by Sean O'Kane
“It’s done,” he said simply. “But you’ve got a lot more coming like that. Get used to it.”
As her head cleared, she realised that her entire back and bottom were on fire. It was as if she were still being beaten, in fact the pain was going deeper and deeper into her. The salt she realised, it was burning wherever the skin had split.
“Get up onto your knees and forearms,” Carlo ordered from above her. Groaning at the fires which increased even more when she tried to move, she slowly obeyed. She rested the top of her head on the sand, looking down the length of her body between her wide spread thighs and sighed in relief. Carlo was kneeling behind her. At the heart of the furnace which was still engulfing her was an incessant ache, a yearning emptiness in her sex.
She watched as he reversed his grip on the whip and the handle was presented to her vulva. She wriggled her hips as she watched and felt it touch her lips, encouraging it to shoulder them apart and bring relief to her flooding vagina. Carlo pushed and she groaned in delight as she felt herself filled. He thrust until she was stuffed to the very neck of her womb and then he moved it in and out until she was pushing back urgently and rotating her hips. Then he let it go and instead gripped his straining erection and shuffling closer to her began to push at her anus. Impatiently she humped her back, trying to get the best angle for him and soon he was tightly encased in her back passage and her septum was being exquisitely manipulated by the shafts inside her.
“Reach down and fuck with the whip,” he told her, his voice thick with excitement. Aware of what a picture of abject, passionate and thoroughly flogged slavery she was presenting, Tara rammed the whip into herself while Carlo shoved even deeper into her tighter passage and in a few seconds she was locked into the final convulsions which presaged a climax so complete that she passed out even as Carlo pumped himself into her with a roar of pleasure.
Chapter 10
Carlo led her back with her wrists tied to his saddle and left her at one of the whipping posts on the training ground for the afternoon. He wanted the others to see the state of her back. In the evening she was taken to the main house and put in a windowless cell and restrained by an old but effective method. One leather anklet was removed and replaced by a steel one with crimped rivets fastening it. From this a chain led to a huge iron ball that she could only just lift if she needed to use the bucket in one corner, which served as her toilet. She remained there for some time but was quite unable to tell how long as there was no daylight whatever. The German woman who kept all the fighting slaves shaved brought her food and rubbed ointment into her lacerations while she lay face down on her narrow pallet. As she did so she grumbled that it was a waste of her time because she was certain to have to do it all over again in the coming days. Tara was not really too concerned, it was what she had expected and now that she had weathered Carlo’s initial wrath she felt she could face Conor himself - but she still couldn’t bear to acknowledge him as her owner and continued to think of Mark Cavanagh in that capacity.
The darkness was complete, only a small hatch in her door admitted any light at all, and that was only from a weak bulb in the corridor outside. She had had no idea that the main house had these cellars, but she supposed they must have once been wine cellars. The total absence of natural light meant that when Conor visited her, she had no way of knowing if she had been there a week or a month.
In the casually arrogant manner which had so attracted her to him originally, he marched in once a guard had unlocked the door and slammed it to behind him. She had been asleep but he made no allowance for that.
“You stupid slut!” he shouted as she sat up, dazed and tousled. “We gave you the chance to be what you really wanted to be and you threw it back in our faces, you ungrateful bitch!”
Even if Tara had been allowed to speak she doubted she could have found the words to counter that opening broadside.
“I’m not staying to see you punished, I’ve got work to do and anyway I’d be likely to flay you alive given half the chance!” he went on. Tara couldn’t repress a shudder at the thought of how close she might have been to facing this man’s full retribution, but she felt relief as well that he was going.
“Mark and Carlo think you can still be used after you’ve been punished, but I’ll leave that to them........hmm.” For the first and only time, Tara saw him look doubtful and she held her breath for a moment. Everything hinged on the next few seconds. “Ah well. They know what they’re doing.”
Tara had to fight to prevent herself showing her relief. She desperately needed to restore the other two men’s confidence in her if she was to achieve what she wanted. And with Conor out of the way, she was sure she would endure whatever they put her through.
