Possessing Allura (19 page)

Allura giggled, thinking it was funny to see them argue, because to her they looked like characters from some silly fairytale.

‘Let's just get the shackles off and put her on all fours. She needs to get used to it.'

‘Good thinking.' The reed opened the various locks, removed the iron bonds and began kicking her behind. ‘Get along, little doggie.'

The stone floor was damp and slimy, her palms slipped and she slumped on her front. ‘Whoops,' she mumbled, wondering why her arms and legs wouldn't work.

‘Hey, that's the princess,' the teakettle whistled with some alarm. ‘You want to get us impaled?'

‘She ain't no princess down here.' The reed kicked at her. ‘She's dungeon meat like the rest. Anyway, what you think the baron sent her down here for?'

‘Good point,' the kettle acknowledged. ‘The only thing I don't get is why they sent her down drunk.'

‘They're royalty. How should we know why they do what they do?'

‘Spoken like a true philosopher.'

Now they were both shoving their boots into her ribcage, trying to get her up to her knees. She itched beneath the iron belt, feeling the pressure of their feet.

‘Come on, dungeon trash,' said the kettle.

‘Move it, slut,' echoed the reed, and Allura did her best, although it finally took one of the men holding her hair like a leash to keep her straight. They continued down a long dank corridor to a heavy wooden door at the end. The stench was overpowering now and Allura nearly wretched. She could feel the drug wearing off already, and by the time the door was opened her senses were once again acute.

Inside the vaulted, stone-walled chamber she saw various tortured prisoners, all female. One, in a torn peasant dress, hung on an X-shaped cross, her ankles and wrists tightly bound. Both breasts were bared and welted with the marks of a heavy whip. Her eyes followed the newcomers but she appeared too terrified to speak.

In another corner a small woman crouched naked in a cage. She was clutching a crust of bread, green with mold, tearing off occasional crumbs with her teeth. Her short black hair was matted, and a heavy iron collar was around her throat, attached to a chain that was fixed to the wall outside the cage. She crouched on straw that stank of urine.

Another woman was bound over a barrel, her buttocks red and twitching, as if from a recent beating. She was quite large, with a head of red curls that lay disheveled in the soiled straw upon the stone floor of the cell.

‘What's this then?' the grizzly, bearded dungeon keeper asked as the soldiers presented the naked blonde. The shabbily dressed, claw-fingered hunchback of a man barely looked up from his work, which involved clamping nasty iron jaws onto the breasts of a naked, gagged girl. She looked to be eighteen or so, and was tied down on a wooden table.

‘No less a person than the baron's new wife,' said the reed, who no longer looked quite so bizarre, now that the drug had worn off. ‘And the crown princess to boot.'

‘Boil my balls in oil,' the dungeon keeper grumbled. ‘Can't that whelp handle his own woman problems? Can't he see I'm up to my eyeballs down here?'

‘Apparently she's tougher than she looks,' said the teakettle, who now resembled nothing more than a squat guard with an overbite.

‘Is that right?' the keeper asked Allura directly, the fingers of one hand deep in the pussy of the suffering girl, making her moan amidst her tears. ‘You a difficult little cunt to manage? Reckon so,' he answered himself. ‘Never met a highborn bitch that wasn't. So what's she down for, the works?'

‘Everything but the pussy,' the reed confirmed. ‘And you've got three days to do it in.'

‘No pussy, you say?' the keeper grumbled. ‘So how am I supposed to do my job if I can't get in her workings good and proper?'

‘Ass and mouth are open.'

‘I should hope so,' the keeper snorted. ‘Can't tell me to break a bitch and not have those to work with.'

‘Where you want her, then?'

‘String her up over yonder. And crank those chains for me while you're at it. Get her swinging for me, if you don't mind.'

The two guards dragged Allura to a set of chains hanging from the ceiling at eye level. Clasping one shut on each wrist, they worked the crank on the wall gradually lifting her to tiptoes and finally off her feet entirely.

