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Some cult style domination
Archive-name: watchers-3
AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS
© 1994 Jeremy Brinkley -- Permission is hereby given to
distribute or
reproduce this story by electronic means, so long as the header
remains
intact. The following contains sexually explicit material and
should not
be read by anyone underage or offended by such.
AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS
Part the Third -- Sophia
It seemed a long time before anyone came. Shut up in his
little stone alcove, naked and cold, Trad soon found himself
yearning for anyone to come. He was not relieved that his first
visitor was Sophia.
"Please, ma'am," he began, scared and blubbering.
"Silence!" Dressed in her black robe, the Principate of the
Crone stepped closer to Trad's cell. She produced a little
plate,
upon which had been placed the dense, sweet cake the Watchers
called Korin. "Eat this." Eagerly Trad devoured the cake.
Sophia leaned close to the bars, and Trad could smell the
essence of age on her. Wrinkled and cracked, her skin was like
leather, her black robe barely serving to conceal her humped,
shriveled appearance.
"Boy, you have intruded upon a sacred ritual of the
Goddess."
Her black eyes bored right through his head. "Do you know what
the
punishment for that is?"
Meekly, Trad answered, "no."
"I should hope not." she said with a hint of a cruel smile.
"There isn't one. No one before you has ever done it. Do you
know
why? Because they fear us. You and your weakly sex fear us and
our
power.
"But now," she said, standing up and pacing the room, "A
little boy has done the unthinkable. I shall have to create the
punishment to fit the crime. But do you know what?" Here she
leaned closer to Trad, speaking in a sinister, rasping whisper,
"I'm not going to do it all at once. No. I'm going to do it
piecemeal. Nothing but punishment, little boy, until I've
decided
you've had enough." Trad started to cry.
"You must do what I say, little boy. If you don't, you will
never get out of that cage. You will never get any food. Do you
understand?"
"You are nothing, a little insect. You are here to
entertain
me; otherwise you will be squashed. You must answer me!"
"Yes." Trad agreed, crying harder than ever now.
"Why did you come to the ceremony, little turd?"
"I c-came to serve---" before he could even finish, Sophia
had
interrupted him.
"You came to look at naked women, turd. Isn't that right?
Answer me yes! Remember, no food, no freedom if you don't do what
I say!"
"Y-yes."
"You came to look at naked women--say it!"
"I came to look at naked women."
"You are a disgusting pervert. Look at you. Your tiny cock
hanging limp between your little stick-legs. You are nothing.
"And why did you want to look at naked women? I'll tell you
why-- and you'd best repeat it, boy-- it's because you liked
looking at your mother. Isn't that right?"
"Yes."
"Say it!"
"I like looking at my mother."
"Tell me more, turd. Tell me about what you'd like to do
with
your mother. You'd like to touch her, wouldn't you? Tell me!"
"Yes, I-I'd look at her when she bathed. I wanted to touch
her, her breasts."
"Exactly. What else. Tell me or you'll never leave, turd!"
"I wanted to kiss her, and make-- um, make -- um, do..."
"You wanted to fuck her, little turd. Say it!"
"I wanted to fuck her." Trad was now crying profusely, tears
running down his face. "I wanted to fuck my mother."
"And so you wanted to look at naked women." Sophia let her
black robe fall to the ground. Her breasts were small, but
sagged
nonetheless almost down to her belly. Every inch of her was
twisted, wrinkled and leathery. "Is this what you wanted to see?
Say yes!"
"Yes."
"You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you? You want
to touch me. Tell me how you want to touch me."
"I want to touch you. I want to, um, ...."
"You want to suck my cunt. You want to lick it. Say it!"
"I want to suck your cunt. I want to lick it."
"Don't just repeat me little turd. The sooner I'm satisfied
with your answers, the sooner you can leave your cage. Tell me
what you'd like to do to me."
"I want to lick your cunt. I want to fuck you and lick your
body and touch your breasts. I want to suck on you."
"Better, little turd." Behind her cold, penetrating eyes,
Trad
could see the cruel insanity lurking in the darkness. "Now I
want
you to play with yourself." Trad just looked at her, shocked
into
silence. "You heard me. If you play with yourself, I'll let you
out."
Desperate for freedom, Trad began fondling his little limp
penis. He could almost feel Sophia's cold eyes on his little
member.
"That's no use, little worm. Get it hard. Why don't you
get
it hard by telling me what you'd like to do with me. Tell me!"
Unfortunately, poor little Trad's imagination was already used
up.
He couldn't think of anything to say. This only angered Sophia
more.
"Describe how you'd fuck me, little turd, given half a
chance.
Tell me how you'd do it." Trad's mind rebelled, repulsed by the
idea of even touching the withered old crone. But he was scared,
so scared.
"Um, I'd kiss you first. Then I'd, um, I'd touch all over
your body. I-I'd touch your breasts." Trad frantically tugged at
his little penis trying to get it erect. "I'd kiss you on the
mouth, then I'd kiss your breasts."
At this point, it was obvious that while his little fantasy
wasn't doing anything for him, it was having quite an effect on
Sophia. She was breathing heavier, wheezing and shaking with
excitement. She knelt on the floor now, next to the metal grate,
and forced one of her sagging, wrinkled breasts through the bars.
"Yes, kiss it, turd." She wheezed. Trying to fight back his
own disgust, Trad leaned forward, pecking it below the nipple.
"Suck it, turd! Suck it!"
Trad tried to imagine a beautiful woman. In fact, the image
that popped into his mind was of Fluspeth. He imagined he was
sucking on her breast. With this tactic, his penis began to
respond, becoming erect as he took the shriveled nipple in his
mouth and began to suck.
But nothing had prepared him for the taste. As Sophia
wheezed
and moaned in response to his mouth and tongue, Trad began to
draw
out a foul-tasting discharge from her breast. Like infection or
pus, it squeezed out of her nipple as she heaved from excitement.
Trad tried to ignore it; he knew that the sooner he
ejaculated
the better. He tried to fix the image of Fluspeth in his mind as
he yanked back and forth and his penis. Soon he was able to feel
the heaviness in his legs that signalled orgasm. Sophia was
almost
out of her mind in excitement, her bent, withered body writhing
against the bars, pushing her flaccid, wrinkled breast into
Trad's
mouth. Sophia must have sensed he was near orgasm.
