Words more beautiful than a Shakespeare sonnet she thought hysterically as she sank down and let the stool take the strain.
She was still hurting when she looked across at Dana, but the ache melted away in hope as she saw the fear in the big girl's eyes. This was it, the moment of truth. Had she guessed right? Forgetting her own troubles with her chewed clit throbbing between her legs, she held her breath in excitement as Dana attempted the lift. She nearly managed it. She got it in the air and, for a moment, Jenny thought she had miscalculated but then the coffee coloured columns of the lovely legs folded like broken straws and Dana gave a howl of defeat as she sank back down again. That fat and luscious clit had proved a weakness after all... the female equivalent of an Achilles heel. One down and two to go.
But it was a Trident who bit the dust next. Laura had reached her limit. She tried bravely to get it up, but collapsed in tears like Dana before her. The strain was telling on them all now,
Nobody seemed keen to raise now, and the pan came back to Renee still with three weights. She looked across at the two bitches still standing and called for a fourth weight. With a grim face she started to lift. Half way up, and she seemed to have lost it. She hesitated, as if unable to go on then, throwing her head back in a long howl like a she wolf on heat, she gathered up her strength and went the last inch that had Fred calling another clean lift.
It was too much for the blonde. Ashen faced she made as if to try, got the chain taut, the pan rocking as if about to achieve lift-off, then dropped it back, wailing disconsolately at her own perceived weakness.
The second bitch was tougher. Small and wiry, she seemed able to bear this peculiar pain better than most. It cost her some, but she managed it, lifting a few inches at a time, giving a short shriek at each thrust of her legs, as if cheering herself on. When she set the pan down she too was crying openly.
Well, Jenny thought, no point in raising now, I'd only be attacking Renee and she's got enough to cope with. Besides, who says I can lift this lot anyway.
Once more she committed herself to the hideous bite of those sharp teeth on her most sensitive part, squeezing the life out of the nerve-rich stem, dragging painfully on it until it felt as if it would be torn out of her flesh. She had to let vent to her feelings as she struggled with the monster, shrieking disjointedly all the way up, but she managed it and stood back, hurt but relieved.
Renee made the only move possible and called for weight number five. As the audience oohed and aahed with anticipation, Fred did his referee turn again, centring the weight with mathematical precision, connecting the hook with a dramatic flourish, and Renee made her desperate last throw. It was hopeless but a brave effort. She screamed as she jerked the pan off the stool but fell back immediately onto her knees, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Fred took the extra weight off and gestured the remaining bitch to come forward.
The girl seemed torn between leaving things as they were, and hoping she could outlast her one remaining opponent, or make an all out attack. She played for safety, and made a clean lift of the four, though it cost her dearly in tears and howls.
Then it was Jenny's turn again and she faced the same dilemma as the girl from the Bull, now on her knees, bent over her tortured groin. To stick or to raise? Finally she chose the latter, and Fred put back the weight that had been Renee's downfall. She prayed it wouldn't be her own.
Even after four rounds the slight tug on her sore clit, as Fred dropped the hook into the ring on the weight pan, sent a shudder through her. She was intensely aware of how much this was going to hurt and the tiny vibration through the connecting chain gave notice that that hurt was now immediate and inevitable. Trying her best not to let her knees tremble, she straightened slowly until she could feel the weight come on her throbbing female stem, then slowly, but steadily, increased the pressure. She had tried jerking the weight off the stool earlier, when it wasn't so heavy and decided it was a mistake. She would be best gritting her teeth and putting in a smooth seamless pull, taking the rising agony as it mounted and hoping that she could make it all the way, and that Fred wouldn't keep her hanging on the peak. She had got the weight of all the brass cylinders now and it was killing her. She mewled and grunted through clenched teeth as the toggle drove the teeth deeper into her tender flesh. It wasn't just that it hurt; it was the manner of the hurting. The teeth didn't actually penetrate her skin, but they indented it deeply, pressing on the root of her clitoris, where it lay at an angle above the rest of her vulva. The most sensitive nerve ends may have been in its tip, and thus spared the direct effect of the clamp along the base of the tapered ridge but, inside the crushed stem, the root was a mass of nerve bundles too, and the teeth bit into them remorselessly. It was like being connected to a live electric cable, at the same time as someone applied a hot iron to her flesh. She couldn't imagine anything more difficult for a woman to sustain, however tough. Her whole body cried out in revulsion and tears spurted from her eyes.
