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From: Arnold Sloan <Nowhere@at.all>
Date: Sat, 24 Nov 2007 11:17:13 -0500
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.stories.erotic,alt.sex.bondage.stories
Subject: STORY - Slaves of the Sultan - MMMM/f, BDSM, NC
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===================
Two lovely British sisters in colonial India are captured by evil
men, one by a cruel and sadistic Indian Sultan, the other by crude,
sex hungry British army deserters.
Miranda whimpered exhaustedly, hurting all over, sweating like a pig,
gasping for breath in the hot, humid, musky air of the dungeon. Her
throat and jaw ached. She was still in a state of shock at how vilely
these savages had used her. And then the sultan had accused her of
being prideful for not enjoying it, for not grovelling with more
enthusiasm!
And so now she was in the dank, filthy dungeon beneath his palace.
She was in a small, barred cage. The cage was only a few feet high,
yet made of strong bars all around, narrow, like a bird cage. Her
head brushed the top, her shoulders the sides.
As to the bottom - the cage had none, save more bars. And one bar in
particular, one horizontal bar which she was straddling, her legs
hanging loosely beneath, outside the cage as it hung from the
ceiling. The horizontal bar which her soft, hairless mons was mashed
down upon. Attached to that bar were two vertical bars, fat, long,
driven deep into her aching belly through her anus and pussy. She was
impaled upon them, her insides throbbing, cramping, straining to hold
so much, her sex lips and anal opening straining wide.
Her fingers gripped the bars before her feebly as she lay her
forehead between two of them, whimpering weakly. She had tried to
support her weight to some extent, but long given up on it, her
muscles worn down to nothing.
She yelped and jerked her toes up again, fresh tears pouring down her
red face.
Her legs were so tired, the muscles aching so badly.
The cage was suspended from the ceiling, her toes just long enough to
reach the floor, but not long enough to support any of her weight -
at least not for long. The floor was wet and sticky with slime, and
she could hear the sounds of rats scurrying back and forth; hungry
rats. Spiders crawled there, too, and huge bugs the size of her hand.
Snakes slithered back and forth, occasionally catching one of the
rats so that the sound of its death throes and frantic efforts to
free itself filled the closed in room.
Only a little light crept into the room from a narrow, barred window
high, high overhead. It was just light enough to make out herself and
to see shadows, to see a vague movement around the floor. She tried
to keep her feet up, but her legs had grown so very weary now, so
very tired.
Where was her father, she thought despairingly, come to free her and
take her home?
Oh she would never complain about anything again if she could only
leave this beastly, horrific place and its savage, brutal people!
Her groin ached so badly! All her weight rested on it, on that soft,
tender portion of her anatomy, all her weight crushing down against
the soft flesh jammed against that hard, iron bar. She tried and
tried to adjust herself, to lean to one side or another, but that
only eased the pressure and pain temporarily, and shifted its locus
an inch or two forward or back.
That pain was so steady, so sharp, and she thought she would give
almost anything to be free of it.
She sobbed in self pity, in pain, in misery and despair, her sobs
growing greater as a rat bit at her dangling toe and she yanked it up
violently, sending the rat flying up and back to tumble into the
corner. It squealed as a snake caught it.
The door gave a clang as the big iron bolt was shot back, then light
flooded the room as two men carrying flaming torches entered. The
rats squealed and scurried, the snakes and insects slithering and
crawling rapidly away from the twin pools of lights. Two turbaned
Indians entered, coming over to her cage.
"Please," Miranda whimpered.
One went to a crank on the wall, and the chain holding the cage
jerked and gave way, lowering it until her feet were flat on the
floor, then continued lowering it as the second man opened the front
and top of the cage to let the trembling girl slide awkwardly out.
The fat iron bars driven into her belly came free with a dull, wet,
slurping sound of flesh closing behind them, and strong male hands
caught at her arms and kept her from falling as she sobbed in relief.
But the relief was misplaced. The man guided her to a nearby wall,
the stones rough cut and filthy. The second man stuck his torch into
a holder in the wall to her right, and the other lit other nearby
torches as the trembling girl found her face and breasts pushed
against the warm stones and her wrists lifted up and apart.
