Tryst

She observed him for a while, watching his movements and facial expressions. He was a typical living male and as such held a fascination for her. Not that it was an attraction, per se, for she didn't really like him that much. But she did lust after him, or rather she passionately desired that which made him so unique and different from her.

He in turn saw the beautifully crafted facade that she presented to him. The long straight black hair, shining like silk in the low light. Her oval face with absolutely clear, light skin punctuated by two dark pools that were her unblinking brown eyes. Her perfectly formed red lips parted slightly to show just a glimpse of white, even teeth. Her body, where it was not covered by her black dressed, presented smooth skin that appeared to flow over delicate bones and just a hint of rippling muscle.

If he noticed that she didn't blink, he didn't let on. Most people didn't. Most people just felt there was something a tiny bit odd about her, but then chalked it up to the somewhat preternatural ambiance that surrounded her beauty. There is usually something odd about the very, very beautiful, just as there is about the very, very ugly. Mostly, they didn't care because they were too busy either being jealous or trying to control their lust.

He continued talking and she continued to listen with one part of her mind, the part she had trained to attract and deal with men. This one had actually come to her, so the process had not been difficult at all and was nearing an end.

She turned her head slightly to the side in a calculated manner that created a curious, almost shy look that hinted at deeper meaning and attraction.

"What makes you think that you want this?" she asked in a quiet voice that cut through silence like a knife.

"Oh, well... I had been told and heard through a number of sources that this was in fact the ultimate experience. And now, of course, seeing you and..." his voice trailed off as if he was unable to locate the part of his brain that controlled speech.

She slowly uncrossed and recrossed her legs, watching his eyes flitter from her face down to her naked limbs, then past her waist and bust where the dress pulled and revealed the shape of her body beneath. His heart was beating faster, pumping blood to the flush in his face.

"I like you," she lied reaching her hand out to take his and in the process drawing him closer. Their joined hands rested on the naked flesh of her knee.

"I have enjoyed our time together. I would like us to be closer." She looked down at their hands and concentrated for a moment on the pulsing of the blood in his flesh where it touched hers.

She leaned over to him, her long black hair sliding over her shoulders and hanging down on each side of her face as her lips approached his. As their lips touched gently at first and then more urgently, opening to admit tongues and become more playful, she let go of his hand and slid both her arms around his shoulders. He reciprocated, breathing deeply and pressing closer to her. She felt his lust building, blood pounding in him, making him erect and pushing his mind to the state where he would most of his rationality.

Her breasts touched and pressed his body, her hips slid along his thighs as she repositioned to sit on his lap, facing him. Her legs were spread on each side when she did this, a symbol of her willingness for more intimate contact.

She broke the kiss and brushed her lips across his cheek as she moved to nuzzle his neck. Raising her head slightly so her lips were next to his ear, she whispered "I want you. All of you. Inside me. I want to take you. Now."

They struggled with each other's clothes momentarily, the only thing slowing them down their continued intense touching, kissing and fondling of each other. When they were finally naked, he turned and lifted her up and then down onto the floor, on her back, her legs spread and hooked around his hips. He slid into her with no effort and gasped as her inner flesh surrounded and rubbed his erection. It was a unique sensation to him, he had never experienced the level of stimulation he was experiencing at that moment, and his surprised eyes showed it.

She wrapped her arms under his and up behind his shoulders, holding him close as he pushed deep within her, and she rocked her hips up to meet him. It felt right, having him inside, but she wanted more. Much, much more.

As his thrusts began and his climax built faster than he had ever imagined possible, she smelled his scent and listened to his pounding heart to determine the exact right moment. The total experience of taking him inside of her was leading her to a different kind of climax, one that was much deeper, passionate, and complete than anything he would ever have.

At just the right moment, she opened her mouth, curling back those perfect lips to expose the perfect small but razor sharp fangs, and bit into his neck. He let out a muffled cry that blended nicely with his moans as she sliced into his carotid artery. Her lips sealed on his neck as his heart pushed rich, hot blood into her mouth, spurting and filling her throat as quickly as she could swallow.

He continued thrusting, letting her drink his blood as he copulated and lost himself in the combined sensual experiences of having both his sperm and his blood sucked and consumed by her.

As she sucked and rocked with him, urging his body to give her everything, he began to convulse. She knew this, it was the point at which the male's climax reached its height, pushing out body fluids, giving her its life in a paroxysm of joy and pleasure. It satisfied her that they both derived a peak of ecstasy from their joining; her entire body was pulsing hot with pleasure and satiation. For a moment she lost herself, gripping his struggling and convulsing body with a steel grip that prevented him from moving away from her even a hair's breadth, and simply felt the pleasure of dual orgasm.

For her, it went on for some time. The warmth in her hips might fade after a while but was bolstered by the circulating warmth of his blood that filled her and gave the rest of her body the extended climax. She consumed him, sucking everything from him until he lay on top of her unmoving. Even then she continued suckling on his neck, drawing the last bits of blood that lingered deep in his body, no longer pumped by the heart but responding to her insistent siphoning.

At last she released the body on top of her own, letting her arms and legs collapse in exhaustion. Satiated, filled, happy, she slowly pushed his motionless form off of her. The body rolled to one side and fell the short distance to the floor with a soft thud.

She rose, and staggered to the bedroom, closing the blackout curtains against the burning sun that would soon appear. The tryst had lasted most of the night, and had ended most satisfactorily. For both of them, she hoped.

Nonconsentual: Descent Into Insanity

Nonconsensual Part 1
Nonconsensual: Part 2
Nonconsensual: Part 3
Nonconsensual: Part 4


Sean's life had become one of constant servitude and pain.

One evening Jess led him into the living room by his neck leash and told him to kneel before her when she sat on the sofa. He lowered his head, not daring to look into her eyes. The tall brunette was naked except for panties, as she frequently was in the house when there were no guests. Sean desired her more than anything, and her smell alone made his cock strain painfully against the chastity cage.

Jess leaned back and spread her legs slightly, slipping one hand beneath the panties and beginning a slow circular self-stimulation. Sean stayed unmoving before her, catching glimpses as her fingers slowly rubbed her pussy. She was getting wet.

Without warning Jess slapped Sean hard, so hard he almost fell over and his jaw felt like it would snap off. The side of his face stung and burned, his head rocked back and forth and he was disoriented, dizzy. When he was able to regain composure Jess was continuing her masturbation, except slightly faster. Sean saw her fingers paying special attention to her clit, stroking it indirectly but getting closer. Her breathing was getting faster as well.

This continued for another minute or two when Jess took her free hand and slapped Sean again, hard, the open palm of her hand connecting with his cheek and exploding his face with pain. He whimpered slightly. The slaps left his head aching and his face burning. He was humiliated, watching his mistress pleasure herself and using him to increase her arousal.

Another stinging slap rocked his head, and Sean found himself wondering how a simple slap could be so painful. Tears were trickling down his face and his nose was running. In spite of this he was very, very aware of how Jess was now spreading her pussy lips and sliding one finger inside, moving her hips in rhythm to her hand, complimenting and enhancing the movement as her arousal increased and climbed toward climax.

*Whack* Another slap knocked Sean silly, his head buzzing and light. He wasn't able to think, he was just trying not to faint. *Whack*  *Whack* two slaps hit him hard, as Jess moaned and thrust her hips, obviously feeling the onset of her sexual climax. Her moans were matched by Sean's sobs.

Finally, Jess climaxed in front of Sean, her hips shaking, two fingers inside, her hand busily rubbing her pussy as fast as she could. As the orgasm peaked and then subsided, one of her feet came up, planted itself on Sean's chest, and shoved, hard. Sean was kicked over onto the floor, and he lay there hoping there would be no further torment now that Jess was sated.

--------

Shelley had her own ways of humiliating and torturing her submissive male captive. She, too, used Sean's pain and humiliation as a tool to help arouse her. His agony was her delight and sexual pleasure.

When Jess was gone during the evening, Shelley frequently took Sean to the living room and placed him on the floor, wrists and ankles fastened securely behind him. She then took a long piece of Saran wrap and forced it over Sean's face, covering his mouth and nose as tightly as she could.

As Sean struggled to breath and became increasingly frantic, Shelley would spread her legs and force pussy down on his writhing body, sometimes directly on his sealed face. She desperate movements would help stimulate her. His struggling body, gasping for air, was used as a sort of human vibrator to get her closer to orgasm.

Just when Sean's vision was turning black and his brain was going fuzzy, Shelley took off the plastic wrap and allowed him to gulp for air. Once he had refreshed his blood oxygen supply, she placed the wrap over his head again, holding it there and riding his struggling body with her pussy, grinding her clit into his face.  This process repeated, over and over, until Sean's face was wet with tears and he begged with his gasping breath for Shelley to have mercy.

She didn't. The torture ended only after Shelley orgasmed. Twice.

------------

"This one seems to be losing his spark." Shelley mentioned to Jess one night at dinner. Sean was kneeling on the nail board beneath the table and Jess had her feet up on him, pressing him down painfully.

"You think it might be time to allow him to have an orgasm or two, huh?" Jess said casually. This statement made Sean suddenly alert. Jess felt the change in his posture and commented on it.

"HA! This one thinks he understands and wants some gratification. Perhaps it is time. I want a new toy."


