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Tales 12

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Tales Vol.9

Deep Waters

Tales NHSP 8

Challenge of Love

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Coming of Age

In The Dark II

Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM

The Society of the Golden Rose

The Silver Locke

Michael Alexander Stories

Drawn & Quartered

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She steps up to the platform, quivering as the two men hold her in place.  Strong fingers encircle her arms, holding her, keeping her from escaping.  The wind blows her long red hair out from her thin neck, strands brushing against pale skin flecked with freckles. It is not cold, but the breeze chills her nonetheless, but perhaps it is fear that turns her veins to ice.  Her naked body responds, shivering as she looks down at the cross shaped platform before her.  The dark bruises and whip marks of her rape, her humiliation as starkly outlined against her cream colored flesh and her crimson locks fall like rose petals on white sand.

The two men turn her around and the lift her up, positioning her flat on her back.  The smooth wood beneath her is neither warm nor cold, but very hard.  She winces slightly as the purple marks on her buttocks come in contact with the edge of the platform, digging in slightly. 

She doesn’t resist, allowing the two men to secure her wrists and ankles to the platform.  She hears the clink of machinery, smells the oil as bands are tightened.  She can see the catapult arms rising into the sky around her, like skeletal fingers closing over a doomed sacrifice.  The steel twined cables dangle downward and she knows they are connected to her wrists and ankles, pulled taut.

They move something between her legs and she feels a sharp pain as her bruised sex is penetrated.  It is not a pleasant sensation.  She groans, eyes closed, her body protesting the intrusion.  But she has no words to say. Nothing will stop them.  She knows that now.  It doesn’t even matter why they are doing this.  They can.  She has endured so much.  She hopes that it just stops soon.

The thing inside her begins to move, thrusting into her dry cavity with little tears.  One of the men squirts oil onto her sex, letting it dribble down into her cleft.  It easies the repeated penetration, but does nothing to excite her.  She closes her eyes.

She blinks as the words finally being to register.  She has missed the first part and the man standing above her is reading from some sort of electronic pad.  His leather shirt has the usual attachments for the various hoses and fixtures.  But it is the silver seal on his lapel that marks him as a reeve that makes it official.  She closes her eyes, but her mind can not tune him out.


“… and thus sentenced to death for her crimes.  She will be drawn and quartered, keyed to her own perverted pleasures, so that she may learn what comes of evil seduction.  As ordered by Her Majesty.”

His voice fades away and she opens her eyes again.  Of course.  She understands now.  She must not cum.

The pumping between her legs speeds up, the petals of her sex swelling as the thick rod spears her steadily.  It is not soft, nor does it feel like a male sex organ.  It is hard, too thick, too unyielding, too mechanical.  And yet, she thinks she can sense herself ripening, adjusting to the repeated thrusts.  The oil has prevented more damage, but her own body begins to betray her.  The bio sensor they have put on her temple will tell them, better than her own expression, when she experiences orgasm.  She turns her head away, trying to think of filth, sewage, or the Queen’s son who raped her.  It helps, for awhile.  Hundreds of thrusts later, she is beginning to realize the futility of resistance.  Perhaps it would be better to just give in.

Her hips rise up, altering the angle of the mechanical cock repeatedly penetrating her.  A shiver of sexual need rushes through her and she moans.  The blue sky above her is peppered with white fluffy clouds.  She studies them for a moment, letting the need subside.

It is one of the guards who brings her back.  His hand touches her clit, rubbing it violently.  He is impatient.  He wants it to end.  He was one who had whipped her between the legs, letting the sharp thin leather leave bleeding welts on her soft skin.  It had hurt so much.  She had screamed and screamed, hanging by the wrists in that room.  It had seemed like it would never end, even after he had rammed himself into her ass.  It was just too much.  She had passed out and awoken back in her cell.

But now he hurries her.  It feels incredible, an awakening, but it is torture nonetheless.  She knows now what will happen when she finally has release.  The steady thrust of the rod between her legs, combined with his thumb are too much and she moans, her face contorting in pleasure.  But she tries to deny it, to fight it, forcing it back down.  The man smirks, his thumb making short circles over her sex, thumb pressed firmly down on the tiny nub of her clitoris.

She can feel it building now, a rising pressure, a force behind a crumbling wall, the damn barely holding back the swollen rivers as cracks begin to form.  She knows her time is almost done.  He senses it too, giving her clit a final hard, brutal pinch, eliciting a cry from her.  She screams out loud and he steps away.  The machine picks up speed, the rod between her legs now moving in and out with a wet sounding squelch.  Her hips roll as her heels thump against the platform.  She is quivering, trying hard not to let the need overwhelm her.  It is the hardest thing she has ever tried to do.

Then she realizes that she can’t hold on.  It is too much.  The steady fucking, the touch of her tormentor, the exposure to the sky and the gods, the memory of her lovers, the touch of a hand.  She feels herself swell, body trembling, the explosion beginning between her legs and stretching outward.  It only takes a second for the pleasure to reach her brain, but it feels like hours.  The flood of ecstasy moves through each limb, her body shaking with power and urgency.  Like lighting, the nerves fire and the bio-sensor begins to sense her release.

It takes only a second for the signal to move through the platform.  The bindings on her wrists and ankles release as she gasps.  There is a loud snap, as if something is breaking and she feels herself suddenly jerked upward, off the platform, her arms and legs stretching wide.  But she is still in the throes of orgasm and it means nothing.  Five feet off the platform the pressure on her limbs intensifies, going from an upward pull, to stretching her.  Pain blossoms in her wrists and ankles, shooting down to her thighs and shoulders.  She is pulled taut, all in the space of a second, and then she screams in both agony and ecstasy as orgasm and the dislocation of her shoulders and hips occurs. 

But the pain continues.  Her skin rips, muscle tears and then suddenly she feels the most agonizing pain imaginable.  It washes away the pleasure of her orgasm and it feels as if her body is his being buffeted by a tornado.  She suddenly sees red as a spray of blood explodes from outside her vision and then her vision blurs as she is slung fast away from the platform, impacting in the green grass of the meadow like an egg dropped on the floor.  She blinks and tries to lift herself up, but she can’t.  Her arms don’t work.  She can not turn her head.  Her breath comes in a shuddering rasp and she sees a spray of crimson.  It stains the grass.

And then the sun goes dark.

 

The End

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