THE CHAMBER

The chamber’s being put to use.  A young, beautiful woman has unknowingly lent herself as the latest victim to receive the wrath of a white slavery ring and worse.  Young and beautiful, unfortunate enough to having set out on her own and applying to an add for a fictitious position as a tutor, her naivety has led her to this destination at a secluded estate, her initial time in its chamber having her being used and abused by sadistic members of a wealthy and perverted club who assume roles and indulge themselves in the torture of attractive women. 

Part One

Chapter One

Responding to the acrid aroma of the broken capsule whiffed from side to side beneath her nostrils, she groggily finds herself being painfully drawn taut, her practically naked body straining in the harsh bindings of her wrists and ankles into an arched spread-eagled contortion. Facing a darkened, harsh stone wall, her tendons, muscles beneath her tugged arms and stretched legs glisten as they stand out while she frantically glances through her glazed eyes back and forth, from side to side toward the four stiff, creaking ropes hoisting her flush against the curved wooden surface.  Grunting, struggling for breath, her heart pounds in her chest as her eyes adjust to the shadows.

Jaws aching with a rumpled rag stuffed deep between her yawning lips, she feels her extremities being jerked, stretched fractions of an inch at a time in sequence with a noticeable clanking noise reverberating in the background.  The shadowed walls in front of her flickering from a couple torches mounted in blackish, iron brackets, the surreal scene somehow seems out of a ‘B’ grade horror film in her blurred state as she’s overwhelmed by her unnerving predicament, something beyond comprehension.  Barely remembering spending the evening in the guest’s bedroom after interviewing for the supposed job offering, now awakening to this horror, the dread’s overwhelming.   

Continuing to contort, the constant tightening of the ropes digging into her wrists, ankles, the overall pressure already painful, rapidly becoming unbearable with each pronounced tug, her fingernails reflexively scrap, claw into her palms.  Toes twisting, curling just above the iron grates of a drainage system inlaid between the patterns of stones in the flooring beneath her arching body as she horrifyingly comes to her senses, she realizes she’s already been practically stripped naked, now being slowly drawn on some sort of insidious apparatus.  Grunting through the stifling rag jammed deep in her throat, furiously blinking her widening eyes, shaking her head back and forth, the constant noise of each pain inducing maneuver of the apparatuses’ lever reverberates from behind, echoes off those surrounding walls.  ‘Clank……………………… Clank…………………….. Clank!’

Straining, being stretched ever tauter, her painfully extended body continuing to arch with her chest thrusting further forward with each halting lurch while her barely covered breasts jaunt wider apart in what’s left of her torn bra, she senses her body continuing to curl, bow outward as the aligned set of notched planks positioned behind her continues pressing across the small of her back.  Eyes welling, the flickering shadowed stone walls surrounding her more then ominous, the mounting fear mixed with the physical pain overrides her unnerving thoughts as the resonating ropes insidiously creak with their calculated contractions.  Heart thumping in her chest, the number of spaced ‘clanks’ echoing in her ears seemingly every few seconds, she relentlessly struggles with being painfully drawn, arched, contorted in the agonizing bindings.

Moaning, grunting as she attempts to twist in the unrelenting, creaking ropes, another harsh ‘clank’ forcing her bulging breasts to plop free across her arching torso, the glistening mounds bounce even further apart, spreading toward her hollowed armpits as their youthful fullness overflow the once stylish French cut cups of her tattered brassiere, its wide side straps still burrowing painfully into her taut ribcage.  Grunting, drooling through the gagging cloth pressed between her yawning jaws as her dark eyes dart down toward the bluish veins standing out, tracing beneath the almost translucent flesh of her symmetrical, oval mounds being firmly formed by the tautness of her straining, aching chest, her groans, her muffled gasps echo off the stone walls as the torn bra’s strap finally bursts, barely holding together by just a shred of elastic material behind her bowed back.

“Oomph!”  Shuffling, twisting, struggling to somehow relieve the strain of her bindings, glancing down between her now naked breasts, across the dark ovals of her flattened areoles, she senses her shredding panties also riding up between her thighs, what’s left of the elastic ‘G’ string burrowing deeper into the crease of her taut buttocks along with the constant sounds of the insidious ‘Clank………. Clank………. Clank…………………………. Clank!’  The searing pain excruciating, her bound wrists, ankles practically raw, her virtually nude body seemingly drawn to what she frightfully realizes must be dangerously close to its physical limits, her glistening muscles ache as she fruitlessly resists.

A few more clanks, sensing her joints on the verge of dislocating, finally relenting, bowing her head back, her matted hair clings against the wooden surface as she succumbs to the insidious stretching, the unbearable pain.  Rasping harshly for breath through her flaring nostrils while her tautly stretched body beads with perspiration, arched out and practically vibrating across the front of the apparatus, tears well, drip from her chin across her heaving sternum.  Sensing footsteps approaching across the stone floor, blinking two, three times to clear the tears, she tries to focus on the silhouette of what appears to be some sort of a dark robed monk out of the corner of her eye.  Apprehensively following him stepping around in front of the apparatus as she also realizes the ‘clanking’ sound’s finally ceased with his appearance, again her agonizing predicament seems more then surreal in the shadows of the dungeon as she watches him glaring toward her humiliating position.

Heavily hooded in a scarlet full bodied garment, only the piercing reflection of his eyes, the grayness of his beard visible from the fullness of the shroud covering his head, she can’t help noticing the glistening dampened leather lash flipping back and forth in his cupped fist, the split ends of almost jet black supple leather threateningly flicking across the stone floor.  An occasional snap of his wrist, the crack of the flexing leather, the ominous sounds’ even more unsettling as it replaces the insidious ‘clanking’ sound that was coming from behind the apparatus.

Her trembling body pain wracked, virtually immobile on the rack, pleadingly staring toward his silhouette through her welling eyes as he steps menacingly forward, she frantically locks on his free hand reaching slowly out toward her bared chest.  His fingers curling across the strap dividing the torn, tattered cups barely hanging beneath her bulging, melon sized mounds she can’t help watching his clenched fist firmly gripping at the remnants of the once expensive lace material.  A frightening, piercing glare returned from beneath the hood, a brief hesitation before a harsh jerk followed by the tearing sound, she feels the bra ripped from beneath her bouncing breasts with one forceful tug.