"Come on the floor, little turd." Trad saw no reason not to,
and so with a final yank, spurted his white, sticky come onto the
dirty stone floor. At the same time, Sophia withdrew her breast
from the bars, and stood up, putting her robe back on. Dressed
now, but still breathing heavily, she turned to face him.
"You know what you have to do, turd. You better clean that
up. When it's clean, I'll let you out." Sophia stared at him
with
those dead-cold, piercing eyes.
"Please, no." Trad could feel his bile rise with the though
of
lapping his own semen up from the dirty stone floor.
"Do it. Do it and I'll let you out. But only if you tell
me
you like it."
Slowly, Trad lowered his face to the floor. Closing his
eyes,
he took an experimental lick. His little pool of come had cooled
now, becoming thick and separated. It was cold, like snot, and
tasted salty. He could also taste the earthy flavor of the floor
of the room.
"Tell me that you like it." Trad continued lapping up the
thick semen.
"I like it. I like to taste my semen. It's a treat better
than the Korin. It's better than cookies. I love it. It tastes
good." With this he finished the last of his sperm, barely
keeping
it down as his sach heaved in response.
"Good." she said. She bent down and released the latch on
Trad's metal grate. Unceremoniously, Trad spilled out of the
confined space as Sophia walked over to the door.
"You did well, little turd. And I did as I said. You're
out
of the cage." With that, she exited through the door, slamming
and
locking it behind her.
--
Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to
[email protected].
Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for
"subscriptions,"
stories, GIFs, or archive sites.
AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS
Part the Fifth -- Krynna
This time, when Trad awoke, it wasn't to the rude sound of
yet
another intruder. While he slept, someone had apparently moved
him
to a real bed. He sat up and took stock of his situation.
The room was small, but not confining. Most of the people
of
Corrya slept on leaf-stuffed pallets, and the raised frame bed
was
almost unknown outside the Watchers. Trad marvelled at the
luxurious feel of the soft mattress. He was covered in fine
linen
sheets, and gathered them around him as he sat and contemplated
this new development.
A new optimism sparked to life in his mind. This must mean
his ordeal was over. The vicious punishment meted out to him by
Fluspeth must be it. There and then he swore a solemn oath never
to cross the guardians of the Goddess' grace.
Hanging on a hook by the door was a long knit tunic and
belt--
the appropriate garb for a boy of Trad's thirteen years. Feeling
better than he had since he first tried to invade the Triosa,
Trad
got out of bed, crossed the room, and retrieved the tunic. As he
moved around, he noticed a great deal of soreness in his arms and
legs.
As Trad buckled on his belt, he noticed that the table in
the
center of the room had been set with a pitcher of fresh water,
several slices of island fruit, and a large hunk of Korin.
Ravenous, Trad quickly devoured the food, and savored several
glasses of the fresh water.
Now there was a gentle tapping on the door. Someone was
knocking, he thought to himself, instead of barging in and
assaulting him. He stretched a little of the soreness out of his
limbs, and answered it.
He pulled it open to reveal the now-familiar form of one of
the Watchers. However, instead of grabbing him, she merely
smiled
at him and said, "Follow me."
"Are we leaving?" he asked.
"Yes." With that, she turned and led him down the
corridor.
Trad's original ideas of being trained in the Watchers' arts were
quashed. He had no desire now to be initiated in the vile
traditions of this place.
Soon he and his guide reached the huge front doors of the
Watcher building. They opened not to the side, but out and
downwards, swinging on diagonal hinges and controlled by a
windlass
on the inside of the door. Trad's heart began to beat in
excitement as he anticipated his freedom. The Watcher in front
of
him knocked three times on the big doors, then turned around.
Her
smile gone, she took him by both his arms, and pulled him close
to
her.
"I'm sorry." she said, very quietly, and kissed him gently
on
the forehead. Trad's relief turned to confusion as he began to
ask
what was going on. Soon, however, the giant doors opened to
reveal
the afternoon sun. Crowded into the clearing were about a
hundred
women and girls. In the center were four low stakes. Trad saw
immediately what was to become of him.
"No!" he yelled, and tried to jerk away from the Watcher.
But she easily held him, and dragged him, fighting, into the
clearing. Another Watcher joined her and, accompanied by the
jeers
and laughter of the crowd, tied him to the stakes and tore off
his
clothes. Trad now lay on the ground, spread-eagled and facing
the
sky, his ears assaulted by a hundred voices hungry for spectacle.
On the far side of the clearing he could see ancient Sophia,
beautiful Fluspeth, fat Krynna, and imposing Sichelgaita. Sophia
raised her hand, and somewhere a heavy, low drumbeat signalled
silence.
"Watchers: You see before you a piece of dirt. This scum
has
infiltrated our Order, daring to set his eyes on the festival of
Triosa.
"Watchers: You see before you two women of power and
greatness. For four years now Sichelgaita has served the Goddess
in her aspect as the Warrior. Each year, there must be a contest
to see who will be the third Principate of the Goddess: Either a
Principate of the Warrior, or of the Mother. Krynna here elects
candidacy in the form of the Mother.
"Watchers: Today you will see the expression of the
Goddess'
wisdom, for two problems will be solved. Whichever of the two of
these women can devise the most hellish punishment for this
slime--
whichever can humiliate, hurt, or subjugate this boy the
most--will
become Second Principate.
"I hold in my hand two short stalks of straw. One is
shorter
than the other. Krynna, Sichelgaita: come draw from my hand."
Without hesitation, the two women did exactly as she instructed.
Krynna held up the shorter straw.
"Krynna is first." intoned Sophia. "Let it thus begin."
With those words, Krynna shrugged off her voluminous robe,
revealing her corpulent, naked body underneath. Her skin was
dark,
much darker than other Corryans, and her immense body wallowed
and
rolled as she walked over to Trad. Kneeling next to his head,
she
bent down so he could hear her words.
"Little boy, I'll tell you something. What I am about to do
I do for my own enjoyment. This is no chore. I see it as an
opportunity for self-satisfaction.
"If you do as I tell you, you may get some satisfaction out
of
it yourself. Or, you might not. I don't care either way. But,
I
suggest you do as I tell you." Krynna moved forward, her big
sach almost brushing the ground, huge round ass prominent in the
air, so that her swinging breasts were directly in Trad's face.
