by M Palmeri
She nodded to Ella and Claire, who let out the tension on Marie’s wrist-ropes. Claire steadied her as Ella unbound her ankles, then she was helped down off the table and led—her legs still trembling—to stand in the center of the hall, facing the audience of barely-patient women who still waited along the walls, idly caressing themselves and each other.
The auburn hair was brought to stand in front of Marie, and her wrists were tied up with Marie’s so that they stood face-to-face. With an idle hum, Rose pulled their entwined wrists overhead and pushed their bodies together. For her part, the auburn hair tried her best not to respond (though by now it was a poor act at best) and simply laid her head with resignation next to Marie’s. The skin of her breasts and belly were hot and damp against Marie’s—most likely from the recent wax-torture.
“Stand on your right foot, my dear,” Rose commanded Marie, who complied, only to have the auburn-haired’s own right ankle bound to Marie’s. Then the Countess lowered a set of ropes from the rafters directly overhead. She had apparently set her mechanism up well in advance, because while one line caught up their wrists and hauled them almost up onto their toes by means of a windlass, the remaining two ropes were apparently of a single line, suspended in the middle from a pulley high above.
Ella was behind the auburn-hair, and Claire stood close behind Marie. Marie barely heard Claire whisper “Just relax, girl,” into her ear when Claire seized her free left leg and lifted it up high from the knee. Ella did likewise with her charge, leaving both girls precariously balanced on the ball of one foot, hanging from their wrists, at which point Rose demonstrated her design: the pulley rope ends were tied to each of their raised ankles, holding them there at the edge of comfortable endurance (which meant almost chest-height for Marie and barely over waist-level for her companion in abuse). If Marie struggled to lower her leg, the auburn-hair’s would be pulled even further (and painfully) upward, while Marie felt the auburn-hair try to keep her leg up so as not to strain Marie’s.
Now both girls were released by their “keepers” and left to dangle by wrists and one ankle, just for a few moments to contemplate their situation in silence, before Rose came to demonstrate the extent of their vulnerability. Rose was up behind auburn-hair and—grinning hungrily at Marie, made quick to exploit the situation by beginning to make long strokes with her fingers up between the other girl’s opened legs—first gently, then roughly, enough to lift the girl further up on the ball of her single supporting foot and make her struggle against Marie’s ropes, panting, rubbing herself against Marie’s body, the skin between them becoming quickly slick with their mixed sweat. (And Marie was jealous of the attention, twisting her head to look desperately for Richard.)
“This lady, you see, is not nearly as innocent as her companions,” Rose explained as she worked, reaching out and forcefully turning Marie’s face to look at her co-victim. “She alone among the three has had the experience of a man inside of her. Perhaps a noble, perhaps a palace servant, perhaps a guard. Perhaps she used her sex to aide in her mistresses’ escape. Or perhaps she is the princess herself, afraid that her secret indiscretion would be discovered in the marriage bed, to her family’s shame. I any case, I expect the simple threat of a good fucking would hold little to fear.”
Marie finally felt Richard behind her then: felt his hands on her hips, her thighs, her ass, her vulnerable open sex; felt his fingers caress, then explore, then penetrate. She rose up higher on her own supporting foot, trying to hold herself up as much as possible by her wrists as not to pull further on her fellow-victim’s suspended leg despite the burning beginning in her own thigh muscles. And she could feel her ankle-suspension jerk as the auburn-hair gave in to involuntary struggling.
Marie was slickly wet and filled with Richard’s fingers, which pulled her open further. And she felt his erect cock against her ass, pressing into her as he held her close. Then he carefully slipped himself into her prepared sex and began to pump her from behind, pressing her into her fellow captive (and at least now he was helping hold her leg aloft).