Her glistening breasts bobbing, swaying freely apart, his hand reaching up, a throbbing nipple being momentarily tweaked, twisted between his fingernail and thumbnail until both breasts becomes somewhat stationary, she senses his unhesitating hand’s manipulating fingers sliding down across her protruding ribcage.  Scraping across her flattened, rippling stomach, even lower, again gripping and twisting at what was an expensive undergarment; she holds her breath while instinctively closing her eyes.  His nerve-wracking hesitation before forcefully ripping at the remnants of her panty, the narrow band scrapping through her parted labium, the cloth painfully stretches as it rips out from between her thighs, drags across the puffy nub of her tugged clit.  Again her now naked body arched forward in her bindings as he steps back, gives a final, harsh jerk, drops the ruined underwear, she pleadingly grunts through the gag as she squints toward his other hand welding the menacing whip.

Frantically watching him from between her pair of puckering nipples humiliatingly standing out, jiggling across the full mounds of her thrust out breasts as she realizes she’s not only totally naked but virtually helpless to receive whatever abuse he obviously has in store for her with the crop’s tips menacingly flicking back and forth across the stone floor, she gnaws down on the gag, her nostrils flaring with each harassed breath.  Anticipating the worst as he ominously positions himself to the front and toward her side, the whip still dangling in his tightening fist, she anxiously waits, anticipates while again slowly shaking her head pleadingly back and forth, realizing his piercing eyes are focusing toward her bare breasts, even worse, directly on her upturned nipples.  Eyes transfixed toward the flexing leather, her fingers clenching, spreading apart, retracting into fists again and again as the whip curls back and forth in wider, ever menacing arches, she can hear the ominous cadence of the split tips scraping harshly across the floor.

Inhaling, momentarily holding a deep breath, the streaking tears blurring her eyes, her long muffled groan again echoes off the walls as she surreally watches the tips of the whip being snapped upward above his head, the snake like leather coiling, curling forward, flailing outward, slinging through the air perpendicularly toward her hoisted breasts as the terrifying swishing sound almost overwhelms her senses.

‘Thwaaaack!’

“Aaaggghhh!”  Releasing a gasping grunt as spittle spews from her gnawed gag, her eyes squinting tightly shut, she feels the force of the whip, the excruciating pain of the willowy leather burrowing itself across her bare tit flesh.  The supple leather striking her breasts, embedding itself just below both dark areolas across her outthrust mounds, she senses her breasts momentarily flattened, almost instantly jerked outward, bounce free as he tugs the whip back from her naked body with an unsympathetic harsh flick of his wrist.

“Oomph!”  The sharp, crisp pain searing in her heaving chest, the whip snapping away, its curling tips almost instantly recoiling behind his hooded head yet again, her tear filled eyes blink open, widen just in time to see the flexing leather again looping, flicking forward a second time, again slanted toward her still bouncing, welted breasts, again toward the visible bright red vertical welt already streaking across her bare flesh.

‘Swish… Thwack!’

“Aaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh!!”  A harsher shriek, again the willowy leather embedding well into her tit flesh, the second lashing directed across both nipples flattening the nubs, her head jerks back above her straining shoulders as saliva drips from her chin, clings to her sternum while her breasts again stretch outward along with the whip’s split tails drawn forcefully away with another harsh jerk of his wrist.

Perspiration already beading, glistening across her bouncing, globular mounds, tracing across most of the rest of her nude flesh, she incoherently moans, grunts as her heartbeat pounds in her aching breasts with each thumping pulse.  Her head snapping forward between her stretched arms, momentarily glaring down toward the cause of the searing pain, the fresh pair of red welts crisscrossing her naked breasts, both nipples jiggling, already swelling and bruised, she can’t help staring back out toward the ever flexing whip in his clenching fist, the split tips again dragging back and forth across the floor as his piercing eyes stay riveted on their mark.  His robed body twisting, aligning itself with her bound, bowed posture on the rack while preparing for another lashing, again watching his forearm relentlessly backhanding outward toward her bare chest for a third time, she squints, shuts her eyes and holds her breath with the anticipation of the unrelenting pain.

‘Swish…. Thwack!’

“Aaaaaagggggghhhhhhh!”

‘Swish… Thwack!’

“Aaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhh!”  From backhanded to a forehand, the curling whip relentlessly borrowing once, twice in rapid succession into her titflesh, the first above, then another below the jiggling nipples, her naked body uncontrollably arches forward, a trail of saliva spewing from the ragged drenched cloth between her clamping teeth.  Gasping for breath, fingernails grinding into her palms, her rolling, blurred eyes widening, now glued to the black snake flicking forward yet again, she watches the coiling leather ominously flinging directly toward the center of her chest, again slashing across her puffy nipples; biting unmercifully into her bulging breasts.

“Ooooommmppphhh!”  Another flash of searing pain, the coiled leather ripping back, stretching her breasts outward again in its clutches as her naked body’s drawn forward with it, she senses the reflexive release of a spurt of urine trickling down between her quivering thighs, her head again jerking back past her taut arms, nostrils flaring as she gasps for breath.

Gagging, coughing while again her head drops forward, the mounting crisscrossed stripes glisten on her heaving breasts as she’s barely able to make out the purplish welts through her glazed, swollen eyes.  The whip hanging down to the monk’s side, the blurred sight of him curling its dampened, split tips in the palm of his free hand; step past her and out of sight, she feels a sort of brief moment of relief, a reprieve until she hears the single ‘clank’ in the background, feels the strains in her arms and legs tensing again in the creaking ropes while her aching, bruised breasts momentarily jiggle, her body again arching tautly further back to the now familiar sound. “Clank… Clank…… Clank!’

Involuntarily trembling, barely coherent, her naked body pain wracked, the creaking sound of a heavy door opening from behind the apparatus she’s hoisted on, molded too, on the edge of consciousness she barely notices the light casting past, spreading across the shadowed far wall as her overriding pain’s on the edge of unbearable.  Again the hinges’ creaking sound echoing in the stone chamber, the light fades into the flickering shadows.  Other footsteps, not as harsh across the dark floor, she wonders if she’s hallucinating or if it’s really a pair of what appears to be Nuns that’s entered, positioning themselves to either side of her as she slowly cranes her neck back and forth with what’s left of her strength, again the ‘clanking’ sound finally ceasing.

