Slaves to the Bloodline

by Falconer Bridges

  It was all around her. Weirdness. Weirdness and danger.

  Before coming to the castle she had relished and revelled in a life of supposed out of the ordinary and dangerous living, but now she realised that compared to this her past experiences had all been a sham. She had never before found herself in such real danger. That danger manifested itself into a tangible, physical form as the fingers of one of the Baroness’ hands clamped themselves to one of her spectacular nipples and squeezed mercilessly. Thimble-sized and surrounded by an areola of unchallengeable brown magnificence, Mistress Madonna’s teats suffered the same agony as if they were being were being crushed in the jaws of a nutcracker.

  “Alright Marquis, we have power in abundance at the moment, so shall we put some of it to good use?”

  “Anything you say, dear Baroness.”

  “Good! I’m really going to give this vixen something to remember me by. And vital to my purposes as he is, I see no reason that her slave cannot receive a little of the same treatment.”

  There it was again; this reference to Julian. What was it that made him so special to the Baroness? Mistress Madonna could only wonder as her eyes roved over the harshly lit chamber, her gaze falling upon all manner of strange, intimidating electrical devices. And none were more menacingly heart-stopping than a series of tall, domed and open-fronted circular metal cages, all conspicuously linked by heavy cables to control panels that stood in front of each one of them.

  The Baroness looked around and obviously not finding what she was looking for, called out impatiently.

  “Quasimodo! Stop whatever you are doing this instant. You have got all the time in the world to fuck Esmeralda; right now I have need of your assistance. Get over here and do it quickly!”

  Shuffling out from behind a sparking, unidentifiable electrical contraption, he sulkily answered her summons.

  “The main controls! Fire them up and show Mistress Madonna what lies in wait for her.”

  Heaving down on a long lever, he gunned six loudly buzzing giant domes sitting on top of almost roof high supports into life. Each of the three cages was sited between two of the domes and if Julian had been able to communicate with her, he could have told Mistress Madonna that they resembled huge Van de Graaf generators. But they were not generating electricity here, they were harvesting it direct from the sky; either way it made no difference to her intended fate.

  “Now, let them go!”

  As Quasimodo threw another switch, the chamber was instantaneously thrown into the middle of a flashing, crackling and thunderously noisy lightning storm. Travelling at a hundred thousand miles a second, bolts of fiery electricity streaked from the domes to strike the metal cages, running over the bars and almost obscuring them in a haze of blazing elemental fury.

  The Baroness allowed the display to continue for several minutes, watching gleefully as Mistress Madonna recoiled in terror.

  “Enough! Turn it off now. Let us get her inside the centre cage.”

  “No! You can’t put me in there. It’s inhuman.”

  Mistress Madonna’s fright was plainly evident. And so was the Baroness’ satisfaction at seeing that fright so tangibly displayed.

  “Quite my dear. But then, we are not human, are we?”

  Kicking out and struggling, it took all the guards’ efforts to manhandle her over to the cage and push her inside. They showed no mercy, scraping and bruising her succulent flesh as they forced her arms behind her back and clamped her elbows and wrists tightly together with metal cuffs behind a steel pole that was fixed into the floor of the cage. The cuffs were painful in the extreme and only prompted her to re-double her assault on the guards with her wildly kicking legs, but she was close to total exhaustion and she felt her strength give out under the determined assault of her captors.

  With their steely fingers digging into her flesh, several pairs of firm hands grabbed her legs and weakening greatly she found herself helpless to prevent her feet being pulled wide apart, feeling the grazing bite of yet more metal cuffs as they were snapped tight around her ankles. Once her flailing legs had been dealt with, a chain was clipped to the cuffs clamping her wrists and digging between the cheeks of her backside, was tugged down and fixed tightly to a hoop on the floor of the cage.

  Adjustable for height, a metal bar with an iron collar attached to its end projected from the pole and holding her head steady, the guards clamped the collar around her neck. With her wrists and feet now tightly chained to the floor of the cage and her head held immobile by the collar, the Baroness obviously felt that Mistress Madonna presented no further physical threat and ordered the guards away.

  “Now, make your peace and say goodbye to the world.”

  Mistress Madonna’s aridly dry mouth prevented her from making any reply or uttering any further plea for mercy and she could only watch helplessly as addressing the hunchback, the Baroness ordered him to once again throw the switch that set the lightning flowing.

  Blinded by the light and deafened by the racket, Mistress Madonna screamed hysterically as two and a half million volts of electricity attacked the cage and raced over the surface of the metal bars. It took several minutes before she came to her senses. She should have been fried instantly and now be nothing but a charred, blackened corpse; but she was not. She was alive; temporarily blinded by the light but definitely still in one piece.

  Suddenly, the electrical display stopped.

  “Surprised, are you? You do not really think that I would allow you to take your leave of this world in such an easy and quick manner. No, terror is what I wanted you to feel; and you did. At the moment the cage is functioning as a Faraday device, the electricity passes directly through the metal frame into the earth and you are earthed by the stone floor. I expect that you cannot see properly as yet, but when you can you will notice that attached to some of the metal ribs are chains with steel cuffs on the end; when I wish to really dispose of a slave, their wrists are clamped into these cuffs and when the lightning strikes, all the voltage flows through them and the slave is no more.

