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The Knight And The Gnostic
- Thread starter phlebas
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Sleep tight Magenta!!!
Ohh.... damn it.Now I'm going to have to listen to the whole Rocky Horror soundtrack again lol. I
Rocky Horror.
Make a meatloaf, first!
Ewwwww! Not meatloaf again!
Alright folks ... enough now ... back to the story ... take it away phlebas ... episode 20 coming next!
LittleSiss
Sorceress
Ouch!
Hondoboot2
QUAESTOR PULCHRITUDINIS
A very hot and steaming episode Barb and Phlebas! Well done!Dear friends, this next episode is a special joint one, Barb's bits in blue. I hope you like it
Normal posting will resume later today my time
Episode 19
I have never taken a woman this way before, bound and helpless. It should disgust me, but it excites me so very greatly! She may be bound and helpless, but I see and feel that she wants this too. To have her under me, flesh on flesh, her body tight and open to me! I can feel her inner parts firm around my thrusting cock, so hard and eager for her as I thrust, deeply, feeling her respond as our bodies move rythmically together.
She can't hold me or wrap her legs around me but ahhhhhh I feel her body tense, stretching, I see her grip the ropes that hold her down, find a way to flex against me, to move with me, to give herself to our dance together. She lay down on this rack expecting torture, she steeled herself for defilement. But now we are bound together, my body covering hers, inside hers. I look down and see her face, transformed by unexpected pleasure as she gives herself to me, more willing with each thrust, with each gasp. She looks so beautiful, transformed! I am driven to greater energy, pushing on and on to take us higher . . . . .
My God, what am I doing? I believe in and practice the pure faith, which teaches that the physical world, including pleasures of the flesh, is irredeemably evil ... the work of the other God, the evil one. To do this with a man is a moral evil! Yet with each new thrust, and each new surge of pleasure and passion surging through me, I cannot help myself. This man and I have become one on this torture rack! And despite all my teachings, the purity I have striven for in my life ... I want this, want this, want this!
Her sex has become the centre of my world, my purpose is to find release between her thighs, to set her free from her chastity. Bound she cannot resist, there is no guilt in this surrender. Now her body sings with passion, she wakes to carnal pleasure, moaning and grinding against me. Her eyes are closed, mouth open, I bend to kiss her and she answers at once with enthusiasm. My hand runs over her smooth curves, my mouth finds her erect nipples, first one breast and then the other. Sweet, so sweet to taste, to nibble. How is this a punishment, an indignity? I know she wants it. Sacred blood I rise up over her again, close so close to my own climax now, sensing her excitement rise, her cries coming faster and louder, eyes open now and looking into mine as I press harder and with single minded determination towards the goal.
He kisses and sucks my nipples ... nibbles and bites ... his warm hand cupping my breasts, sending me into ecstasy ... an ecstasy the likes of which I never imagined possible ... surely this cannot be evil, I am so confused. I never want this to stop. I steal another quick glance toward the Abbot ... the man's head is thrown back, his mouth is open ... he appears to be in some kind of ecstasy himself. Never mind. I don't care! I can't stop moaning, and my breathing is so fast, my heart so pounding that I .... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I bet that perv Abbot was playing with himself
.....that is why he appeared to be in some kind of ecstasy himself.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Oh, it's forseeable, tortures , tortures, always more tortures ...
Am I needing of that at the moment ? I wonder ...
... even if it's well written ...
As you command, mistress Barb
Oh, it's forseeable, tortures , tortures, always more tortures ...
Am I needing of that at the moment ? I wonder ...
... even if it's well written ...
Torture, and sensuality, and true feelings for each other. Good and bad, right and wrong, and hard decisions to make.
Episode 20
This . . . . is . . . . incredible . . . . she is bound . . . but I am her prisoner, I have never been so aroused! She has given herself to me so readily, and in return I want to give her what she wants so badly. Uh. Harder. Uhh. Yes! The rack is hard against her back but I am hard between her legs and she wants this and I must hold myself, so close now!
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Sweet Lord she is cumming my hands grip her as I thrust and pound and she bucks beneath me and pulls hard on the ropes that bind as I join her and uuuuhhhhhhh! Her cry releases me, thrust and thrust and join her in release!