That evening, Sean was led down to the basement. The thing was hanging where it always was, its cock as painfully erect as ever. Next to it on the floor were several buckets of a thick white liquid and several very large rolls of gauze. Shelley and Jess led Sean to stand in front of the material, and then with a blinding flash, Sean was knocked down and rendered immobile. He had been hit with a stun gun, and his muscles were twitching, unable to move.

Dazed and unable to comprehend what was happening, Sean lay on the concrete floor as the two women wrapped his body in gauze from head to toe. When he began to move and struggle to get up, they hit him with the stun gun again, and his body shook uncontrollably, allowing them to continue their work.

Once he was covered in gauze, they took rolls of cloth soaked in the thick white mush and began wrapping his body. Beginning with his feet, the wet goo was applied, wrapped around and around, higher and higher.

They positioned his legs apart, not terribly wide but wide enough to guarantee good access to his cock and balls. When they reached his waist, they wrapped the cement mixture around his hips and thighs, but left his genitals hanging free and exposed.

Sean waited until he felt he could struggle more effectively, recovering from the last stun. He suddenly sat up and grabbed Shelley, trying to shove her into Jess. His hands slipped and the maneuver failed; moments later he was hit with a stun from the gun that didn't let up until the painful world went black and he went unconscious.

-------------

Sean woke. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing. He couldn't tell if he was blind or if it was simply dark.

He couldn't move. Any attempt to move any part of his body failed. Even attempts to move his fingers showed that he could only move them a tiny fraction of an inch. His arms stretched out on other side of him, his legs spread apart.

His torso was also unmovable. His back could not bend, his breathing was restricted.

Breathing was possible. There was little else he could do.

He felt a little dizzy. He realized his body was swinging back and forth. He was upright. Swinging. His stomach felt queazy from the movement and he thought he might vomit. It was then that he realized something was intruding through his nose. His left nostril was filled with something. His nose was sore, inside his head was sore, and his throat felt like he had something that could not be swallowed.

It was a feeding tube.

He had been encased in a full body cast; unable to see, hear, or move. Sean felt a scream welling up from inside him, unable to reach full strength because his tight encasement restricted his breathing. Still, he was able to release a short and agonized scream.

In response, he felt something touch his cock. Oh... he felt it now. It was overwhelming. His cock was hard, pulsing, throbbing with lust. It was straining to become larger, restricted only by its own flesh. He sobbed, tears coming from his eyes and soaking into the gauze that covered his face. The touch was a hand, a soft female hand, stroking his hardness. His entire world focused on that feeling, the sensation of pleasure that had been denied him so long and was now intensified beyond all reason.

A sudden sharp pain arrived in his left testicle. He moaned from the pain but the stroking continued. Another sharp pain, in his right testicle. It hurt, terribly, but the pain was mixed with the incredible pleasure of being stroked. He felt the sperm as is began gathering, mixing, preparing for ejaculation.

The pain and pleasure continued, merging and increasing until he was screaming. He couldn't tell what he was screaming about, the pain or the intense pleasure. Perhaps both. Was there a difference? It didn't matter, for all at once the semen erupted and his muscles contracted with a sudden spasm, squirting his body fluid out into the blackness that he no longer could see.

The orgasm was the most intense he had ever felt. The pain of the pins being driven into his balls simply served to increase the sensations. It shattered him, left him limp and weak inside his concrete shell.

-------------

"I like him better this way," Jess commented as Shelley removed the pins from the exposed cock of the new thing in the basement. Semen still oozed from the end of shaft, dripping into a clean pan below.

"He certainly reacted, didn't he?" Shelley removed the last pin and put them into a small case for later use. She gave the concrete figure a slight shove, watching it swing back and forth and then joined Jess as they climbed the stairs.

"So, you want to go hiking this weekend?"

------------

Inside his dark prison, the thing that had been Sean started going insane, hallucinating from the lack of sensory stimulation, body decomposing from the inability to move, his mind losing all foundation of reality.

He hung in darkness until the next time his body would be subjected to the pain and pleasure, which was now all he had, all he was good for.

Nonconsensual: The Thing In The Basement

Nonconsensual Part 1
Nonconsensual: Part 2
Nonconsensual: Part 3
Nonconsensual: Part 4

Over the next several days Sean was put through a series of agonizing tortures and humiliations. The two women had apparently had slaves before, men that had lived obediently in their house. The equipment was to extensive, the techniques they used too refined for them to be anything but very experienced at torture and humiliation of male slaves.

Sean was introduced to inverted suspension. One day he hung upside down by shackles on his ankles for several hours. He thought he would faint from the blood rushing to his head, but the women kept him conscious by invoking a number of agonizing techniques.

While hanging with his head several inches from the floor, the two women would take his testicles and stick large needles into them. These weren't little needles, the kind they gave immunizations with. These were big things, very sharp at the end but up to six inches long. Sean's throat became hoarse from constantly screaming, and eventually he didn't bother. Screaming didn't help; he cried, with tears flowing from his eyes down over his forehead and disappearing into his hair.

When the women grew tired of actively torturing the poor slave, they provided some passive form of torment. Jess was especially adept at this, and loved to arrange new ways of using Sean's own body against him. The simplest technique was introduced one day when the two women were going out for the evening and Jess had been unhappy with the way Sean had groveled earlier. Sean had actually had the bad judgment to beg Jess for mercy.

Jess brought him to the torture room and pushed him to the floor. She strung a rope through the pulley in the ceiling and brought it down all the way to Sean's enlarged and swollen testicles. Wrapping the rope around his scrotum sever times, she pulled the rope tight and tested the knot for strength. Seeing that it would hold, she began pulling on the rope, smiling and laughing at the increasing predicament of her helplessly bound male.

The rope pulled taught and began to tighten and stretch Sean's balls higher into the air. He started breathing harder, trying to cope with the discomfort. Jess kept pulling, and Sean pushed his hips higher in the air, trying to get some relief. The pain increased as the rope pulled him higher and higher, more and more of his body weight being supported by his balls alone.

When the rope finally pulled him completely off the floor and his entire body weight was supported solely through his distended, stretched scrotum and testicles, Sean cried out in pain, sobbing and screaming in a panicked tone. He was hanging upside down, his legs spread slightly, arms restrained behind his back, swinging slightly. The pain was incredible, an aching, urgent, piercing pain that demanded that Sean do something to save himself. But he could not. The best he could do was not struggle, for every small movement he made caused a jerking, twisting motion to exact even more agony from his purple balls.

Satisfied that Sean was in agony and would remain that way, Jess turned off the light, closed and locked the door, and left for her evening out with her girlfriend. Sean hung in the darkness, tormented by the pain, for four hours until the women returned and Jess lowered him to the floor. The pain in his testicles continued for days afterward, and Sean was certain that permanent damage had been done. This punishment was a practical reminder that Sean's sadist lesbian mistresses would do anything to him, and viewed him as nothing but a useless piece of meat that could be abused in any way they pleased.

A new ritual was introduced during his second week serving Shelley and Jess. Each evening he would be brought into the dining room to kneel under the table at which the two women ate their dinner. Under his feet and knees was a large piece of plywood that had small nails hammered through, sharp side up. The nails pierced painfully into his feet and legs, and he remained under the table suffering while the women ate their dinner. If he remained silent, not expressing the suffering he experienced during this ordeal, the women would scrape scraps from their meal into a bowl for him to eat (still kneeling on the nail mat).

The first time he cried out in pain from the piercing of the nails, he had been dragged out, tied extremely tightly with his knees against his chest and his arms around his legs so that he could not move even an inch, and then placed on the board of nails. Shelly then sat on him while she ate the rest of her dinner, enjoying the feeling of his labored breathing and moaning agony beneath her as she ate.

Sean was never, ever allowed to touch his genitals or to have any sexual relations with either of the women. He was allowed to watch the two women while they made love, which was a kind of torture in itself as they were beautiful and made love with such passion he could think of nothing but pressing his own hard cock into their bodies, but he could not. He was bound and forced to watch their pleasure as he suffered some painful position or torture they had prepared for him for the occasion.

The closest Sean came to ever touching one of the goddesses was the face dildo. This was a heavy leather gag that covered his lower face. A small protruding plug on one side was placed in his mouth where he could bite down and hold it steady. His jaw was held wide by this device, and he was effectively silenced. On the outside of the leather gag was a protruding dildo, thick and about six inches long. With this artificial phallus, sticking out from his face, Sean was guided into place between the legs of one of the girls and carefully place the end of the dildo into their pussy. He could then fuck the women with his face dildo; if he did well he was given additional scraps of food. If he did not please his mistress, he was punished with whips, pincers, hooks, or whatever was handy.

During these sessions, Sean's cock would grow hard in its chastity cage, pressing to expand and get out, but was held in check by the chastity device. He could smell and see the pulsing wetness of his mistress. He could not touch, and could only give pleasure, never receive it.

------------

One day Jess came into the torture room where Sean was sitting on a thin wooden board, weights on his ankles dragging him down and pressing his sensitive testicles into the sharp edges of the wood. He rocked back and forth, trying to find a better position, but there was none. Jess approached him and untied one of his hands. She presented him with a piece of paper and pen, and said curtly, "Sign."

It had been several months of captivity and slavery. Sean had lost so much of his memory and orientation, he didn't understand what she meant at first. He stared at the piece of paper and the words slowly formed and he understood. It was the pink slip to his car. They were selling his car. He felt dizzy, and rocked back on the wooden horse so that it dug deep into his anus.

