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Subject: RP: The Evil that Men Can't Do torture, humil, silliness
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(Note: I am not the author, only the archivist.
The following story contains scenes of explicit sex. If you're not old
enough to be here, you're not old enough to read it. Scram.)
From: trane@teamhbbs.com (TRANE)
****************************
THE EVIL THAT MEN CAN'T DO
The chilled water from the cracked, porcelain basin actually woke her,
although the ache in her wrists certainly soon would have done so. Her
eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by the image of a narrow, beetle-
browed face, framed with dark, greasy hair and a sparse, oiled goatee.
An unruly moustache split his features into upper and lower
hemispheres, the former of which was dominated by dark, searing eyes.
The mouth opened to display crooked, mottled teeth. The voice was
nasal, impatient. "Aahhh, you're back with us, I see . . . Mademoiselle . .
. Jarusch. I hope the little sleeping concoction the chemist whipped up
doesn't leave you groggy. I want you to be able to, shall we say, *enjoy*
everything."
Jarusch looked around the dark, windowless room. Three candles
burned near the door, their oily smoke curling about in the drafts that
somehow invaded the edifice and collecting on the ceiling, which - like
the wall to which her upthrust arms were cuffed - were comprised
entirely of rough stone. Various tables, stocks, floor and wall rings, and
chains and whips decorated the dank room. She paused before
responding, trying to assess her captor.
"Hey, I'm ducky. Yup, couldn't be better. My chiropractor has been
trying to get me on this regimen for a long time." She rattled the chains
that kept her arms stretched over her head.
The greasy man scowled and turned away, the tail of his dark vest
sweeping with him. She sensed he did not appreciate her light-hearted
attitude. He turned back, a malicious grin replacing the scowl.
"Let me explain your situation to you before you chatter on so
happily, you *slut*." He seemed to be unused to using the insulting
term, although obviously enjoyed doing so. He tugged at the thin, shift-
like garment that covered her from shoulders to knees. "I am the Count
of Whilasch, although most simply call me 'The Lash'. I finally have
managed to consolidate my control over the village. The local council
and its guard are either captured or scattered, and I have decided to
crown my victory by having you and your beloved Nosaj as my guests
here at Castle Sinistre, althouth poor Nosaj will have to stay down in my
lower guest quarters - the dungeon, if you will - for the time being. For
you, my beauty, I have other plans."
Jarusch didn't react or request an explanation, which seemed to
disappoint the Count. "Alright, here's how it goes. One of the benefits
of my growing power has been the opportunity to purchase or abduct
young women and bring them to my little playroom. My physical
features unfortunately have never been such that I have had much
success attracting women to my otherwise."
Jarusch nodded understandingly. Lash's scowl deepened.
"Unfortunately," he continued as he began pacing the room, "when
subjected to my toys" - his arm swept across the specialized instruments
in the room - "all they do is scream and cry, and then throw up or pass
out or pee on the floor. That's a lot of fun in and of itself - don't get
me wrong here - but not as satisfying as it could be. BUT..." Now he
turned to face her. "I hear that you take some enjoyment out of some of
these activities. Now that's interesting to me. To take a woman and
bend her spirit such that by abusing her she gives up that which is
entirely within her power to withhold - her passion, her lust - aaahhh,
yes, that intrigues me." His longnailed hands rubbed over his crotch in
excitement.
"First, my pretty, we shall see what you have to offer." He picked up
a small knife and poised it at the center of her chest, one edge resting
against Jarusch's firm left breast. His other hand pulled the shift's bodice
away from her chest, and he sliced at the fabric with the blade. The
garment resisted. He tugged harder, sawing. It still would not tear.
Lash held the blade up to the dim light. Jarusch's voice chimed in.
"How often do you oil that thing? If you keep it down here, I wouldn't
wonder that it's gotten rusty and dull from the dampness."
"Shut UP, you bitch!" He grabbed the bodice again and viciously
hacked at it with the blade, finally rending it in ragged strips, exposing
one of her breasts and most of her lower torso, including her lightly
fringed pubic regions.
"Owwww!" he screamed, and she saw that he'd cut his thumb in the
course of his attack.
