Fever World of Karen Marie Moning - The erotic CruxForums Version!

[Fossy]

"FeverTree - THE CRUCIFIXION OF MACKAYLA LANE"

PART 4 – FLOGGED


It’s cold, and I am still naked.

Mallucé returned after he had raped me, and this time he was accompanied. Hands gripped my arms and I was dragged outside my cell into a larger space, where my hands were tied high above my head until I had been stretched and was hanging from my wrists.

Then I had been whipped, hard … and the flogging had left welts, which hurt ... a lot. I was, of course, still naked, for which I am actually grateful, as some of the swelling would sting much worse if I was wearing anything to cover my nudity.

The whipping, administered by the bastard himself, seemed to go on forever. The flogger was well worn, and the salt from my trickling sweat had made the wounds sting like hell.

I remember screaming a little, which seemed to please the small audience. By the time it was over, I had forgotten where I was, and was simply trying to deal with the pain. I was hardly conscious when I was dragged back to my cell and chained to the wall.

Which is where I still am … exhausted, weary and terrified.

As I begin to drift, I am jolted awake by my own body. Having my hands chained above me begins to hurt. The shackles themselves are not that bad, but not being able to lower my arms is taking the blood from them and cramps are setting in.

My eyes close …

Eventually I must have dozed because I am awakened by a bucket of water being thrown over me. Some of it gets in my nose, and I cough, briefly choking and gasping, until I start breathing with a relative calmness once again.

The water actually feels good. One of Mallucé’s men, or are they Fae, is standing above me. He puts a bottle of water to my lips, and I didn't realise quite how thirsty I was until I start drinking. The entire bottle is quickly gone, he offers me more, almost as if he is being kind to me. I know better. He is filling my bladder, and he knew that I would drink.

I am unchained and dragged outside the actual building in which I have been incarcerated, into the open air.

The sun is up, and it is early morning. The sounds of the country fill my ears, birds singing, flies buzzing, and even a slight breeze rustling the leaves.

It is actually very peaceful here … and I have never been so scared! I am terrified.

My arms have been pulled behind my back and my wrists are crossed over. Thin, cord-like rope, flexible, smooth and strong, is wound four times about my wrists, crushingly tight so that the bones seem mashed together.

It hurts, very much … the knot is tied tightly, well beyond the reach of my fingers. I know there is no hope of getting my hands free, they are inescapably tied behind my back. My shoulder blades arch back, thrusting my breasts forward, exposed to the open air as we trudge out across the Burren. I am naked.

It is uncomfortable, humiliating.

But there is more. A heavy cloth is placed across my eyes, tied at the back of my head, a blindfold that encloses me in complete blackness. Finally, a rope is passed three times around my head, between my teeth, gagging me and making my head ache.

I am made to sit on the ground, tied, blindfold, gagged.

I hear sounds. There is no longer just Mallucé. They talk and drink … and then moments later I am dragged to my feet again. I have never felt so helpless in my life.

"Let's go."

Blind, mute, hands tied behind my back, it is a long walk, an hour at least by my reckoning in the warm heat of Irish Summer, and not easy going.

My exposed feet find countless twigs, thorns, roots; after the first ten minutes, I am hobbling. Worse, branches sometimes flick back, catching my shoulders or face, whipping my breasts.

Unable to see where I am going, I rely on the warnings of my entourage who obviously care little for my comfort. The heat is awful, my bare arms, the back of my neck … I am completely naked, and unable to cover my nudity.

I hear a lewd whistle of lust-fuelled appreciation, and given my heavy perspiration I know my skin must be shining like it's oiled … unwittingly heightening the eroticism of the effect.

"Look at those tits." A man's voice said, “She’s gonna die well!.”

So, it WAS my death march. I hadn’t been sure, no one had said a word earlier, as my body was bound. I was walking to my death. How would he do it? Would it be quick? I very much doubted that.


TO BE CONTINUED ...

TOMORROW'S EPISODE ... PART 5 - PREPARED

 

[Fossy]

"FeverTree - THE CRUCIFIXION OF MACKAYLA LANE"

PART 5 – PREPARED

My breasts are not over-large, but they are ample enough and the way in which my hands are tied behind my back thrusts them up and out, my nipples, constantly erect, must be poking out like bullets.

"Kneel." Mallucé’s voice.

There seems no point resisting, so I do as I am told, though the rough ground hurts my knees, so hot … my shins and feet feel as though they're burning.

Nobody cares: for perhaps twenty minutes, I am left, utterly naked but for a blindfold and the rope pinning my wrists so painfully together behind my back, the tight rope filling my mouth.

The sun is fierce on my already welted and sore skin, searing my breasts and belly, my thighs, my face, my shoulders. Despite the length of my unbound hair, I can feel the rays on the nape of my neck … it burns, I hurt and I am so fucking scared.

Eventually, I become aware of people standing over me again.

"Remove her gag."

I cough and splutter as the tight binding is removed from between my lips, and I’m grateful in a cold-comforted kind of way. Although I cannot see I sense that we are deep into the Burren, in a remote location selected for this specific purpose. We are not likely to be interrupted here. The executioners have done this before.

Then I remembered that this desolate place was littered with old wooden crosses. Relics from a violent era. Was I to be crucified?

I hate my mind for filling me with that thought, and with my mouth now free from the gag, I whimper.

Then I blink. My eyes hurt. The cloth blocking my vision is removed. I wished it hadn’t, for now I can see the lascivious expressions on the group that had accompanied me, the raging bulges in their pants and worst of all the thick glob of saliva as it slowly drips from Mallucé’s split and broken mouth.

My hands are untied and the pain as the rope comes free and the blood refills my empty veins is agonising. I feel my knees crumple and a hand grips me to stop me from collapsing.

Shackles replace the rope and my hands are chained in front of my body before I am guided to a heavy post in the middle of the clearing.

The chains from my wrist shackles are looped over a high hook and pulled taught, so that I stand straight against the post, facing it. I know what’s coming. The rough wood of the post scrapes my breasts and stomach, causing pain as if small needles were being pushed in to my flesh. I push back, trying to get away from the post but the chains above are too tight, I am almost on tip toe as it is.

I stand... waiting. I watch the ungodly group watching me, feeling tears streaming down my cheek.

The sound from Mallucé’s lust-fuelled flock, comes closer, as they approach to observe my flogging.

Some are openly talking about me, observing my long hair, commenting on the welts from the previous whipping, and admiring my shape.

I judder when someone touches my left breast, and caresses the nipple. More hands touch other parts of my body - my ass, between my legs, breasts, hair and face. I wriggle, though it is to no avail.

“Do you enjoy their attention Mackayla?” It is the monster speaking. I should ignore his taunting, his mocking words, but instead I find myself whispering,

“Fuck you …”

He laughs and he talking subsides ...

