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Turkish Delights
- Thread starter Barbaria1
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...it is all perception...View attachment 226731 Usually he makes me come to him
...tempted by the fruit of another...
Goodnight, all
Tree
P
Pia
Guest
9.
I don't know what's happening. I'm scared - petrified. What am I doing here? I just know it's not good. Not good at all. It all seemed so nice such a short time ago. I was really happy to meet someone like Barbara - Barbs - and I was imagining what fun we might have together as we explored this beautiful, remote country. But I always thought it was safe. After all, it was a proper country wasn't it? Almost part of our EU and a friend of America. That's what I'd thought. But it seems we are a long way here from the rule of law. But I know we've done nothing. So, surely, I think, it will be alright. It must be some sort of mistake; yes, they must have mistaken us for some other people and I'm sure that, even though it has been an awful experience soon we'll be drinking sweet coffee and....
And then the door opens. At first, for a brief moment, I think it will be ok. Just a moment... and then he grabs me and I know it won't and my fear floods back. I'm naked and lost and in a dark place and he's being rough with me as he marches me along the corridor and through another door. And I see Barbs and she's sitting their naked and sweating and her body is heaving and dirty and her hair is matted and her eyes seem to be swimming and I can see these awful marks on her, on her breasts. He pushes me to my knees, but I'm falling anyway. My breath has gone and my heart is pounding and he grabs my hair and makes me look up at Barbs and at the drool falling from her lovely lips and then down at the pool of urine beneath her and I am so so frightened.
He's asking questions about drugs or something and I look at Barb's eyes wondering if she can answer and what I should answer but she's glaze over and I just sort of gulp and gasp and next he's pulling me up and stretching my arms up and binding my wrists and I'm being pulled up and it hurts my arms and wrists so much; but when I glance around and try to kick out I suddenly see the rack of things on the bench - awful things, whips and things like in the inquisition or something and I realise that they're for us. I'm crying. I can feel the tears on my face and I'm sniffing and sobbing and thinking of home and...
Then my legs are being dragged apart and spread and tied and now I'm suspended in the dark room and I see Barb slowly look up and I feel so naked and ashamed and lost and frightened. It can only get worse. I want to speak to someone, to a friend or a consul or someone who will help me. I know this can't be right. Not even here in this country. He's picked up one of the whips and he's drawing it over my belly and breasts and I try to recoil but I can't do anything, just hang here as the pain in my arms and legs grows worse. I glance down even though I don't want to as the ends of the whip, all its strands, slide over me. I can see how they are reddened by blood. He's used this before. He's going to use it on me now. There's nothing I can do. I breathe in and feel my body becoming tight. Why is this happening to me? It can't be happening. He touches me again. I open my eyes and he's smiling, but not a nice smile. He's looking forward to this. Why is he waiting? I'm terrified, but the waiting is worse than anything. Why doesn't he start?
View attachment 226629 Ok, so the resemblance isn't so striking...just a crazy thought that ran through my head before i gagged.
oddly, Huffkens was there ahead of you by a decade - no I don't actually resemble a Ferengi!
Attachments
10.
As soon as the door opened I knew it was her ... my new friend Pia. The bastard went back down the hallway to where I had left her naked in that cell, and now he has dragged her here to do to her what he has done to me or possibly even worse.
The sudden burst of light from the open door is blinding, but I look up to see what is happening. She is struggling in his grip. They are coming my way.
I want to say something to her as he shoves her toward me, forcing her to her knees directly in front of me. I try to speak to her, but it's as if I am paralyzed. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I am so wasted by the shock treatment that he applied to my poor breasts, and so absolutely frightened, that I have become mute. I can only communicate with my eyes.
I look at her though the matted tangle of my long brown hair, sodden and plastered all over my face. I try to focus and I watch in horror as he roughly grabs her by her hair and forces us to come face to face, eye-to-eye.
