Cruel Devices II
Jacqueline D Cirque
* * * * *
Published by J D Cirque
Copyright © 2014 by J D Cirque
Note: All characters depicted are over 18 and not related by blood. All sex is consensual.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
PUNISHED IN A COFFIN
“Ow!”
I recoil back. A ruby dome rises on my finger where I’ve pricked it in the shrubbery.
The sun is fleeting and I’ve been in the woods far too long. My basket is overflowing with berries. I know this should go some way to easing the anger of my mother, but there will still be a good flogging for my behind when I get home.
Two things are absolute in the village: You do not go into the woods, and you do not stay out past dark. I’ve managed to do both in the one afternoon.
Gooseflesh rises on my arms as the temperature falls and shadows turn into night proper.
I’m hurrying through the forest, the bottom of my skirt stained and torn in my haste.
In the dark it’s harder to navigate. I circle back, basket heavy in my hand, but I’ve lost the path.
Keep moving. The path will present itself soon enough. It always does.
I can hear my mother already. “You’re only eighteen, Annabelle. Do you know what those who dwell in the woods would do to a beauty such as you?”
Time distorts as a full moon is belched up ahead. My chest fans out and closes with frantic breathing. Calm yourself.
Something speaks and I drop the basket, berries spilling out in a ring.
I kneel and spin as a crow kicks away from a branch above.
Just a silly bird.
But another sound fills the silence, a steady beating – a drum.
I stand, breath caught in my throat, and listen.
It’s coming from behind the rise, unmistakable in its march and cadence. Man.
I gather the berries and cautiously move to the top of the rise, careful to place my feet so as to dampen my footfalls.
At the top I look down at a large depression of open, flat area. I have to close my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream of surprise.
People are gathered below, naked bar black hoods that cover their heads. Fires set around the perimeter paint their bodies in an ethereal orange glow as they dance to the drum.
What pagan ritual is this? What blasphemy?
I crouch lower to the earth, my anchor, and watch on as the drum stops and a man enters the centre of the congregation.
The naked bodies distress me. I have only ever seen my mother and myself nude, her breasts heavy like sacks of flour. I know human anatomy. I have seen men and their appendages in books and scrolls, but the reality is far different.
All forms and shapes are carved out below by the light. I gasp quietly as I see more than one man has an erection, their members standing out from their bodies like birch rods, thick and veined and glistening against the fire.
Pins and needles run down my arms, a warmth gathering at my core as I watch on.
The man in the middle, cock stiff, speaks in a booming echo. He speaks in a foreign tongue, Latin perhaps, with each phrase repeated by those gathered around him. In the shadows to his back looms something large and angular, but I cannot make it out from this distance.
The drum comes again and people start to join together, men to women, lying in the dirt and… no.
The men place their cocks inside the women, grinding and writhing in the dirt, hoods billowing out with panted breath as they defile themselves.
Such an orgy pulls at my young, innocent eyes. I have never seen such a thing, even amongst beasts. Hot flesh heaves wherever I look, yet I cannot look away.
I watch the couple closest to my vantage point, the man’s member slick as a river log as it slides inside the woman’s sheath. Her back arches out in reaction and she calls upon an unknown fixture above to release her. Others in the gathering do likewise, bent and twisted into unusual positions.
The man at the centre of it all stands still and watches.
The space between my legs becomes a fire and I press my hand down upon it, my mouth ringing open as I try to supress my own desire against the flood of heated skin below.
My hand begins to move freely, my palm pressing against my cleft through my skirt until I sit back in the dirt and look to the heavens for support, the drum beating, the ritual continuing and the full moon a keen spectator above.
The act of sex is new to my eyes. I’ve run with the village boys, even let one fondle below my skirts in the hay, his hand coming away webbed from what had leaked between my thighs. He made me taste it, taste myself and suck his fingers clean like chicken bones.
What are you doing?
Reality snaps me to attention and I remove my hand as if I’ve been holding it over an open fire. I stand and make my way back down the hill, picking up the trail and my legs continuing to pump until I’m free from the woods and their sinful scenes.
*
In the morning I sat on my cot bouncing from buttock to buttock. They burned from the birch hiding I received last night, my mother so angry her head was momentarily transformed into a tomato. Each blow from the birch was punctuated with a word. “Don’t – you – ever – ever – go – into – the – woods – again.”
She slumped against the wall exhausted from the act. “I know this is the testing age, Annabelle, an age of discovery and defiance, but you must heed my words when I tell you that nothing good enters, nor exits, from that forest. It is darkness. It holds all which is vile in the world.