The eldest appearing Nun in a more traditional garb, her black and white habit crisp and clean, her expressions’ sober as her attention silently dwells on the rack.  The youngest of the pair wearing all white in the similar styled garb but also with gloves, she’s carrying a lidless whicker basket in both hands.  Sitting the open container down in front of the rack, carefully handling the contents, strands of thorned branches, she stretches, unwinds the individual strands before silently slipping the longest one between Jodi’s backside and the curved wooden surface.  The eldest gripping, manuvering the briskling vine’s cropped end as it slips outward, she reaches across Jodi’s heaving breasts, grips the other end of the row of thorns, nods toward the novice.

Jodi’s naked body stretched, yet her battered breasts limp with just the slightest pulsing movement with each pounding heartbeat, the novice obeying the elder’s lead, reaches up, flattens both welted mounds with her fingertips, firmly presses inward just below Jodi’s bruised nipples as the Nun shifts, stretches the strands of thorns out across both glistening breasts.  Adjusting the sharp barbs directly across the flattened areolas, calculatingly aligning the jagged points to puncture the nub of each nipple, she stretches the vine sadistically taut.

“Oomph!... Aaaaaagggggghhhhhhh!”  Reacting to the excruciating pain of the jagged thorns, instantly jerking in her restraints, unable to refrain a groan followed by a screech through the stuffed rag as the prickling tips burrow, pierce her flattening mounds while the Nun twists, tightens the ends of the branch together along her bare side, Jodi’s body reflexively trembles in her bindings as her breasts painfully flatten beneath the binding branch.  Jerking her head back and forth, her areolas, nipples glistening with droplets of blood as the jagged pointed spikes grip, adhere to her tender tit flesh; the strand sinks in above the novice’s fingernails as Jodi rasps, struggles for breath.

Reaching out for another flexing stem, looping it above one marred breast, below the other, again aligning and twisting the prickling branch, the Nun forces the additional barbs even deeper into the flattening mounds.

“Aaaaaagggggggghhhhhhhh!”  A rasping screech, an uneven row of specks of blood beading across her bare flesh, Jodi’s naked body arches, jerks as she twists across the curved, wooden surface, the newest pain immeasurable to the flogging.  Feeling another number of thorns adhering to her breasts clinging across her taut ribcage, burrowing into her backside, her glazed eyes glance down toward the agony of the penetrating tightening vines, her chest uncontrollably heaving as mucus drools from her nostril.  The swollen mounds rising and lowering with each measured breath, the painful thorns borrowing into her flesh ever deeper with each twist, she frantically shakes her head back and forth, watches aguishly as the Nun stretches, aligns yet another long strand from the basket.

“Oooomph!... Gaaaaaaaadddddd!”  Inaudibly pleading through the stuffed rag, her shimmering tit flesh bulging in and out through the prickling strands, the trio of thorn filled branches encircles her quivering naked body while she tries to hold her breath, not to inhale while frantically watching the Nun unsympathetically manipulating the vines, twisting the strands firmer, tighter.

Glancing up, glaring into Jodi’s tear filled eyes, the Nun’s own dark eyes cold, piercing as she cups the thorn bound breasts, she slowly traces her fingernails along the binding strands, presses a jagged tip of each barb inward, making sure each prickling point penetrates the trembling flesh.  Sensing the responding reflexive tremors through her roving fingertips, listening to the constant sobbing grunts, the unintelligible pleadings, she gives off just a hint of a smile as she hears a louder grunt, watches Jodi’s chest slowly, painfully expanding as she finally takes a partial breath, the vine taut, digging deeper into her punctured flesh.  Nodding toward the novice, the Nun glances down toward the basket’s remaining contents, slips a probing index finger between the puffy folds of Jodi’s labium.

Feeling her vagina probed, the Nun’s finger flicking between the spreading folds, Jodi blankly stares down through her swollen eyes as she feels her clit pressed, stretched, tweaked.  Reflexively lurching as her clit’s tugged, the contortions causing the barbs to burrow ever deeper into her breast flesh, she can only groan through the stifling gag as the ropes creak from her unnaturally extended extremities.

Sensing fingernails tweaking, parting the puffy folds of her labium, unable to see down past her arched torso as both sets of hands manipulate, pry between her spread thighs, she feels the barbs embedding across her hips as they’re looped around the bottoms of her buttocks, pressed inward across her labium, digging into the tender flesh.  The pain harsh, crisp, yet not as painful as her aching breasts compressing with each heaving breathe, she realizes her vagina’s being stretched wider, the parting slit exposing her clit separating by the thorns burrowing between both legs, clamping her labia lips to her inner thighs.

Grunting, twisting her head back across the rack, feeling the Nun’s fingers pressing the thorns around both thighs, too weak to struggle, her rolling eyes glare toward the dark ceiling as she clenches her fists.  Barely coherent, the pain pulsing with each shortened breath; she closes her eyes, tightly squints as she feels her clit again manipulated, tugged outward between pinching, firm fingernails.  Feeling other hands looping another barbed strand around the small of her back, across her rippling bellybutton, twisting, looping the clinging vine down between her legs, up through her butt cheeks, she again holds her breath as she feels a barb pressed against the nub of her clit as it’s released.

“Aaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh!”  A scream through the muffling gag as a thorn’s forced into the quivering surface of the unprotected nub; her head pounding back against the harsh wooden slats, her body again uncontrollably vibrates across the front of the rack, a spurt of urine squirting between her flexing legs, splashing against the stone floor, dripping into the drain beneath the apparatus.

The Nun, her protégé with the empty basket in hand step back, circles around the rack.  Again the creaking of iron hinges, again the light momentarily reflecting off the dark walls, the door swinging shut, the only sounds remaining the creaking of the ropes and her own muffled moans.  The torches flickering, the shadows wavering across the stone walls, head slumped forward, she barely has enough strength left to glance down toward the agonizing woven strands replacing her tattered undergarments, the barbed thorns grinding into her naked flesh as she mercifully loses consciousness.