After he left there was another period of time measured only by several meals being brought for her and then Carlo came.
“We’re going to show what you really are, you silly bitch! And by the time we’ve finished you won’t want to run away again. Believe me. Then we can get back to giving the punters a good show in the arena. That’s what you’re for, Blondie.”
Tara had no idea what he was talking about but was quite sure it would be harsh beyond her ability to imagine. There was another period of waiting before the door was flung open again and this time she was told to pick up her ball and follow the guard. Blinking she emerged into the lit corridor and followed him to a room further along. It was not much bigger than her own cell but it had a shower, soap and towels. Tara revelled in the cascading warm water as it rinsed the soap and the filth of her long imprisonment from her. The guard lounged against one wall and watched appreciatively. She was not in the least surprised when, once she had towelled herself dry, he took her up against the same wall. As he said himself while he thrust up into her and she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips.
“A clean cunt’s always a better fuck.”
He even allowed her to wipe herself afterwards so she could face what was coming relatively well kempt. Once again she had to struggle to lift the iron ball and trudge after him as he led her back along the corridor, past her cell and into the room at the end.
The guard opened the door, stood back and waved her through. Tara stopped in her tracks. The room was a veritable temple to the dark arts of sexual torment. In neat rows hung every whip, cane, crop, flogger or paddle a girl could conceive of having used on her. There were shelves full of dildos and vibrators ranging from dainty little clit ticklers to monstrous shafts with the diameter of a man’s fist. Chains hung in shining curtains with clips on the ends and below them were ranged C clamps, spring-loaded clamps and some which Tara had never encountered before. There were speculums and dilators, gags, hoods, tubes and dishes all stored with a neatness that was terrifying in itself. It spoke of a deliberate and methodical approach to delivering pain to a slave, building it slowly and carefully, watching and enjoying every flinch and cry from the naked woman bound on whichever frame or bench took the Master’s fancy. And there were plenty to choose from, Tara noted as her wide-eyed gaze came to rest on the man who stood waiting for her. He was a tall, dark man dressed in tight leather trousers but that was all, apart from leather bracelets at his wrists. His torso was lean and muscular, she noted appreciatively and his face thin and intense, his eyes a startling green which gave him an almost feline appearance.
“Carlo’s too busy to give you all you need,” he said in a soft voiced American accent. “So he hired me in. I guess he’ll look in from time to time and he’ll read my reports and contribute to the schedules I’ll work out. Now over to that bench and lie back, I want to see what I’m working with here.”
He gestured to a black, leather-covered couch with stirrups at one end and chains attached to its steel legs. Forcing herself to remain calm, Tara did as she was told, even raising and spreading her legs to rest her calves in the stirrups without having to be told. Her ankle restraints were clipped to them to immobilise her and her arms were raised and her wrists were clipped to a bar
which hung from the ceiling above her head. Immediately the man, who she would come to know only as ‘Doc’, the name the guards used, bent to examine her sex. She was hardly surprised by that, but what did take her aback was the small tape recorder he took out of a pocket and placed by her hip. As she felt his fingers begin to explore her, he spoke to the machine as he spread her lips and peered at her.
“The subject has a really good, almost a classic cunt. The outer lips are well shaped and plump, the inner ones are tidy in an unaroused state - we’ll see how they go when she’s achieving orgasm. The clitoral hood is well formed and also neat, ideal for piercing either temporarily or permanently.”
Tara gave an involuntary start as she felt his fingers start to swirl around and rub at the clitoris itself and almost immediately she felt it begin to throb and harden; excitement overcoming fear with no difficulty.
“The clitoris is very sensitive and erects quickly to quite unusual proportions. Again, ideal for piercing.”
For several seconds he continued to stroke her there, until she was gasping and gripping the chains over her wrists, then he put what she guessed were two of his fingers inside her and began to flex them, twisting and clenching them, rubbing against her vaginal walls. She put her head back and began rolling her hips helplessly, nearly crying out in frustration when he withdrew them and held them up for inspection.