‘A lovely sight.' The teakettle gave her a push, letting her swing.

‘Anything else?' asked the reed, sounding a little anxious to get out of the ominous place and back to the light of day and fresh air.

‘We'll leave you to it then,' said the kettle, looking equally keen to get out of the dungeon.

‘No…' Allura cried, but to no avail as the two guards, tall and short, slammed the heavy wooden door behind them.

‘Hush,' the keeper ordered, ‘or I'll gag you.'

‘Please, master,' gasped the pale young woman with the iron jaws on her breasts, ‘I'll tell you all you want to know. I had three accomplices. One worked at the inn and the other two—'

The man brutally shoved a gag in her mouth. ‘Demon's balls,' he grumbled, ‘now I remember why I shut you up before. You talk too much.'

She shook her head, sobbing; begging frantically with her eyes, but the loathsome man had eyes only for her pain, and the way it made her youthful body contort and writhe.

‘Confound my desiccated old cock,' he grumbled, and Allura watched him masturbate, his eyes bulging and his jaw tightening, using the suffering of the girl on the table as an aphrodisiac.

‘You, royal cunt,' he growled at Allura, ‘tell me something to make me harder.' She stared, openmouthed. ‘Do it,' he threatened, ‘or I'll bite these little beauties clean off.' He had his gnarled fingers on the screws of the jaws.

‘But what shall I tell you?' she cried. ‘I have no idea what you want to hear.'

‘Tell me what you're willing to do to keep me from skewering your nipples with needles.'

Allura hung helplessly, clenching and unclenching her fists. ‘You cannot do that to me,' she challenged. ‘Don't you know who I am?'

‘Sure I do,' he said glibly. ‘You're a three-day fix it job. No access to the cunt. Lydia, any reason I can't skewer nipples on a three day job?'

The woman on the cross, with the whipped breasts, gazed with blank eyes. ‘No, master.'

The man chuckled gleefully as he pulled out a long set of tongs. ‘I'm waiting, princess. Time to talk and save your little sister here.' He lifted the device over the pussy of the tortured girl, one handle in each of his craggy hands.

‘I-I would do anything you said,' Allura blurted. ‘Anything at all.'

‘Too vague.' He squeezed the pincers shut on the tiny pink nub between the girl's thighs, making her jerk against her bonds. ‘Isn't she a work of art?' he sighed. ‘The way her body responds to pain is quite something.' He moved the pincers from place to place, over her labia and back to her clitoris, and with fine manipulations he won from her an emphatic spasm.

‘I would give you pleasure,' offered the princess, presenting the first thing that came to her mind to divert the man. ‘Wouldn't you like that?'

‘Be still my beating heart.' The sarcasm was not lost, nor was the sudden arching of the girl's back and the way she turned to Allura with pleading eyes.

‘Wait, I'll do more,' Allura blurted. ‘I'll do anything you want me too.'

The loathsome brute seemed intrigued by this offer, dropped the tongs and shuffled over to her.

‘What's the matter,' he croaked as she cringed away from him, his bloodshot eyes boring into her, his breath fetid, ‘can't handle a real man?'

‘Please, just let me go,' she begged. ‘I can get you anything you want.'

‘Why would I want anything?' he scoffed. ‘I'm living and working in paradise.' The dungeon keeper pinched her nipples, alternating pain with an odd, shameful pleasure.

‘D-don't touch me,' she groaned.

‘Oh, giving orders, are we?' He smacked her face, leaving an instant, blotchy handprint on her cheek. ‘You're forgetting, I give the orders down here. Apologize to me, your better.'

‘I'm… sorry,' she whispered.

‘Sorry, master,' he corrected. ‘Down here I'm your master.'

‘Yes, I'm sorry master.'

‘I'm the lord of this particular manor, and you're nothing more than a slut, the lowliest of bitches.'

‘Yes, master, I'm a slut and a lowly bitch.'

