of his spear made contact with the tortured lips of her cunt, pushing them aside and forcing entrance into her body. The moment when his male flesh drove into her silky tunnel, its soft walls engulfing his unwanted presence inside her womb.

He felt his entire inner being sizzling with pleasure, as he forced the entire length of his cock inside her, grinding his hips against her wide-open crotch. Looking down at her with the outmost satisfaction he began to fuck her with slow, calm strokes, feeling…victorious.

Amethea lay there beneath her rapist and felt his large, hard cock moving back and forth inside her belly, feeling her cunt-tube enclosing the invading male flesh.

Each thrust into her belly made her groan involuntarily. She could not prevent those, as much as she wished for it.

There were no words that could adequately describe the surge of loath and disgust she felt each time his cock was inside her in it´s fullness and his tip reached as far inside her as possible. Yet in the back of her mind, there was a sparkle of relief. The sickening, yet perversely soothing thought that being raped meant for her a short reprieve from more torture applied to her helplessly exposed sex.

It was a shaming thing to think of for her, to even consider rape being less horrible than torture.

Yet she couldn´t help herself wishing the rape to continue for a while. Not in the least for her own lust, which this violation did not supply her with in the slightest. Just so that her torturer was occupied with her body in a mildly less painful way for her.

Arrakur kept fucking her for a while, savouring the terrific pleasure of the act in full. He looked down at her with the contempt of the victor over a beaten enemy, while he kept moving his cock back and forth inside her. He felt powerful, fucking her like this.

And this triggered once more the need in him to execute that power over her in the fullest.

He pulled his cock way back, almost sliding out of her – the tip of his member just filling the entrance to her cunt. Then he plunged his male hardness forward with a horribly brutal thrust that made Amethea cry out in pain.

He did it again. And again. Each time he pulled his cock just barely out of her then slammed it back into her velvet tunnel with viscous cruelty, actually rocking the bench with the force of his thrust. Each time Amethea yelped and screamed, her bloated tits jiggling on her chest.

Unfortunately for her, a movement that reawakened Arrakur´s interest in those tortured mammaries. He kept his cock deeply embedded inside her cunt-shaft and started to slap her tits again. He hit them hard with both his hands, slapping and backhanding the two painfully flatulent breasts without restrain. As she screamed and cursed him, the pain in her tits made her cunt-muscles tighten around his cock, compulsory sucking and milking this flesh-made torture-tool inside her belly.

Arrakur felt his balls tighten, felt his cock engorging even more as his pleasure mounted. He fucked the screaming woman harder and harder as he slapped and punched her tits.

He was almost mad with dark lust, as his climax approached. His hands rained blows on Amethea´s face and tits.

Then he reached for the huge leather strap fixing Amethea´s neck to the head of the bench. With a swift motion he tightened it even further and locked it.

Amethea´s mouth gaped open as the collar closed her throat and made it impossible for her to breath.

His cock kept ravaging her cunt but the strain in her lungs became more and more prominent as she was deprived of oxygen. Her struggles made her cunt twitch and spasm around Arrakur´s cock even more and he felt that for him the peak of bliss had almost come.

He grabbed Amethea´s taut, pain-pulsing breasts with both hands and crushed them in his fingers as far as they would go.

“Whore! Slut! Rebel-bitch!” he cursed her as his cock began spurting the third load of its jism into the writhing prisoner´s belly.

Amethea couldn´t scream as the ever-present pain in her tortured breasts mounted yet again, couldn´t hiss in contempt as her torturer´s semen desecrated her womb. All she could do was struggling helplessly against the straps holding her in place as she on top of it all suffered the slow, painful process of suffocating.

Her bulging eyes looked up at her rapist and torturer, already glazing over, as the pain in her lungs became way beyond endurable and darkness crept into her mind.

The last conscious thought she had, before she glided into the merciful shade of unconsciousness was:

Gods, I beg you. Don´t let me wake up again!

End it!

EnditEnditEnditEnditEnditEnditenditendite…it….

 

 

To be continued in….

 

Chapter 6:  A contribution to science