But she was winning her private battle with pain and supersensation. Her knees locked, she threw her head back and howled, Fred was merciful and the call came instantly. She collapsed to her knees, the pan catching the edge of the stool and spilling the weights which fell with an ominous thud to the floor.
While she knelt and wept, her whole body shaking with her sobs, Fred restored the weights to order and called the Bull's champion to the stand. She advanced firmly enough and, at first, it seemed she was going to try for it then, at the last moment, she shook her head and turned away.
Fred turned to the audience.
"Last girl retires," he announced, "12 - 9 to the Tridents, and the match tied at 43 all. I declare it a draw."
But before the girls could relax and hope that the rest of the evening would be a pleasant matter of some compensatory drinks and a little sex to make them better, there were interruptions from the floor where someone was calling for a tiebreaker.
"Yes! Yes!" agreed an excited female voice. "A tiebreaker. Don't let them get away without a result."
Fred looked disconcerted for a moment, then bowed to the pressure and consulted with the men who owned the contestants, seated in privileged positions close to the stage. Some whispered conversation and he was up again to announce that a tiebreaker it would be, and a suitable event to serve as a decider had been agreed.
Jenny was squatting, thighs wide to allow Renee to apply a cold wet cloth to her aching clit and being congratulated on saving the match, when Fred made his announcement. It seemed it was a Pyrrhic victory after all. Now they were going to have to wind themselves up again to face an unknown tiebreaker, where all that was certain was that they weren't going to like it one bit. Renee tried to put a brave face on it.
"It can't be worse than what we've done already," she encouraged, "and you can bet those Bull's Head bitches are at least as sore as we are. Besides, we came from behind and nailed them. They can't be too happy about that."
"You won't be quite so cheerful when you see what they're bringing out now," Laura observed darkly. "It's the tit breaker."
"Oh shit!" Renee said with emphasis. "I could have done without that."
The third member paused from bathing her inflamed and swollen clit.
"You mean tiebreaker, don't you," she said, still looking down at the puffy inflamed morsel of feminine flesh between her legs, so swollen it wouldn't even lie back between the fleshy lips of her labia.
"That too," Renee observed glumly, turning her head to see what was happening on stage, "I hoped the men would have had enough and settled for a draw but it seems we're really for it tonight."
"Can't be worse than what we've just been through," came the reply, emphasised by a small hissing sound as she touched her misshapen erotic appendage too incautiously and sucked her breath in through clenched teeth. "Blast! I don't think I'm going to enjoy sex with this thing ever again
."
"I'll ask you again in the morning, when Henry has waved his magic wand over it," Renee replied, "but right now I'm more worried about that tit breaker they've just wheeled out. We're none of us going to enjoy this very much I'm afraid but I, for one, am not going to let those cheating bitches take the match, not after all we've done to claw our way back. And especially after you damn near wrecked that pretty pink clit of yours, darling. They're not going to take that away from us."
Jenny looked up from her restorative work on her mangled sex bud to see what all the fuss was about. Nothing much at first glance, just a simple wooden stand, about breast high to a kneeling woman, for whose knees a shelf was provided a couple of inches above the floor, a smooth flat top about eighteen inches by twelve, with a shaped ridge along one long edge. A thin but menacing cane hung on a hook on the side together with a bundle of pieces of cord. It was difficult to see why it should arouse such consternation in her companions. They soon disillusioned her.