I have never seen such terror as I see in her eyes. She is gasping and crying. Her body convulses as she begins to wretch, her breasts shaking with the sobs that seem to well up one after another from somewhere deep within her.
He seems possessed. There is a maniacal look in his eyes, unlike anything I have ever seen before, as he demands answers of her. He thinks we are drug runners and I realize that we will never convince him otherwise. She seems bewildered by his demands, and looks at me imploringly, as though I can say something that will make this all go away. I can't, and I look away.
The next thing I know, he has become very angry, pulling her up, stretching her arms and binding her wrists over her head. She tries to resist, but he is too strong, and he very quickly has her strung up in front of me. Methodically but swiftly, he spreads and secures her legs.
I watch as she helplessly twists and turns in her bonds, her well-toned athletic legs straining against the spreading pull of the ropes around her ankles. I look up past her stretched and open labia, past her taut belly and the lines of her ribs, to the the soft undersides of her uplifted breasts, to her anguished reddened face, streaked with tears.
I want to say something again, say something reassuring, however pointless. But nothing comes out.
What is he doing now? He is choosing a whip from an array of them spread out on a nearby table. He takes his time, handling and testing each one in turn, weighing them in his experienced hands and glancing surreptitiously at her from time to time to see if his deliberateness is having the desired terrifying effect on her.
It does. She is coming completely unglued, trembling from head to foot as he teases her by drawing his whip slowly over her breasts, allowing the blood-stained leather strands to catch momentarily on her erect nipples and then fall free. He repeats this, touching her again and again on her breasts and belly. She cringes each and every time.
I wonder what she is thinking? But she seems to know what is coming next, and steels herself...glancing frantically over at him and then down at me and then back to him again, and then up to the ceiling.
I shut me eyes. I don't want to watch.
What kind of man is this? What kind of hell-hole have we gotten ourselves into? The grim smile on his face is burned into my consciousness. Even with my eyes screwed shut I can imagine the look on his face, the pleasure he is feeling, as he flexes his whip arm to deliver the first lash...
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P
Pia
Guest
Ooooooh!
A whip, and a man who knows how to use it....
This will be good
That depends entirely on one's situation .... poor PKin
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
A whip, and a man who knows how to use it....
This will be good
Perhaps also uncomfortable for Wragg, sitting in his armchair, watching. Pp hopes that, if he can do this well, that Wragg has taken one of his little heart pills.That depends entirely on one's situation .... poor PKin
Gulping them down in anticipation, Pp!
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
11.
There is so much pleasure in watching the two women. Both in fear of him now. Frightened. He can see it in their eyes, in the way they look at him. So afraid.
He enjoys watching their fear build. The shame first. It begins with them naked, in front of the guards. Separating them begins the fear. Not knowing. Then taking it further, some pain. The brunette pissing herself was more than he expected. Let her sit in her own urine, mixed with her sweat. Another jolt. Some more pain.
Then leave her, alone in the dark. Not for long, just enough. Waiting, not knowing.
Then her friend. Tight grip. The walk down the corridor where her friend disappeared. Into the room. More fear as she sees Barbara. Force her to her knees, in front of the brunette so she can Barbara’s pain and humiliation. So she can smell Barbara's sweat and piss.
Then hang her up. Stretch her wrists high, toes off the floor. Pia is very frightened. Drag her legs wide apart, force the friend to look up, at the Dutch girl’s open sex. The shame. Oh yes. Fear and humiliation.
He took his time choosing what to use. Handle each whip, almost sexually. Watch the woman, how she reacts. Let the fear build. Enjoy it. No. It is more than that. He thrives on it. He feels alive in it.
Now he is with them, the shorter whip means he can be closer, almost within their fear. Stand behind, where she cannot see him. Snake the whip out, gently, lay it over her shoulder, the belly hanging down between her breasts. Withdraw it slowly, let it snake up between her breasts. Watch her tremble.