"With a rusty blade, you'd best wash the wound carefully. One never
knows what evil humors might enter," she offered helpfully.
"Damn you, slut, I told you to shut up! I don't want you to say a
word - other than maybe a wail of agony - unless I give you permission."
He reached over to the table and grabbed a small ball attached to straps
emerging from opposite sides, and then jammed it into her mouth,
securing it at the back of her head. He then leaned forward and smeared
some of the welling blood across the exposed tit and nipple, then stepped
back to admire his handiwork.
His mood brightened. "Okay, now we're getting started." Lash then
picked up a thin chain with two small spring-laden fixtures at the end.
He held the device up to her face. "You know what these are, don't you?
Titty clamps!"
Jarusch rolled her eyes at his use of the juvenile term "titty" - God,
he sounded like her 8-year old. She examined the clamps appraisingly, and
nodded. It looked like something that Enart, the blacksmith's idiot son,
would have cast and then thrown away as a failed effort.
Lash put the clamp on her exposed nipple and wrestled with the shift
to gain access to its twin, finally managing to do so. As he attached the
second clamp to it, the first slid off. "*Merde*," he muttered, and
reattached it. Both clamps slid off and the whole mechanism fell to the
floor. "Damn, damn, damn. The sucker works with those tiny-titted
girls from the Monsard region. No matter - I have many other
playthings that will bring you to a lather in no time."
Lash shuffled over to a table and grabbed a two-foot dowel with long
leather straps at each end. He returned and knelt before her, wrapping a
strap around each ankle, the bar thus forcing her feet wide apart. He
then retrieved a candle from the sconce by the door. As he again knelt
between her spread legs, a draft swirled through the room and
extinguished the candle's flame. "*Deux merde*," he muttered, and
returned to the door to re-light it from the flame of one of its mates.
The dark-haired Count returned to his kneeling position, and
carefully blocked the flame with his upper body. His left hand pulled
the hem of her shift to her waist, exposing her genital region to his
gleaming eyes. "Hmmmmm," he uttered approvingly, "our little treasure
area. How will it take to the flame?" He pulled the candle up between
her thighs, leaving the tip of the flame only a foot below her ripe vulva.
He grinned delightedly as she squirmed away from the heat.
"And now, a little fire to singe your nether hairs? I just love that
special burning smell." His grin broadened as he approached her pubic
region and held the flame inches away. Nothing happened.
Lash leaned forward, and inspected her crotch more closely. Damn,
she carefully trimmed her cunthairs, leaving almost nothing to catch the
flame.
Suddenly, he hooted. In protecting the flame from the draft and
examining her pubes, he had brought the candle too close and his greasy
beard had been ignited by the flame. He hopped up, causing the hot
wax to jiggle down the base and onto his hand. "Aaarrrgghh! Shit!" He
dropped the candle and rushed to the small basin, and scooped water
onto his smoking goatee. Only the ballgag kept Larusch from giggling.
He turned to Larusch, infuriated by his humiliation. "Okay, bitch.
No more toys. Just you and me and my regal man meat." He tore off his
vest and wrestled with the buttons on the blouse underneath; two flew
off from his angry haste. He kicked off his low boots and then struggled
out of his little washed black pants, leaving himself nude before her.
His hardening shaft dangled in front of him. He picked up her glance at
him.
"Pretty nice, huh?" Lash queried. She shrugged, to the extent she
could with her arms stretched above her. It was an acknowledgment of
his averageness, nothing more.
"Well, you'll sing a different tune when this monster comes inside
you, whether you're ready for it or not." He stroked himself to rigidity
and stepped forward. His bare foot landed in the still warm candle wax
that he had allowed to drip at her feet. He stopped with a frustrated
grunt and scraped it off his sole with his thumbnail, swearing all the
while.
He again grabbed his cock and caressed it to near turgidity. He lifted
the hem of her shift and pressed the tip to her labia, and started to push
forward, without success. "After all this hot torture, you're as dry as a
goddamn bone. What are ya - some kinda daughter of Lesbos?" He
pushed again, but merely succeeded in painfully bending his shaft at the
midpoint. Jarusch grimaced. Lash made two more assaults, still
without success. He could not get either the best angle or sufficient
leverage with her standing upright.