His hesitation annoyed Jess, who took a heavy tool from a workbench on the side of the torture room.

"Do you know what this is"

Sean shook his head.

"It is a tooth extractor. Shelley has been wanting to use it on you for a while. Sign this or we will spend the rest of the evening seeing what it is like to remove all your teeth. You don't really need them."

Sean took the pen and signed. His old life was fading away. With that signature he released it in his mind, signed away the last vestiges of independence and accepted that he was owned property of these two sadistic lesbians. His only fate was to endure whatever they pleased.

Sean cried and rocked back and forth on the wooden horse, tears running down his cheeks.

-----------

A few days later, Sean knelt between Shelley's strong, naked thighs as he manipulated the face dildo to bring her to a screaming orgasm. He was beginning to know the techniques that would get each of the two women off; with Shelley, she liked to start slow and then quickly build, with the dildo progressively pushing higher and higher at a sharper angle. While he derived no physical pleasure from seeing Shelley orgasm, he had acquired a great sense of satisfaction from it. His life was now devoted to pleasing these two women. When he saw them happy and pleased, it made him so excited he almost climaxed himself. When they were unhappy or angry, it would send him into a paroxysm of fear and horror.

When she was done, Shelley called over to her partner, Jess, "You know, I think this animal could be given an extra job. Do you think we could train him to care for the thing in the basement?"

Jess looked doubtful for a moment, but then sighed and said, "Well, why not? Let's give it a try. He knows if he screws up I will cut some part of his body he likes, so I doubt if he will cause much of a problem."

The three of them stood and Shelley guided Sean to the hall and all the way to the end. There was a locked door which he had seen the women go through on occasion but never knew what lay behind. Jess unlocked it and turned on a light. A set of steps descended down into a dark area with concrete block walls and a concrete floor. It smelled dusty.

There was another odor down here. A rancid, biological odor which got stronger the further down the stairs they went. Sean was nervous. Whatever horror was down here, he wanted no part of it. Whatever pain awaited, he was willing to do anything to avoid.

A second light was turned on, showing the rest of the basement area. It was remarkably large for a basement, and packed with many items in boxes and leaning against the walls. Some of the items looked ominous. It appeared there was a collection of whips on one wall, and what appeared to be a rack in the corner. Sean shuddered.

In the dead center of the room was something quite odd. It was large and white. It looked a little like a punching bag dummy, in a roughly human shape, arms spread wide, legs slightly apart. There was a blob at the top where the head would be. A dark splotch between the legs might have been a growth or some of the stuffing coming out, straight out and stiff. Dark slits where the mouth and nose would be had been cut in the white material. Beneath the white object was a large flat tray, full of some slimy substance.

Shelley walked over to the thing and pushed it so it swung back and forth. It was suspended from the basement ceiling on a chain. The stark light from the unshielded bulb cast an eerie moving shadow as the thing swung back and forth... and then there was a noise.

A moan.

Sean found himself saying prayers he had learned when a child. Praying that it wasn't true. That this wasn't what it appeared to be.

Jess took out a set of needles she carried with her. She grabbed the dark spot between the white legs and began a stroking motion. It was a penis, a real, rock hard penis, already erect and ready. As she stroked the moaning changed and grew more urgent. A needle plunged into a testicle below the hard cock, and the moans grew loader. Another needle, and another. Stroking, always stroking, never stopping, Jess continued plunging needles into the protruding testicles and penis head, causing the moans from the creature's head to grow and rise in volume and urgency.

Finally, the rock hard penis pulsed and the testicles shuddered and rose slightly in a jerking motion, and a white stream of slime spurted out as the moans from inside the plaster casting grew to cries. The white semen spurted out and away from the form and then fell down to the tray below, mingling with other liquids and lumps.

When it was over, Sean turned and vomited on the floor. He had no doubt that here, hanging in absolute, total confinement, was his predecessor. The last slave, now relegated to a plaster cast, concrete prison that allowed no movement. The head enclosure had no holes for the ears, no openings for the eyes. The only openings were slits for nose and mouth, and holes at the bottom for the protruding, swollen genitals and a hole in back for feces to escape. A tube came out of one nostril hole and up to a plastic drip bag that contained some sort of hospital forced-feeding nutrient.

Shelley turned to Sean and spoke. "This is the thing in the basement. It needs it's pan cleaned once every day or two, and the feeding bag replaced once a day. This is now your job. You are not to touch his flesh in any way, this is only for myself and Jess."

"I see you are curious about his erection," Jess commented. "Part of the nutrient feed bag is a steady mix of Viagra and some other meds we choose to give him. He always has an erection. Always. The pain and pleasure delivered to his cock and balls are all the only external stimulus he has in his wretched life. I have no doubt... he is insane... by now...."

The three looked at the white concrete plaster form still swinging gently from the ceiling, two in contemplation, one in abject horror.

And so it was that Sean began the care and feeding of the Thing In The Basement.

Nonconsensual: Kidnapped

Nonconsensual Part 1
Nonconsensual: Part 2
Nonconsensual: Part 3
Nonconsensual: Part 4


They were goddesses.

Sean trudged along the path back toward the wilderness park entrance when he spotted the two girls. They had just arrived and were chatting happily together, smiling and heading down the trail. Both wore shorts that exposed long muscular legs that were clearly toned from a lot of hikes, and heavy hiking boots which made their legs look slimmer and more enticing. Sean couldn't help but think about what it would be like to have those legs wrapped around his body while he pounded his cock into one of the girls.

They were both thin, and fit. One was slightly taller with long dark hair, the other was about his height and had shorter honey blond. They wore loose fitting plaid which instead of hiding, actually showed off perfect breast shapes. They were more than cute, they were amazing. Both were the kind of girl that he would have approached in a club and worked on until one of them let him take her home. And if that didn't work, he would have followed one home, taken her when she least suspected, and had her anyway.

He had done that a few times. Bitches he really wanted didn't get to say no.

As they came closer, he stopped, wiped his brow and greeted the two women. Closer up, he could see neither was wearing makeup, and neither needed it. They had a natural beauty that came through in any circumstance.

"Ladies. Heading up the trail for Rainbow Falls?" He smiled his best smile.

The tall dark haired one looked at him with a smirk which made him feel uncomfortable. "Yes, we are. Why?"

"No reason, I just heard someone spotted some mountain lion tracks near there. You might need a little protection is all. Would you like me to head up there with you?"

The girls glanced at each other. "I don't think so, we can take care of ourselves."

The two girls began to move past him. Something about their demeanor irritated Sean. He moved his body slightly to block their path. "I was just heading that way anyway. I can tag along. The more people together, the less likely that anything will attack, you know?"

The honey blond one raised her eyebrows with a cynical look. "So... you are offering to protect us, is that right?"

"Well, babe... I am sure you can handle a mountain lion just fine. I just thought we could help each other out." Sean was beginning to really not like these two. They were haughty and needed to be taken down a notch.

The tall dark haired beauty began to walk past him, saying "Yes... well, I think maybe a mountain lion isn't the only predator out here. We can--"

Sean found himself reacting to the girls insolence. He grabbed her arm as she pushed past him. It felt good to have control, to feel her flesh in his hand. "Listen, maybe we--"

With a slight, almost unnoticeable movement, the girl's left knee bent, bringing her booted foot up rapidly. It slammed into Sean's groin, hard. He grunted and bent over as pain exploded across his hips. In spite of this pain, he managed to keep hold of his grip on the bitch's arm. He was going to do something nasty to her, as soon as he could focus...

With a soft whump, her other booted foot came up and around in a circle, landing full into his stomach. This time he let go as nausea and pain spread across his body. Sinking to his knees, he vomited on the dusty path. Something crashed into the back of his head, and the world went black.

-------

Sean slowly became aware of his body bounce back and forth, sliding and bumping. He had a horrible headache and could not move. The memory of what had happened slowly came back to him, and he realized that the two women (goddesses he remember wryly) had retaliated against him and managed to overpower him.

He couldn't move his arms or legs; his wrists were tied behind his back, and they were tied to his ankles. He vaguely remembered the term for this from some porn he liked -- a hogtie. But that was something you did to girls! Yet here he was, bouncing along in the dark... in a car of some sort. In a small confined space. What was jabbing him in the face... it was a toolbox.

His toolbox. He was in the trunk of his car. He tried to take a deep breath to yell and realized his mouth was full of something. Cloth. And taped shut.

Anger overwhelmed Sean and he tried to struggle against the ropes which held him. It was impossible, they were tight and struggling just cut off his circulation. He decided to lay quietly and wait until they got wherever they were going. He thought about what he might do to those two women when they got there and he was able to overpower them.  They had gotten the drop on him before, but it wouldn't happen again. He was going to get control, and make them pay.

Daydreams of the tall dark haired goddess kneeling at his feet begging for mercy were flitting through his mind when the car stopped. The front door opened and closed. He heard the women talking outside. He would wait. Wait for his chance.

When the trunk lid popped open he was blinded for a moment. Two silhouettes stood above him, observing. He looked back and slowly his eyes adjusted and he saw the two girls observing him with slightly amused looks. His faced flushed with anger over this, but he just waited.

"Let's get him inside. You take his legs, I will take his shoulders. Be careful not to damage him." The dark one was saying.

