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The Enemy Of Messaline’s Enemies
- Thread starter jacksjg89
- Start date
but it is a nice MkG2k7 pic tooI should post this one, but too known...It was my avatar, by the past...
it would not be that bad tough?perhaps a mixt...
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
Oh Messaline, you are so lovely. It's a shame what's about to happen, such a shame...perhaps a mixt...
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
(Still working, though I think I might do a second draft once everything's finished. See how seriously I'm taking this?)
Though Messaline had finally found sleep, curled up in the corner of the cell, trying to make herself as comfortable as she could with her bare skin on the stone cold floor. I was less successful, lying on my feathered bed with my mind racing. On a warm summer’s night like this, I should be on my sofa on the balcony, breathing in the fresh night air and listening to the silence. No, not on this night, or was it morning already? How long had it been?
I would be ever so surprised if there was ever a prisoner who lived in such comfort as me. The most beautifully crafted furniture accompanied me from prison to prison, an petrified wood writing desk, nude slave women carved on its legs to hold it up, several bookshelf’s, a soft bed, and a cushion bench out on a balcony that was made specifically for me, to see into the courtyard, as well as having a grand view of the city square.
From my prison balcony, I could see the sun rising. People were beginning to go about their daily life, barely noticing the additional decorations. Corpses hung from inside the city walls, beefy men impaled on spears and women hanging on hooks, defiled after death. The passing children threw rocks at them. Where there had been the slave Namma this morning, hanging by one ankle and both wrist, had been replaced by a line of 6 nude bodies hanging by the neck with their wrist tied. Cursed with the most comparative excellent vision, I could make out their faces as if they were across a table from me. There were two men and four women, swinging with the light breeze. One girl took my eye particularly. Thin and less muscular than her companion’s, she had no bruises on her white body. The struggle to subdue her must have not exercised her captor’s too much. But I noticed that her legs were spread apart, suggesting violation before death, and where the others had sacks over their heads, her face was a naked display of fear and despair. She had died with her blue eyes and mouth open and her tongue sticking out, forever frozen in horror in the last moments of her life. And the crowd around her, both men and women, pointed and laughed.
I left my balcony and went to check on Messaline. Through the little barred window between my relatively lavish apartments and her bit of prison, I saw the girl lying on her side, knees pressed up against her chest and face to the floor. Her slit showed between her legs. I had seen her all night, shifting uncomfortably in her sleep. I had seen what was happening outside, the screaming that had kept me away all night. So I looked for him. But he wasn’t where I could see him, although he usually is to most people. I felt his presence.
Though Messaline had finally found sleep, curled up in the corner of the cell, trying to make herself as comfortable as she could with her bare skin on the stone cold floor. I was less successful, lying on my feathered bed with my mind racing. On a warm summer’s night like this, I should be on my sofa on the balcony, breathing in the fresh night air and listening to the silence. No, not on this night, or was it morning already? How long had it been?
I would be ever so surprised if there was ever a prisoner who lived in such comfort as me. The most beautifully crafted furniture accompanied me from prison to prison, an petrified wood writing desk, nude slave women carved on its legs to hold it up, several bookshelf’s, a soft bed, and a cushion bench out on a balcony that was made specifically for me, to see into the courtyard, as well as having a grand view of the city square.
From my prison balcony, I could see the sun rising. People were beginning to go about their daily life, barely noticing the additional decorations. Corpses hung from inside the city walls, beefy men impaled on spears and women hanging on hooks, defiled after death. The passing children threw rocks at them. Where there had been the slave Namma this morning, hanging by one ankle and both wrist, had been replaced by a line of 6 nude bodies hanging by the neck with their wrist tied. Cursed with the most comparative excellent vision, I could make out their faces as if they were across a table from me. There were two men and four women, swinging with the light breeze. One girl took my eye particularly. Thin and less muscular than her companion’s, she had no bruises on her white body. The struggle to subdue her must have not exercised her captor’s too much. But I noticed that her legs were spread apart, suggesting violation before death, and where the others had sacks over their heads, her face was a naked display of fear and despair. She had died with her blue eyes and mouth open and her tongue sticking out, forever frozen in horror in the last moments of her life. And the crowd around her, both men and women, pointed and laughed.