“I am going to beat you even more viciously this time Mackalya Lane!”

Then suddenly, and without further warning, the first lash of the flogger strikes my back sending a searing pain around my body. My head jerks back in response to the burning pain and I gasp.

I see the blue sky for the first time that morning, and I wonder... will I ever see it again? Am I already that far gone?

And then the sting of another stroke jerks me back to the here and now. My back and sides are raw from the strokes previously laid upon my flesh, but this round is hurting a lot more. I press my head hard against the post, trying to deal with the depth of pain that radiates through me.

The whipping starts at the top of my body, my upper back, with the ends of the lash licking my breasts all the way to the nipples. Mallucé methodically whips me … my shoulders, my ass, my thighs … I know that blood is flowing, my blood, I can feel it trickle down my body.

Then finally, it is over. I am sagging against the post. Beaten again. Exhausted. Maddened. Sobbing ... I am drooling saliva, and tears are streaming down my cheeks.

I am unhooked from the whipping post and fall helplessly to the ground, my body broken beyond comprehension. There is no way I can stand, let alone walk, but yet I am pulled up by the roots of my hair and led a short distance away. I stumble more than once, falling because I am weak from exhaustion and pain.

Then once more I hear the command.

“Kneel!”

I wait in situ, actually grateful for the time to rest. My arms are recovering, and my legs. I wait there, feeling blood begin to circulate normally, breathing unhindered... it feels good. A rest. I know it will not be for long.

Oh my God, no please ... in spite of the heat, a chill runs through my body. I see men bringing up a large wooden beam.


TO BE CONTINUED ...

TOMORROW'S EPISODE ... PART 6 - MOUNTED

 

[Fossy]

"FeverTree - THE CRUCIFIXION OF MACKAYLA LANE"

PART 6 – MOUNTED

Looking around I see crosses sprouting from the ground. It is the first I have seen of the crucifixes. They are real. Big, heavy, ominous. I try not to look, but I can't help it ... this beam, this wooden thing that they carry, will cause me untold suffering very soon.

I force down the bile that rises, but the sickness is there, in the pit of my stomach.

The first cross beam is placed beside me, and then lifted over my shoulder.

“Please Mallucé …” I am not above begging for my life now, “I will do anything, anything at all.” And it was true, I would … absolutely anything. I was scared, terrified and I pleaded with him.

But my implorations only served to inflame the glint in his eye and the smirk on his mouth.

“You already have Mackayla, I have taken all I want from you, all except for the desire to see you nailed to a cross, writhing and squirming in front of my men …”

I closed my eyes … it would soon be over.

“This is the Patibulum Mackayla, YOUR Patibulum. It is the cross beam for the crucifix and it is for you to carry …” Once again Mallucé mocked me. I could not hear his words just the sentiment that I would be carrying this thick, burdensome piece of wood.

I am stood upright as the beam is placed upon my shoulders. I gasp and struggle, my knees bending. Splinters dig in to my skin and I cry out as the weight of this huge piece of wood, whatever he called it, presses me down to the ground. It is too heavy …

My back is lashed, hard, and I hear someone say "Pick it up bitch."

The lash again. I push up, moving my legs under my body and just as I think I am getting the cross up into a standing position, the whip strikes me again and I falter, collapsing back to my knees. Three more attempts, each accompanied by a lash, and I have the crossbeam over my shoulder once more as I stand and begin to walk.

There is a slight incline in the Burren ahead and I drag the instrument of my execution upwards. My back and sides are on fire from the flogging, and the cross is rasping and tearing at the skin of my shoulder. I think I might die before they even get me to where they want me.

Finally, at the top of the rise, I fall and allow the cross to lay on the ground. I collapse next to it, exhausted, unable to move.

Twisting my head to the side I see an even larger piece of wood lying a few feet away.

Mallucé sees where my gaze is directed and smiles down at me, his eyes roving over my dirty, sweating, bleeding nudity.

“That’s the upright Mackayla, the crux, the simplex … it’s completes the cross, your cross!”

I have little interest in his words. I know my fate and despite the intensity of my anguish I accept that I can do nothing to change it.

Without further pause I am rolled over to where the longer piece of wood resides. Acting on auto and without thinking how useless my efforts are, I begin struggling … but to no effect. My efforts are pathetic. I am easily thrown over onto the wood, my protests, such as they were, swatted nonchalantly away.

As I lay on my back staring up at the blue sky, I feel the rough edges of the cross beam as it is pushed under me, forcing its splintered surface into my shoulders. There is now a full cross under me. I am beyond scared, and I see the clouds, white and fluffy, above me, but this time with the leering faces of my executioners silhouetted into the scene.

Then … the nails appear. They have huge nails! And they’re for me!

I panic and scream loudly, as the spike is placed next to my head. The huge hammer comes down and starts pounding. The spike is being driven in to the wood in order to fix the whole cross in place, not into me … but I’m hysterical.

“Hold the bitch still while the Patibulum is connected to the upright crux, it’s her turn after that.”

Mallucé’s words did not calm my hysteria.

Two of the entourage grip my arms, one at each side, holding me against the wood. My struggling is to no avail.

Heavy ropes are tied around my wrists, and looped around the beam. My struggling subsides as it becomes clear to me that there is no escape.

Then a spike is against my wrists … this is it …

“Just underneath her palm, not her wrist directly, that will kill her too quickly.” Mallucé’s voice issues instructions, as the point of the nail moves a little higher.

Then a swift flash of an arm, and a hammer … the agony is instantaneous. I arch up away from the wood, almost breaking my arm, which remains tightly held as another blow drives the iron spike through me and into the timber.

I feel sick. Bile rises from the pit of my stomach and I turn my head to puke it up. And then my other arm is being held in position, and my hand readied.

“Fuckkkkkkkkkkk!” I find the strength to cry out as the spike is driven into me …

I feel like throwing up again … from pain, exhaustion, stress and fear.

Then a fog descends inside my head, and I lay still for a while, eyes closed, feeling the warm blood running out of my broken body.

The heavy upright beam of the cross, to which I am now nailed, is under my back, and I press with my feet on the ground on either side of it to lift myself off of it for a moment. As a consequence of my action I arch my back, with my hips in the air, my groin thrust out. It’s then that I hear the appreciative chatting of the observers. They are enjoying the "show" I am putting on for them. I immediately settle back down on the wood and for the first time I feel something between my thighs, high enough to lightly brush the lips of my pussy … except it’s touch is rough, and jagged and not feather like in any way.

Mallucé leans over me, blocking the sun again, and grins.

“You’ve found the sedile huh Mackayla? It’s your wooden dildo … not too large, but rough and sharp, and for your real pleasure we have a sprouting Cornu, another pointed piece of wood that will slip inside you, but not enough to get you off. However, it will enhance the show for everyone watching … and be assured that it will hurt!” he moved away laughing.

