Priapus’ Bride
CH 1
She must get ready. In the bathroom she strips and looks at her nude body in the full length mirror. The woman in the mirror is gorgeous. Her green eyes look back at the nude woman in the bathroom. She is proud, the woman in the mirror. She is strong, has no regrets.
She runs the hot water and fills a bag with it. She hangs the bag from the shower curtain bar and picks up the nozzle, tops it with a dollop of Vaseline and, with a practiced motion, deftly inserts it into her ass, as she squats on the floor of the bathroom, looking at the woman in the mirror. She has done this before. The hot water, running into her bowels is not unpleasant. After it is all in, about a quart, she removes the nozzle. She will hold the enema for a while, while the hot water in the faucet runs, hotter still.
After she empties herself, she refills the bag, this time with two quarts and repeats the process. She will do it yet one more time, with three quarts. This time, the water flows clear. She looks at the woman in the mirror again, and enters the shower. She does not have time to blow dry her hair, so she puts on a shower cap.
She must get ready. She takes a long shower. The hot water pounds her body, her face, breasts, belly and lower. The lather cleanses her, but it is not enough. The water rinses the lather away. It runs down her body, soaks the blond thatch on her mons, and in rivulets falls to the porcelain floor of the tub.
She leans forward and cleanses her pussy, then leans back and lathers her ass. She rinses well. The shower gel has no fragrance, but she wants no trace of it’s bitter taste on her skin. She steps out of the shower and dries herself with the oversize white towel. The towel is plush, soft, and wraps her in its tender embrace. She relishes in its softness and warmth.
She must get ready. The woman in the mirror sits on the stool, and carefully examines her labia. Any stray hairs, she plucks. Her thatch is a perfect triangle. Not a single hair out of place, and none on her labia, or between the pink slit, that is already moist, and her puckered brown rose.
She stands, proudly. Her five foot stature is not tall, but her body is that of a goddess. Her legs are long, lithe, toned. Her abdomen is almost flat, only a minimal curve, below her navel suggests her femininity. Her skin, flawless, sports the faintest tan. There are no bikini lines on her breasts, and only a triangle of white skin, in her front contrasts with her tan. If it were not for that white triangle; she would not perceive the tan, so fair is she. She notices her moisture. She can already smell herself. For an instant, her finger traces her slit, and stops, for the tiniest fraction of a second, at her sensitive nub; but no, there is no time.
She must get ready. She selects her underwear. Today it will be white. It must be white. A white garter belt, to hold up her sheer white thigh-high stockings comes next. Over it, she puts on a tiny white thong. She selects a brassiere. Her breasts are pert, firm mounds of feminine softness, tipped by two small, pink, and already erect nipples. She does not really need a bra, but she will wear one. He will enjoy seeing her remove it and, why deny him the pleasure? She selects a flimsy, lacy, strapless underwire. The lacey, frilly fabric does not contain her nipples. She inhales, and steadies herself on the counter. Her legs are going soft and fail to hold her up. She is afraid that she will fall. She glances at the woman in the mirror. After a moment she approaches the mirror over the sink, and applies her make up.
She will not wear foundation today. There is no need. She applies water proof mascara, black, with black eyeliner. Eye-shadow in three tones of gray. A very light dusting of powder, on her cheeks and forehead. A dab on her nose, and she is almost done.
The woman in the mirror looks back at her, and smiles. She smiles back.
She must get ready. Only half an hour left. She opens the closet and picks out her dress. She has had it for a long time. She has never used it. It is made of the sheerest silk. It is also white, it hugs her body, it leaves her shoulders bare. It flares out at the waist into a bouncy, saucy skirt. The skirt comes midway down her thighs. She cannot help it and puts on her white sandals. They have really high heels. She looks much taller on them. Her perfectly pedicured toes are painted scarlet red, like her lips. She pivots and spins in front of the mirror playfully.
She must get ready. She brushes her hair, she has no time to do anything fancy with it. She finally decides to hold it back with two barrettes, black, with small rhinestones. She ignores the bottles of perfume. Today she will wear only her own scent; pure, unblemished.
She sees His car arriving at the door. She must go. She applies her glossy red lipstick, matching her nail polish. She waves goodbye at the woman in the mirror. She picks up her purse, and puts it down. She leaves the apartment, and closes the door. She does not lock the deadbolt, she left the keys inside.
She wants to run down the stairs to meet Him, but she cannot run with her white high heeled sandals, so she must walk down the stairs. It is more dignified, more appropriate in a sense than running down like a moonstruck schoolgirl.