"It may look nothing," Laura explained. "But it's broken better girls than us. See that edge with the two curves scooped out of it? You have to kneel and let your tits lie in the cutouts, resting on the top of the table, and stay there while one of the other team cuts them with that cane. It may not look very heavy but on a girl's breasts it's hell," and she shuddered again at the thought of it.
"Those men of ours are total bastards," Renee observed grimly. "They didn't have to agree to a tiebreaker, they could have settled for a draw and even so, it needn't have been the tit breaker. I'm going to give that Tom hell in his bed for a week for this."
"No you're not," Laura told her. "You know perfectly well they're entirely within their rights to do so. We all gave them that right when we submitted to them and anyway it's part of the thrill that it's always just that little bit worse than we expect."
"Guess you're right," Renee agreed. "I'll settle with Tom at the Friday session for questioning him."
So now here they were lined up naked in front of an eager audience again, preparing to do battle for the honour of the Trident, and the pleasure of their men. Fred handed each of them a length of cord.
Jenny looked at it, puzzled.
"What do I do with this?" she asked.
"Wrap it round your tits, until they swell up tight," Laura told her, starting to attend to her own firm pair.
"But I can't wrap anything round mine," she complained. "They're sort of, you know, conical. I wouldn't be able to make it stick in place. Besides, why should I want to make them swell up? It's going to be bad enough as it is, having them lashed with that beastly cane, without blowing them up as well."
"That's what you think," she was corrected. "In the first place, any girl with any tits at all can tie them. Just lift one in your hand and start wrapping the cord round the base. As soon as you get a turn around it you'll find it begins to swell and you can make another, tighter turn. By the time you've wrapped it round three or four times, and pulled the knot tight, you'll find it well bedded in and your tits are tight and round as balloons."
"As to why you should do that to yourself, believe me it's for the best," Renee assured her. "For a start you've got to be sure they sit on the top there and don't slide away. If they're not well on display and ready for the other girl to cane them you'll be disqualified before you start but aside from that, you'll be better off anyway. If you let them flop on the top, the cane will crush them against the hard wood and, believe me, you wouldn't want that. Tied up tight like this," she jiggled her own firm globes, now turning red and as round as beach balls, "the cane sort of bounces off. I won't try and kid you it doesn't hurt like hell but at least the bruising isn't as bad as if they were trapped against the table."
Jenny didn't argue; these two had been here before and she respected their advice. It proved to be easier than she had thought, her firm cones rapidly transforming themselves into hard red balls, her teats, always an outstanding pair of decorations on the milky globes now, not just engorged, but thrusting out as if propelled from within, huge as a goat's dugs. The sensation was odd and unsettling, her tight globes bouncing on her chest as she moved, as if with a life of their own. She felt top heavy; all tit.
The arrangements were simple. Each girl in turn knelt on the ledge at the front of the stand, pressing her chest against the top edge, and arranged her swollen breasts in scooped cutouts, so that they lay entirely on the tabletop. Once she had got them positioned correctly, she had to take her hands away and clasp them behind her neck, then tilt her chin up so as to allow direct access from above to the two tempting targets.
A girl of the opposite team stood on each side and, once the position was judged correct, lashed the cane down on the offered mammaries in turn. To qualify, the victim had to maintain her pose throughout. Since this was a tiebreaker there would be no concessions and any refusal to offer one's breasts, and failure to position them correctly, any involuntary grasping of wounded dugs before permission to rise was given, would lead to instant disqualification. Fred spelt it all out for them so that there would be no misunderstanding, then stood to one side and called the first girl forward.