Rope is tied around my upper arm, on each side and I am firmly attached, I'm the prisoner of my cross.

One of the men swings a wooden mallet and I scream on cue, jerking and twisting my torso as my feet are also nailed. It takes several agonising blows to get the spike fully through me to the wood, and I hear bone splintering as I see my own blood splatter high into the air.


TO BE CONTINUED ...

TOMORROW'S EPISODE ... PART 7 - CRUCIFIED (The Final Part)

 

[Fossy]

"FeverTree - THE CRUCIFIXION OF MACKAYLA LANE"

PART 7 – CRUCIFIED


I hear feral pitch of a surrounding cry … it is mine … as my audience listens to the hammer blows mixing with my screams.

I feel hands on my body, my breasts … then moving down on my stomach, between my thighs …

My feet are nailed, as are my hands but the position will still allow me to push up and down using my legs to leverage whatever space I can.

The cross, with me on it, must be a very heavy weight, and it takes several of Mallucé’s men to grip the crossbeam and push upwards. As the timber slowly rises the beam is lifted free of the ground and begins to oscillate from side to side.

My body begins to slide downwards and I scream.

“Please, Mallucé, don’t do this … please …” I know already that it is too late.

I lick my lips and try to swallow but my mouth is drier than chalk dust. My arms shake and my legs tremble as I try to press my body back into the wood. It is as if I hope to find some safety in the embrace of my crucifix.

More men push and the cross continues to rise. Weight begins to transfer from my back to my legs, then my feet and I have nothing to hold onto.

I look up to the skies and shout out for my daddy ... I miss him so much and now I will never see him again …

I feel the sedile firmly planted between my thighs, the other piece already penetrating my pussy, and it is so damn sharp just like the monster said.

Completely upright, the cross slides into the pre-dug hole which is now quickly being filled in with … whatever … mud, soil … cement!

Then it is stable … planted; I'm trapped, ensnared as any ancient prisoner was before me on this wild Burren, crucified and displayed before a lustful crowd. The beginnings of panic flicker in my head and I try to control them. Testing the strength of my bonds, I push upwards from my thighs throwing my body's weight, twisting to the left then to the right.

The cross vibrates like a straining lover but doesn't sway. I lower myself gingerly knowing that the evil Cornu will push inside me, and its other piece, the sedile or whatever he said, will bear most of my weight.

It is the most invasive, appalling thing ever, impaling me and I push away again.

I raise and lower my hips trying to find a less uncomfortable position but, in the end, must hold myself up with arms and legs. I slide all the way back onto my wooden lover pressing my back hard against the upright, and I realise that I have begun to unwittingly fuck myself on it.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, the erect sedile piece is phallic by design, its purpose to open and penetrate flesh … my flesh!

With a sigh I slide forward unable to block the wood from slipping inside me, my pussy rasps up and over the rough surface as the point enters my body once more. It presses along the crack of my ass as I lower myself further. My legs fold and my arms support most of my weight. In this position I seem to be kneeling in mid-air with my legs splayed wide open.

The wooden point is so deep inside me that it is pressing into my insides, and so with all my remaining strength I push upwards. I can only maintain this position for a few moments then, to a loud cheer, I slide back onto the phallus. His monsters, the ones watching me, chatter impatiently, they want to touch me ...

The wooden invader is enjoying my torment, screwing me, fucking me, raping me … having its way with me. I don’t want it to, of course, but my body is on automatic response now as I begin to rub slowly across the protruding wood.

I look down, and see my naked breasts heaving, sweat trickling down my stomach, and my feet bleeding ... is it really me? Am I being crucified naked, before a gang of hideous monsters?

Once more I ease away from the sedile, which now feels lubricated, at least a little, but as I realise that there will be no respite for me, that all is to be pain, no matter what I do, I begin to cry again.

Regardless of the agony, it is clear what I must do. To breathe, and relieve the strain on my arms and back, I must push upwards again. And so, I do … or at least I try, but it is not enough, and I immediately fall back down. The executioners have done a good job of exhausting me to make it hard to cope on the cross, and once more I am impaled.

I try again, pushing up with my nailed feet, but also pulling with my arms. This time I make it up just a little, and I am standing with my arms wide apart, and the pain in my back and chest is relieved … I can breathe more easily.

For a brief moment … and then I fall. Unable to control my descent I hit the dildo with some force and it skewers me in one foul movement.

Mallucé’s men are staring at me, observing, enjoying the site of my nude body hung before them. I hear comments ...

"How long do you think she will last?",

"That must fucking hurt so much ...",

"I wish I could have fucked her first...".

The humiliation of being exposed, my pain the object of others enjoyment, crashes over me once again. Suddenly, I lose all strength in my legs and I slip further down, to hang only by my widespread arms, my pussy opened wide.

My head jerks forward, long hair falling as a curtain to my breasts. The hair is wet and sticks to my shoulders and chest. I see my ribs, as the flesh is pulled taught. My stomach is straining to assist my breathing. My feet are so damaged that they are rendered useless, unable now to hold me upright.

I am approached and touched.

Mallucé looks up at me. “How does that feel Mackayla?”

I spit out the words "Fuck You..." in a quiet voice, and he smiles. Then slowly, gently, almost lovingly, he caresses my hips and between my legs.

I am aware of how I must look. What the observers are seeing, how they derive pleasure from me. When I struggle up, I know it is exciting to them as they watch muscles in my body strain and move. When I collapse, it gives them a thrill, seeing the weight shift once again to my back, shoulders and arms, and the taunting sedile have its evil way with me.

I feel the swaying of my breasts, and observe through the haze of my reducing consciousness how they are looking between my legs, and seeing all of me.

How long have I been here?

I am nothing but an object, something hanging out on display simply for the pleasure of others, and I will die here, my death a thing of fantasy for those that witness it.

How long have I been here?

My hands are numb. My arms are one large bundle of pain extending to my shoulders and back. Once again, I push myself up, and the wood slips free. I wriggle to the side, trying to find a place or position to place the strain on other muscles ... to relieve this horrible pain. But it’s useless … I try anyway.

Before my face something appears. What is it? It takes a moment before I realize that someone has brought a sponge on a pole. The sponge is soaked with water. Thirst suddenly takes over my entire being and I reach my head out and take the sponge in my mouth, sucking the water from it. There isn't much, but it helps.

The pain in my feet and weakness in my legs makes my body fail me again. I slip down onto my wooden lover, and realise I am urinating. I have lost bladder control. I don't care anymore, I lost control of my body a long time ago.

When am I going to die?

The cramping in my back has been getting worse, and I keep shifting my body from side to side to try to relieve it. It makes no difference.