What I saw what not vile – vulgar perhaps, but not vile. Try as I might nothing could scrub the scene I’d witnessed from my mind. The bodies came to me in my dreams, the hooded eyes and thick cocks as they wormed their way inside their fellow flesh, the way the breasts heaved in response, sweaty and slick from the fires.
The month passed slowly and still Mother could not find work. Soon our stores were depleted. We were starving again.
The woods called to me, not just for the berries and mushrooms that lay in such abundance, but because of the ritual I had witnessed. It had a power over me. It called to me at night, a siren whispering into my ear and mind and curling its fingers around my sex as I slept.
I had to go back.
I had to stand witness once more.
The full moon would rise again tonight. I gathered my basket.
My mother stood in front of the door. “Where are you going, young lady?”
“The market,” I lied. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”
My mother eyed me, rolling pin heavy in her hands. “You better.”
The journey into the forest took many hours. The berries and mushrooms lay deep in the shaded centre, requiring a deft hand and nimble fingers to procure. I gathered what I
could quickly, working with what was left of the light to find my way back to the place where I had stood witness to the pagans.
In daylight, the depression looked just like any other. There was a large, square hole dug at the rear, past where the leader had stood, and fire pits ringed the flat, but apart from that there was no sign of life, of the mystery that had spellbound me so.
I lay in wait, sleep pulling at my eyes.
*
I wake startled. Above, the moon watches, night all around me as I sit up.
Boom. Boom.
The drum has returned.
How long have I been asleep?
Even before I look down into the depression I can see the tops of the trees lit up by the fires below.
The musky scent of bare earth in the air, dirt under my fingernails, I claw myself to the top of the rise and look down.
The naked, hooded figures have returned, chanting now as one solid moving mass of flesh.
The chant sounds ancient, a summoning of sorts. A cold wind stirs and the trees shiver above, the flames dancing and shadows spinning through the forest.
Suddenly, the leader at the centre speaks and all eyes turn towards me.
I hide behind the rise, my heart beating hard against the earth. Surely they could not have seen me. It is not possible.
When I turn to move away a scream explodes from my lungs as my path is blocked my two hooded men, chests carved as if from marble and cocks like giant eels swinging between their legs as they reach forward and lift me easily under the arms, dragging me through the woods as I plead and protest, begging for release as I’m led below and cast onto the ground in front of the man at the centre of the flat.
I look up. The sight is terrifying. The man wears a tented black hood, the slits giving little indication as to his eyes. Otherwise, his body is naked as the day he was born, strange tattoos covering his torso and his sex a monstrous, hulking organ with a bulb like a baby’s head. His balls are gathered below this mighty appendage like melons, covered in a soft, blacken fur.
The two men who dragged me down stand behind me, the rest of the figures around the perimeter silent as statues.
One of the men behind me speaks. I do not recognise his voice. “Grand Inquisitor, the girl you asked for.”
The man in front of me gives a wave of his hand and the men behind me step back.
The one they call the Inquisitor steps forward, crouching before me. “You are far from home, little one.”
I look around in panic. “Please, just let me go.”
“Have you been enjoying our rites?”
“Rites?”
‘The ancient speakings, the summoning of the Goddess.”
“Please, I don’t know anything. I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.”
“Ah,” he laughs, standing, “the foolishness of youth.”
He speaks to all those collected, hands raised high. “Let us all be witness to what the Goddess has provided for us this night.”
He can’t mean me, surely?
“The Goddess,” he continues, “has brought forth the Maiden from the earth for our gratification. The Maiden has entered the Circle and will now be born to the Altar in blessing as we evoke the Four Quarters. Let us dine of this lover-to-be and fest on the fruits of her body!”
The drum beats again and I shiver in fright at the proximity as I am once again lifted to my feet.
The hoods give away no indication of emotion as the Inquisitor comes before me, cock tapping against his chest as he admires me. “Strip her,” he commands.
“No!”
The two men beside me seize my dress and skirts, pulling the threads apart with their bare hands and clawing at my garments until they’re stretched and cast from my body. Naked, I press my legs together and cover my sex with one hand and my breasts with my arm, shame rising rosy to my cheeks as I cry and whimper.
The ribbon in in my hair is removed to let my brunette folds cascade over my shoulders. My shoes are socks are discarded until I am left completely bare.
The two men grab my wrists and stretch out my arms so that my breasts come free and the full peach of my sex is exposed before the Inquisitor, who walks around me.
“The Goddess will be pleased with such an offering,” he says, pausing to flick a nipple until it stiffens from my breast against the dark saucer below.
“Tell me, child, are you pure?”
“Pure?”
“A virgin.”
When I do not answer he slaps my breasts and I speak, “Yes! Yes, I am pure.”
I cannot see it, but I am sure he is smiling below his hood. “Take her to the Altar.”