He holds the door for her. She enters, sits on the passenger seat and smiles at Him.
Priapus’ Bride CH2
They drive off, into the night. She lies back on the smooth leather seat and, turning her head, looks at Him from behind her green eyes.
“Are you still willing?” He asks her.
“Do you have to ask?” She answers.”Have I ever denied you anything?”
He does not respond. He concentrates on the road, but his engorged member belies his apparent sang-froid.
She smiles. Her hand caresses His arm. She can feel His muscles under the fabric of His dark blue blazer. She is happy; she has had three years of happiness with Him. That is enough for a lifetime. It will end today, she knows. She also knows it will not be fast, and it will not be pleasant, for her. She planned it this way.
She remembers well. Three years ago, she sat on the stage, while another girl, another goddess, also dressed in white, performed her final act for Him. That one was taller than her, with brown hair and brown eyes, larger breasts, curvier, fuller hips. She had also prepared herself, and prepared her act for Him. Like her, she had scripted her offering. Like her, she met with the woman who would succeed her. A gorgeous brunette, and arranged the show. Her final offering to His pleasure.
They arrive at the mansion. On His arm, they enter the stage. A few couples, no more than five or six, sit around the stage. The stage is brightly lit. A large screen TV hangs over the stage.
They stand in the center of the stage. She kisses His lips, one last time. He hugs her closely. Then they part. He sits at on a large overstuffed leather chair, on the first row. She stands, proudly, in the center of the stage. The new girl, the brunette, approaches Him and takes his blazer. He sits and the brunette lights his cigar and pours him a large scotch, Glenlivet, his favorite. The brunette then enters the stage too. She is modestly dressed in a brown skirt and cream colored blouse; there must be no doubt about who is the prima ballerina in tonight’s tragedy. They both hug and kiss, to a great ovation from the crowd. Sisters for a night.
Moody music pours from loudspeakers; the music is dark, Nox Arcana, or similar.
She strips off her white dress and hands it to the brunette, who lays it on the side.
Clad only in her bra, thong garter belt, stockings and sandals, she dances to the music. She approaches the center of the stage. In its center, a white sheet covers a large object. On a table, a three tailed whip. She picks up the whip and approaches Him. She shows Him the whip. He touches it, examines it, examines the tails, and notes the shards of glass and metal embedded in the braided leather. He nods His head in admiration and approval.
She dances away from him, and tours the spectators, showing them the whip. Her body is now covered by a light sheen of sweat, her nipples, erect strain against the flimsy fabric of her brassiere.
She dances back to the center of the stage, and in one fluid motion rips away the white sheet revealing, in the center of the stage, a marble statue.
Priapus, stands, nude,
with his arms held high, in front of him. From each hand hangs a chain, with a
cuff on it. From his groin, the erect god sports a huge penis, unlike any ever
sculpted in
“Brava!” They repeat.
She has eyes only for him. He stands also. His face is drawn; he did not expect this. He smiles at her, and claps his hand in applause.
A large man now enters the stage. He is clad only in a red loincloth. He is a giant, seven feet tall, his chest, massive, like an ox; barefoot he dances into the stage, spinning his ebon frame, in sync with the music, which now has changed to African or perhaps Haitian drums. The beat is hypnotic, and the audience sits again, silent.
She dances around the statue, and takes off her bra. Her breasts, now free of their lacey cage, are exposed for everyone to see. She continues her dance; she comes forward, towards the audience, then falls on a knee and flips her head forward, then back again. The audience is rapt by her beauty. She approaches the man. He picks her up, effortlessly by her waist, and lifts her in the air. He stands in the front center of the stage, right in front of Him. She rips off her thong and lets the wispy slip of fabric fall on His legs. He picks it up, smells it and puts it in the pocket of His shirt.
The man lowers her again, and her dance completed, she bows to the audience. The large screen TV turns on, and on it we can see her from her back. The show can thus be seen from all directions. The music stops.
She addresses the audience:
“Welcome to my demise.” The audience applauds.
“I hope to delight you with my suffering tonight. Here is the show that I have prepared for you. First Sampson, my strong and large assistant here” She gestures to the gigantic black man, “will shred my back and ass with the whip. He will give me fifty strokes of the lash.”
The audience lets out an appreciative “Ooh”
She continues.” Once that is completed, my assistants” and she gestures to the brunette and Sampson, “will release me, and I shall be available for any man who might want to use my mouth.
Once you are all calm and appreciative again, they will string me up again and Sampson will give me at least fifty lashes on my breasts and belly, until my front is well flayed.” She stops for another ovation.
