She tried to grip the rail between her thighs to take the weight off her vulva and the protesting bones, but could get little purchase: then what little ease it gave was snatched from her as he parted her legs and tied each ankle with a thong attached to the lower rail, the tension adding to the weight on her pussy. She groaned as she felt the wood penetrating her flesh, and shifted cautiously, trying to ease her position without adding to her anguish. It was impossible, nothing could mitigate the hideous action of the wedge as it cut and bruised flesh and bone.
She groaned again and again, and hissed between her teeth when some incautious movement accentuated the crippling agony. Dear God! Was she to be left like this until he required his meal preparing? She had no means of knowing the time but, judging by the light, she would have to endure this fiendish perch for hours. As the minutes ticked by the torment did not ease, but seemed to bore deeper and deeper into her very soul. Perhaps he had been right, she thought, hysterically, we women do keep our souls between our legs. The anguish made her mind reel and, panicking, she feared she might faint and fall, then realised that with her legs tethered to the bottom rails, she could fall neither forwards nor sideways, she was doomed to sit this terrible mount, conscious or unconscious, until her tormentor released her.
Time lost its meaning, there was only agony she could do nothing to ease. She wept as she sat on her aching mound; salt tears ran down her face, and every now and again she burst into a paroxysm of sobbing whose hiccuping motion only served to make her torment worse. She arched her spine and pushed out her breasts until the slight ease it brought to one part of her crotch was cancelled, and then exceeded by increased agony in another. She hung forward, her belly creased and her bedraggled hair hanging round her face, until that position too seemed even worse than the previous horrendous pose. Nothing gave any enduring ease, yet any movement must be paid for in additional pain.
Aeons later she heard his voice, seemingly from another world.
“Have you learned from your meditation?” he asked. “Are you ready to serve again?” Incapable of speech, and uncertain if she was permitted, she nodded, dumbly.
Dismounted from her terrible steed, she knelt, sobbing, at his feet, her head bowed and her hands clasping her vulva.
“So what did you learn, up there on your airy perch?” he demanded. “You may speak.”
With her mind distracted by the protests of her abused body, and having used her voice so little for the last forty-eight hours, she had difficulty at first in framing a reply.
“I learned that there is a place where one can go, when there is pain unending, a place so cut off from everything around that it might well be another world. In that place, that tiny spot with everything concentrated on a point, the inessentials of life are stripped away, and the problems that once seemed important, and intractable, become obvious and soluble.”
“Very good, wretch, you are learning, but I don’t hold with women’s tongues clacking too long. Deeds, not words,” he directed. “I’ll have my supper now.”
Half crippled still from the assault between her thighs, sniffing occasionally as the tears slowly trickled down her nose, she set about her household chores. A pork chop for him, barbecued over the fire and served with a tangy sauce, green peas and potato moistened with butter, for her potatoes only, boiled and bare, and his gracious offering of his part gnawed bone.
When his bed had been prepared, she profited from her butcher’s dozen of the previous night by taking the initiative and his semi-erect prick. Carefully she coaxed it into full erection with soft moist suction of her warm mouth, and then mounted him as he lay prone, impaling herself on the now rampant penis, riding him to gasping ejaculation and, to her great surprise, the first spasms of orgasm in herself, before his collapsing column denied her the last full measure. He gave her grudging praise for her effort, and she took the mandatory six with only gasps and grunts, maintaining her toe-touching pose throughout, as each new cut whaled into her bruised flesh.
Sleep came easily, her physical exhaustion capped with a small measure of sexual satisfaction, more indeed than she had experienced for many months past.
With the morning she joined battle again with her bladder and, released and relieved, went through the morning round of breakfast, housekeeping, cleaning, though she was not allowed to clean herself. In fact she had not bathed her body since her swim to the island, two days earlier. Since then she had worked most of her waking hours in the hot sun, and given sexual service twice. Now, as her body warmed again, she was aware she stank.