"You know what to do little boy. Suck them. I want you to
suck them hard, as if drawing milk. I want--ah..." she moaned as
Trad began to do as she asked. Krynna's breasts were huge, far
larger than any Trad had seen before. He opened his mouth wide,
sucking in as much of the dark flesh as he could. Doing this, he
found that he did derive a little pleasure from it, repulsive
though he found Krynna's obese body.
"Watch!" Krynna called out to the crowd. "He pleases me;
he
services me. Such can be your power. Such can be your control.
He will do anything I ask, no matter how repulsive or
disgusting."
Then, to Trad, "suck it... ahh... harder, boy!"
Trad was already almost gagging on the huge appendages.
Krynna lowered her body so that her right breast covered Trad's
entire face, burying it in fragrant dark skin. Still Trad
sucked.
In an effort to please her and perhaps lessen his punishment,
Trad
licked her nipples, circling them with his tongue and eliciting a
rocking motion from Krynna.
Heated, and beginning to sweat, Krynna maneuvered herself so
that she was crouched, animal-like, over Trad's bound form. Her
breasts and sach brushed him, even as she supported herself on
her hands and knees. She sat there rocking, seemingly in a
reverie. Her eyes and mouth were closed as her nipples, huge and
erect, swung up and down Trad's chest. Her naked proximity began
to have a visible effect on him, and his little penis stirred to
attention.
Now she opened her eyes, staring into Trad's. She leaned
down
over him, opening her mouth wide and letting a huge stringy
gobbet
of spittle slide from her mouth onto his face. It ran onto his
nose, and dripped down the side of his head, getting in his eyes
and ears. Krynna smiled a cold, cruel smile as she worked her
tongue around her mouth.
"Open up, boy. Swallow it." she instructed. Repelled and
humiliated, Trad still opened his mouth. As he did, Krynna
pursed
her pouting, huge lips, dropping thick saliva into Trad's mouth.
He almost gagged as the spit ran down his throat, and he could
taste Krynna's mouth in his own. As he licked the outside of his
lips, Krynna let her weight down on top of him, almost knocking
the
breath out of him. She covered his mouth with hers, forcing her
tongue past his lips and invading his throat.
Krynna's tongue writhed like a snake in its death throes.
Trad had always imagined kissing as a nicety; a mild,
compassionate, intimate act. Now it was forced on him, rough,
lustful and violating. He found that, despite himself, his
arousal
was continuing. The enormously heavy weight of Krynna's naked
body
on his only contributed.
Finally Krynna seemed done raping Trad's mouth. Her hand
went
involuntarily to her crotch, there seeking the hot center of her
own arousal. As she touched herself, she spun around, so that
Trad
was now looking at her rear, framed by huge, heavy thighs near
his
head. Krynna was so excited now she was almost inarticulate.
"Mmm... Lick my cunt, boy... ahhh...." she groaned,
lowering
her heavy pelvis onto Trad's face. Her buttocks completely
covered
him, as he pushed upwards, trying to penetrate the folds of her
fat
and find the wet center of her sex.
Krynna spread her legs further apart, pressing her groin
into
Trad's face and rocking back and forth. Soon she was thrusting
up
and down as Trad, almost in desperation, surged his tongue
against
her clit. With each upstroke, Trad grabbed a quick breath of
close, heated air, before Krynna's gigantic body came back down
against his face.
Soon Krynna was beside herself. The thick, heavy smell of
Krynna's vagina suffused Trad's mouth and nostrils, exciting him
further. As Krynna's breasts swung back and forth over his erect
penis, he began to get seriously excited.
Krynna's whole body began shaking; vibrating with the need
for
release. Her moans got higher and louder, until it was obvious
she
was going to come. All of a sudden, a hot stream of urine hit
Trad
in his mouth, the bitter taste jerking his eyes open in shock.
Krynna shoved herself down on Trad's face hard, slamming her legs
together and clapping his head in a death-grip of orgasmic
ecstacy.
Most of her urine Trad was forced to swallow, gulping down
mouthful after mouthful of stinking fluid. Some of it ran down
his
face, covering the ground under his head in a dark puddle.
Krynna
kept his head trapped there, until stars began to appear behind
his
eyes. Then, slowly she released him. Her vulva and thighs were
covered in thick vaginal fluid and slick with piss, and the flesh
of her prodigious legs peeled away from Trad's face as he gulped
a
few quick breaths. Krynna flopped on the ground next to him,
spent
for the moment.
But it wasn't over yet. Soon Krynna had regained her feet,
and walked over to the side of the clearing, retrieving some
items
she had brought. She took two pitchers of water and a bladder of
some kind, attached to a flexible tube with a wide, hardened
end.
First she began pouring the water into the bladder. Each pitcher
held a little over a half-gallon, and the bladder was quite big
and
heavy when she was done. A special tie twisted and sealed it,
while a metal clip prevented the water from running out the
tube.
Finished with her procedure, she made her way back over to Trad.
This time she didn't talk to him. She licked her right
forefinger, liberally coating it with thick, gooey saliva, then
kneeled down over Trad's body, facing his feet. She set the
bladder on the ground, and with her right hand began handling
Trad's ass crack.
Trad, shocked out of his arousal by Krynna's liberal dose of
urine, began responding to her touch, again gaining an erection.
She slowly pressed her forefinger against Trad's little anus,
forcing it past the sphincter and causing Trad to gasp a little.
It really wasn't so bad, though. As she worked her finger in and
out, Trad actually found it even more arousing, and his erection
became rock-hard, pressing against Krynna's prodigious belly.
Next Krynna took the hard end of the gut tube and pushed it
into Trad's backside. She fed about a foot of the tube inside,
then lifted the bladder off the ground. Next she wiggled back
along Trad's body, until her own ass was just above his head.
"Lick my ass, boy. Lick it." she whispered as she lowered
her
buttock's over Trad's face. Knowing what was to come next, Trad
cooperated, hoping to end his ordeal as quickly as possible. He
began by running his tongue up Krynna's ass to the tailbone. She
shuddered as he lingered over the dark, puckered button of her
anus. Soon Trad began rimming her asshole in earnest, his tongue
tracing spirals over the tiny ridges.
He wasn't prepared for how cold it was. As Krynna released
the clamp on the tubing, water began to run into Trad's bowels.