My hair is in my face. Stuck there, by the sweat. I wish I could move it.

And now there are flies, buzzing around me, and landing on me. They are nothing to the pain wracking my arms, shoulders, chest, stomach, but I still notice them. They become more annoying, adding to my torment ... I try to shake them off. Mistake. Pain slices down one side of my back and down a leg, into my body. I scream...

Up again... try to lift myself up. Look out, see Mallucé’s men. Some are sitting, enjoying the spectacle. Then I slide back down the cross onto the waiting erection. I am wet, I can feel it, which helps passage for the sedile. But Mallucé was right, I cannot reach orgasm …

How long have I been here?

I was trying to count the number of times I raised myself up. I no longer do. Breathing in random, ragged jerks, I keep raising myself up, briefly freeing my body from its constant rape, gasping, holding it for as long as I can, and then back down once more to be impaled.

My thighs are spread apart and now shake when I attempt to push, and I don't care. Humiliation is long gone, replaced by desperation ... how long will I last?

My mind fogs …

My body is numb …

I am lost …

How long will I last …?

How long will I …?

How long …?

How …?

…?

THE END​

 

[Fossy]

Thank you all for supporting my story "FeverTree - THE CRUCIFIXION OF MACKAYLA LANE" - I hope you all enjoyed the narrative in Mac's own words. I have since discovered more images of first hand accounts from people who were there - presumably members of Mallucé’s crew. I thought I would share them with you.

 

[nicole]

Thank you all for supporting my story "FeverTree - THE CRUCIFIXION OF MACKAYLA LANE" - I hope you all enjoyed the narrative in Mac's own words. I have since discovered more images of first hand accounts from people who were there - presumably members of Mallucé’s crew. I thought I would share them with you.

The pictures are very beautiful thank you

 

[Fossy]

The pictures are very beautiful thank you

Thank you Nicole, your support is very much appreciated

 

[josé miguel tecles verdú]

“FeverLash” - The Whipping of Dani O’Malley Part 3


He turned to the two assistants and gave them an order. They moved quickly to the frame, stooped and adjusted the leather straps so that they pulled Dani’s ankles wider. The belt was removed from around her waist, which in itself was a relief, but when a wooden post, laying horizontal on a wheeled stand was moved towards her and then pushed hard, through the metal ‘V’ shape at the front of the frame, and into her stomach, Dani realised what they had done.

Brakes set the wheels of the platform immovably stationary, and the bound girl’s body was forced backwards. Standing behind her the whipmaster let a malicious smile play on his lips. Her ass was now stretched towards him, her pussy full exposed with the lips slightly parted and, with her buttocks also separated her anus was now unprotected.

The audience lapped this up, cheering wildly as the Officer presiding felt his erection harden.

To survey fully her new, slightly bent, position, the whipmaster walked around Dani’s body and stood before her, a little to one side. He raised the whip high over his shoulder and then released his arm.

“Thwack!”

“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii … feckkkkkkkkkkk!” The stroke had raise the beaten girl’s level of consciousness as she issued a piercing scream, and her bent body writhed frantically with new agony.

Without needed to inspect the damage the whipmaster knew that the lash had cut down between her ass cheeks and sliced under, the steel tipped end kissing her open cunt.

He chuckled to himself as he imagined the exquisite nature of the pain she would now be feeling.

“Crack!” Another long, drawn-out scream echoed throughout the auditorium. Adjusting his angle a little the whipmaster’s aim cut across a more fleshy part of Dani’s perfect ass before once more slashing into her pussy.

“Thwack” The pleasing sound of another loud scream was music to his ears. The stroke had mirrored the pervious one, but this time the steel tip had sliced across her left buttock.

His erection was raging.

“Crack!”

“Thwack!”

“Crack!”

“Thwack!”

“Crack!”

Five more strokes landed. Each one producing a loud cry, leaving poor Dani trembling uncontrollably, her ass cheeks, anus and pussy all now welted and swollen.

Her body writhed enchantingly once more as it attempted to absorb the pain. She screamed louder now, and she knew not where her strength to do so had come from.

Driven by both torment and hatred Dani forced herself to raise her head as much as she could. The agony was forcing arousal far away from her naked body, but the relentless beating was surely breaking her.

The young girl could feel the emotion well up, and new tears spilled out much to the delight of everyone watching.

“Please … Master …” she screamed, using the suffix that she thought he would want to hear.

“Please, no more, no more … no more, I can’t take … any … more.” And with that her head dropped to her chest, her long red hair forming a hanging curtain around her pretty face.

“I will do anything you want of me M … Master … but please do not whip … me … any … more …”

She was slowly losing the ability to speak or think straight.

The whipmaster looked at the Officer and they both smiled, one nodding to the other.

Even if his attempts to arouse her had been thwarted, she had been broken … this pretty despot, this beautiful terrorist …

She would remember this flogging for the rest of her life, the day that Dani O’Malley had been made to regret her misdeeds.

The whipmaster moved back to her rear.

“Thwack!”

“Crack!”

“Thwack!”

Three more times the steel tips landed on her back, raking more of the flesh from her naked body.

The pain and writhing had exhausted poor Dani and she could no longer scream, merely jerking feverishly in response to each stroke.

On the third, and what was to be the final lash, her body arched rigid, pushing her stomach hard against the end of the wooden post, and the hurt escalated beyond her threshold of endurance and she sank into welcome oblivion.

Her pain-wracked body collapsed to hang by the wrists, pressing into the post. The whipmaster returned the whip to the assistants, who themselves had stood passively and watched the sentence being executed, as had the deliriously happy audience.

Under instruction from the presiding Officer, the menial humans moved back to frame, unfastened Dani’s prostrate body, allowing her to fall to the floor of the platform.

She lay powerless on her stomach before a semblance of consciousness came back to her and she dragged herself first of all onto her side and then to her knees before collapsing onto the beaten skin of her naked back.

It was then that her arms were grabbed and Dani, beaten, bloodied and broken, was dragged from the stage …

THE END OF DANI O'MALLEY'S MISTREATMENT ... for now.​

Beneath it and also around it was blood from the spatter of brutal torture. The executioner even saw small pieces of the girl's skin on the ground.

“FeverLash” - The Whipping of Dani O’Malley Part 3


He turned to the two assistants and gave them an order. They moved quickly to the frame, stooped and adjusted the leather straps so that they pulled Dani’s ankles wider. The belt was removed from around her waist, which in itself was a relief, but when a wooden post, laying horizontal on a wheeled stand was moved towards her and then pushed hard, through the metal ‘V’ shape at the front of the frame, and into her stomach, Dani realised what they had done.

Brakes set the wheels of the platform immovably stationary, and the bound girl’s body was forced backwards. Standing behind her the whipmaster let a malicious smile play on his lips. Her ass was now stretched towards him, her pussy full exposed with the lips slightly parted and, with her buttocks also separated her anus was now unprotected.