To her side now. Lay it out gently again. Let the belly fall like a caress across her breasts. She looks down. Sees it like a dark snake as it catches on her erect nipples. Erect? Why? Why is she responding like that to fear? See it bloodstained. Then an almost imperceptible flick and it falls free, sliding down across her belly. She shivers at the tingle as it falls.
Pia glances at him, quick looks, repeated. Down at Barbara, at him, upwards, as if in prayer. Then he strikes, quickly, much harder. The whip wraps across her belly, down low. Around her hip. The tip kisses her arse and bites. She stiffens, her back arching. He lets the belly fall down her hip, sliding from her belly. And she screams as the red welt rises, across her hip, across her mound, around onto her arse.
Before her scream ends he lashes again, an inch higher. A second welt beside the first. The first scream extends, longer. Wait. Let her settle. Watch. A sob. Her eyes search for him, see him, then look up. Rip. Across her belly again. Another, no delay, and a fifth. Hard, ripping across her belly, the fall around her hip, the tip biting her arse. Her body is rigid as the lash strikes pulling with her arms, trying to climb away from the snake. Held down by the ropes at her ankles.
He pauses. Pia sobs now. Chest heaving for breath. She looks for him, Where? She looks down and he is beside her. The whip is coiled. He strokes her with the loops. Then his hand. Down over her belly, fingers tracing the welts across her mound. Touching, just touching. She flinches, hauling up on her arms, wanting to get away from him. But the drag on her ankles holds her.
He moves around her, his hand trailing around as he goes, never leaving her, keeping contact with her. His hand firm against her arse. Not a caress, testing her. Feeling her strength, what she can endure. Up her back, each shoulder. Yes, muscle there, firm, fit. She can take a flogging. And survive.
On her left side now. His right arm back. She glances, waiting, tensing for what comes. Her eyes fixed on his. The hum as the lash comes, the burn as it strikes her back, wraps her ribs, bites her breast. Again, an inch lower, her back, ribs, her nipple now, fire. Again, lower, her back, ribs, the soft underside of her breast. She writhes, twisting, tearing at the leather cuffs at her wrists. Two more, ripping across her shoulders. Biting her breast as the belly wraps. But keep to her shoulders, where there is muscle, no lower, careful. No damage where there is less protection of organs beneath.
Around to her right. She lost him as he moved behind her. Her head twisting, searching for him. Frantic. Where is he? Her breasts and belly exposed now to his strong right arm. As Pia’s eyes catch his she see the vicious whip hum through the air. It seems to take ages to reach her, but there is no time to tense. Burn, fire, across the top of both breasts. She begins to scream, then again, lower, the soft, sensitive undersides. The scream still, and a third stoke, zipping, so hard, squarely across her nipples. Stinging, burning and Pia’s scream reaches a crescendo. Then she sags, hanging limp, chest heaving as she sobs.
He steps closer, his hand caresses one breast, fingers tracing the welt, to her nipple. She looks at him through downcast eyes, searching for meaning in what he is doing to her. Why? Why? We have done nothing. Nothing. Then, agghhh, as his fingers squeeze the damaged teat. Pinching. Gripping. Hard.
Barbara looks up. She can see the terror and pain in Pia’s face and her teeth bared as his fingers grip her teat. Barbara looks away, looks down, and she can see the arousal, the bulge of an erection though his trousers. Oh God...she knows why. Sadistic bastard.
He steps quickly to Pia’s left. She searches. Where? A quick, backhand stroke. Not as hard, not as much power, but accurate, across the top of her breasts again. Burning pain. As the scream rises in her throat again, those soft undersides, delicate, protected. Burn, fire. The scream rises, higher and that vicious third lash, squarely across those abused teats. Cutting. Her left nipple, skin split....a trace of blood.
Close again. Hand there, cupping her breasts, fingers tracing the welt, locking at the nipple, finger, thumb, agghhhhhh. Pia’s head jerks back, teeth clenched, eyes shut tight in agony.