Marie realized the auburn-hair was doing something with her mouth then, and tilted her head far enough to turn and see that Richard had two or three of his fingers—the fingers that had just been inside of Marie, shoved deep into the maid’s mouth, making her taste them, making her (no, not making—she was doing that willingly) suck them. Meanwhile, Rose was down on her knees working roughly between the auburn’s stretched-open legs. Marie could not see what she was doing, but could feel the force of it pushing her victim’s pelvis hard against her hip, bringing the girl up on her toes (her ankle-bonds pulling against Marie’s), making her jerk on her leg suspension. The girl was gasping, whimpering, struggling against her ropes while Marie felt her belly and breasts sliding sweat-slick against her own.
Marie then felt Richard’s fingers—fresh from the auburn-hair’s hungry mouth, slide down and begin to probe her ass. As if rehearsed, Claire brought him the pitcher of oil, which he used to grease the entry further, until he had several fingers deep inside Marie’s ass while he continued fucking her. She felt so filled and pulled open—it hurt but she wanted more, and ground herself as best she could back into him, realizing she was now freely groaning like an animal.
“I think she’s ready for you, my husband…” Rose announced from her position below her suspended victim. Richard kept at Marie just a little longer, then slipped out of her, and stepped away. Claire, thankfully, was immediately there to support Marie, who almost went dead-limp in her ropes (but still wanted more). Marie was barely aware of Richard as he moved up behind the auburn hair, who cried out and began to fight her ropes as Richard apparently impaled her. That Rose was still below pumping with her hands suggested that she was repeating her stunt of having her husband penetrate anally while she kept her whole hand up inside her victim.
Then—just as it seemed the auburn-hair would faint in her suspension—Rose eased up her abuse somewhat and nodded to Ella, who went and took hold of the remaining potential princess—the chestnut-haired and most petite and soft-looking of the trio—and led her to kneel close where she would have an intimate view of her companion’s abuse. Marie saw her blanch a bit at what she saw, bite her lip, but she did not turn away from it. Rose spoke:
“If my guess is right, your companions have suffered bravely on your behalf. If you will not confess, then perhaps it is your turn to suffer for them. Are you ready, girl? Or should we keep at your friend here a bit longer?”
The girl looked like she would chew off her own lower lip, but nodded her assent without a word.
“Then we have saved the best for last,” Rose purred. “Open your mouth, girl.”
Rose prompted Richard to slide himself out of the auburn-hair, who almost fully collapsed in convulsions, and turned him to face the remaining victim. Rose knelt beside her, pulled open her jaw and fed Richard’s cock inside. She guided the girl’s mouth to suck it, her head to bob on it, slowly at first, testing how deep she could go without gagging. And Rose taunted her:
“I know well you have tasted your companions. But have you ever tasted them thus? And on the shaft of a male? I can think of few more intimate and submissive acts than taking what has been in another woman’s ass so readily into your mouth. I wonder… Would you do so as easily for a maid you have not yet known?” And Rose looked up into Marie’s eyes. “No sense wasting a good preparation, don’t you agree?”
Richard pulled away from the kneeling girl and came back around behind Marie. She felt his fingers probe her ass, ensuring the oils still wetted it, then she felt him carefully, steadily slip himself up inside of her.
Marie felt like she was being torn apart—the suspending ropes (worse now with the all-but-collapse of her fellow victim) magnifying the sense of being pulled and stretched open. The muscles of both legs burned, but she didn’t care. She was quickly panting, gasping for air, a keening cry barely held back behind her teeth. Yet she still did not struggle away. She freely let hi
m do what he would to her, even trying to rock her hips back to give him deeper access, holding onto her wrist-ropes for dear life while Claire still stood close by to help support her raised leg. And Claire kept watching her all the while, her mouth twisting into a cruel yet appraising grin, like Marie was passing some kind of test.
Then Richard slowed and pulled out of her, only to turn and feed himself back into the mouth of the young chestnut-hair, who took it obediently.
Rose smiled wickedly as if inspired. And indeed she was: for next she had the first victim of the three—the dark-hair—dragged back to and bent over the same table she had been so recently deflowered upon. Rose herself oiled and prepared her, and Richard obliged by impaling her anally until she was whimpering (but never once moving to resist). Then the cock was back in the chestnut-hair’s mouth.