The blond one laughed, an unexpected giggle. "Oh, Jess, dear... you are funny."

The women lifted him up and pulled him out of the trunk. Sean's body fell with a *thump* onto the hard concrete of a garage floor, jarring his ribs and knocking the breath out of him. The trunk lid to his car shut with a slam. Sean rolled over uncomfortably.

The tall one that was called Jess looked at him for a moment. "It will be easier if you cooperate. You want to try that? What do you say, Shelley, shall we give it a shot?"

The blond nodded. "Sure. Be easier than dragging him down to the basement."

Jess ripped the tape gag off of Sean's face.

"Owwwwwwwwww ahhhhhhh, you bitch!" Sean could not help but react.

"Yeah. I'm a bitch. Maybe you need to learn that the hard way." Jess began to untie Sean's legs. When they were free, Sean stood up and scowled at the two women.

"You bitch. Untie me. Now. And if I am really nice, and you apologize really, really well, I will maybe not report you to the police," Sean snarled.

"OK. But I can't guarantee I will apologize the way you like." Sean was surprised when Jess agreed and untied his wrists. As soon as they were free, he turned his body around and made to place a right hook on the side of the brunette's face.

Except her head wasn't there. She leaned back a few inches and his fist just went whistling by, knocking him off balance. As his body turned Jess reached one booted foot out, hooked it around Sean's right ankle and yanked it out from under him. Sean's momentum from his bad punch carried him down to the floor in a spin and he hit hard.

The girls waited for Sean to recover and when he was standing again, the shorter blond, Shelley, was standing next to him. "Sean. Dear. That is your name, right? Sean? Look, Sean, I know you want to be the big man and all but you are in waaaaaayyy over your head here. Let's just go inside and down to the your room and see how we can fix you up, shall we?"

This time Sean tried to sneak a quick uppercut toward Shelley's stomach. His fist actually caught a bit of flesh as she deflected his blow and returned it with a solid elbow to his face. Pain exploded across his nose and cheek and he dropped to his knees.

Tears of pain and despair were trickling down his face as the two women each took one of his arms and half dragged, half guided him into a house through a door from the garage. They guided him down a hall until they reached a heavy door with a small wire reinforced window in it. Keys jangled as they unlocked a deadbolt and dragged him the rest of the way in to a small square room filled with objects he didn't understand. It was lit with a single light bulb from a ceiling fixture.

They dropped him in the center of the room on his knees. He was humiliated from being bested by these women three times. He wanted all this to just go away. At that point he would have run and never reported anything to the police if he had been able to.

The two women each took one of Sean's wrists and fastened a metal band around each. Realization flooded his brain slowly and he began to struggle, but to no avail. He was weakened and Jess kicked the back of his knees, causing him to buckle and fall again.  His wrists were then pulled above him and their metal bands fastened to a wire that hung from the ceiling. Shelley went over to one wall and flipped a switch.

With a low grinding noise a hoist motor began raising the wire and Sean's wrists above his head. First he was forced to stand, and then his wrists rose above his head. Shelley didn't stop there, though. She let the winch pull his arms high, slowly stretching his arms and body taught until he was on his toes, finally leaving the floor and he was hanging by his arms, swinging free.

 Large shears were produced. Jess proceeded to cut off Sean's clothes, removing his shirt, jeans, shoes, and underwear. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. He was at her mercy. Jess pushed his body slightly and watched as he swung back and forth. It hurt being hung from his wrists. His muscles were stretched, shoulders stressed, and the steel wrist shackles dug into his flesh.

It was becoming clear that Sean had fallen into the hands of two psycho women who were intent on keeping him captive.

------------

"Wanna flip for it?" Shelley asked Jess.

Jess smiled and looked at Sean where he dangled. "Nah. You can do it. I think I just want to watch."

Shelley went over to the wall and took down a bullwhip. Multiple strands of heavy leather were woven into a single thick lash over six feet long. The handle was a heavy metal covered with leather. Shelley wielded it expertly, cracked it once where Sean could see and smiled when his eyes widened and he began to cry and beg.

"Please, I know I have been wrong, I won't do anything bad, I won't report to the police, just let me go, there is no reason for you to--" his pleas were cut off suddenly by the sound of the last slicing through the air and wrapping itself around his body with a squishy snapping sound. His eyes got big and mouth round as the pain of the whip registered in his mind with absolute astonishment.

He screamed.

Jess smiled big as she saw the big man's body jerk and the scream erupt from his throat. Shelley pulled the whip back and lashed it out once more to kiss the poor man's body with agony. His screams became continuous as Shelley cut his flesh again and again with the cruel whip. Twelve strokes. Twelve lashes. Sean hung from the ceiling with his body naked and blood trickling down from his back, sides, stomach and chest. as he cried.

When she stopped, Shelley saw that Sean had lost bladder control and peed over the floor during the whipping. "You get to clean that up," she said to Jess.

"I will hose it down later. Let's go have dinner now." Jess moved over to Shelley, in front of the sobbing male, and kissed her a deep, slow tongue kiss.

"You know how a male's pain turns me on. Let's go." Jess and Shelley left the dark room, closing the heavy door behind them with a heavy click of a bolt sliding into place.

Sean hung from the ceiling, still sobbing from the pain and humiliation of being taken and punished by the two women. The light went out and it was dark, and he was alone.

The smell and darkness of the torture room filled his mind, the musky odor of his sweat and acrid tang of urine demanded his attention. There was another smell, something subtle and indistinct. I didn't know what it was until it came on him. Blood. His blood, trickling down his flesh, mingled with his sweat.

He had been bested, taken, defeated, punished, and his will was broken. In the dark silence of that torture chamber all he wanted to was be taken down. He would do anything for these two, his mistresses. Anything, if they would just be kind to him, and not hurt him any more.

Little did he know that he would, in fact, do just about anything for them.

Catacombs

Paris was wonderful, as I had anticipated and planned. The Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Versailles… all the normally great tourist places that thrilled me and so many others. But we knew Paris held many other pleasures, not so obvious, not on the normal tourist agenda. I had spent some time searching for the underbelly of Parisian nightlife, the marginal society that many would rather pretend is not there but is famous in certain circles around the world.

The search was accomplished, and we were in contact with some of the best in the Paris underground BDSM scene. My reputation preceded me, or they would not have accepted me as they did. I was a tried and true submissive, with a taste for the macabre and extreme. Not to mention, young, pretty and goth.

I didn’t know what was to happen. In a way, I didn’t want to. A new experience, the unexpected, was what I yearned for and I hoped they could bring. Jason would be with me, and would abuse me as well as protect me, I knew. Otherwise, I was going to be helpless and subjected to experiences beyond what I had imagined at home.

My Paris BDSM dominants were Pierre, a tall, thin rather severe looking man with sandy hair and Jeannette, a cute girl about my height (5′6″) with dark hair trimmed at shoulder length. After several meetings, the time and place was set.

Friday night, 8pm in a building on the left bank, a few km from the city center. I dressed in light cloth clothing, all black, with my laceup boots. It probably didn’t matter much how I dressed, the clothing was disposable anyway and would very likely not last long.

It was still hot from the summer day and I was glad my clothing was light as I entered the dingy building off the Boulevard Raspali. My eyes quickly grew used to the dim lighting and spotted the door at the end of the hall, as had been described to me. I strided up to the door, took a deep breath, and went it.

Jeanette was in a small sitting room inside, and rose to greet me, smiling. Pierre entered in moments. They offered me a bottle of water, which I took gratefully (the heat and humidity make one sweat a lot in Paris during the summer). They also urged me to eat something, which I did.

As I ate the bread and fruit they provided, I noticed my hands were shaking. I had not realized just how nervous I was. Both my dominants were recommended to me and had good reputations. I knew I was safe with them and that Jason would join us later, once my ordeal began. But then… what was truly safe? I had already given them permission to abuse me in ways that most would consider unsafe…

When I was finished, Pierre rose, and in a quiet but confident voice said, “Well, then… shall we get started?”

I rose, and bowed my head in a submissive posture. “Of course,” I agreed.

Jeanette produced a large leather item, which once it was unfolded I recognized as an armbinder. I hate those things. The tight ones, and this one looked tight, pulled your arms all the way in back of you, elbows touching. That gets pretty painful, with cramps and stretched muscles and a panicky feeling that you want to struggle out. Jeanette requested that I remove my top and any underclothing, which I did, removing and folding my top and bra. I was nude from the waist up.

Turning, I placed my arms behind my back, palms facing each other. Jeanette slid the binder on, and jerked it up into place. My hands were already squeezed together, immobile, as she began tightening the lacing which drew my upper arms together more and more painfully. After about 5 minutes, it was done, the lacing as tight as possible, and my arms felt the dull ache and my mind recognized the swelling panic that always came at the beginning of a scene – it was needed in order to reach my subspace.

My head still hung, my long black hair obscuring my face. Pierre reached down and slid my skirt off, and then my panties. I was naked except for the boots, and the armbinder twisted my body in a way that thrust my breasts out in front of me. I felt more exposed than usual, in front of these strangers, in a strange place.

I also realized I was wet with arousal and anticipation. My nipples were hard and I wanted to get going. I hadn’t come here for a scene that was as simple as an armbinder.