Ahhh yes!
As my movements slow I look down at her. She glows, her face radiating pleasure and relief and discovery. Still she presses against me, still wanting human contact, skin on skin. I withdraw my manhood from her, my hand running over her body, resting on her. I want to hold her tenderly as her breathing slows, but I am aware of the Abbot watching us.
He too is breathing heavily, his face flushed very red. His expression is a mixture of lust and anger. This show has clearly excited him, he struggles to compose himself. But it has not been the ordeal of humiliation or degradation that he intended it to be. Barbara and I have grown together through this act of shared passion. She has lost her purity, but gained an experience of worldly joy, of physical abandon. Her resistance has not been diminished, but perhaps even strengthened by his mistake. He is furious!
"Very good my Lord de Flebas. You have proved my point, the woman is a harlot and not worthy of the title 'perfecti'. I thank you for your efforts. Now we must proceed. Do dress yourself and send the others back in here please. The lady has been well softened up and is ready to be stretched."
With a glance and a last tender caress I climb off the rack, dress myself again as befits a man of my standing. My heart is bursting, confused. Have I thwarted the man? Or have I just enraged him further. What more can I do to protect this amazing woman? Soon the others have returned and Bernard leers most horribly at the prone woman, imagining the outrage that has undoubtedly been forced upon her. He knows nothing! But puts his hands to the wheel with vigour and awaits the command.
"Barbara de Moore. Do you renounce heresy and admit the error of your ways? Do you ask forgiveness and crave the mercy of Holy Mother Church?"
Her eyes have a new fire in them now. She says nothing, looking at me as if to give and receive strength, and turns her head away from him. Arnaud is ready to take back control, to impose his will on her once again.
"Turn the wheel."
The wheel turns, the ropes tighten, inch by inch the slack goes out of her, skin tightens over ribs and hips, sinews complain. It is uncomfortable. Not awful but uncomfortable. Breathing is harder, movement is impossible.
"Turn the wheel."
This time a gasp escapes her lips, pain grows in limbs and joints. I fear for her now, I don't wish to see her destroyed like this. Another turn and she is clearly in distress, gasping and grunting with effort.
"Barbara de Moore. Do you renounce heresy and admit the error of your ways? Do you ask forgiveness and crave the mercy of Holy Mother Church?"
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I don't recall a story, ever, that has generated such empathy.
My thougts.Cute funny Siss
Thanks to SkatingJesus for the manips in this episode.
Episode 21
The pain inflicted by the rack is like no other. Each time the Abbot commands Bernard to "turn the wheel," the great instrument of torture rumbles and shakes as it proceeds to slowly stretch my already overextended body just a bit more.
With each new stretching, the pain comes in bolts as ligaments and joints reach their limits. My whimpers become groans, my groans become grunts, my grunts become gasps and cries, and eventually each new turn of the wheel elicits nothing less than full-thrived animal-like howls and screams that echo off the heavy vaulted ceilings overhead.
And each new time the wheel turns, and I think I have finally reached my limit ... in the pause that follows, the Abbot ... spittle collecting around the corners of his thin cruelly-pursed lips ... relentlessly repeats his refrain, "turn the wheel, turn the wheel."
As I suffer, he leans over me ... so close that I can see the individual pores on his narrow nose, the sickly sallow color around the whites of his eyes, and the ragged scar from sometime long ago emblazoned across one cheek.
And when the roller stops turning, and my desperate cries of pain finally die down, he grips me by the chin, shaking my head from side to side to ensure that he has my attention, and demands yet once again, "Barbara de Moore. Do you renounce heresy and admit the error of your ways? Do you ask forgiveness and crave the mercy of Holy Mother Church?"
And when he gets no response from me. My torture continues.
I have lost track now of how many times Bernard has turned the wheel. But he is doing it again. I grit my teeth. The command, "turn the wheel," rings in my consciousness, said this last time a little more shrilly and more forcefully than the last ... also delivered with a growing note of frustration.