He drapes the whip over Pia’s shoulder, the cane handle down her back, the belly, the fall hanging down between her breasts, over her mound, like a snake slithering towards her sex.
He watches her for a moment then moves behind Barbara where she sits cuffed to the chair. Strong hand grips one wrists, uncuffs it then wrenches it high behind her back. Then the other, wrenched up to. He cuffs them together, high to the back of the chair, straining shoulders, joints and Barbara feels pain as muscle tears.
He retrieves that red hide whip, pulling the handle, dragging the belly and fall up between Pia’s breasts. She feels it as a snake, sinuous, sensuous, and knows its bite is poison.
He stands close behind Barbara now. So close. He pushes his belly against her bound hands, grinding his erection against them. The brunette knows now. Knows that this is erotic to him. Sadism.
The whip snakes out, little touches, Pia’s right nipple, her left, the tip kissing, almost like a lover, then biting, stinging, fiery. Flick, crack, flick, crack, flick, crack. No rest. Pia writhes, trying to escape. But he is accurate, precise. Her breast are red now, flecks of blood from small cuts. Little moans from her with each cut. Eyes closed tightly, teeth bared.
Then lower. Still behind Barbara, still hard against her hands. But the whip snaking at Pia’s belly, flicking, biting, around her mound, stinging. Lower still. Flicking her labia, left right, flicking, a wasp, stinging. She is writhing with it, her arms pilling against the cuffs but her bound ankles hold her. Only her hips can move freely. Dancing, back, forwards, meeting the whip as it looks for her. Swaying. Still flicking, playing her, lifting her. She pushes her hips to it now. Drops of blood, just a few. Then a last cut, hard, vicious, a little upwards square into Pia’s sex. And he stops, abruptly.
She still writhes, belly searching for the whip. Slower, slower. Then she sags. Her eyes open. Looking for him. Seeing him, hard up against the chair to which Barbara is bound. Seeing the gleam in his eyes, his lips wet, parted, just enough to see is teeth. His eyes close and he is breathing heavily.
Too close. Too close. He is not ready yet. He has more time with these two. More time to play with them. Let the Dutch woman come down. Let her hang there. Wondering. Why did he stop? What else? Is there more?
It isn’t a game when they hang there, limply, being flogged. It is different when they dance. When they respond. When they writhe in their pain. When some do more.
He remembers how she kicked in her bonds when he weighed the cat in his hands, ran his hand down the strands each with its 3 or 4 neatly tied blood knots. The knots that rip skin, tear flesh.
Calmer now. He walks slowly across to the bench and takes the cat from its hook on the wall.
"Mmmmmphhhhhhh," I say as I gulp a morning cup of tea and read through this with ever widening eyes and quickened breathing....
... definitely some heavy duty writing and whipping Pp!!!!
P
Pia
Guest
12.
Thank god, he has finally stopped whipping poor Pia. I thought it would never end and I can’t believe the sheer brutality of what I have just witnessed. He was so cunning in the way he applied the strokes – each of them measured and timed for maximum effect – to her writhing, twisting, kicking body.
I ask myself again what kind of man is this? He works for the state, apparently, but no one seems to be holding him accountable for his actions here. I saw how fawning the other guards were in his presence. He seems confident in his ability to do with us as he pleases, and I am beginning to realize that he gets great pleasure out of his work.
As I huddled on my chair – watching in horror as the flicking tail of his whip did its terrible handiwork on poor Pia’s bare tummy, breasts, buttocks and back – he came up stealthily behind me. Without warning he jerked my arms back painfully, swiftly binding my wrists behind the back of my chair, and bending me over until my head hung over my knees.
But then the most startling thing happened. As he leaned over me and continued to whip her, he pressed his hardened rod against my bound hands, and began moving his erection up and down. I realized then that what he was doing to Pia had excited him. Whipping her was erotic to him, sadistically erotic. And he was forcing me … that is, my bound hands and fingers … to help him satisfy his growing pleasure.