“After at least fifty lashes, they will again release me. And my dear friend here” She again gestures to the brunette “will wash away the blood with salt water. This should revive me, if I have passed out”
“I do not believe I will be in any condition by then to offer anyone a blow job, but my pussy and ass will be made available for anyone who wants to use them. As you can see” She gestures towards the statue “even if I survive that for awhile, they will be useless afterwards” She pauses for a moment and then continues.
“Sampson will then string me up again, and impale me with Priapus’ steel cock. He will assist the God in fucking me, until he comes.
It may take him a while to come, since I will blow him before he starts whipping me, and also after the first fifty lashes. My beautiful assistant will also blow, and perhaps fuck him a couple more times. Whether I survive or not, he will lay me down on the table, and the men are welcome to use or finish me in any way you see fit.” The audience cheers her again.
“Well, gentlemen, it is time to start”
She kneels before Sampson; her perfect profile to the audience, as she looks up at the giant. The brunette approaches the black man, and after fumbling a bit with the loincloth, she extracts a huge monster of a cock. He feeds his monster prick to the blonde girl kneeling in front of him. She opens her red lips and with some difficulty takes him in her mouth. The big screen TV shows this from an extreme close up. The men look at the black man with envy. Her head bobs up and down on the monster cock until with a loud grunt Sampson holds her head and thrusts into her face a few times. On the screen we can see her retching from the monstrous invasion, he moans and climaxes in her mouth. Her throat moves as she strains to swallow all of his come, but she cannot avoid some of it dripping on her chin. She licks it up and licks him clean.
The dark Ch 3
After he is clean, she replaces his cock into the loincloth and stands up.
She now, removes her garter belt and sandals, and rolls two elastic garters to hold up her stockings. She then picks up the whip, kisses it and hands it to Sampson. She walks towards the statue. She faces the Roman God of Lust, and raises her hands to him. She cannot reach his hands, but her wrists do reach the cuffs. Her perfect back is towards the audience. The brunette girl approaches her and fastens her wrists with the cuffs. She then caresses her perfect ass, and kisses it. She ties her ankles together with leather cuffs, and then the cuffs to the floor of the stage with a length of chain.
She stands proudly, her arms outstretched, her back to the audience.
In the screen now we see her from the front. The hidden camera zooms in on her face and torso. We see her wide open green eyes, her serene, yet frightened face, her perfect breasts, moving up and down with her breathing.
Sampson bows to the audience, approaches the statue and pulls on a hidden lever. The chains retract into the God’s hands and she is now suspended from her stretched hands. He keeps cranking on the lever, and her body grows tighter. Her legs, held together by the ankle shackles, and attached to the floor of the stage by a short chain, and her arms pulled up and out by her wrists. We can see her ribs, and note the tempo of her breathing, faster now. Her face is still serene though.
The brunette moves to a side and sits down on the stage. Sampson picks up the whip and gets ready to strike. He stands on the left side of the blonde stretched out girl. For the first time, he speaks. His voice is gravelly.
“Are you ready Miss?”
Her eyes wide open; she takes a deep breath and replies:
“Do it Sampson, rip me apart”
The first lash falls across her shoulders. Three wheals rise on her formerly perfect back, and she screams. The first of many screams to come. Sampson takes his time. She has planned this to the last detail. The lashes must be spaced out, methodical. She must be given time to suffer each and every one of them. The second falls, a little bit lower. The must not overlap. As much as possible each lash should fall on virgin skin. The third falls, and the fourth. On the screen her face is wild, her mouth wide open, and, as the next lash falls, the scream. There is no member in the audience that is not hard. The men would wish Sampson to hurry, but he doesn’t, he has his orders.
The lashes are now falling on her waist; her back is speckled with blood, she screams and screams, and the lash falls and falls. The TV zooms out to let us see the bounce of her breasts, and the spasms of her abdomen.
Her head, the only part of her that is not tied down thrashes from side to side. She screams, “No! Please!” but it is all for naught. Sampson has his orders. She was quite explicit in them and he has no latitude. He continues to flay her back and waist, and then moves on to her beautiful ass. The lash falls on the unblemished skin of her ass, and paints a web of red stripes on its gorgeous globes. She no longer struggles, her head hangs down and she no longer moves. Sampson stops at thirty five, while the brunette checks on her. She’s passed out and needs to be revived with smelling salts. She also gives her some water.
“Are you ready to continue Miss” Sampson asks again.