I’m led to the back of the flat and the giant angled object that alluded my eyes a month ago.
As we come closer the object becomes clearer. It’s a box of sorts, with gilded handles and intricate hinges. At first I think it may be a chest of some description until my mouth catches in horror with realisation that this is no chest, but a coffin.
I struggle against the men that hold me, my feet looking for purchase in the dirt but finding none. There is no escape from this madness, no way out.
“From earth to earth,” the Inquisitor says beside me, body aflame by the fire and cock showing no signs of slumber. “You shall be returned to the Goddess, little one, as we all shall in time.”
No, he can’t mean…
I struggle harder, lashing against the men, but they hold me firm, my joints stretched as I whip between them.
The Inquisitor moves to an ornate table that has been set up beside the casket. He removes something, stands before me and holds it to my face.
It’s a vial filled with an inky liquid. He removes the cork and a pungent, aniseed scent snakes through the air.
Another figure, a young woman, runs to him with a golden cup. He pours the contents of the vial into the cup and extends it towards me. “Drink, little one, so that your journey to the Goddess goes smoothly.
I kick upwards, my foot just missing collecting the cup.
The Inquisitor holds it protectively. “Now, now, that will not do.”
Another man comes out from the perimeter and holds my jaw, pressing against my cheeks until I relent and my mouth opens. He holds my head back as the Inquisitor pours the substance in. I mean to spit it out, but the figure holds my mouth shut. I struggle, holding my breath and the horrid liquid in my mouth before I can take it no longer and swallow, the liquid leaving a burning trail of fire on its way to my belly.
The men let me go and I fall to my knees.
I try to stand but fall again. The world swims and I’m dizzy, lost. Again, I try to move, but my limbs have become tree trunks, unable to extend or balance. I slump onto the dirt, gazing across the forest floor as my consciousness drifts.
They have poisoned me. This is the end.
There is no great flash of light or stream of memories that fill my head before I slip away, but still I remain aware of my surroundings as the ability to control my body fades.
I am lifted by many figures, hoods gathering around me and lifting me high, placing me into the silken confines of the coffin.
I do not have the energy to scream or fight. I simply want to rest, to sleep… forever.
The sky blackens and I am in darkness, all consuming, absolute.
*
All sensation and consciousness slams back into my body. My eyes open but there is only darkness.
Panic overwhelms me. A blanket of cold sweat falls over my body.
I look for calm. Concentrate. What are your surroundings?
I am lying on my back. That is clear. Underneath me is the silk cushion I can only assume is the interior of the coffin. The poison is still in effect. I cannot move my body, but I am breathing. I am alive. That, at least, is something.
Given the sound of my breathing, the coffin appears larger than I first thought, far bigger than a regular coffin. Underneath my fingers I can feel the silk, cool against my buttocks.
The air is cold, thick with earth and there is the distant sound of the drum beating above.
Above.
My breathing quickens, faster and faster until I see spots in the black.
They really have buried me alive.
“Calm yourself, little one.”
I suck back a scream, the sound only in my head as the voice of the Inquisitor speaks beside me. “There is little air here for both of us and I for one do not wish to die. So, calm yourself.”
He is lying beside me, the Inquisitor, both of us buried in this box.
“Now,” he continues, his breath hot against the side of my cheek. “It is time for the Ceremony.”
With his finger he traces a line from my chin down my collarbone and to the gentle curve of my breast. I try to pace my breathing, but it continues to race ahead in shallow gasps.
His finger circles my nipple, already firm, before it’s replaced by his mouth as he leans over, the twiggy tower pulled between his lips as he suckles upon it.
My body responds, a heat echoing out from my core. It betrays me.
His lips move away and my nipple cools. His fingers continue to walk down my body, gliding over my belly before settling between my legs and gliding into my slit.
My folds open for him as he pushes my thighs apart. I begin to grow slick at his touch, desire weeping out around his fingers as they press and probe at my interior. There is nothing I can do but lie and let him work.
I moan internally as his middle finger pushes past the tight ring of my sex and into the warm cave beyond. My cunt grips this wayward explorer, my muscles pulling it in as my mind screams against it.
His cock presses against my leg, the head of his member seeping fluid down my thigh.
His other hand caresses me as he rains kisses down upon my bare shoulders and neck, molten lava running to the space between my legs as his finger presses up against my obstruction.
“Pure indeed,” he whispers, lips biting at the nub of my ear.
The blunt tips of his fingers hold out my folds, play in the wetness that soaks into the silk below, the signal of my body’s ultimate betrayal. I do not know this man, I do not even know his face, yet against my will my body yearns for his touch, bending to his every desire.
Cruel Devices 2: Taboo Punishment Collection (Extreme Dark Bondage) Page 1