End Part One    

   

      

THE CHAMBER

A brief note:  This was originally meant to be a lackadaisical, two or maybe three part ‘short’ story as I played around on the computer for a couple hours while munching through a bag of Cheetos.  Little thought put into the plot, sub-plot, anything, I was just getting back to pounding out some quick, graphic off the cuff descriptions of a damsel in distress as I’ve tended to do in the past. (Be it amateurish as I unashamedly admit I am; I also admit that I tend to kind of speak a story instead of properly writing one)  Also, as most of my tales are considerably lengthier, it seems that these shorter 20-30 kb or so scenario bursts of mine that I don’t overly think or obviously barely proof read seem to be the most appreciated, at least by the amount of readers they draw.  And besides, on the plus side for me, my keyboard (among other things) isn’t allowed the time to turn as orange with these shorter tales.

Anyway, do to the curious range of responses to this little tale, sitting here with a fresh sack of Cheetos, let’s pound out another chapter of tormenting this unfortunate girl, this time through the eyes of a tormenter… Though remember, be forewarned, my style’s not so proper as a more accomplished professional.

Part Two 

Chapter One

       Looking in, seeing her scrubbed down, prepared for her ensuing exercise, her naked body glistens in the obviously painful bindings.  The full black leather bondage hood molded around her concealed face, only her puckered red lips are left exposed, pressing out from the narrow slot beneath the perforated air holes allowed for her flattened nostrils.  Eyes, ears covered by the Velcro flaps, she’s basically void of those senses, her body language exuding the obvious torment, even bewilderment by her treatment.

       Stepping inside the virtually stark white room, shutting the door to her assigned area, he slowly steps around her rigid form.  Silently glancing over her bindings, he watches her nude body twitching, her ankles trembling in her almost impossible ballerina stance in the eight inch spiked stilettos as her calf, thigh muscles glisten from the anomalous strain.  The cord from the ceiling attached to the top of the bondage hood taut, her breasts obscenely thrust out, separating across her chest as the nipples quiver in practically opposite directions, he inspects the tight bindings securing her arms sadistically behind her bowed back.  Her palms pressed together behind her shoulders in a prayer position, arms bound from her armpits to her elbows, the leather straps arch her shoulders back into an almost impossible contortion, just as he had ordered.

       Completing a deliberate circle, hesitating in front of her bared breasts he slowly reaches outward tracing a fingertip across a quivering nipple.  Watching as the areola puckers, its dark nub hardening as just the slightest of a moan’s audible from the swelling lips pressing outward from the mask, he cups the globular mound with his other hand, palms it as he feels the natural firmness, yet delicate softness of her youthful titflesh while flexing his fingers.  Taking his time, enjoying his moment alone with her, he’s impressed by the almost perfect circumferences of her melon sized breasts as he can feel her heartbeat resonating through his melding fingertips.  Slipping his finger down from her nipple, cupping both mounds, he gently squeezes one, then the other, comparing them like two ripe melons as he begins manipulating the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.  Glancing closer toward the faded, practically invisible remnants of their thorn treatment of the other night on the rack, listening to her muffled moans as he tweaks the obviously still tender nubs, he can’t help wondering what thought’s flashing through her mind.

       Glancing down across her hollowing stomach, lowering a fingertip across her ribcage, the fingernail tracing across her naked flesh, gently poking, prying into her flexing bellybutton, he continues the downward trek toward her pubic mound.  Again reacting, but with nearly silent moans as her response, he watches as her body quivers in who knows what anticipation she’s experiencing.  Allowing his other hand to also slide downward, trace across the similar trail as her freed breasts gently sway, their hardened nipples jiggling, his eyes begin to focus between her naturally parted thighs.

       His hands trailing across the gently rounded protuberance of her pubic area, allowing his fingertips to part the puffy folds of her labium, he kneels, reflects on the discolored and dimpled remnants across both glistening folds left from their thorn treatment.  Glancing up between her spreading breasts, the thickened nipples still twitching as he teasingly tugs on her moist labium between his fingertips, he leans closer, presses his tongue between her thighs.  Flicking, sensing the quiver of her exposed clit contacted by just the tip of his curling tongue, the moist nub obviously still painfully sensitive from the barb scrapped across, jammed into it during her initiation, he feels her hips twitching, hears the muffled groans becoming louder from the mask.

       Sliding a hand between her butt cheeks while spreading her stretching labia with the fingers of his other hand, probing a thumb across her twitching sphincter muscles rimming her rectum, he leans forward, presses his tongue firmer across her clit, jams the tip of the thumb into her puckered rectum.

       “Oomph!... Ohhhh!”

       Her startled grunts amusing him as her trembling legs lift even higher in her twisting stilettos; he flicks his tongue back and forth again and again as he presses his mouth across her spreading vagina.  Tasting her youthful nectar, sucking in, clamping his teeth around the base of her stretching clit, her moans become almost painful grunts as her hips are forced against his face.  Reaching around her waist, palming the mounds of her butt cheeks, drawing her even closer as he cranes his neck, tilts forward again, he sucks harder on the swelling nub.  Tugging, gnawing with his teeth, yet not overly harsh, he senses her naked body trembling, twisting in his grip as her rasping moans begin to reverberate off the bare walls.

       Sensing her juices involuntarily starting to flow, the moistness of her sex oozing, mixing with his own saliva, he continues to probe her puckering rectum in and out with his thumb, to lap at her spread slit, to manipulate her responding clit as her quivering body’s forced to remain virtually rigid except for her swaying, bouncing breasts, the cord stretching from the ceiling holding her head taut,.

       “Oomph!... Aaaggghhh!... Oomph!”

       Listening to her moans, grunts, tasting her pre-cum, the sticky, milky juices virtually dripping down her inner thighs, he leans back, again glances upward past her quivering stomach, perspiration beading across the bottoms of her pendulous mounds, swaying, jaunting apart, her hips twitching, trembling as he ‘plops’ his thumb from her rectum.

       Standing, almost pressing against her naked flesh, he watches her beading breasts raise, lower with each rasping breath.  Parting his robe, letting it slip down off his shoulders as he arches his back, he glances down toward his throbbing cock, thick, hard as it twitches between his thighs. The robe dropping to the floor, again cupping, melding her now shimmering breasts in his gripping fingers, he allows his cock to press between her thighs, the crown to flatten her clit, drag it inward as he presses his hips forward.

       “Oomph!”

       Again enjoying her verbal response, her body’s twitching response, he presses his face closer to hers, watches her compressed puffy lips ooze saliva as air bubbles drool down across the leather mask’s glistening chin.  Licking the mask, gliding his tongue across her offered lips, he suddenly jerks his hips forward forcing his shaft to flip upwards, the crown to glide across, force its way into her stretching vulva.