“You have done well, young princess,” Rose praised her with cool condescension. “But now it is time for your final trial. Confess now, my dear. A pity that your loyal maids should sacrifice themselves so to protect you, only to have you similarly ruined.”
But the girl said nothing.
Rose had the girl sat on the edge of the great table. Her arms were tied up high behind her back with ropes that circled her shoulders such that her breasts were caught and pressed between the coils. Then she was laid back—though she settled awkwardly half-sideways because of the way her arms were behind her—and her ankles were crossed and bound together so that her knees pointed outwards. And then it got worse: ropes from her ankles went up over her shoulders and connected to her wrists, and the slack was taken out until her crossed legs were drawn up to within inches of her chest, the tension pulling her arms up even tighter behind her, her sex turned upwards until it was within a foot of her chin.
“The Japanese call this the ‘crab’,” Rose explained. “It is a favorite position for extended torment. It is not only torturous in itself because of the way it contorts the body, but it leaves the victim conveniently vulnerable to all manner of violations.”
The girl was already whimpering quietly when Rose began stroking and probing and tasting her exposed and opened sex and ass. She purred approvingly, announced how wet she had found her victim in response to this torture, and invited her husband to explore likewise. The girl was letting out a rhythmic whining, held back deep in her throat, as they took turns with her, until finally Rose fed Richard’s cock into her by inches, the angle of her contorted hips allowing her to watch it happening only inches from her face. Her body convulsed against the ropes and she tried to be silent. She began to relax into it as he continued into her, building speed and force as she adjusted. But just when she seemed to be settling into an almost delirious acceptance, Rose oiled her fingers and began to prepare her ass. This double-penetration sent the girl back to jerking in her ropes, though in her extreme contortion she could do little more than bob her folded body in a cadence that only accentuated her fucking.
“You have done so well suckling what has been in others so intimately,” Rose told her evilly, “it is only fair I offer you the same submission.”
Then Rose guided Richard’s cock into her victim’s ass. The girl cried out, whimpering with each thrust, her body now slick with sweat.
Ella and Claire had meanwhile released Marie and her companion in suspension—Marie was led back to her seat by the support of Claire, and the auburn-hair was half-carried to kneel with her dark-haired comrade where they had full-view of their “princess’” abuse. They did their best to take the spectacle stoically, still not wanting to betray anything, even when the victim was in tears. Thankfully, Rose made it brief in order to fulfill her promise: she took Richard’s cock straight from the chestnut-haired maid’s ass and sucked at it hungrily.
The chestnut-hair was unbound by Ella, and her companions were allowed to go to her as she uncoiled her body to lay half-conscious upon the table, her torso, arms and legs clearly marked with the patterns the ropes had left on her. The two girls caressed her and kissed her and seemed to celebrate their completion of their ordeals, because Rose stood center-stage again and announced:
“These ladies have earned their asylum. Let them now choose new names as they please, and may no one ask after their secrets again.” Then she went and kissed each in turn, warmly, lovingly.
But then she returned to Marie.
“But I still have ordeals for you, my dear.”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Trial by Ordeal
On cue, two naked servants appeared rolling yet a fourth machine, this one familiar from the town square of Marie’s youth. It was a set of standing stocks—a pillory—designed to hold fast the neck and wrists between two locking boards, holding the victim bent over and vulnerable to public abuse. But Marie suspected what abuse Rose had in mind for her would be distinctly different than what common criminals endured in the square.
“The choice is yours, as always,” Richard bent and spoke softly into Marie’s ear, holding her shoulders lightly from behind, taking the time to savor the scent of her sweat, her hair. Rose just stood and waited by the device with her usual cruel grin. “You do not have to submit to this. I could give you your freedom now. You could go home, your father’s debt forgiven.”
The offer sent an unexpected shock through Marie like a cold rod thrust into her stomach. Richard could feel her shiver in his gentle grasp. She looked at Rose, who did not flinch in her leering gaze. Then at Claire, who did not even look at her—it was like she did not exist to her in this moment, but Marie could see it was a forced denial—Claire was chewing the inside of her lip slightly. And Ella—she just smiled warmly, waiting.
