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Turkish Delights
- Thread starter Barbaria1
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Primus pilus
Magister Australis
23.
He stands looking at the kneeling Dutch woman for a minute or two, watching her sway, subconsciously moving her body to the feel of an unseen lash. He can feel Pia reaching out to him, wanting his attention regardless of what terror that might bring. Stay there a little longer. Let her feel more of his silent presence. Let her crave his touch, any attention. Snake out the red hide whip. Craaack! One fiery bite on her shoulder. Watch her respond, leaning forward, looking, searching for the next. One breast exposed between her cuffed arms. Another. Craaack! Pia’s upper body jerks backwards. Then leave her to wait. Hang the whip and the scourge on the latch to her cell. He will come to her again, soon.
The darker one is different. He can sense her doubts, her dread. Watch her for a few moments. Let the fear build in her. Feel the arousal build in him as the terror builds in her. This is always where it begins for him. Barbara begins to shake as she hears the rasping, quickening breathing of that arousal.
There is real terror as she senses him move closer. He stands behind her then his strong fingers twine in her hair. He pulls her up onto her knees and bends her head backwards; her face and blindfolded eyes up towards him, her breasts thrust upwards too. Then he jams those bright brass prongs hard back against her right breast, the points straddling her nipple, as his thumb clamps down on the button.
An electric tingle runs through his fingers where they twine in her sweat-drenched hair but the real buzz pulses through him as her body responds to the prod’s charge. Her back arches, her hips are thrust forwards, the chain from her cuffs to her ankles rattling as her body spasms in pain. Hold the prod hard against her tit. Hard. His breathing rasping, ragged as she screams. Harder as her body writhes. No release of his thumb. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5....her scream peaks, then fades as she slumps, limp.
He thrusts the short prod into his back pocket, wraps his right arm through the chain that joins her wrists and ankles and lifts that up onto his shoulder. With Barbara’s limp body hanging against his thigh, he carries her down between the old bins to the remains of the mill.
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24.
Terror wells up inside of me as he finally makes his move. I can’t see him for the blindfold, but I can feel the presence of evil in my gut.
Owww, jerked upright by the hair! My head is snapped back. My knees grate on the grainy surface of the cold stone floor. I arch my back, try to peer at what is happening under the edge of my blindfold. I can see my heaving chest, my thighs and knees, and his boots and pants. There is sudden movement. Two prongs are being pressed into my right breast!
Flashbacks to seven days ago surge through my consciousness, but there is little time to reflect as sizzling bolts of electrical current surge through me. I scream and writhe, expect him to withdraw the prod, but he doesn’t … the shock continues and continues beyond my ability to withstand the pain … blackness.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
25.
When Barbara revives she is stretched taut on the cold, hard bedstone. The blindfold has been removed and she blinks as her eyes adapt to the dim light. She can sense he is there, close. She can hear that rasping breathing. Her head turns; left, right, eyes searching. Yes. There. Standing level with her right hip, one boot perched on the bedstone; his eyes raking her body. She can see his chest rising and falling with his rasping, shallow breaths. She can see the hard swelling of the erect cock in his trousers.
Her wrists are each bound tight with multiple wraps of coarse hemp rope and are pulled back behind her head; shoulder-width apart, just enough that her head lies between her arms, already past the bedstone’s edge, the back of her neck against the cold stone. Barbara tries to twist her head to look back and can just make out a steel frame and windlass that must be anchored there. She tries to shrug her shoulders, feeling for any freedom but can only move them a little against the smooth-worn stone.
She can feel her legs spreadeagled astride a hard post close against her sex. Barbara lifts her head a little and looks down between her breasts. The spindle, around which the old runner stone would have turned, thrusts above her belly like a phallus. Tight leather bands circle her ankles and she can feel tension there, pulling her legs apart and holding her close to the spindle.
Barbara tries to wiggle her hips, to feel for any freedom there, but only feels the cold stone under her arse and that post, chafing against her labia. The post is hard, tight against her sex, hurting a little but she can’t stop herself. She tilts her hips up....then down, her clit against the erect cock. A trace of wetness glistens on the steel.