He smacked her other cheek. ‘Not lowly; lowliest.'

‘Sorry,' she corrected pitifully. ‘Please don't be angry with me.'

‘Oh, I don't want to be angry,' he mocked. ‘I lose sleep worrying that I might be too angry with you dears, but what can we do?' He scratched his stubbly jaw exaggeratedly, as though trying to solve a problematic puzzle. ‘Aha, I know…'

The dungeon keeper limped away to a dingy corner, rummaged around for a few moments, and then returned with a fearsome, coiled whip, and Allura shivered at the ominous presence of it.

‘This whip is made for use on animals,' he informed her, somewhat unnecessarily. ‘Are you an animal, slut?'

Allura feared a trick question. ‘I-I don't know, master.'

‘Then I shall have to educate you, shall I not?' he drawled, brushing the leather coils over her treacherously hard nipples. ‘A whip like this doesn't just punish a female,' he went on, Allura barely hearing his goading ramblings, ‘it fucks her.'

Allura accepted the handle pressed to her lips, and without being told she parted them and he pushed it deep, her jaw aching as her mouth filled with pungent leather. Frightening herself with her obedience she sucked, wanting the feel of it all the way to the back of her throat, the smell and taste of leather filling her nostrils and her mouth, mingling sickeningly with the dungeon keeper's odor and the stench of the foreboding dungeon, and the constant pull of the cuffs on her wrists, pulling her body so vulnerably taut as she hung there.

‘How about it?' He removed the saliva coated handle from between her lips. ‘Ready to be whipped?'

She had no way to resist; no reserves of strength, no option left except to accept. ‘Y-yes, master,' she whispered meekly, and he cackled smugly, shuffling behind her. She was braced but not truly ready, knowing something terrible was coming, but unprepared for quite how terrible.

At first he merely ran the coils up and down her back, and expecting so much worse she was caught off guard, frightened of being lured into a false sense of security.

‘You've a fine backside,' he praised lewdly. ‘That's how a young filly ought to be, with an ass ripe for whipping.'

The odious wretch pulled back his wiry arm, and Allura heard the whip dragging back on the dirty stone floor and grimly braced herself.

Her screams filled the small chamber as the lash bit into her back and she twisted and writhed in her bonds.

The scrawny arm reared back again and delivered another cruel lash, cutting through her senses, sending her emotions soaring.

‘How many,' he taunted. ‘How many marks for the lady today? Ten, my fair slut, or did I hear twenty?'

‘None, master, please…'

‘Nine?' he teased. ‘Did you say nine?'

Three times more, in a lattice style across her back and buttocks, he worked his hellish strokes, welts in red and blue, the colors of torture, working the froth of sadistic ecstasy.

‘And they say a humble servant such as myself can't enjoy his work,' he mused, the sole audience for his own distorted humor. ‘Ah, for a mirror,' he sighed admiring his handiwork.

‘Am I well marked, dungeon keeper?' Allura whispered. ‘I trust you did your work well?'

‘I know my art,' he said.

‘You must describe it to me. I want to know as well as feel… please, do not keep me waiting.'

‘Fine lines, well placed,' he told her. ‘A slut's marking, crisscrossing your back.'

‘Are there bruises,' she pressed, ‘and welts? I have to know it all.'

‘They are a thing of beauty,' he confirmed, ‘and will leave you marked a fair long while.'

‘And any who sees me,' she followed the dark reasoning, ‘will know what happened to me. They'll know I was here, a punished dungeon slut. What an irony this is. Do you know how many I have sent to dungeons like this? Do you think we are any different, you and me?'

‘I'd say being on one side of the whip or the other makes plenty of difference.'

‘My slaves lived in terror of me,' she reflected, lost in her reverie. ‘They knew from the time I was a little girl that there was a coldness in my eyes.'

‘Indicating what?' He was licking the sweat from her back, but she barely seemed to notice his lurid attention.