I left my balcony and went to check on Messaline. Through the little barred window between my relatively lavish apartments and her bit of prison, I saw the girl lying on her side, knees pressed up against her chest and face to the floor. Her slit showed between her legs. I had seen her all night, shifting uncomfortably in her sleep. I had seen what was happening outside, the screaming that had kept me away all night. So I looked for him. But he wasn’t where I could see him, although he usually is to most people. I felt his presence.
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
This is the continued in the to be continued.
Six months of her host hospitality, six months of being in naught but her skin, displayed, humiliated and tortured, with the same iron shackles never leaving her body. She screamed without shedding a tear. She was beaten and whipped without begging for mercy. She was kept naked, yet stood upright. She was a true princess in captivity.
In all this time, they did not let her waste away. Her legs were firm and muscled, as was her bottom. Her bush was regularly groomed so that a solid patch of golden fur ran in a small triagle above her slit without covering it. And she was still a virgin. That was my doing. Although to be fair, all of it was my doing. That's why I am treated so well. They came to ask me how to break the prisoner from the beginning.
For her first breakfast, they served her fathers head with vegtables on a platter. She did not touch it, but curled up in her corner of the dungeon till the stench creeped into my little abode, and I asked the guards to politely remove it. They did so, but left the entrail stained greens for Messaline to enjoy, while she watched the rotting meat that had been her fathers face being chewed on by hounds. She never cried at physical pain, but she did to see the face of the only man she ever kissed being ripped apart. For a reward, they brought up an entire case of the finest vintage, and I sipped thirstily while next door, the guards were force feeding the prrisoner.
"I want to fuck her bad," said one as he jabbed a wood block between her teeth.
"I want to take her from behind," said another as he ripped the vegtables to prevent her from choking, accidently or on purpose.
"And I want her to lick my ball sack clean while you two take her from in front and behind." Said yet another, who was holding arms down and sitting on her legs, his free hand wrapped around her thigh.
"And I want to knock all you heads off and feed them to the dogs," said their commander standing over them, Desmond the Eunich, resentful to all feelings out of his reach. "Orders are her cunt is to remain intact. Any fooling around, your corpses will be thrown out into the street with the word 'spy' carved into your forehead."
"Also with yours commander," said the second man, who caught the barbarian princesses tongue in plyers and forced the mixed veggies down her throat.
After a week of this treatment, the Messaline ate her food voluntarily.
And so began the regular routine. In the morning, ice cold water would be thrown on the girl. This was her daily bathing. A bowl of healty mush would be tossed in, and once she had inbided it, willingly or unwillingly, they would drag her out of her cell and down a long corridor an into a room with a large pillar that stretch from a little opening in the ceiling to the hole in the floor. several poles stuck out horizontally, and to one of these Messaline was chained, and made to walk in circles for 8 hours, under the threat of the whip. And after that, her second meal would be administered, which was more liquid grull, after which she would be taken out onto a low balcony, just out of reach of the tallest plebian, but not out of the way of their rotten vegatables and sticks. The stretched her arms forward, palm up, and they places a thin but hard iron bar above her elbows, then closed her arms on and and wrapped cords around her arms to keep them in place. And then a hook dropped from a post, and the bar went into it. And the next thing the naked, humiliated, bound Messaline new, her feet were off the ground, and he was hanging painfully by her elbows.
And then, in this exposed position, she would be given a choice between the nine tails and the bull whip. She found out quickly that is she choose the bullwhip, one of the jailers would strike her from behind, 20 hard and painful lashes. If she choose the Cat o nine tails, a female slave would stand next to here in order to not block the crowds view, and administer the strikes on her breast, between her legs, and on up and down her front.
And then there was more death related entertainment. The economy of the city was becoming dependent on public executions. Men were beheading, fed to wild animals, and crushed by large stones. The women suffered vaginal impaling, hanging by the neck, and being broken on the wheel. And in the center of it all, was a decaying male headless corpse crucified in the center of town.
After this nightly event, the weary Messaline was taken back to her cell, where depending on her behavior, she would either dumped and left alone, suspended by her wrist or by her feet.
I truly loved her for her pain and anguish. I loved feeling sorry for her, and admiring her strength at the same time. I put myself in her place, realized I did not have the capacity for the tortures I myself had suggested, and I loved her more. And yet, when they came to ask me what they could do next in an attempt to destroy her spirit, I gave them my honest opinion. I can't help myself.