When she looks back to him he has gone. Her head twists and turns, looking for him again. Her arms tighten as she hears a ratchet clank, the pawl dropping into the next slot. Clank. Again. Arms more taut, pain in her shoulders. But the pressure of the phallus between her legs eases just a little.
She can hear his boots on the stone floor as he moves. Clank. This time from somewhere beyond her legs. Clank. As he legs are pulled and spread. Her sex slit hard against that phallus again, her clit jammed tight. Barbara tilts her pelvis again, up to relieve that bruising pressure. Stomach muscles hurt. Drop her hips and her moist labia part around that hard phallic spindle; the sheen of moisture brighter. He can hear her groan.
Two more turns on the windlass behind her head and she screams as muscle tears in her shoulders. Her neck no longer rests against the bedstone and her head drops down between her arms. She feels cool air fan across her breasts then a bolt of fire. As she screams she wrenches her head up to see those familiar knotted whipcord strands draped across her chest; red welts marking the pale soft skin.
She feels the chords slide across her breasts as he takes the whip back. Knots catch on her nipples and she feels the drag...flick....as they catch...and release. He takes his time....drag...flick... then the strands are gone and Barbara feels her shoulders push against the stone as she subconsciously raises her breasts in search of that sensation.
A pause as her neck strains to hold up her head, her shoulders tensed against the stone. Then that fan of cool air followed by the fire of the lash. Scream again; but longer, louder. And that same gentle drag of the knotted strands across her nipples...drag...flick...drag...flick. And, again, Barbara feels her shoulders tense as her breasts raise to follow the strands.
Then Barbara’s head slumps backwards, down between her arms and, from deep amongst the muffling of the timber baulks, she can hear the wailing of Pia’s voice. Barb? Barb? Baaaarb? The voice comes closer and she can hear the faint shuffling of bare feet along the stone floor and the the rattling of a chain as Pia gropes her way towards the sound of Barbara's screams.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Ahh Wragg, perhaps you need to be like Barb.....and Pkin.....get out, travel more, meet friends...or fiends.....and discover the local customs.Wow.....
I had no idea that Turkey had such....erm....quaint customs
26.
I come to, and find myself racked on a smooth millstone .... naked, helpless, between my legs a hard metal phallus separating my labia and pressing painfully hard against my bone.
No, I say to myself ... I am not going to let that happen. But it does. However involuntary, my bud tingles, swells out to touch the offending metal shaft. I raise my head to look, but drop back as he ratchets my body ever more taut.
Then he lashes out viciously, targeting my sensitive nipples, purposely catching them and flicking them with the wicked tips of his whip. It hurts so much, but it's also arousing. I am in pain and confused.
And then a voice ... Pia's voice ... where did she come from? She is in chains. I can hear them rattling, over there. But it's dark, I can't see her.
Owwww, the whipping continues. I twist my torso from side to side in as much as I can stretched out full length. Each movement only increased the intruding pressure of the metal phallus.
"Pia!!! Listen to me. Don't come over here. Turn around. Go back to your cell. Quick before he sees you. You don't want to be here!"
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
27.
Barbara cranes her neck, turning her face towards the sound of Pia's voice, to the rattling of the chain. She calls to Pia to stay back but the Dutch girl keeps coming, stumbling in her blindness and the chain at her ankles.
As Pia comes closer, Barbara can see she has her hands stretched as far forward as the chain from her manacled wrists will allow. In her hands she has the red hide whip he had left hanging on the latch of her open cell door. Pia's voice is softer now. "Me.....me too. Please. I don't want to be left alone?"
At the plea from Pia he pauses, the multi-tailed scourge above his shoulder. Instead of lashing the brunette again he lays the knotted tails across her breasts; across the bright red welts. He lays the handle on her belly, the cord-wrapped grip across her mound. The woven turk's head knot lies just above her slit where it spreads wet around the thick steel phallus.
"Come here Pia. Come to me."