The audience lapped this up, cheering wildly as the Officer presiding felt his erection harden.

To survey fully her new, slightly bent, position, the whipmaster walked around Dani’s body and stood before her, a little to one side. He raised the whip high over his shoulder and then released his arm.

“Thwack!”

“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii … feckkkkkkkkkkk!” The stroke had raise the beaten girl’s level of consciousness as she issued a piercing scream, and her bent body writhed frantically with new agony.

Without needed to inspect the damage the whipmaster knew that the lash had cut down between her ass cheeks and sliced under, the steel tipped end kissing her open cunt.

He chuckled to himself as he imagined the exquisite nature of the pain she would now be feeling.

“Crack!” Another long, drawn-out scream echoed throughout the auditorium. Adjusting his angle a little the whipmaster’s aim cut across a more fleshy part of Dani’s perfect ass before once more slashing into her pussy.

“Thwack” The pleasing sound of another loud scream was music to his ears. The stroke had mirrored the pervious one, but this time the steel tip had sliced across her left buttock.

His erection was raging.

“Crack!”

“Thwack!”

“Crack!”

“Thwack!”

“Crack!”

Five more strokes landed. Each one producing a loud cry, leaving poor Dani trembling uncontrollably, her ass cheeks, anus and pussy all now welted and swollen.

Her body writhed enchantingly once more as it attempted to absorb the pain. She screamed louder now, and she knew not where her strength to do so had come from.

Driven by both torment and hatred Dani forced herself to raise her head as much as she could. The agony was forcing arousal far away from her naked body, but the relentless beating was surely breaking her.

The young girl could feel the emotion well up, and new tears spilled out much to the delight of everyone watching.

“Please … Master …” she screamed, using the suffix that she thought he would want to hear.

“Please, no more, no more … no more, I can’t take … any … more.” And with that her head dropped to her chest, her long red hair forming a hanging curtain around her pretty face.

“I will do anything you want of me M … Master … but please do not whip … me … any … more …”

She was slowly losing the ability to speak or think straight.

The whipmaster looked at the Officer and they both smiled, one nodding to the other.

Even if his attempts to arouse her had been thwarted, she had been broken … this pretty despot, this beautiful terrorist …

She would remember this flogging for the rest of her life, the day that Dani O’Malley had been made to regret her misdeeds.

The whipmaster moved back to her rear.

“Thwack!”

“Crack!”

“Thwack!”

Three more times the steel tips landed on her back, raking more of the flesh from her naked body.

The pain and writhing had exhausted poor Dani and she could no longer scream, merely jerking feverishly in response to each stroke.

On the third, and what was to be the final lash, her body arched rigid, pushing her stomach hard against the end of the wooden post, and the hurt escalated beyond her threshold of endurance and she sank into welcome oblivion.

Her pain-wracked body collapsed to hang by the wrists, pressing into the post. The whipmaster returned the whip to the assistants, who themselves had stood passively and watched the sentence being executed, as had the deliriously happy audience.

Under instruction from the presiding Officer, the menial humans moved back to frame, unfastened Dani’s prostrate body, allowing her to fall to the floor of the platform.

She lay powerless on her stomach before a semblance of consciousness came back to her and she dragged herself first of all onto her side and then to her knees before collapsing onto the beaten skin of her naked back.

It was then that her arms were grabbed and Dani, beaten, bloodied and broken, was dragged from the stage …

THE END OF DANI O'MALLEY'S MISTREATMENT ... for now.​

a little added variation at story:

Beneath it and also around it was blood from the spatter of brutal torture. The executioner even saw small pieces of the girl's skin on the ground.

 

[josé miguel tecles verdú]

"FeverLash” - The Whipping of Dani O’Malley Part 2


She heard the whip whistle through the air first, and then …

“Thwack!” Dani, expecting the blow across her bare back was unprepared when she felt the wicked lash explode over her buttocks, curling around her hip, slicing into the flesh.

The shock and the pain drove the breath from her body and she arced forward before releasing a piercing cry.

Dani had no time at all to recover before the next stroke cracked across her exposed shoulders. It felt as if her skin had been flayed to the bone, but she managed to choke back her scream in some vainglorious attempt to appear stoic.

“Thwack!” Another lash across her ass, the steel tipped end of the lash curling once more around her body to cut into her stomach. Her resolve to be brave finally broke.

“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii …” The scream from the poor, young girl was short and shrill.

“Thwack!” Another lash quickly followed striping her from shoulder blade to hip.

“Aaaaarrrrgggggh!” A little lower down on her back this time, and the steel tip of the lash coiled around her once more and bit harshly into the underneath of her soft breast.

“Feckkkkkkkkin’ hell!” Dani yelled, giving up any attempt to disguise just how much the whip was hurting. She began to writhe in a pointless attempt to evade the whip as waves of agony soared through her.

The whipmaster paused before laying on the next stroke, and slowly, during that all too brief recess, the cheering of the lust-hungry, blood-thirsty crowd percolated into her head.

The girl had performed well so far, he thought to himself. Most are begging for mercy by now. He looked at Dani’s back and ass. The welts left by the whip already a dark red against her fair skin. She made a very pleasing and provocative picture indeed!

Dani was no longer just writhing, she was struggling frantically, trying to loosen the straps and free herself. But, of course, her efforts were in vain. Held securely by the wrists and ankles, she could do nothing more … other than writhe. However, she was aware enough to try and restrict her uncontrolled movements because if she should turn the wrong way at the wrong moment, she could expose the front of her body to the vicious lash.

And that was unthinkab …

“Feckkkkkkkk!” Her thoughts were could short by a new explosion of angry fire across her body.

“Crack!”

“Thwack!”

“Crack!”

“Thwack”

Her cries were feral, loud and continuous, but lost in the frenzy as the whipmaster beat her savagely, landing stroke after stroke without pause.

Then two lashes across her back, more spaced out … allowing time for Dani to scream, and arch away from the frame.

How many more? The bound girl thought to herself. She had lost tally of the strokes and they had, thankfully, not made her count her own suffering out loud. Already she was covered in a sheen of glistening perspiration mixing freely with the rivulets of blood that oozed from certain of the welted cuts. Tears streamed down her face to drip from her chin onto her breasts.

“Secure her more tightly,” she heard the presiding Officer callout. Dani knew that her ordeal was far from over.

The mortal assistants rushed forward and secured a leather strap around her waist that clipped onto the frame at either side. It was buckled tightly cinching her body into position.

Dani felt the strap pulled around her and she gasped. Now she could not even writhe in an attempt to distract herself from the agony, or in an attempt to minimise the impact of the lash … damn it, she could hardly breathe!