Wh-what - p-please," she whimpered. "I-I'll do anything you want.
The men spoke no English. If they had they would have taken her
admission as a matter of course. She would indeed do anything they
wanted.
Her arms were lifted up and apart and hard cold shackles were locked
around them. Miranda whimpered and jerked her head from side to side,
trying to see the men, trying to understand. "Wh-what... please," she
moaned.
Then she saw the long whip in the hands of the big, bare chested
Indian and her voice broke into sobs of fear. "Please! Please! I'll
be good! Please don't hurt me!"
The man drew back his arm and then let the whip fly. It was a long,
single tailed leather whip and it cut across her back with savage
force. Miranda screamed as the pain tore at her light lightning, the
force of the impact throwing her violently into the wall. Her breasts
were crushed and her lips tasted blood as she sobbed in misery.
Another quick slash across the lower back drew another shriek of
agony, and the blonde girl began to tear at the shackles, as if
somehow she could free herself.
Another meaty crack of noise echoed in the stone room as the whip cut
into the middle of her back, and Miranda screamed in agony, head
back, body twisting and straining.
Another blow across her lower back, and another, and another, each
threw the girl violently against the stone wall and drew another
shriek of pain from her.
The whip cut across her plump buttocks, and again she howled, begging
them, promising them her body, her mouth, anything they wanted,
desperate, frantic to stop the pain.
The whip slashed down again and again and again, until her body hung
limp, her tears constant, her face a mask of misery, her body
trembling now with the jagged pain burning inside her.
The man paused and moved forward. He gripped the girl's hips and
jerked her bottom back out from the wall, then opened his loincloth
and drew out his erection. With little ceremony he rubbed it along
her sweating buttocks, then forced it up into her anus, driving it
deep. His iron fingers clutched her hips, jerking them out to meet
his thrusts as the second man looked on with a casual smile.
When he was done the first man took his place, pulling the British
girl's hips out further to thrust himself up into her pussy. Miranda,
forced onto her toes, moaned weakly as she was raped, oddly grateful.
Anything was better than the whip!
Yet when the second man emptied himself in her belly they moved back
and the whip flew again, setting her to screaming and thrashing and
sobbing as it sliced into her soft, pale flesh again and again.
The blows ceased. She hung barely conscious by her wrists, moaning,
head back, hair tangled and matted against her skull and shoulders
and cheeks as she was pulled down. The men laid her on her belly. One
pulled her wrists back behind her back and wrapped a thin leather
cord tightly around them. The other pulled her ankles up and back,
tying a similar leather strap around them. Then her wrists were
pulled down, her ankles lifted up sharply, and wrists were tied to
ankles as her back was bowed cruelly.
She was shoved onto her side there against the wall, and left in
place as the men turned and left. Slowly, the rats began to move
closer, the snakes slithering back, the insects resuming their
previous movements.
Miranda lay hog-tied on her side, moaning weakly, her whip marked
body smelling of sweat and blood and sex as the rats moved ever
closer.
The girl would learn to be properly grateful for anything she got, to
be most eager to please her betters so as to never again return to
the dungeons.
Or she would die down there.
Caelie woke to a cool, sleet gray pre-dawn morning as Murphy spread
her legs and manoeuvred himself atop her.
She lay on the ground, hands bound behind her back, a rope tied
around her neck binding her to the tree next to her head. She felt
his cock against her opening, pushing hard, felt the strain against
her sex opening and winced.
Wa-wait," she gasped. "L-Let me take you in my mouth first!
At least that didn't hurt. She had done that for all three of them
the other evening, repeatedly, and learned much. It even gave her a
strange sense of power, being able to reduce these big, strong men to
quivering, gasping, moaning mounds of jelly as she sucked and licked
at their staffs.
It was still somewhat repugnant, but better than being raped dry - as
she had heard Smythe refer to it earlier. She knew little of sex, of
course, but was getting a crash course. It hurt as much as she'd
always been told when they rammed themselves into her. Yet, if she
mouthed them first then the slickness of her saliva on their staffs
made them move a good deal easier and caused far less pain.