As the Dutch girl gropes for him with the whip offered he takes her wrists and leads her closer to where the brunette lies stretched on the stone platform. He unlocks the cuffs from her wrists, binds them together with a length of rough hemp rope and pulls down one of the pulley blocks hanging from the beams. He hooks the block to the rope at her wrists and hauls her upwards, just enough that her feet are clear of the stone floor.
He loops the red hide whip twice around her neck, make sure it will not slip down. The thickest part of sinuous whip drapes down between her breasts, the tapered belly hanging across her mound and hangs between her thighs.
As Barbara looks up she can see Pia lifting her still-chained legs, spreading her thighs, trying to catch the snakelike belly of his whip between them; trying to draw it close against her sex.
Why? Why does Pia want to embrace the whip that lashed her back, her breasts and her sex? She looks at her own breasts, at the knotted cords the lie across them. She remembers the sensation as he dragged those knots across her nipples; how they caught, the gentle tug on her teats as the knots pulled past. She remembers each fiery lash. She still feels each burning welt.
His knuckles brush Barbara's mound as his fingers wrap around the scourge handle. He slowly drags those knots down, catching her nipples once more. As she feels the catch....flick, the brunette feels her shoulders tense, raising herself upwards. Offering her breasts to the lash.
The fire of the knotted cords on her breasts does not come. Instead Barbara hears the windlass ratchet..clank, clank, clank as her arms are wrenched tighter. She feels muscle tear in her shoulders, the joints begin to dislocate and screams at the pain.
Clank, clank, clank, clank from below as her legs are forced wider, her cunt crushed and spread wide against the phallic spindle. Tearing in her hips as muscle and ligaments stretch beyond limits. She screams, loud, piercing. She thrusts her hips upwards, pain there but she is desperate to relieve her clit jammed so hard against the steel.
In her pain she cannot hold her hips up for long and they soon roll down. Up, back, up, back, ever more rapidly, almost frenetically. In trying for any relief from the pain she is fucking the steel phallus. Mouth open, eyes screwed shut, long moans, each a little louder and more drawn out than the previous one are interspersed between spasms of screaming.
Then fire across her belly and her mound as he begins flogging her again. She can feel the knots rip her skin, no gentle catch and flick of the knots on her nipples. Just a fire. Burn after burn. Skin splits under the knots and, even within her pain, Barbara can feel the delicate tickle of the thin trails of blood.
Barbara lifts her head, her eyes search for Pia. She can see the Dutch girl with her thighs wrapped around that red hide snake, pulling down on it against the wraps around her neck. Still trying to drag it into her own slit.
Then his fingers twine into her sweat-matted brunette hair. He wrenches her head towards his groin and thrusts her face tight against his trousers, hard against his aroused cock. His breath rasps in his throat. He feels her mouth open.
The flogging at her belly is harder, faster. She cannot help but raise her hips to the lash, stomach muscles rippling, up and back, her cunt slipping and sliding up and back on the steel.
Then it stops. Abruptly. His fingers still grip Barbara's hair tightly, he is still hard against her face. Not like before, when he came in her hands bound behind the chair. He has caught himself. Pulled himself back from the brink.
Why has he stopped? Why now? He was so close. And Barbara knows that there is more to come. More torment, more pain.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Hey thanks rb....on behalf of Barb and Pkin too. Pp enjoys taking the thoughts that Barb and Pkin write and trying to build on those.
This place is very supportive of anyone who is prepared to try their hand.
28.
My joints are on fire, my bare breasts and tummy ablaze with angry welts, and that damnable shaft between my legs is making me grind on it even though I don't want to.
But now he has me by the hair! Pulling my head up from between my arms and over toward him. What has he in mind? Oh shit! He is pressing his hard rod against my cheek. The man is insane. He may have tricked me once into helping him get it off while he was whipping poor Pia half to death, but I am not going to do that again. Resist! I must resist!
Wait, he stopped. Why? He was close; he could have forced me, but he didn't. He must be saving himself. The sadistic bastard wants more before he lets himself go.
And now he has Pia again too. The girl didn't heed my advice to get away. Instead she kept coming. What is it with her? Does she want to die? Am I the only sane one here? The two of them seem mad.