  “But as I told you earlier, I have other plans for you.”

  Because of the way in which her arms were secured behind her back, Mistress Madonna’s breasts jutted proud and firm and reaching into the cage, the Baroness appreciatively clapped a hand over their inviting meat; squeezing the heavy orbs in turn and rolling the projectile nipples beneath her palm. Mistress Madonna was acutely conscious of the Baroness’ other hand slipping between her thighs to open her sex lips, wincing with discomfort as stiff fingers pushed up into her resisting vagina.

  “Ah, we will have to do something about that my petal, I need you nice, juicy and open for what I have in mind. But let us start at the beginning, shall we?”

  And the beginning proved to be her tits.

  Hanging from the roof bars of the cage were two lengths of medium-weight electrical cable, the outer covering stripped off at their ends and coiled to form hoops of bared wire. Slipping the wires over Mistress Madonna’s breasts, as a hangman might tighten a noose around his victim’s neck, the Baroness pulled them taut. Mistress Madonna squirmed as she felt the wires constrict until they bit deeply into the roots of her firm tit flesh.

  “Yes, that should do very nicely.”

  The Baroness was obviously off to a good start.

  “Now, what can I do with those delectable nipples of yours?”

  Something abominable, Mistress Madonna had no doubt of that.

  The Baroness deliberated for a moment.

  “Oh, I think I know just the thing.”

  Mistress Madonna was not taken in, the Baroness had known all along what affliction she was going to impose upon her; the pause in the proceedings was just meant to heighten the tension.

  “Quasimodo, the crocodile clips! The large ones.”

  Two powerfully-sp
rung clips were delivered into her hands and if Mistress Madonna was not already dreading enough their bite on her nuggets, her trepidation was notched even higher when she realised that they too were attached to lengths of electrical cable. Pulling her victim’s nipples out to their full extent, first one and then the other was clamped by the steel teeth of the wicked jaws as the Baroness snapped them closed. The pain was excruciating, but worse was to come.

  “Now, plug the leads into the console.”

  Watching to check that the hunchback carried out her order, when she seemed sure that he had positioned them correctly, she turned back to Mistress Madonna.

  “Uhmm . . such magnificent breasts; it would be a pity to leave them without a little more decoration.”

  Whatever she had in mind, this time she collected the means to carry it out herself and Mistress Madonna could not suppress a horrified gasp when she saw that the Baroness was returning with two more lengths of cable. Cables that at one end were split into a multitude of thinner branches; and attached to those branches were long needles.

  The Baroness waved them before her victim.

  “There are twenty needles on the end of each of these cables; count them if you wish. Every one is connected to the console, as are the crocodile clips. Prepare yourself, all forty will soon be buried deep into your breasts.”

  Starting from the upper mounds of Mistress Madonna’s marvellously full tits and circling their entire circumference, siting them in between the constricting wire nooses at their roots and the clamping metal jaws torturing her nipples, the Baroness pushed needle after needle into their surprisingly accommodating flesh.

  Inserted with expertise, apart from the initial prick as the point pierces the flesh, a needle really does not occasion unbearable discomfort as it is pushed to its full depth into a meaty mammary. The Baroness possessed that expertise and when all forty needles circled both of Mistress Madonna’s breasts, her victim found that she was able to combat that discomfort without too much effort.

  The Baroness stepped back to admire her handiwork.

  “I wish that you could see yourself. Some would consider my decoration of your breasts to be art. What do you think Marquis?”

  “Very pretty indeed. But shouldn’t you be hurrying it up a little?”

  The Marquis was right. The Baroness was enjoying the build up to whatever was to come equally as much as Mistress Madonna was dreading that particular event. And although the pain of the tit-piercing circles of steel tines dug deep into their flesh was bearable, Mistress Madonna was not silly enough to dismiss the connection between them, her crocodile-clamped nipples and the bare wire around the roots of her tits. And when the Baroness took up the loose ends of the cables and also plugged both of them into the electric control console, she knew that her own personal Armageddon was about to arrive.

  But whatever Mistress Madonna feared to be the outcome of her ordeal was not yet to be. The Baroness was far more inventive than that. Much more inventive!

  Next to be connected to the control panel was a steel butt plug, inserted with no little difficulty into Mistress Madonna’s anus. Then once more working on her vagina, the Baroness succeeded in pushing a long, thick steel dildo deep into that hole; a hole that was as unwelcoming as her anus had been.

  But then fight as she may, Mistress Madonna was completely unable to stop her clitoris from responding when rubbing and kneading, the Baroness’ long, aristocratic fingers teased that love bud from its hood and drew it out to its full erect length. The Baroness held up another steel-jawed crocodile clip.

  Oh God no!

  Please don’t let her do it.

  Mistress Madonna’s silent plea went unanswered and she convulsed in agony under the awful bite of the jaws as the Baroness snapped the clip shut. That really did hurt, her clitoris was a rigid, raging rod of pain and it too was hooked into the console.