       “Oohhhh!”

       Her lips barely parting between the confining leather oval slit as his cock slides inward, his foreskin stretching, tugging harsher at her clit, he again licks across the mask, kisses her lips as he grips both breasts, twists, stretches the outthrust mounds even further apart.  Tweaking the thickened nipples between his fingers and thumbs, ramming further inward between her quivering thighs with his throbbing shaft, his bare chest pressing against her sternum, he begins stroking back and forth barely an inch or so at a time into her glove like tight orifice.  Each thrust  raising her higher in the twisting stilettos, the cord tensing, flexing from the ceiling as his thick shaft stretches at her vagina, she continues to involuntarily rasp through the mask.

       “Oomph!... Aaaggghhh!... Humph!”

       Stroking in and out, foreskin stretching, tugging at her clit, his scrotum slapping between her spreading thighs, he grips her breasts even firmer, twisting his fingernails into their shimmering base, jerking her forward, shoving her back as her glistening body twists under the flexing cord affixed to the top of the hood.  A final harsh thrust, his cock finally burrowing completely deep inside her, she screams.

“Ooooooommmmppphh!”

       Ignoring her guttural response, lifting her higher by her bulging mounds, her heels just brushing across the floor, letting her drop, lifting again, he senses the rumbling from deep within his groin, his legs twitching as he holds her also quivering body.  Feeling the rush, the pulsing, the throbbing of his cock, her breasts discoloring in his twisting grip, he grunts, groans as his gushing cum spurts inside her, drips down off her inner thighs.  Holding firm, another final pulsing spurt, lowering his hands, allowing her to try to somehow find her own balance on her trembling legs as his grip lessens; he allows his cock to slide back, to slip from between her thighs.  Releasing his grip completely, her discolored breasts swaying, bouncing, he steps back, watches her naked body twist, turn under the stretching cord until she finally presses her ankles together, balances under the again taut cord.

       Glancing over her naked body, her tanned flesh glistening from her and his mixture of bodily fluids, he watches her breasts jaunting out, her stomach hollowing with each breath beneath her protruding ribcage.  Stepping toward the door, again a glance toward her bound stance, the thought crosses his mind of returning later in the evening, mounting her again, but from behind before she receives her flogging in front of the members.  For now, in her confined darkness, she can wonder what’s next.

End Part Two        

                    

       

THE CHAMBER

Part Three

Another abuse in one of the dungeons

Chapter One

Virtually immobile, the clamminess of the latex hood adhering to her face like a second skin, the dampness stifling, she again awakens, realizes even with the mounting numbness of her extremities she’s being stretched out in a severe spread-eagled position.  Total darkness, ear passages sealed, her lips pressed practically flat between the double stitched slit beneath the nostril perforations, the hood drawn tight from her throat up, she’s lost tract of how long she’s been mounted in place since this latest torment began, the continuous pain having become synonymous with consciousness.

Her abuse almost constant since the first day, being sexually invaded in every orifice time and again between brutal lashings and worse, she can only contemplate what’s to happen next, even to when it’s going to happen as she remains drawn, suspended by her wrists and ankles.  Having lost consciousness, regained, lost, regained again without any sort of other recent abuse while enclosed in the isolation of the dreaded hood, its impossible to calculate time, to comprehend what’s actually happened in the past days, maybe even week.

‘Thwack!’

       The burning pain jolting across her breasts, the pounding reverberation resonating through her brain more from the sense of the contact rather then being able to actually hear the wide leather strap slamming across her bare nipples, she feels her torso arching outward, senses her naked breasts slapping harshly across her chest.  Her numbing fingers clenching into tightening fists, toes curling, she feels her body shuddering as her breasts throb with each escalating heartbeat, bouncing, swaying till a pulsing standstill lasting but a few moments.

       ‘Thwack!’

       A stinging smack between her spread thighs, a crisper, searing sensation resonates throughout her lower body from her flattened clit, her hips twitching; legs quivering in mid air as the ropes binding her spread extremities vibrate from their mounts.  Feeling the warmth of a couple uncontrollable spurts of urine across her inner thighs, again her fingers reflexively clench, the nails scrapping, digging into her raw palms.  Coughing, attempting to inhale through her flailing nostrils pressed nearly flat by the taut bondage hood, heart pounding as her mind races with abstract bits and pieces of incomprehensible thoughts, she struggles to accept the pain, to somehow prepare for what’s next in store.

       ‘Thwack!........................... Thwack!........................ Thwack!”

       Left breast slashed, right breast flogged, followed again by the third lashing up between her impossibly stretched thighs by a snap of the wide supple leather, the searing pain of the first couple lashings passes from one bouncing melon to the other, the third directly across her vagina again causing a squirt of urine from her stretched slit.  Screaming in her mind, moist air bubbles escaping her swollen lips compressed by the ever shrinking mask, again she can feel her naked body shuddering, the ropes flexing from her four taut limbs.  Rasping for breathe, the mask frantically sucking in, pressing outward across her lips and nostrils, the sounds of the lashings resonate from deep within, the ‘thud’ of each flogging absorbed by her taut body.

       An apprehensive respite, her body twitching in the twanging ropes, her thoughts scrambled, anticipating where the next pain’s to be inflicted, terrified, the darkness, silence all escalates her dread as she prays for unconsciousness, its sanctity.  Just moments passing before the sensation of more hands on her naked body, feeling her breasts being squeezed, twisted, the painful sensation of twine being looped, bound deep against her breastbone, her breasts jerked outward, aching, obviously bulging as she feels hands slapping the swelling mounds back and forth, the hollowing sounds of each harsh smack reverberates in her head.  The rough hewn ropes borrowing ever deeper into her swelling titflesh, she can only grunt, try to gasp for breath as that pounding of her breasts resonating throughout her body finally ceases.

       Arms, legs virtually numb, her chest burning, her bound breasts throbbing with each escalating heartbeat, she feels the Velcro being ripped away from the slits covering her eyes.  Blinking, trying to focus through her tear laden, swollen eyes, the shadowed walls flickering from the mounted torches, she sees the pair of reddish stones being held in front of her face, intertwined with hemp rope.  Glancing downward, following the long slacking ropes looping around her obscenely bulging, virtually unrecognizable breasts, the overlapping welts, bruises marring her once prefect flesh, everything seems so surreal, even as in practically slow-motion the stones slide away from the in-turning hands.  Barely time to understand the consequences, she watches the uncoiling ropes stretching as the stones disappear beneath her thrust out globular mounds.

