There was a pause of a second or two, as they were marshalled into the centre of the ring. Then Fred called and they were off.
It was every bit as bad as she had feared, a numbing sort of pain in her gut that seemed to spread throughout her belly. She only hoped the men had got it right and that the ball ends would be sufficient protection against internal damage. For the moment the impalement felt more like a sword in her entrails than a smooth plastic sphere... a bayonet not a billiard ball. She screamed as her tawny opponent began a series of short sharp jabs with her hips, apparently impervious to the pain herself, and she scrambled sideways to try and get away without crossing the line. Once again she sensed that these bitches from the Bull had had prior notice of what their men were cooking up for the match, and had been able to practice tactics, rather than meet the monstrous pain quite unprepared, like the Tridents. In despair she tried to make some sort of riposte, jerking back her hips and being rewarded by a short cry of agony from behind, echoing her own, but it was too little, too late. In return she caught a blast that had her rolling sideways, her shackled hands helpless to support her, her head and shoulders out of the ring.
If it hadn't been for Renee's sheer gut courage against the softer blonde from the Bull, they would have been destroyed. As it was Renee sweated it out with the golden haired Bull bitch, shove for shove, scream for scream until, by sheer guts and will-power she wore the other down. Inch by inch she drove her to the edge and when, with a final despairing shriek, the blonde flopped onto her big soft dugs, her face on the floor inches outside the ring, she had to be helped away, crouched over her aching belly. And the score line didn't help their morale any. 8 - 4 against them and the deficit widened to seven points. They would have to take both the last two events to make that up and in their present battered condition, it seemed an almost hopeless task.
All six girls were in a distressed condition, the abuse of their guts having taken its toll, and a time-out was called while they cleaned up their soiled buttocks and tried to freshen their tear stained faces.
"I don't want to go through that again," Renee said bitterly, "I think that was the worst thing I've ever endured. I'll take a flogging to the blood any day, rather than have those things up my bum again. Let's hope our men put in something more civilised for the next event."
What the menfolk from the Trident had provided for them was a towel-rail, the sort connected to the central heating to keep the Terry towelling warm and fluffy, but adapted for something more fleshy than bath sheets and face cloths. It was mounted on a solid wooden base and connected to somewhere back stage by a set of hoses. Fred came front stage again.
"The Trident men have provided us with a novelty tonight. The hoses you see are connected to a shower head," he explained, "which gives us complete control over the temperature of the water flowing through the rack and, particularly, the top rail. The little ladies sit astride the rail, facing each other, and the last one to leave is the winner."
"Jeeeze! They're going to scald the cunts off us," Renee muttered. "It's all Tom's doing, I know. He's been banging away out in his workshop all week. And he's been making silly little jokes about how I'll have a hot cunt by Saturday night. I'll give him hot cunt."
"Cheer up," Laura urged. "It's going to be equally hot at the bitches' end, and they haven't had prior notice of this one. Bite your lip and think of England. We're just as tough as them. It's only bad luck, and a bit of quiet cheating on their part that's got us so far behind. We can do it."
She was as good as her word. When the time same, she swung her leg over the rail, and parted her fleshy labia carefully, until they clung either side of it, then put her hands behind her for the inevitable cuffs. The other blonde faced her, equally divided by the chrome tube in the slice between her thighs, and Fred called for the blocks they had used for mounting to be removed. Now they carried all their weight on their split vulvas, their most intimate flesh pressed tight against the pipe, still chill from the cold water that filled it.