The drum turns and the ropes pull, cutting deeper into my bleeding wrists and ankles. I feel the sinews in my shoulder joints tearing under the strain, sending fresh lightning bolts of pain racing to my foggy brain.
I nearly pass out under the strain, and am only vaguely aware of his presence as the Abbot leans over me once again. He twists and pinches one of my nipples hard this time in order to get me to focus on his face and words.
"Barbara de Moore. Do you renounce heresy and admit the error of your ways? Do you ask forgiveness and crave the mercy of Holy Mother Church?"
My eyes say no, even though I make no sound, and he pounds his fist into my taut stomach in a fit of rage, forcing bile into my throat. I shudder uncontrollably. My thighs ache, my knees and hips feel like they will pop.
The men of cloth gathered round the rack lean forward, forming almost a wall of scowling faces. I attempt to raise my head to spit phlegm from my mouth, but am forced to fall back as the room spins wildly. I feel warm pee pooling under my flattened butt.
Hissing through barred teeth, determined to proceed until I recant or die on this rack, the Abbot orders Bernard to "turn the wheel ... not once but twice this time!!"
"But Abbot," protests Bernard.
Seeing his moment, Flebas intervenes.
"Bernard is right," he says to the Abbot as soothingly as he is able, "to break someone under torture requires more than threats and pain ... it's a mind game. This perfecta ... this young woman ... will simply faint or die if you keep this up. The best thing to do, now that you have taken her to the brink, is to give her some time to think about her plight."
"And how would you suggest I proceed, Lord de Flebas?"
"May I humbly suggest, your Grace, that you have her put in irons and thrown for the night into the depths of the chateau's rat-infested dungeon under a cold water drip?"
Episode 21
The pain inflicted by the rack is like no other. Each time the Abbot commands Bernard to "turn the wheel," the great instrument of torture rumbles and shakes as it proceeds to slowly stretch my already overextended body just a bit more.
With each new stretching, the pain comes in bolts as ligaments and joints reach their limits. My whimpers become groans, my groans become grunts, my grunts become gasps and cries, and eventually each new turn of the wheel elicits nothing less than full-thrived animal-like howls and screams that echo off the heavy vaulted ceilings overhead.
And each new time the wheel turns, and I think I have finally reached my limit ... in the pause that follows, the Abbot ... spittle collecting around the corners of his thin cruelly-pursed lips ... relentlessly repeats his refrain, "turn the wheel, turn the wheel."
As I suffer, he leans over me ... so close that I can see the individual pores on his narrow nose, the sickly sallow color around the whites of his eyes, and the ragged scar from sometime long ago emblazoned across one cheek.
And when the roller stops turning, and my desperate cries of pain finally die down, he grips me by the chin, shaking my head from side to side to ensure that he has my attention, and demands yet once again, "Barbara de Moore. Do you renounce heresy and admit the error of your ways? Do you ask forgiveness and crave the mercy of Holy Mother Church?"
And when he gets no response from me. My torture continues.
I have lost track now of how many times Bernard has turned the wheel. But he is doing it again. I grit my teeth. The command, "turn the wheel," rings in my consciousness, said this last time a little more shrilly and more forcefully than the last ... also delivered with a growing note of frustration.
The drum turns and the ropes pull, cutting deeper into my bleeding wrists and ankles. I feel the sinews in my shoulder joints tearing under the strain, sending fresh lightning bolts of pain racing to my foggy brain.
I nearly pass out under the strain, and am only vaguely aware of his presence as the Abbot leans over me once again. He twists and pinches one of my nipples hard this time in order to get me to focus on his face and words.
"Barbara de Moore. Do you renounce heresy and admit the error of your ways? Do you ask forgiveness and crave the mercy of Holy Mother Church?"
My eyes say no, even though I make no sound, and he pounds his fist into my taut stomach in a fit of rage, forcing bile into my throat. I shudder uncontrollably. My thighs ache, my knees and hips feel like they will pop.
The men of cloth gathered round the rack lean forward, forming almost a wall of scowling faces. I attempt to raise my head to spit phlegm from my mouth, but am forced to fall back as the room spins wildly. I feel warm pee pooling under my flattened butt.