Pierre took my chin and raised it with his fingers, to make me look in his eyes. “Now… dear… this is essentially your last chance to back out. Once we put on your gag, you won’t be able to complain, and even if you did it would be too late. Decide now, confirm or deny. Are you ready to submit yourself to us completely?”

There were tears gathering in my eyes and I was shaking slightly as I looked at him. But in a strong voice, I declared “Let’s get this fucking thing over with. Do it.”

Pierre smiled, perhaps not a nice smile, and moments later a large ball gag was inserted and buckled tightly behind. A dog collar was placed around my neck, with a leash. They sat me down, unlaced and removed my boots.

Except for the binder, collar and gag, I was naked and exposed. It was fucking wonderful.

Then came the blindfold. Cloth covered my eyes, several times so that I could see nothing. I began drooling uncontrollably from the gag.

Using my leash, I was guided and tugged out of the room. We walked inside, not too far but I still did not know exactly where. A door was opened, and then another. The third door was opened with a key – it sounded like there was a hefty padlock involved. I felt a little stab of fear. Where ever they were taking me was deep in the bowels of the building, behind locked doors.

“Be careful. There are stairs,” Jeannette’s voice came, and my bare feet felt their way to the first step. I began a descent. Down a flight of wooden stairs, I felt the air grow musty around me. At the bottom of the stairs, I was led across a room with a stone floor. Another door was unlocked.

It occured to me that I was being led into the bowels of a dungeon, deep under a building. This must be what it felt like to be a political prisoner being led to a cell where they would be forgotted, to live the rest of their life in the dark. I shuddered.The stone floor led to a second set of stairs. These were spiral stairs, and I went very slowly to keep from falling. The leash held a steady but not unbearable tug on my, assuring that I would continue to follow, but did not pull me so much that I lost my balance. Strangely, with my eyes covered, I didn’t feel quite as naked and exposed.

The staircase wound down, I had not counted steps, but it must have been 20 or 30 before I felt the air getting cooler. We were far below ground by now. I tried to say something through the gag… where were we? How deep were we going? What was this? Even if my grunting mumbling could have been understood, my tops were not going to answer.

As the steps went deeper, I became more and more frightened. This was no sub-basement. This staircase was twisting down into a cave or sewer… in face I could not imagine the sewer system was this deep.

I stumbled, and felt Pierre’s strong hands grab me and keep me upright. We continued.

Finally… we arrived at the bottom. The hair was cool and moist. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, shaking slightly from nerves and from the cold. We were deep. Mine shaft deep. Below anything of the city, below basements and subways and sewers. I had never felt so isolated and vulnerable.

A yank of the leash and we started off again. The hard packed earth floor felt like rock, and there was quite a bit of loose rock or gravel that made it very hard to walk in bare feet. I yelped from beneath my gag more than once as I danced and pranced over sharp stones. The leashed tugged, always moving me along, unyielding now and pressing me forward. It was clear that my discomfort was no longer a concern.

After a few minutes of walking and making several turns, we stopped. My blindfold was removed. I blinked tears from my eyes and tried to focus. The light was very dim, but there was more than under the blindfold.

My eyes grew wide, as my mind took in the dim rock walls of a narrow passage. The only light was from the two flashlights that my minders carried. Just in front of us was a stone door frame that had an inscription above. I read “Arrète, c’est ici l’empire des Morts“. Not reading much French didn’t stop me from realizing that it was a warning that we were about to enter the Empire of the Dead.

I turned, and bolted away, down the corridor. Or at least I tried. I think I got all of 3 feet before the leash jerked me painfully to a halt and I fell backward, hard, on my ass and back. I wriggled on the floor for a bit, my armbinder making it impossible to get up again. Finally, I stopped and just panted beneath the gag.

The leash was pulled and I was helped up by the support of my collar yanking on my neck.These doms were serious. Once we had entered the caves, they had shown little mercy. I was fucked. It was exactly what I had been seeking.

Once on my feet, Jeanette (who was little more than a sexy silhouette in front of me now) pulled my leash and guided through the stone door. We walked for another 10 minutes or so, making several turns and I realized how foolish it was for me to have tried escape. There was no way I would have ever found my way out of the maze below.

My body was shaking both from fear and cold. This deep, it was quite cold, and water dripped from the ceiling onto my bare flesh. My feet were bleeding from the gravel on the floor, though I had no time to stop and examine them. My chin, neck and breasts were wet from my constant drooling brought on by the gag. My shoulders and arms were aching terribly from the tight bondage of the binder. My neck was sore from having my collar jerked. None of this compared to the fear and apprehension I had as we walked on.

Through another heavy stone portal. The sight that awaited me on the other side was enough to almost make me faint.Bones were stacked along the walls of a roughly square chamber. Human bones. Femurs, hips, skulls, fingers, ribs… stacked neatly and tightly. Empty eye sockets stared at me. Dozens of them, and then as we walked on, hundreds and then thousands of them. An army had been buried here, or perhaps a whole city. Bones were everywhere, most stacked neatly, some shattered and spread around.

Two more chambers of bones and we reached a chamber that had several lit candles flickering and lighting the bones. Pierre and Jeanette turned off their flashlights. The room was plunged into candlelight that made it look as if it were filled with ghosts, moving ones in the shape of skeletons. They danced and pranced across the ceiling and walls, and grinned and then faded from view.

I fell to my knees and began sobbing. My gag prevented me from saying anything, and I had no words. Just fear. Just a vague, ghostly, undefined sense of fear. This place was where I was to be humiliated, tortured, tormented. There, with the dead surrounding me and taunting me for defiling their abode.

Pierre attached a rope to the end of the armbinder, which he then threw up and over a heavy stone beam above us. He pulled the rope taught, lifting me from my kneeling position as my arms rose behind me, pulling and stressing the muscles in my shoulders. I cried out in pain, begged for release from behind the gag, but the rope was pulled farther until my arms rose behind me and I was bent over at an angle. He tied the rope off on a metal hook embedded in the stone wall.

There were five candles lighting this chamber of horror. One by one, Jeanette blew them out. The dark slowly descended, until there was only one candle left alight. It was dim, enough to see the basic shape of the room and the horrible skeletons surrounding me. It flickered dangerously, as if it might go out at any moment, and in the flicker, the skulls laughed at me…Jeanette came over to me, no longer the petite, cute goth girl I had submitted to an hour or so before. Instead, she appeared a dark priestess of the dead, all in black, blending in with the dark corridor behind her, just the dim outline of her face and eyes before me. With a slow, deliberate movement, she removed the gag.

She leaned forward and kissed me, deeply.

I don’t know how I did it, but I kissed back. She tasted good, and her taste seemed a tiny bit of the real world to me. I wanted that taste I wanted real flesh and blood, something alive and vibrant and warm to touch me and fondle me.And touch me she did. As she prolonged our kiss, her hand slipped over my hips and between my legs. Her finger slid between my pussy lips, and I was amazed to realize I was wet! She slipped inside with almost no effort, and then back out, sliding over my clit in the process. Her lips and tongue withdrew from me and was replaced by her finger, which I suckled briefly. I tasted my juices on her, and realized that as afraid as I was, and as much pain I was in, I was still very aroused and getting off on this experience.

Her finger slid out of my mouth, and she moved back, away from me, and down the black corridor.

I screamed.

She had left me alone. I was suspended in a strappado position in this cavern of the dead, naked and shivering, with only a single candle for light, and she had left me alone.

Then the candle went out.

I screamed again, terrified. The dark surrounded me like a suffocating blanket, creating a claustrophobia I had never felt before. I struggled in my armbinder, but all it did was cause more cramps. My screams continued, echoing, coming back to me in repition. I heard myself, the panic and pleading in my screams. The dead were taunting me once again, screaming back at me, screaming their own pain and inviting me to join them.

Finally, the screams subsided and gave way to tears. I cried for a while, feeling the wetness on my cheeks trickle and then drop from my chin to join the water from the ceiling drips, where they gathered to make the floor slightly muddy. In that absolute darkness and silence, there was nothing in the world but me and my pain. The strict armbinder had made parts of my arms numb, but the pain in my shoulders was increasing and spreading across my back and chest. I stood on tiptoe to relieve a little of the pressure, but not much helped.

There was nothing in the world but the pain. No sound but my own breathing and the occasional drip of the ceiling. No light to see. Nothing to touch and feel. Just pain in my body, and that pain spread through my mind, occupying it. It became my friend and enemy. It became my life, as I hung there in the dark.

In the silence, I began to hear things. Whispers, small sounds. I thought they might be real, but couldn’t tell. They were bizarre. Silent laughter… course breathing… the sounds of tiny footsteps and shuffling gravel. Cries of a woman being held captive in the caverns… no, that was me. I was hearing myself.

There were ghosts here, I could see them. Flickering white that just skimmed the surface of consciousness. I could feel them at times, brushing against my flesh with an ice cold chill that disappeared as quickly as it came. Sounds which flirted with the edge of my awareness, moans or calls that I could not tell were real or not.

And then there was a noise which was clear, and I knew was real. A sigh.

“Who’s there? Who? For god sake, speak to me!” I almost screamed in a panicked voice.

“One who has waited long for you to speak to me,” came the voice. It was soft and had no echo, though it was loud compared to the silence that surrounded it.

“Who? What? Please… can you release me? I am dying… my arms… they hurt. I need to see light. I am seeing ghosts, can you help me, please…” I begged.