  “Now let me check. Crocodile clips on your nipples, wire hoops around the roots of your breasts and needles in their meat, steel plugs up your arse and cunt and a lovely extra special clip clamped to your clit. And all of them plugged into my own personal electricity supply. Yes . . I think we are ready now, do you not agree?”

  Waving Quasimodo out of the way, the Baroness positioned herself behind the control panel, her hand hovering over the knobs and switches.

  But the Baroness possessed a secret weapon. The threat of diabolical punishment and not its actual deliverance was one of her most potent weapons, so the electrical current from the console itself had been stepped down dramatically, so much so that it was basically akin to that of a ‘tens machine’. Being completely unaware of that fact, Mistress Madonna almost fainted in dread as the Baroness’ hand swept down to set the electricity flowing.

  Expecting the worst and fully believing that the fury of the lightning was about to be released again, preparing for her doom Mistress Madonna clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

  Nothing!

  No feeling at all.

  Opening her eyes, she saw the Baroness slowly rotating a rounded knob that sat beneath a wavering pointer, that itself was just one of a bank of indicators. The needle wound its way up and over the dial until the tingling began. And it was only a tingling.

  As the needle progressed further around the face of the dial, the tingling grew in intensity. But when it eventually stopped, it was a soothing, massaging current of pleasure that she felt transmitting itself to her every nerve ending. It bore no resemblance to punishment; this was bliss incarnate. Trickling through her body, a circuit of joy linked her erogenous zones; permeated her tits and played an electrical symphony on her clitoris.

  The pulsing electricity was driving her to arousal, ridding her mind and body of the frightful predicament in which she found herself. She fought to throw off the seducing effects of the electrical trickery, for there was no other explanation for it. It had to be a trick. A deception. Something that the Baroness’ evil mind had conjured up to lure her into a false sense of hope.

  Well, she would not succumb.

  But the Baroness’ next words began to make her doubt herself as seemingly satisfied with the results of her actions, the Baroness stood back from the console.

  “How much more of that do you think you can take? I have endured it myself to gauge its effect on my slaves and so I know how dreadfully awful are its effects.”

  Mistress Madonna was astounded. Dumfounded. This was not torture, this was paradise. A sexual Garden of Eden that was flowering into full bloom. The effects of the electrical stimulation were so pleasurable that for once her powerful mind failed her; she should have realised that for the moment the Baroness was merely playing with her and that when the torture started in earnest it would be every bit as diabolical as the Baroness had said it was.

  Leaving her victim to her own devices, her satisfied smirk hidden behind her hand, the Baroness moved on to her next victim.

  And that victim could not possibly be any other than Julian. A cursing, struggling prisoner of the guards who held him in such tight restraint.

  “Now then, you are an interesting fellow; what can I do to make your life even more interesting?”

  “Fuck off! And let my Mistress go.”

  “You have a foul mouth and I advise you not to speak to me in such a manner.”

  “Bollocks. When I get out of this I’m not only going to speak to you in any way I want, I’m going to pay you back for everything you’ve done to Mistress Madonna.”

  “Is that so? And just what makes you think that there is even the slightest possibility that you will escape your present predicament.”

  “You’ll see. I’m not scared of a cunt like you.”

  It may have been pure bravado or perhaps Julian was really not scared, but he was certainly foolhardy. He had not experienced her phenomenal strength and th
e lightning clench-fisted punch that landed smack on the bridge of his nose sent him reeling and instead of having to combat his struggles, the guards had to fight to keep him on his feet.

  “I told you not to use that kind of language when you address me, did I not?”

  Blood running from his injured nose, Julian steadied himself; and then stoked up the expletives.

  “Cunt. Fuck. Bollocks. Arse.”

  Each word was spat out with increasing venom.

  “You’re a piss-drinking shit heap, a pig-ugly old crone, a . . .”

  Another lightning fast strike doubled him up as her fist sank into his solar plexus. He had hit upon probably the only thing that could enrage her so much that she lost control, unwittingly he had found her ‘Achilles Heel’; her looks.

  “Fool! This could have been so much easier. I was going to give you a little pleasure before we move on; an electrical wank if you would like to know. But now all you are going to do is suffer. The Marquis can have your wank instead.”

  “My dear Baroness, I don’t think that there is enough time left to waste it on me.”

  “Shut up! You are going in the cage after I have dealt with this moron. And that is that.”

  The fury with which she turned on the Marquis seemed to astound him. He fell silent. She turned back to the guards, pointing at Julian.

  “Now, throw him into one of the empty cages.”

  The Baroness was not so chary about touching Julian’s body as was Mistress Madonna and seemed to find delight in preparing him personally for whatever electrical tortures she had in mind. So, using exactly the same devices that she had employed on Mistress Madonna, she plugged his anus with a steel dildo. Then pulling down the loose skin of his scrotum, she clamped a crocodile clip just below each bollock. But Julian being Julian, when she wound a palm around his cock in order to pull it out to its full length, it sprang to instant pulsing life. Even in his present dire circumstance his cock refused to behave, attaining the full length and girth of a massive erection in seconds.