Linda, the Bull's blonde member went first, and was understandably reluctant about it, but did enough to comply with the rules laid down for this demanding sport. She knelt, leant forward against the whipping stand, her trussed breasts cupped in her hands, and laid them in place. She adjusted the elastic globes carefully to fit them to the scoops, and drew her hands out from under them in a forward direction, to ensure they lay fully on the tabletop. She seemed far from keen to leave them there, so totally exposed and vulnerable but, eventually, took her hands away, clasped them behind her neck and tilted back her head until she was staring at the ceiling. Renee and Laura moved into position and Laura lifted the slim cane. At a nod from the MC, she brought it ripping down to strike across the darkly red meaty targets.
Linda screamed as the thin rod whipped into her turgid twins and an even darker line sprang up on the ruddy surface of their tops. She dropped her head on her chest as Laura handed over the stick, but straightened at once when Fred checked her. Renee lashed in a wicked stroke from the opposite side and drew another scream, the track of her cut paralleling Laura's, a half inch nearer the nipple. Linda was allowed to rise and Laura took her place. In moments a second pair of inflated breasts, darkly pink and with tumid teats thrusting fiercely, were set out for the torture of the rod. This time it was the girls from the Bull who were dishing it out and they didn't hold back. Laura screamed in her turn as the cane bit into the tender tit meat, across the swelling tops both sides. She screamed even louder at the second stroke from Dana's sinewy wrist. The tall brown girl could dish it out as well as take it.
Tina, the pocket Venus with the tautly muscled figure, laid her neat paps in the positioning grooves next. Her normally pert cones had become almost sausage shaped in the swollen elongation the harsh constriction of the cords around their base induced. Though they were small, the tight bondage made them easy targets. Laura, whose sore breasts might have hampered her stroke, handed the rod to the third member of the team and the two Tridents hewed into Tina's soft vulnerable dugs.
Under other circumstances women might be expected to be somewhat inhibited in wounding another woman in that place, breasts having almost mystical properties for the female sex, but this was war and they had to hurt and be hurt if they were to survive. Each drove the searing rattan remorselessly, sending their target away tearful and shaking.
Now Jenny had to face up to this untried horror herself. Suddenly she felt terribly exposed and vulnerable, as if only just aware, for the first time, of the nudity she had worn all evening. Somehow she felt these swollen flushed caricatures of her usual smoothly curved hemispheres made her twice as conspicuous, their jutting finger-sized teats, hard and red, waving in mockery at the audience to remind them of her shameful exposure. Instinctively she wrapped her
arms around them protectively as she walked to the front of the block.
"No good trying to shield them," Dana said, as she hesitated before the whipping stand, "I'm going to cut those turgid teats right off your chest."
She tried to ignore the ugly threat coming from those beautiful lips and dropped to her knees in front of the stand. She pressed her chest against the unfeeling wood, slick now with the perspiration from the sweating girls who had already taken their cuts, warm from the touch of their inflamed breasts, and lifted her inflated red globes onto the top. The shoulders of the cutout dug into their tender under-sides, and she squeezed them together a little to make them fit better. Her hands were trembling as she stroked them along the under-sides of the heavy orbs, settling them on the tabletop, sacrificial offerings on a temple altar, about to be immolated to appease some jealous Goddess. She put her hands behind her; her left palm cupped in her right, and tilted back her head, closing her eyes tight. She didn't want to see what was coming to her. Feeling it when it arrived would be quite enough without stretching out the agony by watching the girls prepare to thrash her tender breasts.
Linda held the rod first, bringing it down like a flashing sword. She might have avoided seeing its arrival, but there was no way she could shut out the ripping echo of its passage as the young blonde drove it into her, putting all the pain and shame of her own earlier breast whipping into it, as if that might somehow relieve the agony still infecting her own trussed and welted mammaries.
Now she knew why all the others had screamed. The pain when the cane bit into her swollen breasts, laid helplessly on the hardness of the tabletop was unlike any other, and quite unendurable. All she could do was let her mouth fall open and the bubbling cry issue forth, taking some of her wounded feelings with it. She shook her head, trying to clear it, urgently willing herself not to move, not to wrench herself away from the stand or remove her flaming dugs from further torture.
Painful Prize Page 12