“Of course, I can help you. I can bring you back to the world of the living. But there is a price.”

“Please… please… anything. What do you want?”

The voice was silent for a while, and then spoke in a thoughtful, slow manner as if the speaker was discovering what he was saying as he said it, with eyes closed in contemplation.

“Be careful what you wish for. Do not say anything unless you mean it. You do have a choice you know… to stay here with the dead, face your sentence in the dark until your body is discovered, alive or dead, or perhaps simply… driven insane.”

After a moment of silence he spoke again. “Or, you can turn yourself over to us, the ghouls of the catacombs. We will torture you, yes… was this not what you sought in coming here? We will pleasure ourselves with you, and perhaps you will feel some of the pleasure as well? Pleasure mixed with pain, perhaps even pain becoming pleasure. You will not die, and it will keep you sane.”

Whoever this guy was he creeped me out. But my mind had been fucked with so badly, hanging painfully in the dark surrounded by the ghosts, deep underground. I truly thought that becoming the torture plaything of some ghoul was better than remaining suspended there in the dark and silence for days.

“Yes, yes. I understand. Please… just… how?”

“Do you? Do you understand? To experience pain, and pleasure. Delight in your body, and allow others to delight in it? To allow others to delight in the giving of pain, and pleasure, and sensation? To give your living body for the pleasure of the dead?”

I begged now, “Oh please, yes… anything, just to see and hear and feel, I don’t want to be alone in this place. I am already in pain, I have that, add pleasure and all the rest. I want to be part of the world again! I don’t want to be dead any more!”Waiting now in the silence, holding my breath.

The faint touch of the ghost on my right thigh, a cold stroke that slid up my inner thigh. I screamed as I realized it was real, there was something behind me that was touching me, sliding upward toward my sex with cold flesh. I jerked away from the touch momentarily, but it followed me, and this time slid further up, hardly stopping at the entrance to my pussy. Instead it pushed in, and slid deeper.

It was wet, or I was wet, or we both were. It was cold, I knew that. And it was inside me, and suddenly thrust deep within me. The ghoul was fucking me. At first I had thought it was touching me with fingers, but this was too large, too straight, too deep inside me. I was bent over and fairly immobile because of the strappado. Having been fucked in this position many times before I knew just how exposed an angle I was in, and that I would have to endure the rape from whatever was plunging inside me.

Each thrust pushed my body forward slightly, jerking the armbinder that was raised behind me. Each thrust brought new twists in my muscles and grunts pain. Each thrust felt deeper and more satisfying and began to make good on its promise of mixing pleasure with pain. I felt the stirrings of a climax within.

The rape stopped as I orgasmed. I shuddered and cried out as the flood of pleasure covered my body. Still rock hard, the member withdrew from me and rejoined the enveloping black stillness. I heard my breathing, panting and slightly moaning from the effort I expended in keeping my position to reduce the pain in my shoulders and assist the penetration to bring my own climax.

Simultaneous with the sound of quick scratching, a tiny flame was lit before me. A match flame shimmered in the chamber, once again revealing the human decay that surrounded me. A tiny light, but in that complete darkness it seemed to light up the whole world. It revealed a black shadowed figure that held the match in its hand, and slowly touched it to a candle, and then a second and third candle perched on the walls.

I almost cried in delight. Being fucked had brought me out of my head and back into the real world, such as it was. The light now, was like a cool drink in the heat of summer.

The figure moved away; out of my range of vision. The rope that held my arms high behind me was suddenly released, and I fell to the ground, the cramping in my shoulders once again making me cry out. I lay on my side, slightly curled, my arms still bound behind. Rough hands raised me up and began unlacing the binder. As the tension slowly faded and my muscles contracted into place, the pain kept flooding over me in waves. I moaned, cried, at one point screamed when my arms were released.

My cries seemed to arouse the two dark figures. Their hands roamed over my body, feeling my ribs as I breath, the contractions of my stomach as I screamed, my shoulders as the pain flooded through them once more.

Ropes were tied tightly to my wrists, and my arms stretched out to either side. The stretching hurt terribly as my damaged muscles moved into new positions, pulled taught to either side and above me. Pulling higher and higher, the ropes finally lifted me off the floor until I stood on my toes, hanging by my wrists.

Ropes applied to my ankles, stretched wide, and in seconds I was hanging spread-eagled from my wrists, legs wide apart, struggling for breath from the labor of making my stretched diaphragm press my lungs and suck air in and out. Every muscle in my body, every joint, seemed to be straining to keep me from falling apart.

There were three dark figures now. They moved with purpose in the dim light, and then disappeared. I hung above the ground, waiting for whatever would happen next. It came without warning.

With a hiss and a snap, the flesh of my back and stomach burst into flames of pain. I screamed and struggled, trying to get free from whatever had just torn my flesh. It was to no avail, the whistling hiss of a whip came a split second before my body screamed to life with pain once again.

I didn’t count the strokes. Perhaps 10, maybe 15. Enough to make me wonder if my flesh was going to start peeling off. I knew that in times long ago a severe whipping could be use to flay the flesh off a prisoner. It was possible, and I had no idea how close I was to that fate. When the whipping stopped, I hung with my head down over my chest, long hair stuck to the sweat that covered my breasts. I observed the red welts that covered my sides and stomach, a few of them licking my breasts angrily.

A black figure, a woman I am certain from her hands and the way she carried herself, appeared before me. Her fingers gently pinched and stroked my left nipple, caressing it to erection. Once it was hard and ready for her, it was rewarded with a nipple clamp. It hurt like hell. The same was done to my right nipple, the pleasure erecting the nipple, making it ready for the pain. How symbolic of this entire ordeal.

The girl returned and reached up to kiss me. I returned the kiss, eager to please and to try to mix the pain with some pleasure. It was a good kiss, wet and her tongue felt alive and tasted of mint; not like a ghoul at all.

She then produced an object, and raised it to my face.

“Kissss….” she said.

I didn’t realize what it was at first, and as soon as I did I gagged on rising vomit. She held a skull in front of my face, its jaw slightly open, empty eyes looking at me expectantly.

“KISS… make love to the queen of the dead!”

I tried, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I turned my head away.

The skull was removed, and another ghoul appeared before me. A weight was added to my left nipple clamp. Not just one of those small teaser weights most people use to look sexy. This was a 5 pound piece of shot that dragged my boob down, elongating it and hurting like hell. The nipple had become numb from loss of blood, this brought back all the pain of the newly applied clamp and added new dimensions. A weight was added to my right breast with similar results. Fuck, I was in more pain than I had experienced in… well, forever, as far as I could tell. Stretched out, suspended, nipple clamps, weights…

The skull was presented again. This time, I tried harder, and my lips touched the grinning mouth opening which remained. Teeth were gone, and the skull was slightly sharp where they had once been. The feeling of the bone on my lips made me gag again, and I withdrew quickly.

The skull was thrust again, and the girl demanded “KISS, kiss her as you did me…”

Oh, god. They wanted me to do a deep tongue kiss to this skull. Fuck. I gagged on bile again, and turned my head.

Pussy clamps this time. My labia was stretched down, and the clamps applied easily as my legs were spread. The clamps hurt almost as badly as the nipple clamps, except… they almost immediately added weights. Shit, shit, I cried out for mercy as my pussy seemed to be dragging out of my body. How much pain could I take? I screamed loudly, and listened to my voice, crying for mercy, echoing down the corridors to emptiness.

No one would come, no one would rescue me.

The skull was presented to my face again. Once again I kissed, opening my mouth and extending my tongue. The skull pressed against my face in a ghastly imitation of a deep romantic kiss, moving side to side, encouraging my tongue to slide against bone and lick the inside of the skull. It tasted strange, of dirt and dust and iron and decay and other things I could not identify.

The interior of the skull had an odd texture, like hardened wood or concrete but more fragile. As my tongue and lips slid around the outside and inside of the dry bone my saliva smeared and was absorbed by the porous bone. I felt the upper pallet and jaw of the skull, opened my mouth wide as if I expected a skeletal tongue tongue to reach into my own mouth, and continued to lick and kiss the horrible remnant of humanity forced against my lips.

The ghastly make-out session ended, at last, and the skull was withdrawn. My tongue and mouth tasted filthy; and I discovered that the aftertaste left by human bone is slightly moldy.

How long I had been deep below ground in this realm of the dead I had no idea, but I did know I was dying of thirst. I begged in a surprisingly croaking voice, “Please… water… may I have water?”

The response was immediate, and water was brought to me in a large bowl held to my lips to sip. I began to drink eagerly, and then a familiar flavor entered my consciousness, and the shape of the bowl struck me….

I vomited over the skull bowl that held the water. The puke went over my breasts and stomach, into the bowl, my stomach contracting and heaving as best it could given my frame was stretched out tightly in the spread eagle. I couldn’t help it. I needed the water, I knew drinking it was the only way I would get any, but it had come as such a shock that I was drinking from the remains of the hardened brain casing of a long dead person…

More water was brought, and the puke was washed from my naked body. I drank the water this time, able to get it down with only a slight gag. Necessity is the mother of tolerance. I think I drank four or five skull fulls of water, I was so thirsty.As all this was going on, the original three ghouls had been joined by a fourth. There were now two males and two females. I was certain that one pair were Pierre and Jeanette, the couple that had originally bound me and brought me below. The other two I could not see clearly, though the girl appeared to have long dark hair and was taller and slimmer than Jeanette.