His breathing had quickened. I felt the force of his expelled breath as it moved the hair on the back of my head. He was punishing Pia hard now, snaking his whip at her belly, flicking, biting, around her mound, stinging. Lower still. Her hips were moving freely in response to the lashes, dancing, back, forwards, meeting the tip of the whip as it looked for her, flicking, playing her, lifting her; then a last cut, hard, vicious, a little upwards square into her sex.
Then he stopped abruptly. I could feel him stiffen behind me, holding perfectly still for a long time, breathing heavily and grunting to himself. Was it in a moment of orgasmic satisfaction that the whipping stopped? Or, had he simply decided she had enough? I wasn’t sure, but before long he pulled away and retreated to the other side of the room.
I look up at Pia, my arms aching from the unnatural position in which he had bound them behind me. She looked dazed, spent. The sound of her frantic screams still ring in my ears, now replaced by an anguished litany of sobs and moans. She hangs limply, face contorted in pain and terror; her fair skin covered in angry red welts and flecked with her own blood. A little rivulet of blood flows down from a damaged nipple, and a heavier stream of blood snakes its way down an inner thigh. His last stroke sent the biting tip of his whip deep into the gash between her labia and drawn blood.
I turn my head to see what he is up to now. He is facing the far wall. Calmly he takes a cat whip down from a rack and strokes its knotted strands. He seems deep in thought, undoubtedly planning his next move. He turns towards us and comes forward, cat in hand. I gasp, glance up at Pia ... and then I look away.
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P
Pia
Guest
What wonders to wake up to.... Pia is slowly raising her head and looking through blood-tangled hair that straggles over her tear-streaked face...
Primus pilus
Magister Australis
13.
As he stands at the bench with the cat in his hands he watches the women. He was aroused as he whipped the fairer one but Pia could not see that. She was absorbed in herself. In the pain of the whip and what that was doing to her mind and her body.The brunette, the American, had felt his erection in the hands that were bound tightly behind her. She could feel his arousal as he moved himself against her hands. Barbara could sense his sadism, his growing excitement as he lashed her friend. But that was hidden, behind her, their secret, not to be shared.
He knew he was close. Too early. Too soon. No rush. There is time to enjoy them here. Back off. Step away. Away from the blonde with the red welts and streaks of blood. Away from the brunette's bound hands. Put the whip down. Calm. Calm. Breathe deeply. Watch them for a moment. See the fear and confusion in the brunette. Watch the Dutch woman as she slowly raises her head and looks for him through the blood- and sweat-tangled hair that straggles over her tear-streaked face.
A few purposeful steps and he is back beside Barbara. He ficks the knotted strands of whipcord across her breasts, just enough to bite, to get her attention focussed on him. Drape the cat, handle down her back, those knotted strands hanging between her breasts. She looks down, chin tight against her chest. Barbara cannot help but stare at them as they decorate her breasts. The fairer one too, eyes fixed on the knotted cords across her friend's breasts.
He leaves it there and goes back to the bench, to a small bar fridge, and comes back with a large bottle. His fingers in the brunette's hair, tight, tilt her head back and upend the bottle. Push it hard into her mouth. She gulps it, swallowing as much down as she can. Enough, but he holds it hard. Forcing her to gulp more. She feels the excess, rising in her throat, running down her chin, soaking the strands that hang, cold, cold on her breasts. Despite herself she feels her nipples respond. Erect. Lowers the bottle, release her head, cups her breasts, weigh them in his hands, roll and pinch those rubbery teats. Feel the brunette flinch, then push them into his hands.
Another bottle. Stand on a small stool, reach up. Do the same to Pia. Hand in her hair, tilt her head, upend the bottle in her mouth. Force her to drink, to swallow, to gulp it down or choke.
Watch what she can't swallow flood her breasts too. Nipples respond to the cold. Just as Barbara's did. Release her hair. Grab one breast. No gentle caress. Hard! Squeeze it hard in his hand. Crush it. A moan. Grab the other, crush it hard too. Feel her thrust her breasts forward, hard into his hand.