Another whistle through the air. A thud as the steel-tipped leather struck home, followed by a heart-rending scream … her scream.

She was held immobile in the frame as more strokes were laid on her poor body in quick succession, four across her back and four more slicing into her ass cheeks. Her cries rang out much to the delight of the audience, their presence here now being amply rewarded through the visible suffering of poor Danielle O’Malley.

The whipmaster smiled. He did not mind her screams, they motivated him, stimulated him, drove him on … how he would love to fuck her while she was strapped into the frame, her body beaten, battered and broken.

The perfect toy!

During this brief pause he surveyed his handiwork. Dani was sobbing uncontrollably as she attempted desperately to draw air into her lungs. Her throat was sore from screaming and her body was involuntarily jerking and shuddering as if she was still being flogged.

The whipmaster was pleased with his performance. He knew that each stoke had been true and inflicted the maximum pain.

“Check her.” The Officer shouted down. The whipmaster looked up and nodded. Placing his bloodied whip in the hands of one of the assistants he moved closer to Dani. Putting his arms around her from behind he cupped her breasts. The nipples were soft, and even upon receiving his touch, showed no signs of springing into life. There was no sign of any arousal whatsoever in her body.

To further confirm he forced a hand between her parted thighs and ran his fingers over her labia. Like her nipples, there was no evidence of stimulation. They were not opened, nor moist. He looked up at the Officer and responded, “Nothing, Sir.”

“Then you will correct that.” The instruction was clear and unambiguous.

Moving the Dani’s front the whipmaster took her delicate chin in his large hand and raised her head so that her heavy-lidded eyes could look at him.

“You are taking the whip well girl, but you are defying me. You will not do so any longer. Your body will respond when I touch it. If you do not then you will be fed to my guards for them to enjoy the pleasures of your flesh. Do you understand?”

Dani understood only too well, and she nodded with a slow, painful movement of her head.

The flogging then resumed. Dani lost count of the number of additional strokes that came, nor had she any idea of how many more she would receive.

She could no longer scream, only groan with a deep, plaintive, guttural sound each time the steel tips and the leather bit into her body, her conscious state manifesting only through involuntary bodily shudders and the relentless mewing of her voice.

Through the mist that fogged her brain, Dani, once more, felt hands on her breasts and a deep moan escaped her mouth as fingers opened up her pussy, stroking her inside. Then her nipples were being pulled and tweaked, suckled upon and they too became aroused, hardening to the delight of everyone watching.

Never before in her short life had Dani felt so dominated, and as a consequence, so vulnerable as she did right now, secured into the whipping frame, her back and ass throbbing from many savage strokes of the steel-tipped whip.

These abominable wretches, Fae from the Planet X, had whipped her … hard. They had forced her to submit to this terrible pain that was being inflicted on her young body. She hated them, and was more determined than ever to continue her Fae-killing spree … if only she could survive this and then escape.

And now they were adding to her humiliation and anguish by having the man who had wielded the whip touch her, making her respond to his ministrations.

But she set her mind, and resolved that even if they made her beg for mercy, or scream the place down she would not give him, nor the Officer, nor the monsters watching this horrific spectacle, the satisfaction of responding to his use of her body.

She would harness the hatred she felt to continue her defiance.

“Recommence!” More instructions, clear in their meaning.

Dani felt a shroud of despair fall over her. But even worse was the threat that she would be fed to his guards. How could she continue to defy him and not suffer an even worse fate?

The whipmaster stepped away from the frame and once more picked up the lash.

a variation posible add on:
Dani felt the strap pulled around her and she gasped. Now she could not even writhe in an attempt to distract herself from the agony, or in an attempt to minimise the impact of the lash … damn it, she could hardly breathe!

The executioner looked at the girl's already bleeding back. She was thin and to the liking of many men she should have had some more meat on her bones, but I don't know why she felt brutal lust when she saw that body brutally flogged. She was brave, because others would have passed out already, but she did not, although she screamed like never before!

You wild bastards! She couldn't believe she was whipped with steel-tipped whips! The girl thought.

 

[josé miguel tecles verdú]

"Turning her head Dani whispered, “Do it!” It was false bravado ..." “FeverLash” - The Whipping of Dani O’Malley Part 1"

You've chosen a beautiful model for Dani, but I also like Julia Yaroshenko. I think in my opinion she is prettier. One of my sins is to imagine Julia being tortured.

 

[Fossy]

a variation posible add on:
Dani felt the strap pulled around her and she gasped. Now she could not even writhe in an attempt to distract herself from the agony, or in an attempt to minimise the impact of the lash … damn it, she could hardly breathe!

The executioner looked at the girl's already bleeding back. She was thin and to the liking of many men she should have had some more meat on her bones, but I don't know why she felt brutal lust when she saw that body brutally flogged. She was brave, because others would have passed out already, but she did not, although she screamed like never before!

You wild bastards! She couldn't believe she was whipped with steel-tipped whips! The girl thought.

Love the Bazzells at the links. Thank you my friend

 

[Fossy]

You've chosen a beautiful model for Dani, but I also like Julia Yaroshenko. I think in my opinion she is prettier. One of my sins is to imagine Julia being tortured.

Julia Yaroshenko is gorgeous for sure, and has some wonderful pictures and poses out there ideal for manipulation. I chose Erika Postnikova mainly because she is quite a bit younger than Julia, and in the books Dani is in fact a teenager. However, you will be delighted to know that these manipulations (posted as part of my story) were actually using Julia as the model ...

 

[Fossy]

PrisonFever - Mackayla Lane in the Unseelie Prison ...

The Unseelie Prison is a foreboding subterranean hell-hole that is used to house the worst of the Unseelie Fae. Monsters in their own right they are incarcerated with no means of escape. The males of their kind hardly ever see a woman. Imagine what might happen should they be presented with one as beautiful as Mackayla Lane ...

Mackayla Lane in the Unseelie Prison ... Part 1 "The Narrative"

With rock hard blue-black walls pushing out into the ocean, the Unseelie Fae’s prison is a daunting place. It is said that the same walls were the source for the four Rune Stones that can control the inherent malicious intent of the Sinsar-Dubh, the malevolent book whose sole intent is to control the world.

It has held Unseelie captives within its dark, foreboding confines for over half a million years, a stark arctic prison built of ice and stone.

And now it was to hold Mackayla Lane within its vindictive, impenetrable walls.

As she stood in the clearing carved into the rock, a holding place for new prisoners, Mac could very much feel the presence of the legendary four stones carved from the cliffs of the prison itself, etched with powerful spells, capable of holding the domineering Sinsar Dubh in a state of suspended animation.

