by Sean O'Kane
It had been going on every day for a week now and finally her breast was going to be worked on. It had started with her vulva and that had been terrible. It had been worse than being whipped there, worse than having piercing needles.
Her head was unsupported by the table and lolled down between her outstretched arms. If she craned up to the limits of her strength she had been able to watch the old crone sitting between her open legs and jabbing busily with her needle right into the labia themselves. It wasn’t that the pain was more intense than any other, but it was repeated so much and went on and on.
Now at last the work had reached her breast and she prayed that some man or other would pay to use her mouth. It would distract her from the onset of the pain. She was sure the nipple was going to be the worst of all. During the procedure her inverted mouth had been eagerly sought after, the old woman told her that men considered a woman receiving discipline gave the best blow jobs because of trying to scream round the cock in their mouths. Karen was only too glad to oblige, a cock still tasted good and trying to swallow the emission made the pain recede for a second or two.
Her left breast was to form the head of a large cobra. She had been shown the rest of the tattoo in a mirror as it had taken shape and the depraved part of her had taken a liking to it despite the pain it had cost her. From her cunt, from right inside the lips - she had given good head that day, she recalled ruefully - a nest of the serpents boiled out and up across her pelvis but two main ones reared up her stomach, the lesser of these two finished with its head just above her navel and the main one was to be depicted with its mouth gaping and its fangs bared on the breast itself.
Reluctantly the crone released Karen’s breast, swabbed it with some antiseptic and prepared to get down to work. Before she did though she checked the belt around Karen’s waist, making sure it was drawn as tight as could be. She knew the girl was going to try and heave and writhe, she had decorated plenty of girls in her time. The breasts and the nipples were always noisy, from the surrounding tents came the proof of that. Gags were never used in the village, the old women held that the miscreants in their care should know how much pain surrounded them and how much more they could suffer if they ever re-offended. Very few did.
Karen gritted her teeth and cursed Ayesha once more as she braced herself for the blizzard of pinpricks that would go on for hours. But a man swept into the tent and there was a flurry of conversation at the end of which he left.
The crone favoured Karen with her gap-toothed smile. “He wanted your mouth. I tell him come back in an hour or two. He will get good value then!”
By the time the market place was beginning to pack up for the day, the sounds of punishment and orgasm beginning to subside while happy old women counted their money and chatted, Karen’s guardian stepped back and appraised her work. The girl’s body had been a delight to work on and between the widely-spread, shapely legs, the labia were vividly coloured and depicted the snakes erupting from right inside the vagina. More remarkably, the lips were engorged and open, displaying their adornments perfectly. The girl had talent, whatever she had done to anger the Prince. The old woman had never taken so much money as on this day. The Englishwoman’s writhing and her shrieks had produced a long queue of men eager for the caresses of her breath around their cocks. Even as the tattooist’s gaze travelled up across the concave stomach to where the superbly rounded breasts rode atop the rib cage, the girl was in the final stages of delivering her last blow job. The man’s burnoose covered her face so one could regard the body devoid of personality and appreciate it as a work of art. The woman felt she had improved on nature, the snake’s head with its hood, its fangs and its forked tongue almost seemed alive as the girl’s breathing made the breast heave and tremble.
The man gave a short groan of delight and the girl’s throat worked at swallowing yet another flood of sperm. She had let him have a cheap blow job as she had finished work by the time he had arrived and the girl was therefore not performing as pleasingly as she had earlier when the nipple had been transformed into the heart of the snake’s throat.
The man backed away from the table and let his robe fall, then thanked the old woman and left. The girl coughed and gasped and the woman thought that whatever crimes she had committed, she had paid for them now.
But somehow she didn’t think the Prince would agree.
Two days later Karen stood in front of the mirror in the old woman’s hovel and examined her reflection carefully. In a very short space of time her face had thinned, become less girlish and more womanly. Her body too, despite everything - or maybe because of it - had become trimmer, firmer. She had been more harshly beaten than she could ever have imagined while she had been in this God forsaken country, taken far beyond any region where pleasure could exist, and yet here she was, slimmer fitter, tougher. And spectacular. The Prince may have thought that the snakes would be a mark of shame but she didn’t consider them to be that at all. She thought they looked beautiful and dangerous. Just how she felt now. If Ayesha had been there at that moment, it wouldn’t have been Karen who would have had to bend for the cane or whip. But for a man.........? She put her head on one side and considered. It would be fun to watch a thick cock drive up into the nest of serpents and, yes, there had been orgasms aplenty under the constant punishment and usage in the village, it was just that the punishments had gone on and on. She raised her hands, as if she was tied and admired how her body movements made the snakes seem to stretch and weave. Yes, it would be good to be whipped as ‘the snake woman’. She chuckled and then shrugged on the clothing the old woman had brought.