Led outside once more to recommence her sentence of hard labour, she expected to be set to building the fallen wall again, but her captor had other ideas.
“An essential element of hard labour, if it is to penetrate to the offender’s soul- ,” as that fiendish wedge penetrated to where he asserts I keep mine, she thought hysterically,” - it must, of itself, be purposeless and incapable of providing any element of satisfaction to the labourer,” he declared, “and I’m aware that you were contemplating your handiwork last evening with something akin to satisfaction. This will not do: today you will be set a totally purposeless task.”
He gestured towards the other side of the island to the spot where she had landed.
“When you trespassed on my island, you landed on fine shingle but over there on the other side, the sea has washed up much larger stones, some great boulders, most about the size of a man’s head, but all rounded and smoothed by the water’s action. You will run to the shore, select a sea-worn rock that is a stone in weight, and bring it here, still running. Now git!” Reinforcing his command with a vicious cut across the front of her thighs.
With a cry of pain at the unexpected and unfamiliar stroke, she set off swiftly across the grass in the direction he had indicated, following a faint trail that led her down to the far shore. As he had indicated, the shore was composed of boulders of all sizes. The first thing she spotted, wedged among a group of oversized boulders, for security, and to conceal it from any observer on the far side of the loch, half a mile distant, was an inflatable dinghy, with outboard motor. Well at least she knew now how he got himself, and his supplies, here even if she knew little else about him.
Not daring to delay by further inspection, she hastily selected a round stone she thought might weigh in at fourteen pounds, and hurried back to her starting point. The stone was large enough, and lacking in projections, that it was difficult to grip in a woman’s small hands; yet it was rough enough that, clasped to her chest, it abraded her breasts and especially her nipples, as the attention, however unpleasant, brought them up into rigid points, the more vulnerable to the rubbing of the stone.
Arriving back at her gaoler, she dropped to her knees and presented her rock. In her absence he had acquired a spring balance, such as anglers use to measure their catch, and a string net. He weighed the rock carefully.
“Not big enough. You’re two pounds short. Now get moving. I want fifty full weight stones laid out in five rows of ten in the next two hours. Underweight stone won’t count.”
Fifty in a hundred and twenty minutes! She was going to have to fly. As she reached the shore she began to see the sort of dilemma she was facing. Did she risk her stone being underweight, and a wasted run, or did she go for obvious overweight rocks to ensure acceptance, but at the expense of carrying more than she need? Fourteen pounds was quite enough of a problem to grip, and run with, and even a little more required a quite disproportionate extra effort.
She made her choice, and ran back with it. Success! The skull-like stone weighed in at sixteen pounds, two pounds of wasted effort, but better than outright rejection. She set to work to keep up a steady pace, but disaster soon struck. Two in a row just failed to make the grade, one by less than two ounces, and both were set aside from the slowly mounting ranks. She put on an spurt to make up the loss, picking certain winners, some as much as six or eight pounds over- weight, the extra effort shortening her breath, and wre
nching her muscles. On and on she battled through the long hard morning, sweat soaked, sore nippled and gasping with the effort. Despite her best guesses, and many useless pounds of punishing excess weight, she still managed to score only marginally better than two out of three coming up to specification. At the end of her two hours she had just made her quota but, as she collapsed onto the mass, her fiftieth acceptable rock filling the last space on the fifth row, twenty-one rejects lay in the discard.
Carrying a length of rope in one hand, he seized her by the hair with the other, and dragged her to the apple tree, where she had pictured herself as Eve in the Garden. He tied her wrists together and, throwing the end of the rope over a branch, drew her up until she was standing on her toes, her already sore breasts pressed against the rough bark. Cutting a three foot length from the rope, he made the rest fast around the trunk, securing her in place.
“Twenty-one under weight,” he said, “and now it’s time to even up the score.” With a swing of his muscular arm he brought the rope’s end slashing down across her stretched white back.