Fred signalled to the assistant in charge of the showerhead. For half a minute nothing happened but then, first one then the other of the naked beauties mounted on the rail began to squirm and shift as the heat began to get to them. As the flow increased, they could be seen to rock backwards and forwards, trying to spread the heat over as much of their feminine folds as they could, relieving one extremity of their vulval slot when it could take no more, only to rock back again as the other end had had enough. In any case they couldn't free the whole length and the temperature was still rising. The Bull blonde was sweating now, and whimpering quietly, while Laura managed to maintain a psychological advantage by appearing not to be suffering, although her twitchy belly and strained thighs gave her away. The shower control had been on maximum for some minutes now, and both girls were red-faced and perspiration ran freely between their shoulder blades to disappear into the cracks of their bottoms, while their legs were making frantic pumping motions in time with the helpless but futile rocking of their bodies. Suddenly the girl from the Bull had had enough. She shrieked aloud and swung one leg over the rail, to be caught as she fell by one of the assistants. Thankfully Laura followed her example.
Renee went up next, onto a rail now chill as before, feeling its cold on her clit as she settled into place. She had drawn the short straw this time and was up against Dana, the beautiful African. The girl seemed immortal and unstoppable, sitting stony faced as the temperature rose, only the slightest movement of her body giving away the fact that the rail pressed into her fork was now hot enough to scald. She seemed unwilling to lean forward, but otherwise seemed little affected. Renee stuck it out bravely but could not match her. After five minutes of sweating struggle, punctuated by small moans of pain and futile rocking, she had had enough and called out in a strangled voice, asking to be got down.
With Renee and Laura gone, and only one win between them, it was Jenny's turn, and she just had to stick it out and score, or they were lost. With grim determination she walked up to the rail and mounted. Standing on the blocks, she carefully parted her thick red lips, then bent her knees and let the tender tissues of her cunt come down on the chill metal of the tube. She gave a small involuntary shudder, partly from the cold, partly from the thought of how that rail was going to feel in a minute, when the hot water was flowing freely through it. None of the girls who had gone before her had looked in the least happy with the scalding hot kisses on her pubes and she wasn't looking forward to it much herself. She put her hands behind her and felt the now familiar hardness of cuffs, and the feeling of helplessness and commitment that their embrace always induced. She let her weight fall fully on the rail, as Fred called for the blocks to be removed, and waited apprehensively for the water to flow between her legs.
At first nothing happened. The hoses were full of cold water from the cooling after the last pair had dismounted, and it took time for the hot water to reach them. Besides, the audience wanted a show and the temperature would be raised gradually to prolong their hot-crotched ride, leaving the watchers to scan their faces for the first signs of discomfort and speculate on which girl would cry 'enough' first as her vulva cooked on the slowly heating rail.
To begin with it was cold rather than heat that made them squirm. The water seemed almost chilled and she even wondered if the men, with their fiendish ingenuity and twisted sense of humour, had connected the flow through the cooling equipment in the pub cellar. It certainly felt as if iced lager was flowing across her tender vaginal opening. The chill had begun to numb her before she sensed even the slightest rise in temperature and, when it came, her labia and the sensitive skin of her perineum were so frozen the warmth set up aches and tingles, like fingers frozen in the snow and then put under a hot tap. It didn't last long and her fear rose with the temperature between her legs. As she felt it rising she couldn't help remembering the agonised expressions on the other girls' faces, and their whimpers and
moans as the temperature rose to scalding and they tried desperately, but in vain, to ease the torture in their cunts.
Now it was happening to her. The water had reached a quite respectable heat now, and she was beginning to feel it enough to want to try and lift herself off it. Without a foothold, and with her hands cuffed helplessly behind her back, all she could do was lean her weight forward to try and take the heat out of her perineum, and ease the weight on her coccyx. It hardly helped. Her weight and the steadily increasing heat were still on her vulva, scorching the delicate tissues round the meatus, touching the tip of her clit in this forward position. She moaned and rocked back again but found no comfort in applying the already scalded parts around her anus to the hot pipe that formed her seat. She tried to clench her thighs around the thin tube to help take some of her weight, but it was no more successful. With a pipe that small, she could get no significant grip and all she did was touch the scalding hot metal with the delicate skin of her inner thighs, nerve endings that had not been readied by contact with the tube as its temperature rose steadily, and which reacted in outrage at having it applied with no preparation. She flinched and hissed in pain.