In exasperation, Lash called to guard outside the room. "Teloiv,
bring in her goddamn husband and let him show me how the hell this
thing - or this bitch - is supposed to work! Better yet, bring him and
their neighbors that we grabbed with him; I want her to be completely
humiliated!"
Jarusch remained impassive as she hung from the chains. Lash
merely circled her and examined her, as though looking for some lock in
which he could place a key to release her passions. He'd whip her
mercilessly, but he couldn't even think of a lame transgression for which
to "punish" her.
The room's heavy door swung open and the guards pushed the well-
built Nosaj into the room. He was wearing only a frayed pair of pants.
His hands were manacled, linked by a two-foot chain. Three other,
slightly younger men similarly attired and shackled stumbled into the
room behind him, propelled by the guards. Nosaj looked around, his
nose crinkling at the stench of Lash's burned beard, and then visibly
blanched as he saw his skinny captor standing stark naked in the middle
of the chamber.
Lash strode over, hopping once as the sole of his foot landing squarely
atop the dropped candle. "Dammit, man. Your sow of a wife has been a
absolute washout. I thought she was supposed to be hot for this
domination stuff, but so far she's been a complete washout." He
explained to the captive man what had transpired.
One of the neighbors, a youngish, blonde man, giggled - only to be
caught short by a backhand slap to his face by one of the two guards.
Nosaj's demeanor remained serious, as though pondering a great puzzle.
He brought his hands to his chin and stroked it thoughtfully. "Well, you
see, Count Whilasch, my wife is very, very experienced at this sort of
thing and, well, has built up something of a tolerance for it. I really
admire you for trying, but she doesn't get at all hot if just one man tries
to clamp or burn or rape her. That's just old hat. Here, let's see what we
can do. Count, you take that buttplug there - oh, of course, the biggest
one - and stand next to her." The Count complied, a grim hopefulness
on his face.
Nosaj continued. "Let me get my buddies here to join us; they're
used to helping out when we need 'em." The Count glanced at Jarusch,
who - finally - was starting to visibly quake with fear. The Count
grinned, and then nodded at Nosaj.
The young captive who had giggled picked up the nipple clamp and
chain set. The two others grabbed a knife and a spreader bar each and
approached the shaking wife. Lash turned to her and smiled evilly,
"Now I get to see what I've been waiting for."
With that, the blonde captive drew the chain over the head of the
guard who had socked him and pulled it taut around the man's beefy
neck until he lost consciousness and slid to the floor. As he did, the
other two captives simultaneously struck the remaining guard on the
head; the hefty man dropped heavily to the floor. One of the neighbors
tossed his knife haft first to Nosaj; its blade soon was poking into Lash's
ribs. Nosaj draped his other arm around the Count's neck, letting the
man's arm swing wildly.
"Watch it, Count, you could put someone's eye out with that buttplug
if you're not careful," Nosaj chortled. Lash's shoulders sagged in defeat
as the blonde man raced over and untied poor Jarusch.
And so it was that Count Whilasch found himself being led in the
nude through the village square at knife point. The sight of his scrawny
frame caused massive titters to break out among the previously cowed
villagers. The Count's private guard - confused between their duty to
protect the Count and their embarrassment at having vowed their fealty
to the pathetic creature - did nothing either to stop the advance of the
assemblage which Nosaj and Jarusch led or to intimidate the villagers
into silence.
By nightfall, the emboldened villagers had re-taken their town, and
the villain and his inner circle of advisors and guards were banished,
weaponless, from the region. In gratitude, the townspeople awarded the
Count's castle to Jarusch and Nosaj, who lived in its upper floors and
permitted the townspeople to use the great halls in the main floor for
what today would be thought of as a community center.
The dungeons in the basement? Well, the happy couple kept them -
and their accessories - for their private enjoyment....
========= Author of the erotic science fiction tale "I Think
*=TRANE=* I Scan" - part of the Circlet Press anthology
========= *Selling* *Venus*, to be released in July 1995.
---
...CMPQwk 1.42-09 #605
From: trane@teamhbbs.com (TRANE)
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