Soon, even before the water was a quarter gone, Trad felt
painfully
full and the water stopped running.
"Stick it in..." Krynna moaned, moving her wide hips
side-to-
side with Trad's upturned face buried in her ass. Steeling
himself, Trad formed his tongue into a point and shoved it into
her
hole. The taste was bitter, but not as bad as he thought it
would
be. Between the heavy pressure on his gut, and Krynna's moans of
pleasure, his erection remained stiff, almost painfully hard.
Krynna set the bladder down between Trad's legs.
Krynna arched upright, sitting straight above Trad's head
and
putting more of her weight against his tongue. She grabbed her
cheeks in her hands and pulled them to the side, sitting on
Trad's
face and forcing Trad's tongue farther into her ass.
Now she reached one hand behind her, still stretching her
buttocks apart, and stuck the other down in her crotch. She
again
began to vibrate from sexual excitement as she rapidly and
lightly
feathered her clit and Trad fucked her ass with his tongue.
She stood up suddenly, saying "That's enough playing." With
that, she picked up the bladder and straddled Trad's crotch. She
placed the bag of cool water on Trad's sach, and lowered herself
onto him, guiding his penis into her vagina with her fingers.
Her sex was much hotter than Trad thought it would be. He
was
occupied with this thought and with his own arousal, and didn't
notice that Krynna had removed the clamp on the tubing.
Krynna began to move rapidly up and down, impaling herself
on
Trad's penis. With every stroke, she pressed down on the bag, so
that each hot rush of pleasure was accompanied by the painful
wash
of cold water into his gut. Again and again she rode him up and
down, each time threatening to burst his bowels.
Soon Trad felt he was going to explode, so profound was the
pain. Krynna's heavy body would slam down on his abdomen, and be
countered by the thrust of fluid into his anus. Bouncing up and
down, Krynna was sweating, growing hot with excitement as she
watched the twin emotions of pain and pleasure play out on Trad's
face.
Soon the bladder was empty, and Krynna ripped it
unceremoniously out of his ass, pounding him harder in a frenzied
search for release. As she did so, Trad felt his own excitement
harden, and he felt the hot, heavy feeling in his body that
signalled an orgasm.
They came as one, Krynna screaming and Trad losing bowel
control. As he spurted come into Krynna's vagina, the contents
of
his gut voided onto the ground in a high-pressure jet.
Contraction
after contraction, the communal orgasm seemed to go on forever,
until a gallon and a half of brown, unattractive water spread out
in the clearing and Krynna collapsed on top of Trad, spreading
her
bulk flat over his body.
After a time, she rolled over, picked up the spent bladder,
and
walked back to the outside of the circle. Trad panted, trying to
recover from his experience, when Sophia spoke again.
"And now," she announced, "Sichelgaita."
--
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[email protected].
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From: [email protected] (Jeremy)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS, Pt 6 of 6
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Date: 15 Feb 1994 15:34:53 -0500
Organization: University of California, Davis
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Approved: [email protected] (Tim Pierce)
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Keywords: mf teen series heavy dom heavy bond heavy sm gothic nc
rape
X-Moderator-Review: 2: don't read this on a full sach
Archive-name: watchers-6
AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS
© 1994 Jeremy Brinkley -- Permission is hereby given to
distribute or
reproduce this story by electronic means, so long as the header
remains
intact. The following contains sexually explicit material and
should not
be read by anyone underage or offended by such.
AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS
Part the Sixth -- Sichelgaita
The crowd roared its approval as Sichelgaita crossed the
clearing to Trad's bound body. As her six and a half foot form
reached his, she let her robe of office drop.
Sichelgaita had set aside her tough leather armor in favor
of
a harness, all black leather and metal studs. The straps were
tight against Sichelgaita's skin, showing off her muscular body.
They supported her breasts without concealing them, her little
nipples almost lost against the high, tight globes.
Black leather also framed her pubis. Her thick black curls
crowded the space between her legs. In her right hand she
carried
a bag, which she set down next to Trad. Sichelgaita stood over
him, straddling his little torso. He gazed up at her towering
body, impressed despite his fear.
Sichelgaita bent at the waist, reaching down and pulling the
stake holding Trad's right arm. Lifting it free of his bonds,
she
stepped over his head, replacing it about five feet from Trad's
left arm on the other side. Cowed by fear, Trad didn't struggle
to
escape, even as Sichelgaita did the same thing with the stake on
his right leg.
Next she took him by the upper arm and thinly-built thigh,
strong fingers digging into his flesh. She flipped him over
bodily, like an object, not saying anything as she tied Trad,
face-
down, into his new spread-eagled position.
As Trad was turned over, he could see the crowd's eager,
smiling faces--almost manic with a freakish hunger. They
chattered
and talked, laughed and pointed at the humiliated boy.
Sichelgaita began removing tools from the bag. First was a
long keen knife, which she laid on the ground about four inches
from Trad's downturned face. Next she removed some kind of
wooden
rod--it was about a foot long, one and a half inches wide, and
rounded on the end like cucumber. It was lacquered with some
kind
of glue, giving it a smooth texture and appearance, and at its
base
four thick metal "staples" protruded on the side.
Next she took out a glass bottle, filled with some kind of
thick oil. Suspended in the fluid were little bits of herbs and
other unidentifiable materials. Then, she took out a light
wooden
stick. Bound with leather on one end, the bamboo-like wood was
split at the other. Lastly, she removed a pair of metal hooks,
tied together with linen. Attached to this little device was a
thin wooden toggle that had holes drilled sideways through it at
either end. It was about three inches long, an inch wide, and
was
accompanied by two long, thick needles.
Sichelgaita took this device and unraveled it, laying the
pieces out on Trad's smooth back. She straddled him, facing his
head and resting on her knees.
With her left hand, she grabbed a handful of Trad's hair and
pulled his head back toward her. She placed the two metal hooks
at
the corners of his mouth, so that the linen strap ran from one
hook, behind Trad's head and over to the other hook. Sichelgaita
pulled this strap back with her hand, painfully stretching Trad's
mouth open and eliciting a groan of pain.
Next she put the wooden toggle crosswise between the short
linen strap and the back of Trad's head. She began twisting the
toggle, slowly tightening the cloth and pulling Trad's mouth
wider
and wider. As she twisted, the cloth bunched up, pulling against
Trad's face.