Oh God, what did I get myself into here? Somebody must be looking for me. I want to be saved, but whoever it is had better hurry.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
29.
He had controlled his arousal with difficulty. The brunette had responded to the whip, to the pain and to the pressure of the steel spindle that spread her thighs and her labia. As he flogged her belly he had watched her hips rise and fall, fucking that phallus.
But he had also seen the Dutch girl work her chained legs to try to capture the belly of the whip between her thighs and drag it into her sex.
In his excitement he had dragged Barbara's face into his groin, hard against his erect cock. He felt her mouth open. She would have taken him there if he had chosen to force it.
But there are questions being asked. People are looking for the women. He has to make plans. The women would have to disappear. That thought has him breathing heavily again.
He lowers the Dutch girl to the floor, removes the red hide whip from her neck. He loops a rope under her armpits then ties her forearms together tightly behind her back. He runs loops of rope around her upper arms and chest, above and below her breasts. His hands grope her small tits as he does; his hard cock brushing her hips and arse. She does not fight but leans against him, craving his hands, the closeness after a week of silence, of darkness and isolation.
The loops are so tight her arms are locked and her breasts framed by the rough hemp. The loop under her arms is hooked to the block and he hoists her up again. Higher this time until her sex is at his shoulder height.
With her head craned backwards Barbara watches him. She seems surprised at Pia's response, her desire for his attention despite the pain he has already inflicted on her young body. She loses sight of him for a moment then hears noises from the back of the old mill, the sound of steel and wood, of tools being moved.
Then he is back and the brunette can see a hay fork in his hands. A long, thick timber handle. Four widely-spaced, rusted tines. He touches the tines to Pia's shoulders, pushes just hard. The tines are not sharp, enough to dimple, but not to break the skin. Then he rakes the tines down her back, across the barely-healed whip welts, opening them, trickles of blood flowing again. When the tines reach Pia's arse he pushes them hard against it, forcing her to swing.
As she swings back, he shoves her sideways with the fork and, as her body rotates on the rope, he stops her with the tines in her breasts. He rakes the tines down again, across her breasts to her belly, opening the whip welts there too.
Pia looks down, over her breasts at the tines at her belly. There is pain in her eyes but her lips are parted, the tip of her tongue visible, moist. Barbara looks up as best she can, frightened. Scared that he will thrust those tines into Pia's gut.
But he lowers the fork, the tines clanging loudly against the stone floor. A scraping noise too then Barbara can see the fork standing upwards, tines jammed deep into a gap between the flooring stones, the handle erect between Pia's thighs, the tapered tip just inches below her sex.
He wraps his left arm in the rope and holds Pia suspended; he thrusts the fingers of his right hand into the Dutch girl's sex, opening her lips wide. As he does he lowers her body, slowly, until the handle penetrates her sex. An inch, two, three, then further, until he feels resistance; the handle as deep into her cunt as it will penetrate.
He ties the rope off and watches. Watches as Pia begins to work her hips, writhing at the wooden handle inside her. Watches as she grips the handle with her chained legs, giving her some purchase to push her body up, and down. Watches as she fucks herself on the wooden handle.
Then he unties the rope and gives some slack. Pia grunts as her body weight now rests on the tapered handle deep inside her belly. It hurts. She groans, a deep visceral expression of pain. She grips the handle with her legs, some respite while they can hold.
Barbara cannot watch. She lets her head drop down between her stretched arms. She wants to hide, to get away from Pia's pain, from her own pain, but his fingers twine in her hair again and her head is wrenched upwards, hard again against his groin. And Barbara hears that shallow rasping breathing again.
30.
It suddenly dawns on me. He hasn’t asked a single question! This is no longer an interrogation. He intends to kill us, and to enjoy our terror and pain as he does so. There is no attempt at dialogue here … he utters not a word; he just silently goes about his business. He knows we will be missed, and I realize now that he intends to dispose of us, most likely without a trace, as soon as he has had his sadistic fun.