A short bolero jacket with only one button directly under the breasts and a sarong with a tie on the right hip, the material stopping short of it so that the outside of her right hip, thigh and leg were visible. The skin was golden against the plain black and across her stomach, the snakes were still visible. Whatever the Prince had in mind, Karen felt she could cope with it. He hadn’t punished her at all. He had reinvented her, her extreme submissiveness and masochism had been hammered into pure steel by the village. She was still submissive, but now she was proud, defiant and self-confident.
Slipping her feet into the kitten-heeled mules the crone had told her had been left for her, she sauntered out of the hovel, ignoring the woman and making for the main gate where one of the Prince’s big four by fours was waiting.
As she walked, with every bit of sway she could put into her half-bared hips, she saw, and delighted in, the stunned expressions of the two men who were to escort her back to the palace. She slid into the air conditioned, leather upholstered interior of the vehicle and one of the men slammed the door before getting into one of the front seats and the driver gunned the engine.
Karen settled herself into the unaccustomed luxury and waited. She didn’t think it would be long before they would have to stop and investigate her further.
Behind them the village of women was left in the billowing dust of their departure.
Chapter 18
She had to wait until the evening before she got what she wanted. The driver had pressed on fast, they had swept through the arena village at breakneck speed and Karen had just had time to glimpse some naked female slaves being led towards the arena before they were through and heading out into the wilderness again. The men seemed to relax once they were past the village and although she couldn’t understand a word that was said, she caught the unmistakable feeling that sex was in the air.
It was nearly full dark when they finally stopped and she was curtly ordered outside. One man was building a small fire, the other, the passenger, led her round to the front of the car and stripped her. They had left the headlights on and Karen could see the man’s teeth gleam as he smiled his appreciation of the tattooist’s art. His hand traced the snake’s body down from her breast towards her groin, making her shiver with combined cold and excitement. Beyond the obvious she didn’t know what they were going to do to her but she really wanted the
m to do whatever they liked. She was anxious to try out her new limits. She shifted her legs slightly more apart and felt his fingers trace along her slit, the roughness of his skin rasping slightly against her clitoral hood, then he was at her entrance and pushing into her. She had kept her eyes lowered as he stood in front of her but now he wrenched her head back by a fistful of hair. She stared up at his harsh smile which broadened as he saw her wince in response to his rough exploration. It spurred him on to probe deeper and she had to go onto tiptoes.
“They say you got very big cunt, English,” he whispered.
Mentally she screamed at him to fill it. Fill it with anything! His fingers were twisting and flexing constantly, she could feel herself moistening and her inner tissues relaxing and flexing in their usual welcome to any intrusion. She put her hands out to steady herself against the bonnet as she heard herself begin to squelch hungrily around the fingers.
The second man approached and began to buckle restraints onto her wrists. Meanwhile the first one got his thumb inside her and began pushing in earnest, she let out a strained gasp as she felt her insides giving way and then she felt his entire hand inside her and slowly he formed a fist. She could feel the knuckles press against her vaginal walls and the familiar feeling of being stretched and filled simultaneously carried her away. Her cries ascended into the dark as she felt herself pulled back across the still-warm bonnet, her out-flung wrists tied to the rear view mirrors and the man’s fist pistoning mercilessly inside her. Then suddenly he stopped and began to slide it out to the accompaniment of a reluctant sucking noise from her cunt. Karen held her breath as she felt herself stretched even further. His fist was held right at her opening and with a cruel laugh he began to twist it one way and then back the other. Karen’s head fell back and she arched upwards, shamelessly begging with her hips. He kept at it until she was drumming her backside on the metal bonnet, grimacing and moaning as a series of climaxes swept through her.
That display at least earned her the reward of getting both their cocks but not before her ankles had had restraints buckled on, her legs had been spread wide apart and two ropes, attached to the restraints fed behind the car’s front bumper and tied in the middle. She was staked out like the most exotic bonnet ornament a man could want and the two men she was with took full advantage, standing on the bumper they hammered into her until the vehicle rocked under them. She clenched her pelvic floor muscles in the wake of the fisting so she could feel their cocks and they were obviously impressed by how well she could narrow herself. Left alone to stare at the stars while they cooked their supper, Karen could feel the sperm oozing out of her, it was a familiar and comforting sensation.
An hour later they released her and from their gestures she understood that she was to clean up after herself. Scattered on the sand were the contents of the car’s toolkit. Each part of which they had managed to get up her. The head of the largest adjustable spanner had caused some problems, Karen had craned her head up to watch the men’s efforts, grimacing with frustration and determination. But it looked as though they would have to admit defeat until one of them had clearly remembered that they carried a whip in the car. Ten good hard lashes smacked wetly onto her eager cunt had done the trick and the monstrous thing had entered her. She had come as they had manipulated it inside her. Then they had both taken her once again.
Now she stood shakily, exploring between her legs, checking that all was as it should be and looking proudly at the tools scattered around. Her body was magnificent, she decided, the anger and despair she had felt at Ayesha’s betrayal had vanished. In its place was pride in her durability, her toughness. Each submission required of her was a challenge now and she looked forward to the next one.