The TV again zooms on her face. Covered with sweat, her tortured features amplified so that every detail, every drop of sweat, every rictus of pain is patent for all to see, her lips open and she speaks:
“Yes Sampson, go on”
Then the screaming resumes; mercifully, only for fifteen more lashes.
The brunette and Sampson untie her and give her water. She cannot stand and kneels on the stage. All the men in the audience, including Him line up, but wait for her to recover. All in all she must service seven men, and Sampson.
She takes Sampson first. She sucks on his engorged member, up and down, and it does not take her long to bring him off again. This time she swallows all of his spunk. The next man approaches her. She looks at Him with a question on her tear streaked face, and He answers:
“I want to go last dear”
She gets to work on the next man, and the next, and the next. Fortunately for her, they are all so excited that they last only a few seconds before coming down her throat.
The brunette approaches Sampson. He lies down on the stage, and she sucks him to erection again, then mounts him, and rides him to her own orgasm. After tonight her orgasms will not be her own, she will belong to Him, and her orgasms are to be determined by Him alone, but tonight, her body is hers, for the last time, but one.
All the other six men have been serviced, and he approaches her.
“I would like to deep throat you if you will” He asks.
“You don’t have to ask” She answers “You know I’m yours”
“Not anymore dear” He responds “After you climb on the stage, your body is yours again, for the last time”
She knew that. Yet she says “I will always be yours”
She gets up off her knees and walks to the table. With His help she lies on the table, painfully, on her shredded back, and lets her head hang off the side. She gestures at Him and He deftly inserts His rock hard shaft into her mouth and down her throat. With passion, yet not ungently, He fucks her throat until with a growl He unloads His seed deep in her throat. When He comes out His cock is clean. The audience that watched this in the TV screen roars their approval. He helps her off the table; she can barely stand and brings her to the center of the stage, where Sampson and the brunette have finished their copulation. With a small bow He hands her hand to Sampson and steps off the stage.
The brunette gives her some more water, and gives her the whip. She then hands the whip to Sampson who takes it from her. They now guide her to the statue.. This time she stands facing the public. The big screen zooms in on her shredded back, where most of the bleeding has stopped.
The men gaze at her yet unmarked front. They take in the beauty of her suffering face. Why are women in pain so beautiful? They admire her breasts, and her pink nipples, intact for a few minutes more, the curve of her lower belly, and the triangle of her pubic hair, neatly trimmed, dark with her sweat. All of this beauty that will be destroyed in but moments for their pleasure.
Painfully she raises her arms to the cuffs. The brunette cuffs one arm and Sampson the other. They cuff her ankles again. Sampson activates the crank again, and once more she is painfully stretched like a Y.
As the brunette moves away and sits down, Sampson whip in hand stands to her right and asks again:
“Are you ready to start Miss”
She has regained her composure during this interlude. She answers:
“Leave my breasts for the last Sampson” then she adds “Go ahead, shred me apart”
The first lash falls in the center of her belly, right on the navel. This time, she can see them coming; the extra fraction of a second allows her to prepare herself, and she contains her screams, for a while.
Sampson moves up, towards her breasts, but does not reach them. Then he moves down, towards her pubes. He whips her hard; her pubes and the top of her thighs are not spared. Only her legs, where covered by the white stockings, now stained pink in places, are spared the lash.
Her belly and upper thighs are covered by pink wheals, and it is now time to start on her breasts. Sampson stops momentarily to let the brunette give her some water. After she drinks greedily, he observes:
“Miss, the whip is not cutting your skin as much as we thought. The slivers of metal and the shards of glass are too small”
She can barely speak. “Yes?”
“Miss, there are only twenty five to go, your breasts might not be flayed enough” Sampson is apologetic. He really likes this girl, and would really like to get this over as soon as possible. She gives him no leeway.
“As I told you” She says in the firmest voice she can “Until my nipples are gone”
“Are you ready Miss?” He asks again, as he must every time he stops.
“Yes. Do not stop until they are gone” She says.
Sampson begins the terrible punishment. She cannot hold back her screams. Five lashes fall, then ten, then twenty. Blood flows freely from her breasts, but they miscalculated the damage the small slivers of metal would do, and the damage is less than expected. From now on Sampson concentrates on the nipples. She screams and thrashes. Her breasts bounce, and bleed. And bounce and bleed. The brunette keeps count. At sixty, she loses consciousness again. Sampson wants to continue to whip her but the brunette stays his arm.
“You have your orders” She says “Only while she is conscious”
She restores her with smelling salts and gives her some more water.
She looks down at her lacerated breasts and asks:
“How many more?”