“The subject is easily stimulated and discharges in good quantities,” he concluded and then moved on to inspect her backside. He gripped his fingers hard in her buttock flesh and concluded she was, “well padded over just about the right amount of sinew.”
Then he lubricated his right hand and inserted first one finger and then three into her anus. Tara grunted at the abrupt intrusion and the speed with which he increased the number of fingers. Again he screwed his hand round inside her and she felt her septum squeezed against her front vaginal wall on several occasions and struggled to get her own hands free so she could plunge her own hand into her sex and bring herself off. But she was distracted as she felt him briefly withdraw a little and then clench his fingers and thumb together before thrusting his whole hand up her. It had been quite a long time since anyone had fisted her there, she was well accustomed to the butt plugs she wore for racing but this was far more testing. She writhed and moaned as he again twisted his hand inside her, half fighting the pain, half trying to maximise the pleasure. He didn’t stay in her long enough to allow her body to settle the issue by coming, however. Instead her wrenched himself free and voiced his conclusions.
“Subject’s ass is fine. Well experienced and easily stretched but closes quite quickly which shows there is still good tone in the sphincters. Suggest a dilator and hot wax in there a few sessions down the road.”
He went to wash his hand and Tara whimpered at the implications of what he had said. The guard who had brought her grinned at the Doc. “Then bugger her, eh Doc?”
“For sure. That’s what she’s here for.”
The two men hauled her upright and then attached her wrists to chains hanging from another bar, keeping her arms well apart and nearly at full stretch. The examination went on.
“Thighs are probably the best I’ve ever seen on a slave, strong enough to keep her upright under as much whip as anyone wants to give her. Stomach likewise strong; breasts.....?” he gripped her nipples and twisted them hard enough to make her squeal, then pulled until she squealed again. He released them and gripped the mounds themselves, letting the soft flesh spill out between his fingers as he squeezed. “Again, I’d say they can take whatever anyone wants to dish out. Arms and shoulders exceptionally well shaped, back good and broad, ass just about perfect.
“In conclusion; the subject is ideally suited for treatment of the severest kind. First session will test her skin’s reaction to whipping and subject will not be hooded for this.”
In what was to become a familiar pattern, Tara was taken to the edge of exhaustion and beyond. It wasn’t that any one beating was worse than anything she had experienced so far, it was just that they used every single implement over what seemed like every square inch of her skin. It was almost made worse by the fact that they seemed quite keen that she orgasm as and when the piercing thorns of pain attained that sweetness that Tara now knew so well. No sooner was she hanging limply and panting in the wake of one excruciating climax than the Doc’s fingers were inside her and his calm voice was assessing the quality and quantity of her discharge.
“The subject’s inner lips engorge quite eagerly under a crotch whipping and stand quite proud. She discharges satisfactorily in orgasm. The secretion is very thick and copious. By the end of the treatment, I expect the cunt to be achieving full female ejaculation, which will make the slave extremely valuable.”
And once his assessment of her outpourings was completed then he went back to work; sometimes working over the area he had just been attending to but with a different implement and sometimes choosing a different area but keeping to the same implement. Each slow ascent to orgasm was followed by the same detailed, impassive assessment and when eventually she was taken down she collapsed and had to be carried back to her cell.
From then onwards her treatment resolved itself into a pattern which she assumed the Doc cooked up with Carlo, who did attend many of the sessions she was subjected to and took her several times.