They approached my sagging body hanging from the ropes once again, and this time their hands extended and began a slow but increasingly probing examination of my body. Fingers slid up my spread legs, tenderly or firmly depending on the hand; tongues licked my neck, lips suckled my agonized pinched nipples. My breasts were lifted, along with the weights attached to them, and then allowed to drop painfully. My ass cheeks were spread, and fingers probed in the crack.

Hands ran up my inner thighs, and eventually spread and examined the folds of flesh between them. Slowly but certainly, fingers delved deeper into my pussy. How many fingers I could not tell, they were attached to more than one hand and more than one person, but I know it quickly went from two fingers to three, and then four. Before long I had five fingers pressing into my vagina, actively spreading my flesh apart. It began to hurt, the stretching and tearing feeling as my pussy was forcibly widened.

The labia clamps were removed. The blood and sensation rushing back into that sensitive area made me gasp and clench my muscles. My labia, free of the clamps, continued to be stretched wide, wider than every before.

At the same time, a finger had made its way deep into my anus. I could feel it wiggling around, actually pressing against the fingers in my vagina. My sphincter was clenching, instinctively squeezing it trying to prevent further intrusion into my bowels. It didn’t work and in fact just made things worse, as a second finger forced its way into my unlubricated ass.The two fingers, from different people I was certain, worked together to pulled, massage, stretch and force open my anus wider. A third and fourth fingers were added, and my ass was being painfully and forcefully stretched open.

In the meantime the fingers in my vagina had inserted all the way to a hand; I could feel my flesh being torn wide and the knuckles of a fist entering me. Fingers pressed against my cervix, and I grunted and moaned in pain as I was fisted. Deeper it went, until I felt like I was giving birth, cramps set in, my cervix was being pressed up into my intestines and the pain of distended flesh was making my cry in great sobs.

The double fisting was more intrusion than my body had ever suffered. And somehow… this extreme intrusion felt as arousing as it was painful. I sobbed in pain, but at the same time began rocking my hips back and forth slightly, creating a sort of rhythm which was soon picked up by the probing hands. Forward and down, the hand pressed into my vagina and against my cervix, rubbing against my clit. Shifting back, the hand in my ass sliding in and filling my bowls. Slight movements, but enough to make the experience increasingly erotic for me, and with the cooperation of the corporeal invaders whose hands were now inside my body, I was headed for another massive orgasm.

When it did come, I tried to scream with the climax which surged through my body. I found that it was difficult, stretched and hung as I was my body was not able to take deep breaths and my scream was more of a loud moaning gurgle. When it was over, the hands slowly relaxed and edged their way out as the ghouls licked and kissed various parts of my exposed body.

Hanging from my outstretched arms was taking its toll, and my breathing had become ragged. My arms were becoming numb as well as my shoulders, and I could no longer move my fingers. I was more than glad when the ropes tied to my wrists were slowly released, and I descended back down to the floor. Descended may be too nice a word, for when my feet hit the ground, my legs buckled and I fell to the ground and lay there, unable to move except for a little twitching. It felt so good to be down, and resting in a prone position.

I lay on the dirt floor for a while, unwilling to even try moving. When I finally did move, it was because two of the dark figures stood over me, reached down and took my arms to lift me up. I still could not see their faces well, though I could tell these were the two guys. They half dragged me out of the chamber, down a short stone corridor and into another chamber which was larger than the last. Bones lined this chamber as well, fashioned in curious designs against the wall. There was a single stone bench or table in the center of the room, and I was placed on this, on my back.

My ankles were spread wide, as were my wrists. Each were tied to something (a ring or hook) that appeared at the base of the stone table. Thus, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, my arms and legs spread apart once again and tied back and behind me. The ceiling above was hard to make out; the flickering candle light showed curious patterns and cracks in the stone, as well as dark markings. Above me, silhouetted against the flickering candle light, the four figures looked down at me.

The clamps on my nipples were released, once again bringing stinging, searing pain. I gasped and one of the dark figured reached down and massaged my nipples, bringing the blood flow back in and making them erect at the same time.One of them spoke, and I believe it was Jeanette, though the voice seemed softer than before, and more hollow than a human voice should be.

“You are making good progress. You may be able to return to the land of the living, if you survive the next few hours. For now, rest. Sleep if you can.”

Survive???? I thought. Was there some question as to whether I would survive this???

The four figures disappeared, fading into the shadows and leaving me with a single candle that provided just barely enough light to see the outlines of the walls and ceiling. I lay, unable to move because of my bindings.

Drip.

The ceiling above me discharged a drop of water that splatted on my face. I turned my head.

Drip.

Another large drop, on my cheek.

Drip. Drop.

Two drops of water, one right after the other, in slightly different locations on my face.

Nothing for a while, and then, without warning:

Drip.

The ceiling was dripping on me. I closed my eyes, and opened my mouth, trying to catch the water to drink. It was coming too slowly to be satisfying, but I tried for a while.

The drops of water came at irregular intervals. I never knew when. I tried counting – somewhere between 3 to 30 seconds… I moved my head, so the drops would strike different areas of my face.

Drip

I didn’t hurt any more… my body was feeling much better, having been able to rest and lay down. But I couldn’t sleep – the dripping water was keeping me awake. I tried to think of sheep… they turned into drops of water… I tried counting them… then gave up on that.

Exhaustion came over me, and I drifted to sleep for a while… but the dripping awakened me. I shifted my head, moving it out of the way of the drips as best I could. The water struck my neck just below my ear… tolerable for a time. I slept again, spread out on the stone altar in the city of the dead.

Drip. Drip…. Drip…. Drop.

I woke struggling and screaming. The dripping water had caused a numb place on my cheek. Or was it numb? Perhaps it was actually more sensitive. I couldn’t tell. What I knew was that the constant drip was filling my world, occupying my mind with a hideous monotony.

You see, part of the agony was the constant drip on my face, the way it felt like a violation of my personal space as I was unable to fend it off as it steadily ate away at my flesh. Another part of the agony was that the drips were not regular; they pretended to be regular and in a pattern. This deceived the mind, following false trails and patterns much like a lost hiker finds lost trails in a forest that when followed, disappear having lead the hiker deeper into the wilderness.

But most agonizing of all, was that this drip was all there was in the world. There was no sound, no real light, no other sensation but this dripping water. It dripped and literally became all I could think about. How much water was there? When would the next drop come and where would it land? Was it hurting me? I was slowly, but surely, going insane.

I screamed from frustration, and struggled against the bonds; arms and legs straining to be free to no avail. My legs were held wide apart, my arms pulled back and down to where they were tied to the legs of this stone platform. I pulled a muscle slightly, and the pain shocked me. But it also diverted me, and had a kind of sweetness to it. It was a sensation I could concentrate on instead of the drip…drop….drip…

I cried, my tears descending my cheeks and mixing with the water dripping on my face. I could hear someone talking to me, and tried to answer, but it was my own voice. I tried to allow the water to pierce my flesh and kill me, I pleaded with it to kill me… I struggled against my bonds once more.

In the dim flicker of the single candle, a darkness appeared. At first I didn’t think it was real, I had been hallucinating objects for a while. But when the figure spoke in its low, calm but raspy voice, I knew it was real.

“Do you wish release from the water which plagues you?”

“Yes, please, please, release me, kill me, whatever you need to do but take me from this place, from this horrible… ” I don’t know exactly what I said. Some of it was gibberish I am sure.

The figure asked again, “Do you wish me to cover your face to shield you from the dripping water?”

“Yessss…..” I croaked…. and then started sobbing.

My head was lifted slightly, and my hair stroked down and into place. Then something was pulled down over the top of my head, and then over my face. It was made of a heavy cloth or soft leather, and adhered tightly to the shape of my head. It covered my head and face completely, all the way to my neck. Had I been more lucid at the time, I would have realized I had just been placed in a hood.

The hood was tightened. It had no eye holes, so I could not see. It had no mouth opening, so I could not breath through my mouth, though I was not gagged and could make noises. It also did not have any nose holes to allow breathing. I quickly started sucking air in as hard as I could, drawing fresh oxygen from the opening at the bottom of the hood around my neck, and a little through the porous material of the hood itself. Breathing was increasingly labored. I could hear myself gasping, and my chest and stomach began heaving heavily to pull as much air in as possible.

The relief from the water torture was not a relief at all. The hood removed all but a small part of my ability to breath, forcing me to work at sucking air in as hard as I possibly could. But there was worse. As the water from above dripped on the hood, the material became wet and lost its porousness, as well as adhering closely to my flesh. Breathing, difficult before, became impossible. My lungs burned from lack of air, my stomach convulsed in attempts to breath… all to no avail.

My brain became light headed, the world seemed to be turning around me. I shook my head violently from side to side in a futile effort to find air, an opening, or to shake off the hood. Black spots, blacker than the inside of the hood, appeared before my eyes. My arms and legs hurt with a deep ache, my head pounded, and I felt consciousness slipping away.

Just as unconsciousness began to take hold, the hood was slipped up and over my head. All four dark figures floated over me as I gasped and sucked air into my lungs, in huge gulps. My panicked breathing lasted for a couple of minutes and then subsided as the oxygen spread through my body.