Murphy obliged, crawling up her body, straddling her breasts,
gripping her hair and aiming his cock into her mouth. She licked at
it, sucking the head, then the rest, choking a little as he pushed
too deep, gagging as he loomed over her, thrust in and out, in and
out as her tongue worked desperately to lick at him.
He chuckled and pulled back, then rubbed his saliva-coated prick
along her lower furrow, pushing slowly forward through the soft,
straining mouth of her sex. She gasped softly as he slipped into her,
as she felt her straining lips slide down the length of his shaft,
the swollen head force its path up through her belly. and though it
hurt, it hurt much less.
He let his heavy weight come down atop the bound girl, his broken
toothed grin leering at her from inches away. He kissed her, and she
did her best not to show her disgust. He eased back and put his
fingers into her mouth. Caelie's eyes widened as they moved around
inside her mouth, then pulled back and went down to where their
groins were locked together, rubbing at his cock, slicking it down
further.
He moved much more freely within her now, and the movement was
smoother, with far less pain. It almost felt - natural. His fat staff
pumped in and out of her sex as he licked and kissed at her mouth and
cheeks and throat. His hands roughly fondled and kneaded her breasts
as his hips rose and fell atop her.
Miranda's legs were spread wide, and now she raised her knees
somewhat to ease his entrance, grunting as his heavy body thrust into
her. He gripped her hair, forcing her head back, and bit into the
nape of her neck so that she gasped and groaned.
He was an animal! He was a wild, savage animal! And weren't peasants
little better than animals to begin with!?
But God help her, without the pain, the feel of his man's prick
inside her was delicious as it moved up and down, so firm, so fat, so
strong and hard as it pumped within her silken tunnel. She could feel
her inner flesh pushed aside, then folding in behind the head of his
cock each time he withdrew. Her breathing quickened, and she felt her
knees beginning to rise and fall as he drove himself into her,
rocking back in time to his thrusts.
She felt her body's weight rolling back over her bound arms, grinding
them into the earth beneath as Murphy thrust harder. His hips began
to strike her upraised buttocks more solidly, the impact echoing
through her body as his own breathing came faster.
He crushed his lips against hers once more, his tongue thrusting
through her open lips, and the dazed young girl only moaned into his
mouth, her tongue slipping back tentatively, almost without conscious
thought as her body began to catch fire. She felt bestial and filthy,
a whore, as they called her, rutting in the dirt as she was. Shame
coloured her, yet a strange, wild, fey heat gripped her as well.
She felt the carnal excitement of the act as Murphy now began to rut
wildly, his breath loud, and ragged against her. Beyond him, Smythe
wakened, yawning, sitting up and scratching himself, then turning to
watch with smirking interest.
For the first time through her terror and pain Caelie imagined what a
life as the naked pleasure toy to men might be like. These men, these
brutal men, had in mind selling her to some local Indian lordling,
and she shuddered only half in fear, imagining herself naked and
beringed, perhaps even collared and naked among those savages. She
would be a slave to savages, a naked servant used casually for her
sex!
It was a fearful thought, but darkly arousing despite that. It was
the stuff of the most wicked, wide-eyed, breathless stories which
proper young ladies ought not to know, but always seemed to hear of.
She would be as thought taken by pirates off the Barbary coast!
And then Murphy stopped his rutting, collapsing atop her so she
groaned with his weight, her legs forced down to slap against the
earth on either side of her panting body. Murphy sighed and pulled
himself off her, yet now Smythe moved forward, leering. Caelie felt
again that mixture of dark hunger and shamed fear as the man moved
between her legs, then caught at them and, without a word, flipped
her over onto her belly.
Caelie gasped as she found her face in the rich, dark earth, only
relieved to have her weight off her aching, bound wrists. She felt
Smythe's hands slide beneath her hips and yank her bottom up, then
his prick sliding along the mouth of her sex.
She groaned as he speared himself forward, hurt, but still aroused.
Again she thought of how bestial this was, of what her friends and
acquaintances would think of her. And praise God they never found
out! What shocked, sordid, wide-eyed tales would be told in London
for years about the lewd things she had taken part in, however
unwilling.
Now her body began to rock in time to Smythe's thrusts, her cheek
rubbing against the dark earth as her bottom was slapped by his hips
and her insides stroked by his hard cock. She gasped in pain as he
reached beneath her chest to roughly grope her breast, then let out a
soft cry as his rough fingernails caught at the nipple, pinching and
twisting it.