Hissing through barred teeth, determined to proceed until I recant or die on this rack, the Abbot orders Bernard to "turn the wheel ... not once but twice this time!!"
"But Abbot," protests Bernard.
Seeing his moment, Flebas intervenes.
"Bernard is right," he says to the Abbot as soothingly as he is able, "to break someone under torture requires more than threats and pain ... it's a mind game. This perfecta ... this young woman ... will simply faint or die if you keep this up. The best thing to do, now that you have taken her to the brink, is to give her some time to think about her plight."
"And how would you suggest I proceed, Lord de Flebas?"
"May I humbly suggest, your Grace, that you have her put in irons and thrown for the night into the depths of the chateau's rat-infested dungeon under a cold water drip?"
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Hondoboot2
QUAESTOR PULCHRITUDINIS
You two just keep writing better and better episodes, each new episode is better than the previous one.
This Abbot is really getting under my skin
This Abbot is really getting under my skin
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
You are so stubborn...
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
Another pair of great writes... I am pleased to hear she will be in irons instead of ropes as she would use her charms to win over the rats as she has done to Lord Flebas and seduce them to gnaw through any hemp bindings... This should secure the heathen wench...
shastar
Tribune
You two just keep writing better and better episodes, each new episode is better than the previous one.
This Abbot is really getting under my skin
Yes, even under mine... Didn't think it would happen some day !
shastar
Tribune
And credit to Madiosi for contributing the manip in episode 20.
Thank you, Madi ! And SJ for the wonderful illustrations of episode 21. And Barb, and Phlebas... Owww, what a great team ! This is probably one of the best BDSM stories I ever read!
shastar
Tribune
Episode 22
I look at Arnaud Amaury. Will he take the suggestion? It's the best I can think of to stop this terrible torture. At least the pressure will be off, she will be free of the rack for now. He looks at me, then at Barbara. He looks for a long time. Then he nods.
"Yes. You are right. Take her to the dungeon. Make sure she is comfortable. I want her well rested for tomorrow."
The Abbot's men release her bindings, but she is hardly able to move at first. Always impatient, Bernard simply pics the naked woman up and throws her roughly over one shoulder, slapping his meaty hand on her arse and carrying her out the door. I do not follow. The Abbot looks at me searchingly for a moment.
"Yes, let her cool in the dungeon for the night, with the rats, and the drips, and the attentions of Bernard and his men. Tommorow I have new plans for the heretic. We will see her sing then."
I spent an uncomfortable night, tossing and turning in my bed, visions of the poor woman in my mind. Anxious thoughts of possible tortures. Memories of her bound body under mine . . . . .
I was glad for the dawn. I joined the Abbot for the morning office, and then over breakfast he was pleased to torment me with his plans.
"It is time we showed our prize in public. The army needs a distraction from the mayhem they have been causing. The heretic de Moore will be bound to a post in a public place and whipped. The kiss of the lash may well loosen her tongue and strengthen her desire to return to the true faith."
"And if it does not your Grace?"
"If not, well it will do the men good to have the entertainment. It will weaken her standing and her resolve. And I will feel better for it!"
The man is a monster in clerical garb! After we had broken our fast Barbara was brought up from the dungeon. She looked like she had hardly slept, filth and scratches covered her, and I could only imagine the indignities and discomforts of that awful place. It hurt me to think that these rough men could have violated her, it angered me, and I marked them all to be dealt with if ever the chance arose.
Barbara looked at me and the ghost of a smile passed across her face. I was lifted to think that I gave her comfort and maybe even hope, but now I would have to help her through the ordeal to come. The Abbot's men dragged her through the hall to a doorway passing out to a wide balcony. As we looked on Barbara was tied spread eagle between two stout beams, her arms wide, facing out to the square below. Many men-at-arms, camp followers and surviving tomnspeople were assembled below, eager to see the famous Barbara de Moore. With her naked and bound this way they could see much more than they may have expected too!
This brave woman accepted the indignity as yet one more humiliation, one more test of her faith and her resolve. She could guess what was to come, she had seen the ugly flail in the hands of one of her captors. Breathing deeply she prayed for the strength to endure yet again the Abbot's efforts.