As she contemplated being the first non-Unseelie inmate in this vast hell-hole, she replayed back Dani’s words in her head …

“We’re poised on the brink of our greatest challenge yet. Mac, if you fail to gain the Fae court’s loyalty, if they succeed in locking you away in the Unseelie prison then it will eventually kill you, too. Once they seize your power, they’ll either eradicate us from the face of this planet or enslave us. If they’ve locked you in that place as Cruce did to Aoibheal, the Seelie Fae Queen, every moment we waste could be ushering us all one step closer to death.”

That was then … and this is now.

Mackayla closed her eyes. She had failed them. The Fae Court had her arrested her and now she was here in this pit of monsters. The walls of this vast monstrosity held power of its own, too much for her to escape … too much for her to ever be rescued. They were forged hundreds of thousands of years ago from the Song of Making, the beginning of time. The walls of this prison were the essence of life, and she was to be incarcerated inside them. What would happen to Dani, Barrons, her family … they would indeed be eradicated!

The biting wind blew across exposed ground upon which her little entourage stood. The Warden, one of his junior officers and her … trembling, shivering Mackayla, the cold savagely chilling her body, biting through her clothes.

She knew that ever since Cruce had cursed the prison walls, they were connected in some way to the Silvers, the mirrored passageways that allowed travel between different worlds. But she had no idea where the portal to that junction was, and if it was easy to find then many of the Unseelie monstrosities held here would have escaped before now. In any event the Silvers are so impossible to navigate that attempting to escape by such means would be a lost cause from the start. One could stay lost inside the network of the Silvers forever.

Mac had often said to Barrons, her lover, “What’s the Unseelie prison like?” She had wanted to know if it was the cold place she sometimes went to in her dreams. If so, how could she possibly know of it in order to dream about it, without having been there? Well now she was here.

“But what does it look like?” She had also asked him.

She knew that inside these bowel-like depths there was no sun. No grass. No life. Just daunting, vast rock faces. Cold. Darkness. Despair. And hot fires. Large furnaces that help to heat the earth’s core. The air reeks of Fire and ice, sweat and grime, frost and sparks.

Mackayla had read that there are only three colours In the Prison: white, black, and flame yellow. The fabric of the place lacks the necessary chemical compositions for any other colours to exist. Skin is either pale, bleached white almost, or dark, tanned by the furnaces. Eyes were dull black. Lips, blue. Nothing grows. There is only hunger without sustenance. Lust without satisfaction. Pain without end. There are monsters here that have no desire to leave, because they are such brutes.

And now she was to be imprisoned alongside them …

Barrons had told her that there were creatures so twisted and monstrous in the Unseelie prison that they’d stay even if the walls between here and human earth came down, because they liked their home.

Mac shook her head and from the relative safety of her reverie she was back inside the prison, being held by the human guards employed by the Fae in this monstrosity of a penitentiary.

“I thought I’d let her sample our hospitality.” The Warden smiled a leer that was filled with evil intent.

“Give her something else to gripe about, more like, Warden” his junior colleague replied.

“Very likely,” the Warden replied, grinning at her again. “Get your clothes off then, bitch. Let’s have a look at you before we introduce you to your new friends.”

“And you better have a good strong back ’cause you’re gonna need it,” The other officer laughed out loud.

“Wha … what did you say?” Mac was more than taken aback.

“He said strip,” came the clarification that she didn’t need.

“I have already reminded you once that you aren’t a freewoman any more Mackayla Lane. Do you think you’re allowed to go around wearing clothes?”

Mac glanced to her side … was there any escape route that she might just have overlooked?

“Looks like she’ll need help, Warden.”

The very thought spurred Mac into reluctant action.

With some difficulty, she had already toed off her boots when an iron grip on the back of her neck forced her forwards until her right cheek was hard against the old wooden desktop, from where she caught a sideways glimpse of the Warden moving around behind her.

“No, you can’t,” Mac cried. “You’ve no right to be mauling me. Let me go, damn you!”

“Then get yourself naked with a little more urgency, bitch!”

She felt hands moving over her body, opening her shirt and loosening the button at the front of her jeans.

“I said no,” she almost screamed. “Oh, please, let me go!”

The Warden fumbled with the waistband of her jeans. They were too tight for him to pull down without assistance.

“Fuck! He vented his frustration as the progress in removing Mac’s clothes was halted. His distraction was brief. With brute force he dragged the denim down over her hips and let it fall. She lashed out a foot but it tangled in the material pooled around her ankles, leaving nothing but her skimpy white, lace underwear, underneath her open shirt, to cover her most intimate place.

Her protests grew louder and more frantic and terror gripped her as powerfully as the hand that had been at her neck. They were going to …. No, she would not even think the word! But it did not make the fear twisting her gut any easier to bear.

Her head spun and only huge mental effort helped her stave off her rising panic.

“Loan me your rod,” the Warden issued his command. Her vision misty with unshed tears, Mac only half-saw the Warden reach out with his open hand, and what he was offered was nothing but a blur to her. A second later a fiery streak of pain scorched the soft skin of her buttocks.

“Owww! Fuck! Agh! You fucking hit me! How dare you? I’ll ...” Mac was dealt another swift, stinging stroke, before she was once again jerked upright and turned to face the Warden.

“I’ve had enough of you.” His dark-brown eyes stared deep into Mac’s blue ones.

“That’s two strokes. I don’t suppose a delicate little flower like you has felt the rod before?”

Mac was no pampered pussy, but it was true that she had never been struck like that before.

“Well … I’ll strap you down properly and give you a dozen more if you don’t start behaving yourself. Unless that’s what you’re angling for. Is that it? Can’t you wait? Are you trying to get me to thrash you?”

Gobsmacked and rendered speechless, Mac gave an emphatic shake of her head.

“Okay, then get the rest of your clothes off. I’ve more important duties than dealing with new intake.” He let her go and Mac backed quickly away, only to take a hasty step forward as the smarting tracks across her bottom met the wall.

The Warden raised the long stick, as thick as her forefinger, and pressed it against the bare, soft skin on the fronts of her thighs. She saw his jaw lift along with an impatient eyebrow, sucked in a deep breath and began to remove her shirt.

Frightened and horribly embarrassed, she allowed the blouse join her jeans on the floor. His appraising look at Mac changed to a blatant ogle as he saw her standing in nothing but her white, lace underwear.

“Bra,” he ordered simply, the intent of his short command only too clear. In the act of unfastening it she stopped and dropped both hands to cover the smooth, bare flesh of her breasts, as the heat of embarrassment on her cheeks flamed higher.

“No one told you to stop,” the officer said, and tapped the stick on her thighs hard enough to sting.

“You son of a ...” She cut herself short as he raised the rod once more.

“No please, don’t!” Mac freed the last hook on the bra. With a gulp she slid the garment free of her breasts. Afraid he would hit her again if she tried to hide her nudity, she forced her hands to her sides, fingers clenched tight.