She leaned back now, stretching Trad's neck and pressing the
toggle in between Trad's shoulder blades. Holding it there with
her left hand, she picked up one of the steel needles in her
right.
Trad screamed as she pushed the needle deep into the flesh
of
his back. She pushed the needle completely through a fold of
muscle and skin. Little drops of blood formed as the crowd
hushed
and Trad's inarticulate, strained screams became the only sound
in
the clearing. Sichelgaita threaded the needle through one of the
holes in the toggle, then back into Trad's skin, roughly jerking
it
through the last couple of inches.
She repeated the process with the other needle, effectively
pinning the twisted linen strap to Trad's body. The tension and
pain were almost unbearable--Trad felt like his face was being
ripped in half. Trad's screams subsided, becoming low sobs. He
couldn't close his mouth to swallow, and as a result, little
rivulets of spittle ran out of his mouth and onto the ground.
Sichelgaita stood up, leaving Trad in his unnaturally arched
position, and retrieved the whipping stick from the ground. She
tested the heft of it with her hand.
The air whistled through the split end of the stick, and
with
a loud crack it landed on Trad's young buttocks. Trad jerked and
screamed again. Sichelgaita began to get truly excited now. Her
small, sharp nipples hardened as she brought the stick down hard
again. A second swollen red welt joined the first.
She began whipping the boy faster, savoring the sight of his
young body bucking in agony under the assault. Each scream and
flinch, every iota of pain excited her more, until her whipping
became a frenzy of lust and torment.
Breathing heavily, Sichelgaita dropped the stick, and picked
up the thick wooden phallus. Its function was clear now, as she
fitted the sturdy metal brackets at its base into her harness so
that it hung just above the rise of her mound. Thus equipped,
she
uncorked the bottle of oil and knelt behind Trad, sitting between
his legs.
As she poured some of the oil out on his buttocks, he
realized
it must have contained some kind of pepper or irritant. Trad
felt
the bite of new agony as the oil spread out along his wounds. It
was like salt, only much worse. The oil ran down the crack of
his
ass, burning his anus.
Trad writhed, trying to escape the liquid torment as it ran
down around his scrotum and penis, raging like fire and somehow
forcing his penis erect against the ground.
Sichelgaita took her hands, dripping with the oil, and
applied
a thick coating of lubricant to the phallus. Trad's spare
buttocks
did not conceal his anal opening, still somewhat loose from
Krynna's enema. His sphincter easily admitted her finger.
But as she slipped a second finger in, stretching it, the
oil
began to burn his rectum. It felt like crawling fire invading
his
gut.
Sichelgaita decided the preliminaries were over. Trad
screamed soundlessly as she pushed her phallus hard into his
ass.
She jerked back and forth as violently as possible, ramming the
phallus into his anus with all the strength of her legs, then
jerking it all the way out just as quickly. Then she would
roughly
shove it in again.
Trad's body exploded with pain as blue stars crowded his
vision, disorienting him. Faster and faster she thrusted,
excited
to a sexual frenzy by her brutal rape of the boy.
Pulling out, she decided it was still not enough. Forming
her
fingers into a wedge, she jammed them against Trad's anus. Her
prodigious muscles flexed along her arm as she strained to force
her hand into his body.
All at once, her hand slipped into his anus. The pain
proved
too much for Trad, and he threw up, vomit running down his chin--
spouting forth from the caricaturish grimace of his face.
Almost as if she were punching someone, Sichelgaita forced
her
hand up the boy's rectum, pushing with her feet and shoving it in
as far as she could. She formed her big hand into a fist and
began
jerking it back and forth, excited by the sight of her forearm
disappearing into Trad's young ass.
Meanwhile, the fiery oil was having its effect on Trad's
penis, engorging it with blood and almost causing him to come on
his own.
As Sichelgaita continued to shove her arm into Trad up to
the
elbow, she picked up the knife in her left hand. She brought it
around, placing the cold keen blade between Trad's legs.
Sichelgaita was moaning now, excited by the absolute hell she was
inflicting on the boy. She screamed aloud as she was consumed by
orgasm.
Spasming with one after another wave of ecstacy, Sichelgaita
pressed the flat of the knife against Trad's penis. Immediately
it
jumped, squirting hot white come onto the ground. Then
Sichelgaita
turned the knife, sawing viciously into Trad's crotch, slitting
him
from anus to scrotum.
There was one final scream from both of them as the knife
hit
bone. Semen mingled with blood on the ground as Sichelgaita
jerked
her fist out of Trad's bloody anus and grabbed the knife with
both
hands. She stabbed him in the lower back, rapid-fire; shivering
with delight as the silver blade dove in and out of Trad's body.
Meaty sounds of gristle accompanied each thrust.
Leaving the knife quivering in Trad's body, Sichelgaita
collapsed next to him. His copious blood ran around her on the
ground and formed a warm, sticky puddle.
Despair clouded Trad's mind as he lost consciousness,
descending into the sleep of death. The crowd was silent,
watching
Sichelgaita pant heavily next to Trad's rapidly cooling body.
For
an hour they must have stared.
Then, without another word, Sophia indicated for everyone to
come inside.
"Shouldn't we do something about the body?" Krynna asked as
they filed into the building. Sophia answered.
"The animals will take care of it soon enough."
--
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From: [email protected] (The Bard)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
Subject: Grounded
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Date: 15 Feb 1994 15:42:31 -0500
Organization: Smut Lobby
Lines: 350
Sender: [email protected]
Approved: [email protected] (Tim Pierce)
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
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Keywords: mm trans teen
X-Moderator-Review: 3: black hookers and transvestites are
getting old by now
Archive-name: grounded
Grounded
Magoo
"You're grounded!" Jake's father yelled at him.
Jake looked from his father's red-face to his mother.
As usual she was nodding her head like one of those
novelty doggies people use to keep in the back of their
car. She always did that when his father started yelling--
silently nodded her agreement no matter how wrong the
blow-hard was. And tonight he was as wrong as ever. Friday
night. All the kids were out at the burger joints with
their cars and girls; everybody except him because his
blow-hard father wanted to make some stupid point about
grades.
"This is the worst report card I've seen. You're a
disgrace as a son!"
Fuck you, Jake said to himself looking away. Here it
comes.
"You're gonna wind-up bum digging ditches, if you're
lucky. When I was your age an education was something only
the rich could get. Now....."