       “Oooooooommmmmpppphhh!”

       An animalistic screech emits from the mask as she somehow jerks her head forward, cranes her neck, watches her breasts being stretched, the bulging areolas, nipples disappearing beneath the rounded mounds as the ropes snap taut, bite into her titflesh, tightens even further as the stones ‘clank’ together just below her spread slit.  Still seeming in slow-motion, her breasts springing upwards, the stones grotesquely following in the flexing ropes, her naked body quivers in the bindings as the rocks bounce together in front of her heaving stomach, disappear downward a second time followed by the flailing ropes dragging her swollen breasts with them.

       “Ooooommmppphhh!”

       Another guttural scream from the binding mask as again the stones slam together just below her severely spread thighs.  Breasts stretching, bouncing in the tightening bindings, the taut nipples bulging, her eyes roll upward in her head as a steady stream of urine spurts across the swaying rocks even as their swaying weight drags her body forward.  Bordering on unconsciousness, feeling her chin lifted upwards, the gray beard of the hooded monk reflecting the torch’s light beneath his piercing eyes, she sees his other hand handling a stone, holding it near her face.  A sneer, his hand twisting, the stone dropping, she tries to brace.

       “Aaaggghhh!”

       Her head held upright by the mask, the weight of the falling stone reaching the end of the snapping rope again rips at a throbbing breast.  Blinking, grunting, another stone being lifted in front of the mask, dropped, her eyes squint shut as in less then a moment the curling rope snaps, sways, stretching taut.

       “Aaaggghhh!”

       Another guttural screech, her other breast jerked, contorted as the stone bounces in the flexing rope, she barely senses his fist tightening beneath her chin, the stones bouncing together, dragging her breasts back and forth as they painfully stretch.  Blinking, barely on the edge of consciousness, the pair of stones again lifted across the front of the mask, rising even higher above her eyes glaring out of the narrow slots, both his hands begin to slowly turn inwards as she grunts, groans, pleads through her widening eyes.

       For some reason keeping his grip on the rocks, almost gently lowering them, she feels the tautness of the binding ropes, yet the relief of the stones not being dropped again, just swaying back and forth from her tugged breasts.  Staring blurredly into his eyes, she senses his fingers manipulating the bindings digging into her heaving chest, feels the searing pain of the ropes tugged, unwrapped, her breasts pounding, the blood rushing into the swollen mounds.  The pain beyond description, yet the psychological relief of not being further tortured, she continues to gasp for breath as he steps behind her.

       Sensing his hands around her throat, the mask unzipping from behind her neck, she feels the latex tugging, stretching at her skin as it slides up off her head.  For the first time in possibly days, she feels the fresh air across her chaffed, reddened face.  Her matted hair clinging to her scalp, her eyes puffy above her swollen cheeks, her chin drops limply across her sternum while she remains tautly stretched by the four ropes.  The torches almost extinguished but still flickering, the shadows dancing across the stone walls as the robed individuals file out of the dungeon, shut the creaking door behind them, she glances down toward her bruised, swollen breasts, wonders when they’ll be back, how much more she can take before going mad.

End Part Three

    

       

        

              

THE CHAMBER

Part 4

Introduced to self flogging

Chapter One

Virtually unshackled for the first time since her nightmare began, her feelings, senses returning to her extremities, her bruised flesh responds to being bathed, oiled.  The thoughts of her treatment still to frightful to expound upon, barley able to distinguish reality from being delusional, but for now being able to feel, massage her own body, her particularly aching breasts, her thighs with her bare hands as the steam accumulates around her, she leans back against the tile wall of the small but functional shower stall, apprehensively enjoys the warmth of the swirling water from the shower head cascading across her shoulders as the last of the lotion rinses down the drain.  Turning the water off, toweling herself as it trickles to a drip, she steps from the shower, approaches the clothed mannequin positioned in the corner of the small Spartan furnished bedroom.

An all white habit, a series of printed instructions pinned to a sleeve, she steps toward the outfit, reaches for the note.  Glancing over it, reading, comprehending the several brief orders, using a second towel to dry her hair, dropping the towel and twisting her still wet hair into a tight bun, she slips the habit from the mannequin, slides it over her naked body finishing with the wimple and veil.  A pair of sandals for her feet, stepping back into the bathroom, glancing into the fogged mirror, her reflection’s an almost mirror image of the novice from the first day on the rack.  Naked beneath the habit, the material thick and her already raw nipples tender, she senses the scrapping of the course cloth across her bare flesh from the flowing garb.

A tap on the door as she hears it swinging open, turning toward the bedroom, she observes the Nun and her novice quietly entering.  Hesitant to even move, eyes lowering, she still sees the Nuns hands crossed, hidden in the sleeves in front of her, the novice carrying an ominous whip, all black with a long handle, multiple strands of flailing leather strands swaying back and forth, the tightly knotted tips almost scrapping the floor.  Otherwise, in their familiar garb, the novice a couple steps behind, for the first time, Jodi hears the Nun speak.

“So… I see you wear it well.”  Her voice quiet, yet strict, one of an authoritative nature as she steps within an arms length, reaches out, touches the white cloth with its occasional damp stains, while adding.  “You’ll get use to it… This particular garbs’ going to be your discipline apparel.”

Already apprehensive, feeling the hanging cloth scraping even harsher across her sore, shivering breasts as she tries to control herself from trembling, her eyes remain fixed on the ominous black leather strands intermingling as they brush back and forth in front of the novice’s white habit.

“I see you’re interested in her self-flogging implement she’s brought to display for you.”  She nods toward the novice’s hands.  “You’ll learn to use one just like it… And very quickly… Or you’ll suffer the consequences.”  Reaching out, the back of her fingers gliding back and forth across the still noticeable mounds concealed beneath the course material of Jodi’s habit, pressing firmer against the obvious puffiness in the cloth formed by the nipples, she adds.  “Of course you’ll have this habit removed during your penance exercises… Obviously your naked flesh will be offered to the leather totally exposed.”  Turning back toward the novice, taking a couple steps toward her, reaching out and gripping the handle of the whip in one hand, the swaying knotted tails in her other, she silently nods an obvious command.