She spent the next day in the front seat of the car. She was allowed her clothes but her hands were tied behind the seat. Whenever one of the men wanted her they simply reclined the seat, twitched the sarong aside and lay on top of her. She raised her legs and clasped them around their waists as they used her. In the evening she was tied over the bonnet again, face down this time and they flogged her properly before sampling the excitement they had created in her.
At dawn on the following day they roused her and tied her face up across the bonnet again. Then they drove. Karen craned her head up and squinted into the wind as they went and then laughed as she saw the outskirts of Bakhtar itself down below them, the palace rising white and ghostly above the jumbled houses. The Prince was exhibiting his latest possession, no doubt he intended her to be mortified as she was paraded naked and open through the city. But instead she was intensely proud. Let the women frown and sneer, the men would be hardening into erection as they surveyed her nudity and her decoration.
As they came through the main gate the driver sounded his horn to make sure that no one would miss the spectacle. Revelling in the feel of the wind in her hair and on every inch of her skin, Karen looked forward to seeing what else the Prince might have in store for her.
Ayesha didn’t glance behind her when the big four by four came blasting past the arena, its horn sounding and its occupants hidden by the smoked glass windows. She was far too busy anticipating the day’s training. She was proving a natural for chariot racing and had been selected for one of the first choice teams. The studded tit straps had been a torment at first but once the trainer had shown her a mirror she had calmed down. Her breasts looked wonderful she felt, the slight constriction making them stand higher, prouder, more prominent than ever. The humiliation and discomfort of having to stand with her legs apart while a guard fumbled a dildo up her and then fed an irritant-soaked butt plug into her anus was its own reward and she was grateful to her master for allowing her to suffer under the cuts of the driver’s whip. The most difficult thing to accept was the sexual abstinence. She longed for her master to take her at night, she longed for him to drag her off to a dungeon and spend hours playing with her. And as the days went on, the fights in the arena got more and more intense as all the girls felt the strain. The nearest they could get to satisfaction was to win and be allowed to squat over the defeated opponent’s face. The whips, staves and nets were wielded with real venom and Ayesha learned not to notice any blows that were landed on her, just to concentrate on hitting the vulnerable parts of the female opposite her. Of course, chief amongst those was the crotch and she began to hone techniques in wrestling - apart from the crotch hold itself - of pinching or twisting the labia. In whip duels she perfected a method of swinging her whip in a kind of backwards windmill stroke that made the lash accelerate upwards and impact on the recipient’s cunt with real force.
She had earned a stroke of her breasts and an extra sweet from the trainer the day she had got it just right. But there was nothing to assuage the almost constant ache between her legs. To make matters worse, when they were put in their cages for the night, their hands were chained to the rings at the fronts of their collars before their blankets were thrown over them. The guard who stayed on duty all night could clearly see where each girl’s hands were at a glance. With devilish relish the guards used their boss’s order not to interfere with the slaves to further their own enjoyment of making them suffer. Often, before lights were turned out, one or two of them would bring some of the household slaves into the area where the squad was kept. In full view of the chained girls, they would be fastened spreadeagled against the fronts of some of the cages and whipped, then fingered and finally screwed. The men made sure that the squad girls could see the glistening lengths of cock sliding in and out of the flooding vaginas. They often sprayed their emissions over the girls’ faces, just so the chained ones could groan and lick their lips bitterly. The whole area echoed to the moans and cries of the slaves being used and the cries of frustration from those who weren’t.
Sometimes Ayesha’s master would attend these sessions and smile at her as she desperately clenched her thighs together and tried to rub them against one another. He laughed when she once broke into tears as she watched a girl’s brea
sts swinging as she was thrashed on the bars of her cell. But he obviously didn’t think he had pushed her far enough because the next night he brought one of the Prince’s slaves right into her cell and a murmur of horrified sympathy ran round the cages as they all watched the girl drop to her knees and perform an expert fellation right beside Ayesha’s tortured gaze.
“You see,” he told her. “Your pleasure and pain don’t matter to me. All that matters is the pleasure I get from watching you experience them.”
The following day she fought like a she-devil in the arena and actually enjoyed the tormented frustration she felt in the evening as more girls were brought in and used.
Then there came the days when the whips were not used, there were no more practice fights, no more racing, no more assault course rehearsals. Instead they were taken on gentle runs and allowed to rest.
“Show’s going to be in a couple of days,” Miriam told her. “They always rest us up and let us heal any cuts.......Before we get a whole load more.”
Chapter 19
Brian squinted up at the clear blue sky and pulled his T shirt away from his sweat-soaked armpits. Since Karen’s sudden disappearance his world had fallen apart. Sir John had moved overnight to clean his act up and there was now nothing whatever to build a case on. In one day he had lost his career prospects and the most exciting woman he had ever met. At work he had been moved quietly sideways and after two months he had handed in his notice, put his flat on the market and decided that although Karen was gone, she had shown him where he really belonged. All he had to do was figure out how to get there.