“Stand straight,” he said, and she squared her shoulders and cringed inwardly as the posture thrust her breasts out. She dared a glance at each man and then stared fixedly at the floor as her heart pounded, and she waited in dread for their assaults to begin.

“Nice tits,” the Warden observed. “I like them a little bigger but her nipples are cute. She’s got a fine set of muscles too by the look of things. Not overdeveloped but enough to give her one hell of a body. Turn around, Bitch, let’s see your ass.”

Bitterly humiliated, Mac turned. Her bottom buzzed painfully from the rod’s impacts. She had no wish to provoke any more. The Warden chuckled throatily. “Now that’s an ass, my friend. Firm as a little Georgia peach and just as juicy, I’ll bet. What do you say?”

“I expect she’ll be popular with the other inmates once we introduce her. But she had better have learned to do as she’s told by then.” He tapped the rod on Mac’s smarting bottom.

How the fuck did they know she was from Georgia? What else did they know about her? Given the Fae magic that existed inside those bastard Unseelie Princes, the owners of this hellish place, most probably every last detail!

“Continue,” came the instruction. Mac’s eyes widened. She only had one item of clothing left now.

She felt a sudden jerk at her hips followed by the sound of fabric snapping and lace tearing as her panties were ripped away.

She was stark naked in front of these two bastards.

“Now Ms Lane. Are you going to behave yourself?” Angry at the way they were discussing her, but still horribly afraid, she faced them, fighting the need to cover herself with her arms and, unable to hide her resentment, answered with a surly ‘Yes’.

“Say ‘Sir’,” The Warden said.

“Put your hands on your head.” Mac saw his gaze drop to her breasts as the movement lifted the two firm mounds and made their erect tips tilt further upwards. He slid the rod over her skin from her belly to indent the round underside of her left breast.

“Well?”

Her head was still spinning and her heart thumping madly. Mac took several seconds to understand before realising what he was waiting for.

“Yes, Sir,” she said at last, hating him for forcing the respectful word from her when all she felt was contempt. Yet she feared him.

“She seems unusual for one of her ‘Kind’,” the Warden said. “More often than not they’re already Pri’ya, panting hot and begging for it by now. You don’t think she’s crazy, do you?” Mac stared at him as another of her fears resurfaced.

Was he right? What other explanation was there? This had to be a hallucination. She surely couldn’t be going through this for real … could she?

“Not crazy. Just regretting her situation, I’d say,” the officer replied.

“Please!” Mac blurted. “Please, if only you’d listen for a minute I can explain.” If Mac sounded desperate, it’s because she was.

The pressure of the rod against her breast increased, lifting it higher. “You’ve done enough explaining,” he said. “You can start doing some obeying instead. We should escort her to Cellblock Z.” The Warden grinned.

The officer gave Mac a crooked smile. “Think she can handle those bastards?”

The Warden nodded, “But she’s a strong one, I think. She might see it through.”

It dawned on Mac they were not going to sexually assault her, not directly here and now, but she had heard enough to fear whatever it was they intended almost as much. She felt no relief when the officer laid the rod on the desk and opened the door.

“Come on then, Bitch,” the Warden said, taking her arm in tight grip, “I’ll introduce you to my prize inmates. They’re the finest in the prison …” He guffawed his mirth out loud as Mac was pushed forward.

The din of massive machinery assailed Mac again as they led her down the steps to an enormous room with its dim lights and swirling clouds of steam. It hammered her brain as well as her eardrums, denying her any chance of coherent thought. Once again only her practised self-control kept her fear and confusion at bay and stopped her from collapsing into a gibbering wreck.

She looked back on impulse. Behind her was nothing but darkness as they moved further into this blackened abyss.

Mac’s awareness of her own nudity intensified. Horribly, humiliatingly vulnerable and utterly helpless, she looked away and tried to steel herself for whatever awaited her. In the intense heat and humidity, she was streaming with sweat before they even reached the corridor at the end of the biggest dome that was the source of the flickering orange glow she had seen earlier.

A heavily muscled man, stripped to the waist, held behind steel bars, watched their approach and Mac shrank from the look he was giving her. White teeth shone in his grimy face as he grinned through broken fangs at her.

The Warden pulled a lever on the wall and the orange light flared to yellow and the indistinct figures in its shadow were instantly illuminated by a fiery glare. Mac would have turned and fled but for the insistent tug of the Warden’s hand on her arm. Painfully reluctant, she let herself be led further into the gloom.

Flames belched from four large cells at the end of the corridor, licking out until they were almost singeing the gleaming, sweat-streaked bodies that fed them. It was an enormous furnace and the inmates were feeding it, hurling shovelfuls of coal into the dazzling heart of its fire.

“Oh, my God!” Mac’s words were lost amid the din of machinery and the furnace’s fearsome roar. She turned from the flames and saw two men with their faces and naked torsos blackened by coal dust looking at her with lust-fuelled expressions. The Warden’s grip on her arm turned her back and said, “Okay, move.”

He pointed to a cell at the very end of this. She looked from his face to the cell and shook her head. “Please, don’t make me do …”

The Warden nodded to someone behind her. A line of searing agony tore across Mac’s shoulder blades. She looked around with a cry and saw both the men behind grinning at her. One of them was coiling a long, thin lash between his hands. The other held an identical whip.

Shocked, Mac shuddered at the stinging trail the lash had scored into her skin, and she shuffled her feet in the direction in which she was being herded.

“That’s better,” the Warden yelled above the noise. “Now move your sweet ass, we have people waiting for it!”

Desperately hoping that this was all a nightmare from which she would soon awaken, Mac looked down at the stone ground, choked back a sob and continued on her way …


******


Now, dear reader … immediately following this narrative we can see pictures depicting Mac as she stripped and was pushed in the direction of the furnaces.

Over the next few days we will see pictorial evidence of exactly what happened to the beautiful, hapless Mackayla as she was introduced to ‘Cellblock Z’

 

[Fossy]

PrisonFever - " ... get yourself naked with a little more urgency, bitch! ..."

 

[Fossy]

PrisonFever - “... No one told you to stop ...”

 

[Fossy]

PrisonFever - "... It was an enormous furnace and the inmates were feeding it, hurling shovelfuls of coal into the dazzling heart of its fire ..."

 

[Fossy]

Mackayla Lane in the Unseelie Prison ... Part 2 "CellBlock Z"

 

[Beate]

oOhhh

 

[Fossy]

PrisonFever - Mackayla Lane in the Unseelie Prison ... Part 3 "In The Hands of the Unseelie Monsters"

(Tomorrow in the fourth and final part - The Officers get their turn ...)

 

[bkcharmer]

"She heard the whip whistle through the air first, and then … "FeverLash” - The Whipping of Dani O’Malley Part 2"

Where can I find more pictures of Erika Postnikova?