The hopelessness of our situation sinks in. I start to feel terribly sorry for myself. This was to be such a lovely holiday. I had it all planned. A few days in Istanbul, admiring the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, perhaps a little fun imagining what it would be like to be in the harem at Topkapi … a side trip by bus to Cappadocia to see its famous ancient honey-combed towers. But alas, I never got past passport control and ended up in this living hell instead.
Now I lay stretched out full length, helpless and naked on this worn stone surface, joints torn and screaming, breasts and belly covered with welts and cuts from the many lashes that they have taken, flecks and smears of blood mixed with sweat covering my fair skin, a phallus pressed hard against my sex.
I hang my head back between my painfully outstretched arms, my eyes searching for his latest whereabouts. I must steel myself for the end, I tell myself. I hope he plans, if kill me he must, to do it swiftly. I doubt I could ever bear to die as gruesomely as Pia, impaled on a shaft.
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
31.
The reality is slowly waking in the brunette's mind. There had always seemed some way out. Release? Being found? Some way. Hope. But as he lowered the Dutch girl's cunt onto the blut point of the fork handle her eyes told him that last hope was fading.
The pain in Pia's belly is intense. With the rope slack her full weight is on the rounded fork handle, hard against her cervix; her body supported by the sheath of thin muscle that is her cunt.
Pia still dances her erotic steps. While her thighs hold she grips the handle for some respite. As they tire she locks her feet against the wood and pushes up as best she can. Relief from the slow, inexorable tearing of her cunt. Then ride the handle down as her muscles tire.
Push up, lock her thighs, tire and slip down those desperate few inches to pain. Up, hold, slip down. She has a rhythm. Slow and steady for now, while her strength holds. Slow and steady fucking the blunt spear in belly.
As the Dutch girl's body rises and sags on her shaft he grinds himself against Barbara's face; his fingers still tight in her hair. How long will Pia last? How long can she dance? His rasping breathing is quicker. How long can he hold?
With time Pia's rhythm changes. Her legs are tiring, thighs cramping. The strength to drive her weight up from the spear in her gut is weaker, her rests, if that is what they are, on the end of the handle are longer. But still she holds on.
It is well into the night now. He cannot let the women go much longer. They must be finished by the dawn.
Barbara feels his grip on her hair relax. The pressure of his hard cock against her face ease. She lets her head fall back, down between her stretched arms. She can see his boots. They take him towards the wall where he found the hay fork. The rattle of tools sorted. Then the boots bring him back.
Then they are beside Pia again and the brunette forces her tired neck muscles to lift her head, drawn to see what he is doing to her friend.
There is a heavy hammer in his hand. As Pia pushes herself doggedly upwards Barbara's eyes follow the hammer as he lfts it back then slams it against her friend's knee.
The Dutch girl screams, shrill, piercing at first then deeper, as her smashed leg loses grip and her weight falls. It is just a few inches but it is hard against the spear's blunt point. The deeper, visceral scream at the tearing of that muscle sheath in her belly.
He watches her for a while, standing between the two women. He looks at the horror on Barbara's face and in her eyes. The look in the Dutch girl's eyes is different. Her eyes are glazed. Her face seems different too. Calmer than the brunette's, lips parted, the tip of her tongue just visible.
Pia still fights, still pushes as best she can with one foot against the wood of the handle. Her dance had been even, rhythmic. Now it just macabre. But still she holds against the blunt spear that wants to run through her gut.
Wait until she makes that desperate thrust upwards, leg muscles taut, foot jammed hard against the handle. Crunch! The hammer slams the other knee. The piercing scream at the fire in her knee, then the deep, deep moan as her last grip gives way and she slips down, hard onto the end of the handle. The last muscles tear and the blunt spear begins its steady march up through her guts.
Pia's legs hang useless, down beside the hay fork handle. She makes a few desperate attempts to grip the handle but she cannot hold there. Barbara tears her eyes away. She cannot watch Pia's inexorable descent down that blunt wooden spear.
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Primus pilus
Magister Australis
Pp appreciates and understands your comment Jollyrie. When this story ends, and it does not have long to run, Pp will try to make some comments on the writing. He hopes Barbaria and Pkin might too.
Cheers. I did mean to say my previous comment with a smile.
And thanks for the ride so far.