"Barbara de Moore"
The first cut across her back causes a sharp intake of breath.
"Admit your errors"
Another, sharper than the first.
"Admit that you lead others into error"
A cut lower on her back makes her cry out
"Admit to your sin of pride"
This time across her buttocks, harshly cutting the soft flesh
"Ask for forgiveness"
Again she cries out at the tip curls around her right breast
"Ask for mercy"
Again, again, the whip cuts her bare flesh, her body jerks and writhes in the bonds, her pain filled movements hold the attention of every eye.
Again and again the litany of blame and sin beats down on her, demanding admission of guilt, demanding her surrender.
Whip cut and word bludgeon, again and again.
I want to seize the whip and lash out at them myself, but I hold to my patience, though every cry tears at me.
And yet, I am roused to excitement once again, the vision of her punishment enthralls me!
I look at Arnaud Amaury. Will he take the suggestion? It's the best I can think of to stop this terrible torture. At least the pressure will be off, she will be free of the rack for now. He looks at me, then at Barbara. He looks for a long time. Then he nods.
"Yes. You are right. Take her to the dungeon. Make sure she is comfortable. I want her well rested for tomorrow."
The Abbot's men release her bindings, but she is hardly able to move at first. Always impatient, Bernard simply pics the naked woman up and throws her roughly over one shoulder, slapping his meaty hand on her arse and carrying her out the door. I do not follow. The Abbot looks at me searchingly for a moment.
"Yes, let her cool in the dungeon for the night, with the rats, and the drips, and the attentions of Bernard and his men. Tommorow I have new plans for the heretic. We will see her sing then."
I spent an uncomfortable night, tossing and turning in my bed, visions of the poor woman in my mind. Anxious thoughts of possible tortures. Memories of her bound body under mine . . . . .
I was glad for the dawn. I joined the Abbot for the morning office, and then over breakfast he was pleased to torment me with his plans.
"It is time we showed our prize in public. The army needs a distraction from the mayhem they have been causing. The heretic de Moore will be bound to a post in a public place and whipped. The kiss of the lash may well loosen her tongue and strengthen her desire to return to the true faith."
"And if it does not your Grace?"
"If not, well it will do the men good to have the entertainment. It will weaken her standing and her resolve. And I will feel better for it!"
The man is a monster in clerical garb! After we had broken our fast Barbara was brought up from the dungeon. She looked like she had hardly slept, filth and scratches covered her, and I could only imagine the indignities and discomforts of that awful place. It hurt me to think that these rough men could have violated her, it angered me, and I marked them all to be dealt with if ever the chance arose.
Barbara looked at me and the ghost of a smile passed across her face. I was lifted to think that I gave her comfort and maybe even hope, but now I would have to help her through the ordeal to come. The Abbot's men dragged her through the hall to a doorway passing out to a wide balcony. As we looked on Barbara was tied spread eagle between two stout beams, her arms wide, facing out to the square below. Many men-at-arms, camp followers and surviving tomnspeople were assembled below, eager to see the famous Barbara de Moore. With her naked and bound this way they could see much more than they may have expected too!
This brave woman accepted the indignity as yet one more humiliation, one more test of her faith and her resolve. She could guess what was to come, she had seen the ugly flail in the hands of one of her captors. Breathing deeply she prayed for the strength to endure yet again the Abbot's efforts.
"Barbara de Moore"
The first cut across her back causes a sharp intake of breath.
"Admit your errors"
Another, sharper than the first.
"Admit that you lead others into error"
A cut lower on her back makes her cry out
"Admit to your sin of pride"
This time across her buttocks, harshly cutting the soft flesh
"Ask for forgiveness"
Again she cries out at the tip curls around her right breast
"Ask for mercy"
Again, again, the whip cuts her bare flesh, her body jerks and writhes in the bonds, her pain filled movements hold the attention of every eye.
Again and again the litany of blame and sin beats down on her, demanding admission of guilt, demanding her surrender.
Whip cut and word bludgeon, again and again.
I want to seize the whip and lash out at them myself, but I hold to my patience, though every cry tears at me.
And yet, I am roused to excitement once again, the vision of her punishment enthralls me!
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