She would be allowed to sleep but in her permanently dark world, Tara had no way of knowing for how long. Sometimes she was sure that they had only left her for a couple of hours and she would limp and shuffle along the corridor almost comatose with exhaustion and it would take a fairly serious flogging before her head cleared and the session could proceed. At other times it felt as though they left her for days. She was pretty sure that they were keeping her disorientated, so that she would never know when the next bout of pain would send her screaming into the slave’s vortex of agonised pleasure. But strangely enough they encouraged her in that, one of her greatest fears had been that, as punishment, she would be forbidden orgasms - on pain of some even more hideous fate. In fact, as time went on, more and more of the sessions finished with her laid out on one of the benches, being mercilessly shafted by one or other of the guards, who were always in attendance. What was done to her in each session she became increasingly unsure about, they blurred into one long succession of technicolour scenes in which, when she wasn’t hooded, she watched in fascinated horror as her breasts were pierced with longer needles than she had ever encountered and she felt the unearthly sensation of steel sliding through her flesh until it emerged the other side of her breast with another sharp detonation of localised pain. They were bound with ropes and plastic straps, the nipples clamped and pierced, then they were beaten and finally she was suspended by them, screaming as ever in demented fear and demonic excitement.
She would crane her head down and watch when she was allowed to sit up, as her vulva was worked on. Usually she was put on the stirrup bench for those parts of the sessions and could just about see as the Doc’s horribly competent hands peeled her labia apart and proceeded to thread short needles through them, sometimes the needles were weighted so when she stood for her next flogging, her lips would be wrenched down and she would orgasm all the faster.
During those sessions for which she was kept hooded, the sensations were intense beyond anything she had experienced. Ears and eyes completely stopped, she could only wait for the next mind-jarring impact of the whip, or the subtle tightening of ropes, or the sudden sting of a needle. At the end of one of those sessions she was bent over a bench, butt plugged and taken by three men as far as she could make out. She had had a thorough flogging whilst being ankle suspended and her vulva was throbbing with need and the residual pain of the whip. As she hit her climax with the third man, lights detonating within the blackness of the hood, she felt her vagina spasm with unusual violence. It seemed to clamp around the cock with a strength she had never known before and inside her there seemed to be extra eruptions and it f
elt as though half her insides had melted and were pouring down into her vagina. She reared against her bindings as the power of the climax ripped through her and she repeatedly locked into rigidity as wave after wave of moist heat flooded her loins while her sex milked the cock inside it with a mind of its own.
She was sure she had actually ejaculated. In the next session it was confirmed when she was given a vibrator after electricity, fed through terminals connected to needles in her breasts and sex, had had her bucking and thrashing on the bench. Again she felt herself lock with almost frightening power around the buzzing shaft, and when the Doc pulled it free, he commented on the thick rivulet of discharge which oozed from between her swollen lips. He took some on his fingers and let her lick them.
Even after those sessions at the end of which she was taken repeatedly, she would masturbate in her cell and gradually she began to understand what was being done to her. They were giving her true nature total freedom. By keeping her utterly isolated and in the dark, she was being made to focus entirely on sex, pain and pleasure. She now existed only to stumble down the corridor to discover more ways in which the female slave could be made to experience whatever her masters wanted her to, to stumble back to the shower and then her cell. And always she craved more, she couldn’t sleep until she had had one more of these awesome new climaxes she was capable of. Sometimes the German woman attended her if her breasts needed attention, or her labia, and she would call her a whore, a pain addicted bitch on heat, a slut who would open her legs for any man and Tara didn’t mind in the slightest. It was true, and inexorably her mind began to take a back seat while her body ruled her life. Now when she was summoned to the dungeon, she stumbled along, holding her iron ball, in front of the guard. Once there she would obediently bend over when told to, get herself into position on the bench when told to, fetch the next whip, collect the necessary chains, clips, clamps or tongs. Whatever was needed for the next stage of her treatment she would willingly bring and lay out for the Doc. Her particular favourite was to stroke her own nipples into full erection while he held two pairs of open ended tongs, and once they were primed to full hardness, she would cup the breasts herself while he placed the steel rings on either side of each nipple then squeeze them together and twist both sets. She even forgot whether she was doing all of this just for the sake of her plan or because she just couldn’t help herself. And eventually she began to forget what her plan had ever been. She began to sink into a protective miasma in which she only existed to orgasm through suffering. The relentless hammering in of the lesson was achieving its goal, and the session which had literally involved a hammer as well as nails was one she would never forget.