The brunette answers: “Maybe twenty”
Her head falls back, resigned. Sampson asks:
“Are you ready Miss?”
She exhales, her head tilted back: “Yes Sampson, do it”
And he does it; again and again, but now, she does not scream anymore; she just hangs from her chains, and takes it. She whimpers, and would scream, but no longer has the strength; she can cry though, and her tears flow freely. Finally, it is done.
Sampson’s arm, tired, stops the cruel whipping. Her, formerly luscious breasts, are now two red mounds of blood; what used to be her nipples are now only two dollops of shredded flesh. In a twisted way, her chest resembles two giant cherries, topped by smaller strawberries.
She hangs, limp, from her arms. She is semi unconscious. The men in the audience wonder if she will be able to keep her earlier promise to them. The brunette now shows up with a bucket. She turns to the audience and says:
“Per her instructions I shall wash her front and back with salted water.”
She uses a rough sponge and, as soon as she starts, the screaming resumes. The salt burns, entering her wounds, but the brunette continues her job, unperturbed by the screaming, until Sarah’s front and back is clean. Sampson then unties her, and lays her on the table. He supports her to a sitting position, and she says, weakly:
“Gentlemen: It is your last chance to use my undamaged pussy and ass”
He is the first in line. He gestures to Sampson, and he lays her, prone on the table, her ass and legs off the side. She tries weakly to open her legs for him, and he enters her pussy easily. She groans and, as he starts thrusting, she cannot help but follow him up his mountain of lust. After a few minutes he tells her:
“I’d like your ass too”
She just nods, and he comes out of her pussy. She, helpful, pulls her ass cheeks out, to better expose her rosebud, and allow him easier entry. He enters her, and in a few more thrusts, emptied his balls deep into her bowels. His dick is clean as he comes out of her. Behind him, six more men follow. They all take her in both places, and then, too soon, it is done.
She stands by herself, with difficulty, unaided. She looks at the public, and walks to the God. Standing in front of him, she extends her hands and is promptly cuffed. She gives smiles captured in the giant TV screen, and then gives her final orders to Sampson:
“Sampson: Help the God fuck me”
He stands behind her, and with his strong arms, lifts her, as if she was a feather. The brunette supports her legs, wide open, and they place the entrance of her pussy at the tip of the God’s sharp pole.
The TV pans from the pussy, barely touched by Priapus’ massive steel erection, to her face, which smiles for the last time for the camera. Her feet rest on the god’s torso. The brunette now kneels in front of Sampson, and begins blowing him.
She says: “Now Sampson”
And Sampson, obedient, pushes down on her waist. The oversized phallus would tear any woman apart, even if its tip wasn’t sharp, and its length was not covered in sharp barbs. As it is, blood sparkles from her vagina, in extreme close up on the screen, and an inhuman shriek comes out of her mouth.
She is only half way impaled on Priapus’ rampant cock; The brunette’s head bobs up and down on Sampson’s massive erection, and under her encouragement, Sampson shoves her deeper on the God’s steel phallus. She screams wildly again, as he pussy reaches the marble curls on the God’s groin. She feels his steel, penetrating her, deep, tearing her insides. She opens her eyes, and breathes, deeply. The big screen pans from her pubes to her face. Her face, contorted by unbearable pain, changes, and a hint of something else is present. Her lips murmur a few words. A lip reader in the audience would be able to interpret them.
“I did it!”
She embraces the waist of the god with her legs, while she waits for Sampson to continue. And he does. He lifts her up; the barbs rip her insides more coming out than they did going in. She screams as her insides are ripped from her. Then wails, as she once again comes down on the statue. Her legs still surround the marble waist, and do so for two or three more thrusts, but then, weak, her legs fall to the sides. Sampson keeps her motion, an obscene, ragged doll, violated by the lustful god, until with a groan; he finally spills his seed down the brunette’s mouth. Held up by her wrists, She hangs, deeply fucked by the God of Lust, whose marble pubes are now crimson red, as is his powerful belly. Her legs, still clad in the, now red, stockings, are splashed by her blood, as is her belly, breasts and ass.
No movement comes from the still, blonde girl on the stage. No sound seeps from her tortured throat. Her ribs are immobile, and her head hangs, lolls to the side.
A standing ovation comes from the crowd; Sampson and the brunette take a bow. As Sampson removes the blonde girl, and places her on the table for inspection, and profanation by the so-inclined, the brunette approaches Him.
“I wonder how I will top that, when my turn comes”
“Not for many years, I hope” He answers”
The end.
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