The heat was really biting now. She moaned and shifted yet again. She could feel the sweat running down her back, and a trickle between her breasts. Her nose ran and her eyes watered with the pain. She stole a glance at her opponent seated equally uncomfortably in front of her.
Good, the bitch was suffering too. She could see the clenching of her thighs, the rocking on her cunt, beads of perspiration standing out all over her strained body. I'll see you damned before I give in, she vowed, determined that this time she would do all she could and more to keep up her end.
She did it the traditional way, one step at a time. She bit her lip and counted to ten, as slowly as she could bear, then rocked slightly and began the count again. Die, bitch, die, she screamed in her mind. Aloud she whined shrilly, a hurt animal sound. She didn't hear the other girl's answering cries but suddenly she wasn't there. She was alone on the horrid bar, her mind almost too dazed to take it in and then the pipe turned cold between her thighs and she was being lifted off by strong male arms and set on the ground, the hurt in her groin subsiding into mere throbbing soreness.
Another time out, with drinks and ice cold cloths for sore pudenda, although the cold itself made breath come hissing in on first application. The Trident girls huddled together as if for protection, and contemplated the task ahead. 8 - 4 to them that round, so they went into the last 31 - 34 down. They'd have to make a supreme effort if they were going to overhaul that tally in one game, whatever it was.
Fred came to the front of the stage again to give the details. Clit poker, he called it, and once again produced the hated toggle clamps, but a different twist this time. Gone were the rather wide flat jaws that had crushed their teats and labia until they had screamed. They had been replaced with longer, narrower versions, more like the crocodile clips she had worn on the hunt of blessed memory, but those had not featured toggles to tighten the grip in proportion to the load hanging on them. She accepted the pair offered her with justifiable apprehension, after all, every time they had had clips on before it had hurt atrociously, and her fear was soon justified.
For a start a clitoris, even on a sexually heightened female like herself, is not so large that reasonable sized jaws cannot be got around it. She did her best to get it to engorge, stroking a finger round the tip, and up and down its fluted spine; to have put the jaws on the tip itself was unthinkable and she worked hard to increase the size of the rapidly swelling little organ, so that she could place the jaws on its root. At last, panting and red-faced from her public masturbation, she felt she could find room for the jaws along the underside of the sloping wedge and coaxed them into place, grimacing in pain as she eased the pressure on the handles, letting the weight of the springs fall on the jaws, driving the teeth into her most feminine flesh. Their men had no intention of damaging them, or their sexual apparatus, so the teeth were not sharpened but they still indented the tender tissues deeply, with corresponding agony. At last it was done and she could straighten stiffly, the short chain attached to the clip, with its small hook, dangling between her bare thighs as she took her place in the circle of similarly equipped girls.
Glancing round the ring, she was struck by the beauty and variety of the clits on parade. They all seemed to be above average but her guess was that it was more nurture than nature. She was very aware that her own prized possession had grown significantly since she had entered the sensual world of Sexton Hinds, and she strongly suspected that the others were the same.
All but Dana. That magnificent specimen must surely be her birthright rather than some artificial creation, her clit was large and proud, a pink tip protruding from a substantial knurled brown roll lying along the slit between her fleshy lips. Actually she seemed to be having some difficulty adjusting to the clip which held the fat little cylinder atrociously tightly and she had been the last to offer her hands for the inevitable cuffs and take her place in the circle. Jenny couldn't find the words to describe this beauty Dana wore between her fat brown labia. A bizarre lipstick laid in the furrow of the plump lips, the pink end set in its fat brown case? An asparagus tip, stained red and wrapped in brown bread, laid out on a plate? Perhaps. At any rate it looked good enough to eat and she felt a surge of lust ripple through her belly, diverting her thoughts from the contest to come.