So then came the night when I sat by her window, and she lay on the stone cold floor, enjoying the best part of her life, the nightmares, when the gate opened, and a young but faintly familiar voice said "Come quickly. I will help you escape."
Six months of her host hospitality, six months of being in naught but her skin, displayed, humiliated and tortured, with the same iron shackles never leaving her body. She screamed without shedding a tear. She was beaten and whipped without begging for mercy. She was kept naked, yet stood upright. She was a true princess in captivity.
In all this time, they did not let her waste away. Her legs were firm and muscled, as was her bottom. Her bush was regularly groomed so that a solid patch of golden fur ran in a small triagle above her slit without covering it. And she was still a virgin. That was my doing. Although to be fair, all of it was my doing. That's why I am treated so well. They came to ask me how to break the prisoner from the beginning.
For her first breakfast, they served her fathers head with vegtables on a platter. She did not touch it, but curled up in her corner of the dungeon till the stench creeped into my little abode, and I asked the guards to politely remove it. They did so, but left the entrail stained greens for Messaline to enjoy, while she watched the rotting meat that had been her fathers face being chewed on by hounds. She never cried at physical pain, but she did to see the face of the only man she ever kissed being ripped apart. For a reward, they brought up an entire case of the finest vintage, and I sipped thirstily while next door, the guards were force feeding the prrisoner.
"I want to fuck her bad," said one as he jabbed a wood block between her teeth.
"I want to take her from behind," said another as he ripped the vegtables to prevent her from choking, accidently or on purpose.
"And I want her to lick my ball sack clean while you two take her from in front and behind." Said yet another, who was holding arms down and sitting on her legs, his free hand wrapped around her thigh.
"And I want to knock all you heads off and feed them to the dogs," said their commander standing over them, Desmond the Eunich, resentful to all feelings out of his reach. "Orders are her cunt is to remain intact. Any fooling around, your corpses will be thrown out into the street with the word 'spy' carved into your forehead."
"Also with yours commander," said the second man, who caught the barbarian princesses tongue in plyers and forced the mixed veggies down her throat.
After a week of this treatment, the Messaline ate her food voluntarily.
And so began the regular routine. In the morning, ice cold water would be thrown on the girl. This was her daily bathing. A bowl of healty mush would be tossed in, and once she had inbided it, willingly or unwillingly, they would drag her out of her cell and down a long corridor an into a room with a large pillar that stretch from a little opening in the ceiling to the hole in the floor. several poles stuck out horizontally, and to one of these Messaline was chained, and made to walk in circles for 8 hours, under the threat of the whip. And after that, her second meal would be administered, which was more liquid grull, after which she would be taken out onto a low balcony, just out of reach of the tallest plebian, but not out of the way of their rotten vegatables and sticks. The stretched her arms forward, palm up, and they places a thin but hard iron bar above her elbows, then closed her arms on and and wrapped cords around her arms to keep them in place. And then a hook dropped from a post, and the bar went into it. And the next thing the naked, humiliated, bound Messaline new, her feet were off the ground, and he was hanging painfully by her elbows.
And then, in this exposed position, she would be given a choice between the nine tails and the bull whip. She found out quickly that is she choose the bullwhip, one of the jailers would strike her from behind, 20 hard and painful lashes. If she choose the Cat o nine tails, a female slave would stand next to here in order to not block the crowds view, and administer the strikes on her breast, between her legs, and on up and down her front.
And then there was more death related entertainment. The economy of the city was becoming dependent on public executions. Men were beheading, fed to wild animals, and crushed by large stones. The women suffered vaginal impaling, hanging by the neck, and being broken on the wheel. And in the center of it all, was a decaying male headless corpse crucified in the center of town.
After this nightly event, the weary Messaline was taken back to her cell, where depending on her behavior, she would either dumped and left alone, suspended by her wrist or by her feet.
I truly loved her for her pain and anguish. I loved feeling sorry for her, and admiring her strength at the same time. I put myself in her place, realized I did not have the capacity for the tortures I myself had suggested, and I loved her more. And yet, when they came to ask me what they could do next in an attempt to destroy her spirit, I gave them my honest opinion. I can't help myself.
So then came the night when I sat by her window, and she lay on the stone cold floor, enjoying the best part of her life, the nightmares, when the gate opened, and a young but faintly familiar voice said "Come quickly. I will help you escape."