Crisscrossing her arms, the novice reaches down, lifts the material upwards past the sandals, the white cloth slipping past her hips, her bare stomach, up past her shoulders as she obeys the silent command by revealing her otherwise nude body.  Only the white band left from above her eyes as she allows the garment to drop to the floor beside her, the scenes’ surreal as Jodi can’t help staring toward the naked, youthful body fronting her, not unlike her own.  The girl’s bared breasts surprisingly large, her waist slender, she can’t help staring at the naked girl, most of all the numerous signs of faint bruises, of tracks of obvious thorn branches that had recently looped around her chest, hips, and even more noticeable, several more obvious recent, reddish welts rising from between her thighs to her navel, others circling beneath her shoulders, ending across the outer edges of her nipples, her globular mounds now jaunting firmly outward as her shoulders arch back.

“See?”  The Nun questions as she glances toward Jodi, lets the strands of leather drop as she brushes the back of her hand across the girl’s bare breast.  “See… She does her penance…  She’s learning her place… Just like you will… There’s an art to whipping your own breasts and vaginal area with a cat-o-nine tails.”

To frightened to speak, to shocked to try to utter a word, Jodi watches as the Nun hands the handle of the whip back to the novice.  Stepping away, a nod of the Nun’s head, Jodi watches the novice obediently position herself, spread her legs, arch her shoulders back with her free arm stiff, slightly raised out toward her side.  The nine leather strands flexing, somehow for whatever reason actually trying to count them off in her head as they flick back and forth, Jodi watches the tightly knotted tips scrapping across the floor.  Glancing up into the novice’s gaze, their eyes interlock as the whip swings forward, backward a couple more times, the long leather strands curling, intertwining as the girl’s gripping fist finally disappears forcefully back behind her.

The silence eerie, the quietness of the black strands of leather circling, arching up behind her, flailing above, then down across her left shoulder, the small room resonates as the spreading leather strikes the novice’s bare flesh.

‘Smaaaccckk!’

The series of tongs slashing across her thrust out chest, flattening her right breast echoes off the barren walls as the strands spread apart, dig into the supple flesh.  Her naked body jerking, the unobstructed breast bouncing, swaying, the novice stands motionless for a moment or so, slides her free arm back behind her, grips the whip’s handle from her other hand.  Bringing her free arm stiffly out toward her other side, flicking the handle, the lithe leather jerks away from her welted flesh, more then half the strands leaving their marks on her bruised breast as it bounces, sways free.

Swinging the handle back and forth beside her, picking up momentum, the stands snapping, bouncing across the floor, her eyes stay focused on Jodi’s as she tenses, swings her hand completely behind her.  The strands of leather again looping, circling from above her right shoulder this time, the sight of her left breast disappearing beneath the clump of leather’s quickly followed by a similar, even harsher echo.

‘Smmmaaaccckkk’.

Her bared breast completely covered as it flattens across her chest, the sound of the girl’s grunt follows as her knees nearly buckle.  Again a pause, this time for more then a moment, the novice slides her free arm behind her, grips the long handle with both hands, tugs, slides the flexing black strands up off her breast, across her shoulder.  The firm mound discoloring to a purplish bruise as it bounces, the nipple flattened, just a couple floggings and the severity of the whip’s abilities are more then obvious.

The novice breaking eye contact, she glances toward the Nun, getting her quick response with an affirmative nod.  Sliding the whip out around her, gripping it in both hands in front of her, she hesitates, begins swinging it back and forth between her spread thighs. Again picking up momentum, the strands scrape briskly across the floor between her spreading legs.

Almost mesmerized, watching the whip’s strips of leather circling outward, flicking downward, a grunt from the novice, her arms locking as they spring forward straight up over her head, Jodi sees the tangling knots flicking up over the girl’s head, disappearing behind her flexing shoulders, the swishing sound audible as more then a few inches of the tongs reach their target, ‘smack’ curl up through her spread thighs, burrowing into her vaginal area, flattening across her pubic mound, a couple flicking all the way across her belly button.

“Ooomph!”

The novice’s naked body arching, tiptoeing as she gasps, the leather momentarily adheres between her thighs, slips away leaving the telltale red welts.  Regaining her balance, her composure, another glance toward the Nun, turning, handing the reversed handle to her outreaching hand, she leans over, retrieves the habit and quietly slips it over her head, dresses.

Still almost in a daze, seeing someone else’s naked body brutalized, even more so by their own hand, Jodi’s eyes again focuses on the whip in the Nun’s grip before glancing hesitantly toward her face.

“Come with us.”  Three short words as the Nun speaks, turns, steps past the also turning novice.  Jodi obediently following, her mind nearly blank, she’s almost afraid to think, to process what’s happening.

Into the hallway, down another corridor, the Nun stops, presses open a large oak door.  Glancing toward Jodi, a nod to enter, the Nun leads the way.  The chamber’s walls flickering with the mounted torches, seeing the back of the oval wooden apparatus, a brief moment for her eyes to adjust, Jodi realizes it’s the rack she was drawn on her initial day in bondage.  Heart pounding, almost refusing to enter any further, another jolt to her thought process as she realizes a naked body’s strapped to its front side.  Obviously a young woman, her body arched, breasts thrust up, the nipples sadistically clamped, Jodi senses her own chest aching from the unattended reflex, her body feeling the pains inflicted on it just days before on that very rack.

“Silence.”  The Nun orders her followers in a quiet tone, a finger in front of her lips as the current victim’s moans are more of a constant inaudible groan through a rag stuffed deep in her throat.  Nodding, leading her pair, the Nun steps in front of the rack, nodding the two to either side.  Still silent, handing the whip to the novice, reaching up, she twists the implanted wooden thumbscrew another full turn across the twitching nipple.

“Aaaaaagggghhhh!”  The naked girl’s body arching, her chaffed wrists and ankles stretching in the creaking ropes, a trickle of fresh blood oozes from her deformed nipple, drips across her outthrust chest.  Another turn of the matching thumbscrew on her other breast, another shriek from the stuffed rag, just a spurt of blood flicks outward, spatters the glistening torso arching outward.