Jeanette, lovely Jeanette leaned down and stroked the hair from my face, cleaning the sweat and wetness from my skin. She kissed my forehead, and whispered to me. “You are suffering for us so marvelously… you should be proud of your pain.”I nodded. I understood.

The ropes around my legs and arms which held me to the altar were untied, and I was raised up. I noticed for the first time in a while that I was naked. I had forgotten this a long time ago… years ago it seemed. I was lead to a circular pile of bones in the center of the room. Piled 6 feet high, these bones radiated out from a central pillar to form a large cylindrical bond pile. The ropes dangling from my arms were wrapped around the pile of bones, drawing me into them, forcing me against them. I was tied to the bone pile, facing it. Sharp edges poked my ribs and breasts, smoothed joints rubbed my bare nipples. I could smell them clearly, as my face was only inches away.

I struggled briefly, and then simply stood.

The flickering light from candles showed shadows on the walls as my torturers moved behind me. The bones poked and prodded my bare flesh before me, but I felt very exposed behind, waiting for something. When it came, it was unexpected, heralded by a split second sound like a whistle; something moving through the air.

My ass exploded in pain from a cane which stroked across it. I grunted, and moaned from the sting. A second stroke was inflicted just above the last. A third struck my ass and I felt myself wriggling against the bones, trying to get away. Where ever I moved, the cane found me, striping me with more stinging pain that eventually forced cries and tears from me.

The strokes stopped, and a soft smooth hand felt the roundness of my ass, sliding down and separating the cheeks until fingers reached and played with my pussy lips. I spread my legs a little to allow them access, and was rewarded by a brief penetration. Too brief, as the fingers were withdrawn and the cane struck again.

Repeated strokes in the same area increase the pain, one stroke building on another, and my ass was burning like it was on fire. When a break came and my ass and pussy were fondled, the hand felt like it was salty, causing even more pain over the sensitive welts. Until, that is, it would reach down to my wet pussy, stimulate me there and find the reaction that was wanted – my ass pushed backward, legs spread, begging for pleasure.

This alternation of pleasure and pain went on for some time, until I thought I would simply not be able to stand the constant beating on my ass. I screamed with each stroke, my hands gripped the bones in front of me and I pressed against them, trying to escape the burning fire of the cane. Finally, the punishment stopped, and I sagged in place, leaning against the stack of bones against which I was tied.

After some time, I was untied. I was barely able to stand on my own, and was led to a third chamber of bones, this one with skulls circling the top, staring down as if looking at my nakedness with lust. Forced to my knees, my hands were taken behind my back and then forced up to an inverted position – the infamous reverse prayer. I had been in this position before, and knew I was flexible enough for it. I also knew that it would quickly become very uncomfortable. My hands and arms were forced up further, and then wrists tied in place. The arms and elbows were also quickly tied, making my arms totally immobile with my hands pressed together just between my shoulder blades.

I was lifted to a small stone platform, and placed on my stomach there. My legs hung over the end, and rough hands spread them wide. There was no point in wriggling, the twisted position of my arms behind my back meant any movement would be painful and impossible.

A cold sticky substance was inserted into my pussy. Lube. Moments later a cock was thrust into me deeply, sliding in easily. I didn’t know which of the two men it was, and it didn’t matter. It felt good to have some straight sex, no weird stuff. His pounding picked up rhythm just as someone stood in front of me, pinched my mouth open and slid in another cock.Fucked from both ends. It felt good. Probably the most normal and natural thing to happen during this whole ordeal. I eagerly wriggled to try and get my clit stimulated a little with the fucking, and sucked in the rather large cock from the front, as deep down my throat as I could manage. Closing my eyes, I could almost imagine I was back at home, in my own bedroom with Jason and Steve…

The guy behind me thrust and suddenly pressed hard, his hips held against my ass, his hands around my hips holding them tight, his balls flat against my pussy. His cock throbbed inside me as he came, jerking and grunting, a flood of sperm ejaculated inside my abdomen. His orgasm lasted forever, just when I though he was done and slipping out he thrust again and renewed his efforts to empy himself inside me.

All the while the guy in front of me was pushing deeper down my throat, ignoring my gags and gasps as I tried to breath and also keep my vomit down. I do a pretty good deep throat, but this guy was as big as Jason, and he was pushing hard, getting in as far as he could. Slime from my stomach had coated his cock, making it slippery and bad tasting, but I kept on, determined I would bring him to an explosive orgasm.

He did explode, withdrawing at the last moment and ejaculatig all over my face. I felt sperm slap against my cheeks, eyes, mouth, even my hair. I was covered, smeared with the stuff. The sounds he made sounded like Jason having the most incredible orgasm he had ever had, grunting and swearing as the endorphins flooded his body and his contractions took control from him in l’Petite Mort… as the French call orgasm.

When it was over, I found myself servicing the girls. Flipped over onto my back, I lay on top of my arms. This was extremely painful, as they were still tied in the reverse prayer position, and pressing on them stretched the muscles further. I whimpered, begging for a better position.

In response, one of the girls slid over my face, spreading her legs and lowering her pussy. As her soft and incredibly wet flesh enveloped my nose, I started lapping. She was facing toward my body, so my nose slid up her vagina, and my tongue and lips naturally worked on her clit. Pressing down hard, I could not breath, her flesh covering and smothering me. My stomach worked for breath, diaphragm jerking in agony as I licked and prodded her.

The only relief came as she rose and shifted position slightly, positioning her ass over my nose. Pressing down, my nose penetrated her anus, which she wriggled to increase her sensation. My tongue was now in her vagina, licking hard, and my lower lip slid easily over her clit. With repeated, jerky motions, she slid back and forth, up and down, demanding more of me as I tried to gasp for what air I could, knowing my only real relief would come when once she climaxed.

I was near to passing out once again when she finally came, her thighs clenching my head, her hair hanging down and brushing my stomach. She cried out in pleasure, pressing down with one last thrust onto my face, and then collapsed, leaving me to breathe freely at last.

The final girl took her place, and as I stroked her, I felt the same hard, cold, wet cock I had felt penetrate me earlier. A dildo, I knew. She held it in her hand, and shoved it inside me as I licked and sucked her clit. She was gaining as much pleasure from raping me with the dildo as she was from my sucking her pussy.

She shifted position, and I saw the dildo for the first time. I cried out, only to have my cries stifled by her pussy pressing on my mouth.

The dildo was a bone, an arm bone, prehaps a radius or ulna. It was shiny and smooth with wear. It slid into my overly lubricated cunt with no effort, and as she pleasured herself on my face, she raped me with the remains of a corpse.

She orgasmed faster than the first girl, thank goodness. Climbing off of me, she also took the horrible dildo away, and I lay gasping. My face, neck and breasts were covered with human body fluids of one sort or another. Between my legs was soaked with my own juices, as well as the semen from Pierre.

The pain in my back and arms was getting excrutiating, and I rolled over onto my stomach on my own and promptly fell from the stone bench onto the dirt floor. I lay there for a little while before they came to me, lifted me up to my feet.

“You suffer so well for us… I wish to see you suffer the indignity of execution,” whispered a dark, hoarse voice.

“No, please, please… I can’t take any more! Please, will you release me, I don’t want to die!”

One of the dark figures I recongized as Pierre stood in front of me with the girl I did not know, the one with the bone dildo. The smiled at me, smirking as I pleaded with them.

A shadow warned me, a shadow on the wall terrified me, I tried to run but was too late. The heavy rope noose descended around my neck, and tightened as I struggled to move away.

With a slow, deliberately slow tension, the rope was pulled higher. I moved back under the place where it hung in order to reduce tension on my neck. The rope became more taught, cutting off blood flow. I gurgled in an attempt to breathe, and raised myself on tiptoes.

There the noose stayed, as I danced a little dance on tiptoe, trying to stay still but relieve as much pressure on my neck as possible. My head was twisted sideways from the pressure and angle of the noose, in a position I recognized from having seen people that had been hung. The strain on my neck was tremendous. I could breathe, but just barely.

At that point I lost bladder control, urinating on the floor and my legs. As if this was a signal, the rope tightened further, and I was lifted off the floor. My legs dangled and kicked involuntarily, as if they might find something to stand on. No air reached my lungs. My eyes were bulging as if they would be forced from their sockets and my tongue was protruding from my mouth. All these things I observed with perfect clarity; and all these things I could do nothing about. I was hanging, strangling, soiling myself, dying in this tomb.

The heavy weight of my body seemed incredible as it was all placed on my neck, squeezing the life from me.

All went black, as I lost consciousness.

The next day, I sat in the salon of the house which contained the hidden entrance to the catacombs. I was clean, rested, showered, fed and watered. My entire body was sore, from my toes to my neck (especially my neck). In spite of this I felt more alive and vibrant than I had in years.

With me sat Jason, Pierre, Jeannette and Cecile. We were enjoying a last time together, reliving the weekend below the ground in the catacomb tomb of Paris.

“You really did well, one of the best I have ever seen. I thought for sure you were going to use the safe word at some point. I am proud of you,” Pierre was saying.

“Safe word? You didn’t give me a safe word.” I looked puzzled as I drank my glass of wine.

“Sure we did. You gave it to her, right Jeannette?”

Jeanette looked a little surprised. “No… you did. Didn’t you?”

As Jeanette and Pierre looked at each other in growing realization, I commented, “Well that was interesting…”