She felt the heat flaring higher within her lower belly. Confusion,
shame, excitement and anxiety swirled within her mind as her body
betrayed her as it had before. And then she cried out in pain as
harsh hands gripped her long hair and yanked her head and shoulders
up bodily from the Earth. She stared before her at Lem's big cock as
he held her up by the hair, her body still shaking to the thrusts of
Smythe behind her.
Her mouth was gaping, and so his cock as it thrust forward, drove
neatly between her lips and slipped over her tongue. The head jammed
against the inside of one cheek, then drew back and pushed deeper
into her mouth so that Caelie gagged weakly.
Her eyes bulged, then, as he drew back, then thrust sharply forward.
She gagged especially hard, then choked as she felt his manhood
actually pushing down into her throat! She had never even heard of
such a thing, and for a panicked moment thought that she must surely
die. But then she recalled seeing a sword swallower once at a fair,
and her father explaining how the throat was but a narrow tube which
went straight down to the belly. It could certainly accommodate all
manner of things with little damage.
It didn't feel very good, however, and she could not resist her
instinct to try to tear herself free. Her body, however, was held too
tightly. Lem had his big hands on her head and gripping her hair. Her
wrists were bound tightly, and Smythe continued to hold her hips as
he smashed his belly into her backside.
She was so shocked at first, that by the time she even tried to
resist her face was jammed into Lem's smelling, unwashed groin, her
lips flat around the base of his shaft, her nose crushed into his
pubic bone. She certainly had no leverage to tear herself free now,
and could only tremble and shake and heave about a bit as he groaned
in pleasure and began to pump.
Her eyes teared up, her head pounded, and her chest began to burn so
that she could think of nothing but the sweetness of breath. Sweat
beaded her forehead as his thick shaft pumped back and forth inside
her throat, and black dots danced before her eyes as the world began
to blur around her.
Then he pulled back, his slick shaft finally popping free of her
throat and pulling out of her mouth, dripping a long, glistening line
of saliva behind as she drew in deep, desperate, ragged breaths of
air.
"We'll teach you to be a proper slut," Lem jeered. "Think what yer
father will say ta that!"
Caelie, jerking to and fro as Smythe rode her, didn't really care
what her father would say so much as about gulping in breath. She
moaned as Lem's cockhead rubbed over her lips, and she tried to turn
her head aside to no avail. He forced his cock back into her mouth,
cackling cruelly at her as he taunted her, jabbing the head against
the inside of one cheek, then the other, rubbing it along her tongue
and the roof of her mouth.
And then it was back into her throat again, and was she imagining it
or was it easier this time? His cock was slick with saliva, and
perhaps her throat was becoming just a little used to it. Still she
gagged and choked, but not so strongly now as he buried his cock in
her mouth and ground her face into his groin. He pumped it up and
down now, and the rasping against the tender flesh of her throat was
uncomfortable and unfamiliar.
Yet it seemed to especially arouse him, for he drew back suddenly,
holding his cock before her gasping face, and then to her shock, it
began to spit, to spray white droplets over her face and forehead.
Astonishment robbed her of all thinking as he continued to spend
himself on her face, and then as he chuckled and wrapped her hair
around his cock to wipe himself free she knew the true shame of what
he had done her.
He dropped her face into the dirt, and she grunted as she caught her
weight barely in time, jerking her head back to take her weight on
her shoulders. Then it was simply Smythe, rutting fiercely now, his
hips beating a tattoo against her upraised bottom as he skewered her.
He had endurance, though, despite his energy, and as her breathing
began to calm and her fear withdrew Caelie felt the heat returning,
or perhaps it had never left.
Dazed, moaning, she grunted weakly as the pleasure flared hot within
her lower belly, a wondrous burning heat engulfing her lower body and
spreading up her spine so that her mind seemed to spin like a top.
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--
-
From the ebook: Prisoners of the Sultan, by Argus. Argus books have
been published in paper form by Virgin Nexus, Silver Moon, Star,
Olympia, Chimera, and Beeline. His ebooks are available for download
at <http://www.ebookblue.com/>