Glancing toward Jodi, having her step in front of the rack’s current victim, she allows her a closer look.  Heart thumping, the painful memories still fresh, she hesitates, yet steps directly in front of the bowed girl, her tortured breasts at eye level, thrusting outward, the nipples twitching beneath the jiggling clamps.  Again a quick comparison inevitable, she’s another big breasted youthful victim, again about the same age, her welling eyes darting, staring through blurry tears into nowhere while muffled pleadings garble through the damp rag as her naked body involuntarily flinches.

The Nun stepping forward again, brushing against Jodi’s shoulder, she reaches out, grips the third clamp almost unnoticed between the girl’s thighs.  An unsympathetic full turn of its thumbscrew, a spurt of urine companioned with the paralyzing shriek echoing off the stone walls, Jodi’s eyes become transfixed on the swollen, nearly golf ball sized nub of the girl’s purplish clit as the Nun nudges her arm, points toward the doorway.

Trembling, glancing back a final time as the Nun hesitates, adjusts the lever behind the apparatus, the familiar ‘Clank’……’Clank’ of the responding gears, the stretching of the ropes, the grunts and groans of the girl feeling as if her limbs are being ripped apart as the clamps noticeably vibrate across her outthrust titflesh, Jodi finds herself in the hallway between the pair.

“That rack’s available at any time for you… You can be in her place in a matter of moments if you don’t strictly adhere to our policies.”  The Nun preaches as she flicks the handle of the whip back and forth across her palm, glances into Jodi’s widening eyes as they walk.  “Now for your first self inflicted flogging for the group to witness… I advise you to follow her leads she gave you to the ‘T’… A good, crisp dozen to start with.”   Nodding toward the novice, she continues.  “Of course with the same enthusiasm she exhibited… Understand?”

Ashen faced, her breasts already aching, almost nauseated by the sight of the occupied torture rack, she can only nod, glance down toward the whip as they walk down the corridor toward an open entry way with mingling robed monks.

End Part Four…. Now for an added bonus… A brief tidbit to follow below….               

  

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………....

THE CLOTHESPIN…

An added short subject tossed in just for kicks, totally unrelated to the story…

The Clothespin squeezes slowly shut, alternately opens between the bright red nail polish of the thumb and forefinger.  Wooden styled, it has a metal spring clip, one not quite like any other ordinary run of the mill laundry clothespin from just out of the bag.  The tension of the spring seems substantially firmer then most as its manipulated, maybe because it was replaced for added strength, a firmer grip, because of what it’s about to be used for.  Also, on closer look, the tongs’ flat tips are modified with specially grooved serrated edges, certainly for the obvious reason.

Held up in front of her partially bare breast peeking up over the folded bra cup, her nipple standing out on the silver dollar sized smooth surface of her areola glistening on the firm, globular mound, just the edges of the partially open pin brushes across the dark nub, its instantaneous response visible on the quivering exposed flesh as the entire areola shrivels in its own anticipation.

Another set of manicured fingers slipping up from beneath the symmetrical mound, the thumbnail and fingernail forming a subtle ‘O’ tweak at the base of the nipple, gently tugging outward, manipulating the hardening but stretching nub while one side of the clothespin presses firmly across the areola leaving just the slightest indentation as it’s horizontally aligned.  Her head tilted forward above her diamond necklace to concentrate, lips parting, the tip of her tongue curling, lying across the bright red lipstick perfectly making up the lower, she watches the fullness of her breast settled in her upraised palm, the nipple pushing further forward over the low cut of the white lace French bra flattening beneath the melon sized mound as she senses the widening tips of the spreading pin reaching their pinnacle as they slip into position.

The rhythm of her heartbeat noticeable even in her cupped breast, a nibble on her lower lip, her matching diamond earrings swaying, her stomach rippling, her hollowed navel twitching, she follows the trail of the prongs pressing deeply across the nub, resting between her fingertips and the shimmering surface of her areola.  Finger, thumb carefully spreading apart, the wooden surfaces pressing in opposite directions across, sinking into the exposed titflesh, her lips form a silent oval as the targeted nub’s aligned with the pair of standard circular grooves deep on the clothespin’s prongs.

Another measured breath, the pin further released in careful, almost methodical increments as the series of serrated indentations meld into her sensitive, flattening flesh, her naked breast bobbles above the stitched hem of the flattened lace cup as her chest arches pensively outward.  The pin finally fully implanted, the nipple, areola responding, jiggling firmly outward, just the slightest sigh escapes her parting lips while her fingers hesitate, almost apprehensively slide off the makeshift clamp.  An overall tremor, not unlike a cold chill spreading across her entire body, her fingertips gliding down across the oblique curves of her health spa trim profile, her hands interlock behind her strapless back, fingers clenching together as her eyes remain transfixed on the throbbing nipple.

Allowing herself a brief, discrete moan, bowing her shoulders, the pin jiggling as the nub of her nipple continues to discolor as it swells, partially concealing the edges of the wooden clamp’s gripping teeth; she senses the simplistic, yet sadistically designed pressure forced across the pinched nub, the burning sensation of the series of serrated grooves spreading throughout her breast, aching across her chest.

A hint of a tear welling, not enough to mar the mascara around her dark brown eyes, she rotates her hips slightly to the side, glances toward her stunningly beautiful, expensively draped silhouette in the mirror, the unfathomable contrast of a fifty cent wooden clothespin jaunting out off her exposed, proud breast.  Reaching up, cupping her pinned melon, tediously aligning the brassiere the best she can while slipping her firm titflesh painfully back into place, the clothespin further tightens across her aching flesh as it disappears beneath the pressing lace cup.  Slipping the spaghetti straps of her evening gown back up across her shoulders, the plunging neckline again revealing the impressive curves of her pendulous breasts below the gleaming strands of diamonds, just a hint of the clothespin’s outline protrudes from beneath the scant, yet elegant black material as she thrusts her shoulders behind her to assume her proper posture.

A final check of her makeup, refreshing her lip-gloss, closing her purse, she steps from in front of the powder room’s mirror in her six inch stilettos, breasts bobbing, throbbing as she maintains her balance while unlocking the door that allowed her privacy, shutting it behind her.  The purse in hand, its contents include two other matching clothespins, possibly, actually certainly to be applied again by her own hands one at a time to his other two favorite places on her bare flesh during the course of the rest of the evening.   Until then she’ll be expected to obediently mingle with her husband/Master, to be shown off as his half his age trophy wife with the formal gathering of his group of close acquaintances and their spouses.

FINIS