Jake wished he was big enough to take his father out.
On could whack across his fat mouth was all he'd like to
give him. A good whack and then saying something real cool
like, "You fat bald-headed dreeb. I'll kick your ass if
you ever raise your voice at me again."
Maybe next year if he put on more weight. Gotta get on
one of the teams-- wrestling, soccer, anything to bulk up
so I can take the blow-hard out nice and clean; no
wrestling on the kitchen floor with mama screaming to stop
or anything; just one clean Mike Tyson knock-out punch.
"No go to your room and stay their all weekend. And
while you're there I suggest you do a little studying,
dumbkopf!"
What did the fuck call me? a voice in Jake's head
screamed. He looked to his mother in protest and there she
was just nodding her head as if she hadn't heard a thing.
Crestfallen, Jake walked to his room.
"The little shrimp ain't no son of mine, I tell you.
No sir, Ethel. That ain't my kid. We got brains on my side
of the family."
"That's quite enough, Bill. Don't overdo it."
Jake slammed the door to his room. "`That's quite
enough Bill...Don't overdo it...'" Is that all she can
say? His own mother, and that was all she could say....
From his window, Jake saw them as they walked to the
driveway to the car. Mom wasn't too bad, but the Blow-hard
had asshole written all over him. A suit and a tie. Nobody
wore a suit and tie anymore. At least Mom looked kinda
cool in a almost mini-skirt. She could still getaway with
a dress like that. She was built like him-- small-boned
and lean; delicate. What was it the girls always told him?
"Jake, you've got such good bone structure. Boy, would you
have made a beautiful girl."
Jake turned from the window and walked from his room.
He went through the living room to the kitchen and opened
the refrigerator. He removed his father's two remaining
bottles of Sam Adam beer from the shelf. "Fuck 'em," he
cursed outloud, thinking about his father's mouth-frothing
warnings regarding Jake's beer drinking. "Fuck 'em."
After polishing off the first beer, the thing he
wanted to do-- needed to do -- became clear. He went to
his room, slipped-in Meat Loaf's Bat Out of Hell II into
the deck and turned it up full blast. The old house began
to shake. Then, holding the second beer firmly in his
hand, he went from his own room to their room down the
hall. He kicked the door open. "Twin fucking beds. I don't
blame Mom."
Besides the twin beds everything else in their room
was like out of a magazine. Real people didn't sleep here;
"Gee-zuz, no wonder why I'm fucked up with parents like
these."
Jake placed the beer on the desk nearby the door and
went to the chest-of-drawers. He bent down and opened the
bot draw. The panties were neatly folded in two rows.
He hesitated for a moment, then reached for the sole black
pair. Opening another draw he extracted a bra and a pair
of panty-hose. He then placed all three items on his
father's bed and went to the closet. After rummaging in
here for a moment he found what he was looking for-- the
red mini-skirt his mother had stopped wearing years
earlier. He threw this on his father's bed then rummaged
around on the floor until finding the stiletto heels he
was looking for. He then stepped from the closet to the
bed and gazed on the bounty. A crazy sticky warm started
in his chest, then a delicious tighting over the surface
of his scrotum. He let out a horse laugh. He went for the
bottle of beer and consumed it in one long chug-a-lug.
"Fuck 'em."
A half-hour later, he teetered from the house to the
garage and rolled his BMX bike out into the driveway. The
stiletto heels were like walking on stilts but he didn't
mind. Once on the bike, he found that the mini-skirt made
riding extremely difficult, but he didn't mind this
either. By the time he reached 's house he was
exhausted. 's bedroom was around back. Jake rode past
the front door, down the driveway to 's bedroom window.
He placed his BMX down and tapped on the window.
"Holy shit!" said.
Jake did not hear these words, but rather, read them
from 's lips. frantically opened the window.
"Jake, what the fuck are you doing?"
"My dad, grounded me, so I'm gonna make a few extra
bucks turning tricks."
"Wha-- are you out of your fucking mind? You look like
a hooker!"
"That's the general idea. C'mon, I'll let you be my
pimp. We'll split everything 50-50."
Jake could see was quickly getting over his shock.
Money had a way of doing that to .
"Jeez, do you think you can really pull it off?" he
wanted to know.
"Sure; I mean, how complicated can it be?"
"Yeah...Ok, let me get my bike."
A few minutes later, the two were biking down Kennedy
street on their way to Martin Luther King Avenue. Once
there Jake told where to stand and what to do. He had
figured the whole thing out while they were riding over.
The intersection of King and Kennedy was a known hooker
stroll. There were lots of little nooks and cranny's were
the pimps could hide while they kept an eye on their
hookers.
"Ok, ok, you stay here with the bikes while I get a
cuser," Jake said handing the larger boy his BMX.
"Jeez, Jake, I mean, how do you know what to charge
them and everything."
Jake hesitated. His face took on a puzzled look.
Finally, he seemed to have an answer. "They'll know the
price. I'll just ask for $10 more than what they offer."
's face wrinkled with respect for his buddy's
shrewdness. "Yeah, cool. That'll work, man, yeah."
Jake smoothed his skirt and began walking towards the
intersection. It felt funny walking on the heels after
bicycling for so long, plus his mother's mini was skin
tight around his hips.
"This is my corner, bitch."
"Huh?" Jake said, eying the black girl in
astonishment. Where had she come from? he wondered. He
hadn't see her a second ago.
"You must be new around here," the black hooker said.
"I've never seen you before. Well, anyway, that's neither
here or there. First rule: never try to work another
corner."
"O--oh, I didn't know," Jake said suddenly feeling
scared and foolish. The girl was taller than he and seemed
as rough as sandpaper.
"But I tell, you," the black hooker said, suddenly
smiling a wicked, calculating smile, "you might be good
for business. You young, cute, blonde. The tricks like
that shit. Maybe we can be a team, you know, salt and
pepper."
Her name was Tasha. She talked a mile a minute using a
language Jake understood only about 1/4 of. But this may
have been because all of a sudden the traffic was going
crazy. Guys were tooting their horns and calling from
their cars like nuts.
"See what I mean?-- salt and Pepper. We a team,
sistuh. We got it going on."
A big diesel slowed down.
"Hey, Tasha who's your friend?" the beefy driver
called.
"Her name is Anita and she charges $50 paid up front."