The unfamiliar pain caught her off balance, and she cried out aloud, and jerked in her bonds. Again the lash descended, and again she cried out, weakened by pain, fatigue and frustration. As the flogging proceeded, the whiteness of her back gave way to red stripes from the top of her shoulders to just above her incurving waist, and curling round her right side, in more than one case biting into the side of her firm pert breast.
Twenty-one stripes laid on, greeted by twenty-one anguished cries and much twitching and jerking of the suspended body, and she was left to hang there, her weight partly on her wrists, sweat running into her eyes and insects plaguing her sticky body as she tried, in vain, to keep her nipples from being skinned by the rough bark of the ancient apple tree. When he finally released her so she could make his mid-day meal, she collapsed again onto the grass, and had to be allowed a few minutes grace before she could collect enough strength to drag her weary body back to the dungeon room.
He allowed her a substantial break, but only to drive her yet more hard. When they returned to the neatly marshalled rows of rocks, he selected one that seemed to contain more than its fair share of over-weight stones.
“You’ll pick these up, one by one, and carry them to the other side.” He indicated a clump of heather some fifty yards distant. “When you’ve set it down - don’t just drop it or you’ll regret it - at the edge of the grass, you come back for the next.” He slapped her bare bottom with a hard hand. “Now, get going.”
Suffering now from stiffening bruises in her back, as well as the more familiar aches in her behind, she squatted to pick up the first stone in the line, and race with it to the distant mark, where she crouched again, more aching of thighs and back, to place the awkward weight on the turf. A quick unencumbered dash back to the line, and she was bending again to grip an unaccommodating rock to her soft scuffed bosom, like a mother nursing her babe.
Every run took its toll, each greater than the last, and she was gasping for breath when she reached the start again, with ten heavy loads deposited in a neat line on the other side.
Her red-headed tyrant gave her no respite.
“Now fetch them back here, the same way you took them,” he ordered.
A weight of despair, greater than the weight of the soulless stones she had laboured under so long already today, fell over her, as she realised that she was likely to have to repeat this futile exercise endlessly, until she collapsed or he ordered a cessation, so that she could meet his stomach’s demands and later the even greedier requirements of his prick. Hours later, weary and aching in every muscle, breasts and hands worn sore by contact with the gritty stones, she was dismissed to take up her kitchen duties. By then she was staggering unsteadily on rubber legs, only kept moving by searing cuts of the switch across the backs of her thighs.
After supper, with his bed prepared, she reported for her nightly duty of giving sexual satisfaction, but with little prospect of receiving any herself. However, when she knelt before him, intending to take his penis in her mouth as a preliminary to inserting it in her vagina, he seized her by the hair and dragged her over to the table.
“Buggery tonight,” he roared, “time to breach that tight little arse. Get over the table, and spread your legs.”
Trembling with fear, she did as she was told. Her belly heaved and her arse cheeks clenched. She’d only experienced anal sex once, and then far from fully. With great care her lover at the time had introduced the tip of his prick into her well-greased anus, but had failed to fully overcome the reluctant sphincter and, when she had cried out, had abandoned the attempt and soothed her outraged body by gentle conventional sex, more effectively than she had expected. There was unlikely to be such consideration tonight, and she could look forward to a brutal anal rape, and further punishment if she failed to co-operate.
Something cold was slapped between her rear cheeks. She realised he was working butter into her anus, and almost went dizzy with relief that he was not going to thrust his prick up her dry rectum. A moment more and the buttery fingers were replaced by an altogether thicker, and more powerful, member.
“You’ll do yourself a favour if you relax and let it enter,” he advised, “once the tip is in, relax your sphincter by trying to shit me out, you’ll make it easier on yourself. I’ll only thrust harder until I drive it past your bum ring if you clench.”