It took Marie several moments to find speech, to even breathe. She did not even look again at the stocks or seek to imagine what Rose had in mind for her. All she felt was Richard’s touch, his breath, his heat close to her. And when she breathed she could smell her own sex and sweat and his and even the musk of the other girls in the air.
And he would let her go if she wished. Right now. She could go home.
And never see this place or these people again.
“No,” she heard herself whisper. Then, with her heart pounding in her chest like it had the first night she had been taken in this place, she said it louder. “No.”
And she made her shaking hands grasp the arms of her chair and push her up—against Richard’s hands, feeling the aching left in her sex and ass and joints—and she stepped with difficulty toward the pillory.
“I will stay.”
She did not look back, but she could feel Claire’s smile return, feel the glow on Richard’s face. She bit her lip and looked Rose in the eye and stepped as gracefully as she still could right up to the stocks.
Sofi and Juli came forward and gently helped her wrists and neck into their respective holes, then gingerly lowered the top board to seal her in. It was Rose that snapped the latch shut with a short grunt of a giggle.
Marie felt hands guiding her legs apart—she could not see who was behind her because of the board, and Rose was quick to point that out as soon as she caught Marie’s eyes searching.
“No dear: You will not be able to see who has access to you. But anyone here who wishes to, may. In any way they like.” Her ankles were being tied to the vertical supports of the stocks—she was now bent fully half over and opened. She could see Richard coming around the front of the stocks, but so close she could not raise her head far enough to see his face—her own face was almost level with his pelvis, and his sex was already hardening again.
“You can still refuse,” Rose teased her again. Marie did not respond. “Good. Then we’ll begin.”
Richard caressed Marie’s face, took her lower jaw in his hand, then took hold of her hair with his other hand. She knew what was expected, and opened her mouth for him. He had taken the time to clean himself, but still smelled of a mix of her and other women. He eased himself into her mouth, and began pumping in a slow, gentle rhythm. She sucked and tongued him with equal tenderness, straining to
look up into his eyes but unable to. All the while, he held her head in his hands.
She felt the first of her secret assailants within moments: an anonymous tongue, dancing from her opened sex to her anus, first lightly, then with greater hunger. Then there were fingertips. Tickling, caressing, then probing her holes. The mouth began to devour her violently, then suddenly stopped. Marie felt panic in the sudden void of sensation, but kept sucking Richard. Then the hard knob of one of the ladies’ phallic tools prodded between her nether lips. Hands grasped her hips, and what felt like a thumb slipped into her anus, and whoever was behind her began fucking her. Like the tongue, it was first gentle, then violent. She could hear stifled moaning behind her, her attacker trying to remain anonymous. There were more hands on her now—it felt like a crowd was gathering back there. A finger—no, a tongue—began to tease her clit. Hands and mouths were on her breasts. Her primary attacker was working faster now, panting more ferociously, and suddenly there was a familiar roar. The phallus withdrew.
Marie turned her head enough to see Claire walk around from behind her, slick with sweat, flushed red in her spots, wearing Rose’s instrument. She held Richard close for a moment, then knelt and took his sex from Marie’s mouth and into hers. Then she suddenly turned her head and kissed Marie, just briefly. Then she smiled and stood and kissed Richard once and was gone from sight again.
Marie did not have time to make sense of this—another phallus was already finding its way into her. But now the hands were gone and she felt the tickling caress of a multi-tailed whip dance across her back, her hips, her thighs. Light conditioning lashes began as the phallus continued a matching rhythm into her. The whipping got steadily more intense, focused mainly on her ass, as the pounding got stronger—she could feel the harness belts slam against her flesh with each thrust. Richard’s cock was still in her mouth all the while, effectively gagging her, and she fought for breath and focused on giving him pleasure with her mouth, trying to think only of what satisfaction he might be getting from her submitting so—but her mind wandered as her eyes darted sideways: Who couldn’t she see? Who was behind her now?