"No problem, hop in Anita."
"That's $25 now, $25 after."
The driver quickly thrust a fist-full of bills out the
window which Tasha snatched from his hand even quicker.
"Now, you take it easy on her, Hogan. She's just
starting out.
Jake hopped into the cabin and gave the trucker
directions to his house. As the truck accelerated he
looked to the rear-veiw mirror and saw awkwardly
following while wheeling the BMX to the side. was soon
a speck, then vanished from the mirror completely.
"Where are we going?" the trucker wanted to know.
"To my house," Jake answered without thinking.
"Hey, baby, I like that."
The trucker reminded Jake of the guy who plays
Roseanne's husband. He was that big and beefy. Jake
shivered at what would happen once they got to the house.
"Pull into the driveway," Jake ordered him.
"Hell, I don't know if I can get this rig in there,
sweetie."
"Well, just park on the street, whatever, but c'mon,
we have to hurry."
Jake knew the neighbors were looking. He could feel
their eyes. Mrs. Cucio would surely be recording all. Then
Bill Karnes down the street, his father's golfing buddy,
was probably suffering another heart attack by now
watching. It didn't matter. It was too late to turn back
now. Besides, the trucker had already paid for him-- at
least half of him.
"Upstairs the room at the end of the hall with the
twin beds in it," Jake told him pointing upstairs.
"I'll be up there in a second."
The big man bounded up the stairs like a sprinter.
Jake moved just as quickly to the bar in the living room.
Behind the bar was his father's liquor cabinet. Jake
walked straight to it, then, taking off one of the heels,
he smashed the small pane and unlocked the cabinet from
inside. He removed the bottle of Jack Daniel's and
beginning drinking from it immediately.
By the time he got upstairs to find the trucker naked and
laying on his mother's bed, his fright was gone.
"Not the other one," he said to the trucker.
"Huh?" the man grunted.
"Not that bed, this bed," Jake said pointing to his
father's bed.
"Oh, sure," the man said lifting his bulk and swinging
it over to the other bed.
"And roll the bedspread down to the sheets. I got a
feeling this is going to be gross-fucking-city."
"Hahahaha," the trucker laughed.
"Gross-fucking-city'-- you kids say the craziest things.
It kills me, every time, I tell ya. `Gross-fucking-city'--
Hahahahaha.... Where do you come up with such vocabulary?"
The scream woke Jake from demon-filled dream. It was
his mother's scream. She was standing there next two his
father in front of Mrs. Cucio and Mr. Karnes. All faces
were aghast as if frozen by some horrific sight. Jake felt
someone's leg over his thighs; a tree-trunk of an arm over
his chest. It was the trucker, naked and hairy and snoring
like a locomotive. On the top of his head, he wore Jake's
mother's panties as if it where a sleeping cap. Jake
wondered about this until his father's voice riveted his
attention back to the four horror-stricken faces.
"Gee-zuz Kaa-ryess!" his father gasped.
Jake could not remember his father ever evoking the
son of God's name quite like this before. Even the day he
had called him from the police station to tell him he had
just totaled his new station wagon and was being held for
DUI.
"Looka 'em," old man Karnes wheezed his hand at his
heart. And then old man Karnes gasped and dropped like a
sack of potatoes, right there in front of everybody.
Jake felt a laugh began at the bot of his throat.
He was naked and sweaty, had his mother's bra and heels
on, and was entirely pinned under the impossible weight of
the sweat-drenched trucker in his father's bed with old
man Karnes dying on the floor, and yet, he felt a laugh
began at the bot of his throat.
"So, tell me dad," he said in a voice that sounded
even to him like that of some dwarf from hell.
"How long does a dude get grounded for something real
cool like this?"
End
*This series will continue if sufficient response is
E-mailed to me. You may also want to E-mail the moderator
of your rating of this story, as well.
Magoo.
[email protected]
Copywrite 2.7.94
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From: [email protected] (The Bard)
Subject: Johnny Gets Turned Out
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
X-Moderator-Review: 3: yeah, right, Magoo understands
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.50AXP
Keywords: mm nc rape
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Date: Thu, 17 Feb 1994 19:07:00 GMT
Approved: [email protected] (Tim Pierce)
Lines: 297
Archive-name: turned-out
Johnny Gets Turned Out
Magoo /thebard
And now a moment of seriousness, for this is a true
story of what we men fear even more than woman do--
boy-boy rape.
At 19 years of age Johnny had it all together. His job
at the Ford auto plant paid well and didn't it hurt that
after just a year on the job, the credit union had ok'ed
his Mustang 5.0. car loan without a hitch. And then it
was real cool when his foreman let him pick the car right
off the line. Johnny and his pals made sure this car got
tender-loving care all the way through. It was a
great-looking machine-- candy-apple red-- and all of a
sudden, Marie, the cute little blonde who had been playing
so hard to get, started to show some interest. Life had
become most excellent.
The new Kroger's was located right on the border
between where the blacks and whites lived. The guys who
choose the location apparently didn't know that at night
this area was a no-mans-land of prostitution, drugs, and
petty crime-- a real eyesore, that shoppers, especially
housewives, stayed away from. In fact, the only whites
who'd go there after sundown were tricks and young guys
like Johnny, who'd maybe grab a six-pack and drive out to
score some grass and watch the freak show. And it was
quite a show. Somehow, by some arcane, voodoo
demographics, black transvestites had come to claim the
area as their own. Through-out the night, the towering,
surreal transvestites would command the area patrolling,
taunting, and challenging any male who passed "man enough"
to try "a walk on the wild side."
The most stunning of these she-males was the one they
called "Cat." Cat was six-foot tall with an hour-glass
figure other she-males would die for. Her face and walk
were pure Naomi Campbell; her ass a work of art Leonardo
De Vinci would have admired. Then, of course, there was
the voice-- a startling thing when you first heard it; a
voice that seemed very essence of bewitching, mysterious
she-male sexuality.
Johnny's unfortunate run-in with Cat happened like
this:
One evening while doing his weekly shopping at the
Krogers, he saw her standing in the aisle. Earlier, he had
had a couple of beers. He felt playful. Cat felt his
stare. She turned to face him. Rather than look away from
the tough street walker, Johnny continued his leering
gaze. This was his first mistake.