She didn’t want to imagine what that would be like, and did her best to co-operate. Between them, they got his prick entered, to groans and gasps from the reluctant recipient. And then she shrieked outright. He had, without warning, made a brutal thrust that sent his iron hard member deep into her bowel as his belly met her buttocks with a distinct slap. Now that he was in, he worked her hard, thrusting fast and fully, nearly turning her anal ring inside out on each withdrawal. Though it still hurt intensely, she was aware of a rising sexual response and, when she felt his rod harden even further, and then start to pulse as gouts of semen shot into her guts, her own orgasm swept over her in overwhelming waves, and her screams contained as much of passion as of pain. When he pulled his flaccid penis from her leaking anus, she lay supine over the table until revived by the ‘sixer’, indicative of his satisfaction with the service provided. Her chain clipped to her collar, she crawled across the flagstones to be caged for the night. As she found her straw, and the grille clanged shut behind her, she plummeted down into exhausted, but satisfied, sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Discovery’
Morning found her refreshed by long and untroubled sleep, though her body was stiff from her labours and stripes of the previous day. Also, her anus still burned from the brutal rape it had been subjected to, a sensation that seemed to communicate itself to her clitoris, for she felt sexual arousal from its warmth. Before long, however, all such feelings were drowned by the insistent demands of her bursting bladder. She had heard no sound of movement from where she had laid out his bedding beyond the table, yet she sensed that it was later than she had been kept caged on the previous days. Possibly, very much later, if her screaming bladder was to be believed. She writhed and clenched, squeezed her vulva viciously to suppress the ever rising pressure to let go. At last, desperate with pain and apprehension, she called out to him for permission to speak, but there was no answer. She called out again, in vain, and crawled to the entrance of her kennel to try and attract his attention.
She became aware of two things almost simultaneously. She could see no sign of him as she looked along at floor level to see under the table, and the iron grille which secured her cage was not locked, but stood open a couple of inches. Hesitantly, she crawled out, dragging her chain behind her, and stood up to look around the chamber, her hands still clasped to her aching vulva.
The chamber was bare! The table, the heavy bench, the trestle, on which she had ridden in such agony, remained, but every personal possession of his had vanished. His bedding had been removed, and the cup
board doors stood open, revealing their stripped interiors. The fire was cold, and the cooking pots gone. He had vanished as if he had never been, and she had only imagined the torments she had suffered. A quick inspection of her thighs and buttocks soon eliminated any doubts as to the reality of those events, as her fingers found rope-like welts by the score, their soreness re-awakened by the touch.
But if he had gone, what was to become of her, chained by the neck, and left without food or water? It suddenly occurred to her that she had never explored the fastenings of her chain and collar, let alone tried to escape them. Now she rectified the omission, and found that the chain was attached to the collar by a simple snap shackle which she could have detached at any time. Hastily, she did so now, and ran, knock-kneed, keening with pain and effort, to empty her bursting bladder and bowel in the accommodating bushes at the courtyard gate.
Her immediate distress relieved, she made her way to the part of the shore where she had seen the outboard inflatable pulled up among the boulders. It was gone. An unaccountable sense of loss swept through her mind, as if a lover had deserted her. She shook herself back to the reality of her situation. The man who had terrorised and tortured her these last few days had gone, and left her free to depart too, if she wished. At first she wandered back to the dungeon room, as if expecting, - hoping for? - some word of farewell. Finding no message, no trace, she went back to the surface, and down to the southern shore, where she had landed - was it only three days before? - and slipped into the chilly water. Half an hour later she was heading south in the little car, the clothing on a body grown accustomed to going naked, raising unfamiliar feelings.
She drove with a concentrated determination, stopping only briefly, when hunger, tiredness or natural functions dictated. She reached the A74 at Glasgow by mid-day. The afternoon saw her pass Carlisle and traverse the M6 to the Midlands. Darkness had overtaken her before the M1 brought her into London, bone weary, and saddle-sore from sitting on her welted bottom and ravaged anus for so many bruising miles. She tumbled into her bed, the unaccustomed softness soothing to her battered body, and fell deep asleep. It was not until she woke that she realised she still wore the collar.
Madeleine Page 3
