The Sex Slave's Final Punishment (BDSM Erotica) Read Free Page B

overcrowding bodies.
    I will never know.

3
     
    When I come to, we are naked in a dungeon
cell. It’s cold and the walls drip with moisture. Moss covers the
stones in patches, resembling bloodstains which have spread. I
would not be surprised if someone told me those really were
bloodstains, and the moss has decided to seek nutrition from this
dark, barren place from where it is most concentrated. And nothing
is more nutritious that the drip of our blood into these ancient
stones.
    A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling.
There is practically no draft in here, and the door is iron-bound
wood and opaque. Nothing indicates what time of the day or night it
is, or how long we have been in here.
    All three of us are bound in a precarious
manner.
    Greg is strung upon a rack which consists of
two horizontal boards and two vertical iron beams. His body is
threaded in between these boards. His wrists and ankles are bound
to the beams. He looks twisted and stretched upon this seemingly
medieval torture device. A rusted iron rod has been placed in his
anus, and it juts out like a stiff tail.
    Max is beside him. He is mounted on another
rack, but in a different bondage position. He is tied to a
horizontal beam, but his legs are split at the crotch and stretched
almost impossibly wide to be tethered to either end. I’m not sure
this is a position he relishes. He is upright, and his balls grind
against the rough wood of the beam. His wrists are manacled to the
beam’s underside.
    As for me, I am in a seated position, but in
a torture device of some sort. It surrounds me like an iron cage.
Leather straps are wound around my body, leaving my breasts and
private parts unencumbered. My wrists are locked within the cage.
My knees are bent, and my pussy envelops a synthetic dildo that is
attached to a machine.
    A fucking machine.
    In essence, I am not really seated, but
attached instead to this uncomfortable machine with its huge
appendage buoying my ass, fixing me in place. I can only thank my
lucky stars that it isn’t switched on.
    None of us feel like speaking. A collective
dread pools in our chests, and our bodies are as heavy as anchors.
There is simply no use to hope. No platitudes about getting out of
here are going to cut it. Because we are not getting out of
here. There’s no ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card in this board game of
our reality.
    In essence, I got the boys into this. The two
people I love best in this world.
    Yes, I do love Greg. I also love Max. But
differently.
    It’s all extremely complicated.
    Footsteps sound outside. I jerk my head up,
feeling the strain in my thighs. My vaginal walls are sore. Well
used. The dildo fills me like a warm presence in this horribly
chilly room.
    Latches outside are undone. Bolts shot from
home. The door creaks open.
    A couple of guards step inside first. One of
them catches my eye. It’s the very same one who has fucked my ass
so thoroughly in the truck. He’s very officious today, and his face
does not betray a muscle.
    They line both sides of the door to make way
for Potchenko.
    The dictator steps into the cell. I haven’t
seen him in such a long time that I’m taken aback by how handsome
he is. How commanding. He immediately infects the atmosphere with
his palpable charisma and aura. Our backs straighten despite our
cruel positions and our necks force our heads up.
    He is naturally followed by Aimelie, his
daughter. She is dressed in one of her little girl frocks, but this
time, she doesn’t sail in like a puffy pink cloud, the way she
normally does. Her face is scrunched up in some sort of expression
that suggests irritation.
    But Aimelie is different and ‘special’, so
what passes off as irritation for someone else might probably be
murder in her case.
    My heart sinks. I believe I know what this
is.
    They have come to judge us.
    Potchenko eyes the three of us in our state –
bound, humiliated, subjugated . . . and guilty as sin. We are
guilty of trying to flee our