Cat was puzzled. The young white guy did not fit the
profile of her usual cuser. He was young, tall, and
handsome; plus he seemed straight and not at all of a
freakish bent. Then the boy opened his mouth and wagged
his tongue at her. This blew Cat's mind. It is one thing
to have to perform on demand for a dozen or so middle-age,
obese tricks, quite another to encounter a cute young stud
displaying the age-old sign of oral sex. Cat nodded and
walked over to him.
"Do I know you," she said, immediately looking from
his blue eyes to his crotch.
"Do you have to know me to let me eat you," Johnny
said, amazed at how easy the words had come to his mouth.
The rush of blood that flooded Cat's body made her
knees wobble and her head dizzy. Beneath her leather skirt
her penis ripped through her lace panties. The young fool
had mashed right on her button-- had said the absolute
right thing; for receiving head was Cat's most cherished
fetish. In addition, it had been ages since her cock had
been sucked by such a pretty virgin boy. She moved
quickly.
"Let's go to my place," she said. "I live right around
the corner."
Johnny was suddenly came to his senses. Although
mesmerized by her wicked beauty he was now frightened at
how deep and labored her breathing had become. This was no
game. He had never seen anyone so horny.
I-I have to finish my shopping," he said. " And then
t-there are some things I have to get home before I-I'll
be free."
Cat immediately opened the Gucci bag on her shoulder
and extracted a pen and pad. She scribbled her number on
it, handed it to him, and then, as if an after thought,
asked him his number.
"My number," Johnny replied.
"Yeah, baby, let me have it.
Stupidly, Johnny gave her his *right* number.
She took the paper from his hand and put it in her
Gucci. "I knew you were a freak all along," she said to
him her eyes still glued to his crotch. "I ben watching
you for a long time, you know. I like your style."
By now Johnny was sorry he had ever gotten up that
morning. The creature in front of him was no joke. She had
to be an inch or two taller than he and although she was
wonderfully slender and well-curved, there was little
question her wide shoulders and whip-like arms could move
very fast and hard if the need arose. He knew he'd never
be able to come to the Kroger's again. His silly game had
backfired on him in spades. Talk about instant karma.
"Tell me now, if you don't wanna come over," she said
panting. "Don't turn me on and leave me hanging, baby. I
don't play that shit."
"Oh, I'll be coming over," Johnny said weakly. "You
can depend on it."
Johnny got out of the store as quick as he could. Then
when he got home he locked the door. His head was all
fucked up. What had he started?
Her tele-call came only a few minutes later. Her voice
was thick and panting.
"You getting ready for me, baby?" she wanted to know.
Johnny did not try to control his anger.
"No!" he exploded. "Are you fucking crazy or what? You
really don't think I'd have anything to do with a
degenerate like you, do you?"
There was a gasp from the other end; a sucking in of
the breath as if the caller was steadying herself from a
blow that had almost knocked her over. And than, after a
moment, her voice came slow and dripping with danger:
"Nobody talks to me like that, motherfucker..."
Johnny laughed, "Fuck you, nigger. Leave me alone
before I call the police."
Then Johnny hung-up. And that, as far as he was
concerned, was the end of that. It was, however, just the
beginning.
Her second call some few hours later while he was
watching Star Trek.
"Hey, Johnny this is Cat, the girl you met at the
supermarket--"
"Whatdafuck--"
"Now, don't hang up. I have a question to ask. You
see, there's a lady in my building, a cute lady-- looks
just like Victoria Principal-- and you see, she's ...oh,
you know, kinda of hot. I mean, I guess, you could say
she's kinda of oversexed, you know what I mean? And you
see, what she was wondering-- I told her cute you were,
and everything-- well, what she was wondering, was whether
you'd come over and fuck her for $100?"
Oh his way over Johnny kept thinking of how Cat had
described her: "...looks just like Victoria Principa...".
By the time he reached Cat's door, his balls were swollen
and blue.
"Hey, was that fast enough?" Johnny said as Cat opened
the door for him.
Cat didn't answer, she just stepped back to let him
in. Rearing to go, Johnny walked inside.
"So where is this hot babe--"
The punch was quick and hard; and than another, and
another. Johnny tried to protect himself from the rain of
blows but could not. She was working him over with a skill
that was infinitely more lethal than anything he knew
about fighting. He went to his knees and still the blows
came. Finally he abandoned all hope of defending himself
against the enraged transvestite and did something he had
never done before in his life-- he began pleading.
"Please, no, no, more. Please don't hit me anymore."
Cat stopped.
"You stupid motherfucker," she spat. "You gonna learn
to respect me."
Johnny looked up at the black banshee towering above
him. Her long hair was at her shoulders. Her face was
lip-sticked her eyes painted as if she were going out on a
date. Her thick breasts jutting against the fabric of the
tank top she wore. Her sach flat and hard. And she wore
a mini-skit and heels despite the pummeling she had just
administered. In another scenario he'd have been turned on
by such a lewd-looking woman.
Now his face and head throbbed, and his hands were in
front of him fearfully. He did not want her to beat him
anymore.
"Get up."
Johnny stood up still shaking.
"Take off you clothes."
"What?"
The blow came hard and fast. On the floor again,
Johnny could not help being amazed at the power of the
she-male's punch.
"Now let's try it again-- take your motherfucking
clothes off."
Johnny quickly began undressing.
"Take them briefs off too."
Johnny complied with this request too, and then stood
before the transvestite naked and shivering.
"You gotta a nice body for a white boy. Turn around."
Johnny turned around.
"Um-hum, cute. Now turn back around and give me some
head."
Her words affected him like an electric shock. He
turned to face her and was aghast at what he saw. In the
few seconds he had turned from her she had stepped out of
her mini-skirt and pulled her dick from her panties. The
thing was bouncing at him; bouncing as if it were a long
black eel biding him to bite its head off.
"C'mon french me, sweet baby"
Looking from the monstrous thing to his tormentor's
eyes, Johnny felt tears come to his. This could not be
happening; it had to be a nightmare; no one could force
another man to do such a thing.
"Motherfucker! I don't care about your motherfucking
tears. I want some head!" she bellowed.
And all of a sudden Johnny knew he could-- would -- do
the unthinkable. He stepped towards her.
"That's right baby," The Cat said, an obscene leer on
her face, "come here and get a mouthful of my ignorant
stick."
End of Part One
The Bard
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