But not for long. Fred was arranging his equipment on a small stool in the centre of the ring; a weight pan, with a ring to engage to hooks on their chains, and a box of gleaming brass weights.
"It's a simple game," he explained. "You each step forward and bend your knees so that I can engage the hook on your chain in the ring on the pan, then you straighten your legs and lift it cleanly. If it's a good lift, you go back in the line, and the next girl takes her turn."
"Is that all?" someone wanted to know.
"Oh how silly of me," Fred replied in mock dismay. "Did I forget to mention that each girl can call for as many weights as she likes to be added before she attempts to lift the pan and, of course, if she manages it, the girls that follow have to lift the additional weight too. Think of it as clit poker."
Standing between Renee and Laura, Jenny looked at the heavy pieces of polished brass and shuddered.
"At least," she said glumly, "our tits have got off lightly. The men seem to be intent of making us one throbbing ache from arse to cunt. It's practically all been below the belt."
There wasn't time for any more chat. They stood while the inevitable cuffs rendered them helpless again, and the round began. First off was the blonde from the Bull. Without hesitation she asked for one weight and bent her knees to allow Fred to hook her to the pan. He had come equipped to do justice to the occasion with the white cotton gloves and formal manner of a referee at a snooker championship, setting the weight in the exact centre of the pan as if replacing the black then setting the hook in place and standing back to allow unfettered view to the audience. The fair-haired girl straightened with care. That was a solid piece of brass Fred had put in place and, together with the pan and the initial grip of the clip, it was enough to make the girl grunt softly as she took up the strain and straightened her long shapely legs, the pan and its burden swinging gently between them.
"Good lift," Fred declared and she bent her knees and let the stool take the weight again quickly. Her slightly twisted lip told of the bite on her clit even at this early stage. Laura followed, without raising, as did the second girl from the Bull. When her own turn came she deemed it was time to step up the pace if they were to have any chance to make up the deficit. She called for another weight to be added, and bit down hard on her lower lip, as Fred slipped her hook into the ring. As steadily as she could manage she began to straighten. As the weight came on she began to regret she hadn't played it safe like the others and taken the minimum weigh
t to start with, to get herself acclimatised. But she calculated they couldn't afford that luxury and had to go for broke. It cost her dear in sweat and strain, and her eyes were watering by the time Fred called out his approval and she lowered the pan back on the stool, grateful to be rid of it, at least for now.
Dana had come to the stand and, as Fred hooked her on, she thought she saw a small shadow of fear pass over the big brown girl's finely sculptured face. As the coffee coloured columns of her legs straightened, taking the weight, the girl seemed to wince. Was she showing weakness at last, after the apparently unstoppable performance so far? Watching closely every move, the redhead resolved to find out, following the brown girl's reactions until the point where she completed her lift and was able to set the brazen load back on its stool.
Renee seemed unperturbed for the moment though she didn't raise the stakes, and made a clean lift with only a sour twist to her mouth, and a grunt to show it had got to her where it hurt.
The Bull's blonde lead didn't seem to like two weights any more than Dana, but managed to overcome the pain in her sexual centre enough to make a valid lift, though she gasped and moaned all the way. Laura and the next of the bitches were also content to leave the weights where they were and, even so, could only just make it. Laura's legs, in particular, seemed like rubber as she took the pan off its stand, and Fred had to hover round her for several seconds before he was satisfied and gave it the all clear. When she stood up from setting the pan back on its stand there were tears streaming down her cheeks, and the corners of her mouth were turned down in doleful commas of distress.
Once more it seemed to be up to Jenny to crank up the pace. With a quaking belly she asked Fred for another weight, three now, and not an easy dinner to digest. Very carefully she straightened, taking the weight on her clamped clit, the jaws gouging in under the extra load. She whined noisily, she just couldn't help it. The pain was atrocious, but she fought through it and, through a mist of pain, heard Fred call, "Clean lift."
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