Different, these two. So different. Caress the brunette, a little pain. Here, there. Not Pia though. Rougher with her. Harder, harsher.
The cat now. Stand behind the brunette. Take the handle, slide the knotted strands up over Barbara's breasts. Watch as knots catch on nipples, lift a little, flick as they release. Flick. Flick. Flick. Then it is clear. Whack! What? Across her breasts. Hard. Not enough to break skin but enough to sting, to surprise her. Her head snaps back. A choked scream.
Then step to Pia. The cat is a much shorter whip. Stand close with this one. On her left, just to the side. Rip! Rip! Rip! Three vicious, raking strokes. Onto her right shoulder, rake it diagonally, down her back. The knots tear the skin, blood spots immediately.
Step quickly to her right, three ripping backhand strokes, high on her left shoulder, raking diagonally downwards again. Fresh red welts, blood drops.
Stand behind her now as she hangs there. Rake her back, ripping diagonal strokes. Alternating. A regular, flogging tempo. Strong forehand lashes high on her right shoulder, raking down. Now softer on his backhand. High on her left shoulder, raking down.
Pia is writhing. Pulling herself up with her wrists, arm and shoulder muscles tensed. But held back by the ropes spreading her legs, holding her lower body down. Screams continuous. The skin of her shoulders and upper back split, blood streaks, small rivulets running down towards her arse. Running into the furrow separating her taut buttocks.
Her arse now. Flog it. Hard, vicious, ripping strokes. No art, no science, no careful technique. Just vicious rips. Shredding the skin and the flesh over the taut muscle. How many strokes? 10? 15? 20? He doesn't count. Just lets his sadistic arousal build.
Behind Barbara again. His rock hard cock grinding against her bound hands. Attack the Dutch woman's front now. Rip the cat across her small tits. Down from the left, down from the right. The blood knots are well named. They rip her skin, tear her flesh, her tits are cut, bloodied.
She still writhes at the lashing, arms tiring but her hips dance an erotic rhythm. Her screams have changed. Drawn out groans now with each stroke. Long moans that time with his lash. He targets her belly, raking across it from side to side, tearing welts. Her shaven mound too, blood running more freely. Grinding himself in the brunette's bound hands.
Up between Pia's wide spread legs. Up across her sex. Tear her labia. In between as they part. She tries to drag herself up but she is a captive. The cat driving her up, the ropes at her ankles holding her back to the tearing knots.
Barbara feels him quicken. He is fucking her hands. She looks up at Pia, her friend's eyes are open but they are glazed, she is lost in her pain. Her mind and her body. Pia's writhing builds with his. More vicious tearing strokes and she stiffens, her back arched, sex thrown at the cat. A long drawn scream from Pia and Barbara feels him thrust once, twice, hard into her hands and she feels him shaking. Pia collapses, her body limp, a few spasms, but still now. Hanging from her wrists. Head down. Eyes closed.
He holds himself hard behind Barbara. The bloodied cat draped again over the brunette's breasts. Traces of her friend's blood mixing pink with the sweat of her own fear.
His eyes are fixed on the fairer woman in front of him. Her head hangs down. Her hair, matted with sweat cloaks her face. Below her head, angry red welts, all oozing blood, cover her breasts, her belly, her mound. Blood runs down, each trail gathering with others, before disappearing between her still-spread legs.
Barbara can feel his breathing steady. Feel him relaxing. Coming down from his sadistic high. Then he leaves her and walks to the bench, drops that ripping whip, and picks up another bottle. He raises it to his lips and drinks. She watches the lump in his throat rise and fall as he gulps down the cold water.
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very brutal, but oh so exciting ... felt my pulse race as I read it ... builds and climaxes....powerful writing....both in its descriptive fury and in its exploration of his sadistic intentions and passions.