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Introduction:

Continuation of the story of three English schoolgirls kidnapped, raped and tortured whilst in Europe.

Flickering on the wall in an eerie intermittent glow like some bizarre puppet show, a dark figure twisted and jerked in mid-air, dancing a strange jig as the candle’s light moved with every draught. The room’s almost dead silence, save for the occasional creak or whimper, made the movement even more odd, disjointed and unhuman. And in a sense it was. The shadow was no inanimate puppet or flickering light show but outlined what had been an innocent and beautiful young woman. Now still, the latex clad object dangling limply from the rafters looked no more human than its shadow, a grotesque husk of what she had been. If she could have seen herself, Holly wouldn’t have recognised the girl who walked into the bar that fateful night.

With a face just a sheen of black barely hinting at features and eyes covered in a thick black leather blindfold, Holly’s black blindness mirrored her fractured mind. A blessing perhaps for in a pitch black world, she could not see what had been done to her body. If Holly’s mountainous chest had always attracted male leers, now it was not just the size of her huge breasts that caught the gaze. Battered, bruised and swollen, her pale luscious mounds were now bulbous globes of pain, the soft white flesh now scarlet as the ropes below each tit bit hard into a flesh overlain by a patchwork of variegated bruises whose colours and shapes resembled countries in a nightmarish red atlas. Most striking were her swollen pierced nipples which leaked a white fluid like marbled fat in meat, running zig-zag down her boobs to saturate the rope wrapped around her chest and dribble further down her gleaming jet black body. Following her smooth contours, converging into two white rivers running down her black legs and over her encased feet, they dripped drop by drop off her toes into a growing puddle on the floor. The supply was constant, the viscous liquid resembling a solid line of chalk. But Holly had no sense of this, unable to distinguish her nipples’ discomfort from other pain. Blind and in an almost silent room, she could almost have rested – except that all of her was in pain, ranging from mild discomfort to a constant deep throbbing agony of her battered tits. And her head was filled not just with pain but a terrible fear that she would never escape this living hell.

Across the room, Olivia was equally tightly and uncomfortably bound. When Greta left, it was just bearable but her position forced Olivia to look up at the candle jammed into her arsehole and so, when the first drop of hot wax ran onto her perineum, she was not surprised. After many minutes, it ran onto her sensitive labia, covering her crotch in wax. But when the flame heating the wax burnt level with her arse cheeks, she suddenly felt an area numb since her anal rape. As it melted in her newly ravaged arsehole, she began to whine in pain and as it melted even deeper into her rectum, her noises soon turned the basement from near silence into a chamber of pain filled screams. After hours of pain in the flickering light, the candle finally burnt out and the girls were in darkness. But now, after lying on a hard wooden table with her legs bent painfully up by her head for hours, Olivia was getting frequent excruciating cramps. Being bound in such a position for so long took its toll despite a flexibility allowing her to endure longer than most women. Each time the agony exploded along her legs, she squealed through the open gag, her inarticulate piercing screeches shattering the basement’s dark silence.

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White gravel crackled beneath black tyres as a heavy car rolled up a magnificent driveway of a stone castle rising above, back-grounded by mountains. It almost seemed the movie-set home of a villain from a James Bond film and was certainly equally malevolent. As the car stopped at the stone steps of the entrance, Jeremiah smiled in pleasant recollection. This time though was different for, unlike his previous visits, he had not come empty handed. This time he had a sweat covered toy.

After the exhausting journey from the airport, Melissa now lay on the car’s luxurious leather seat, her large chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. A soft humming sound came from her crotch as Jeremiah twiddled his thumb on a small black box and she jumped as the sound increased and vibrations shuddered through her body. Squeezing her legs together to stop the dildos from vibrating so powerfully, she sat upright and forced her feet into the floor. In vain. She had tried to stop it before and couldn’t, her efforts belied by her sweat covered body and saturated clothes. To her right Tyrus mockingly laughed. Closing her eyes as the vibrations took effect, Melissa tried to think about something, anything else but it was impossible. Hours of near constant stimulation and lubrication had made her pussy incredibly sore, the vibrations causing far more pain than pleasure. But still her body responded, again lubricating her already wet. Accepting the inevitable, Melissa tried to enjoy the brief respite from pain as yet another orgasm began to build.

She still wore the baggy clothes of the airport so her body would not keep Jeremiah from sleeping. A bonus was seeing the crotch of her light grey tracksuit bottoms turn a wet soggy black from all the stimulation and it took great willpower not to rip the bitch’s clothes off and drive his cock into her dripping cunt. But in the next few days he would cum so much that he had to pace himself. When young he had used his wealth to just bang girls, his taste pure vanilla. Even after marrying a former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader 20 years ago, he had only done some light bondage. It took time to find the side of him that now bought him halfway across the world. As his wife’s libido fell, he discovered at 38 his rather unusual preferences through internet bondage porn, BDSM books and literature and an occasional illicit meeting with submissive sexual partners. Escalating quickly, delving deep into the dark web to view more extreme torture porn, he then visited Greta Schweinberg’s infamous castle. Where he was right now, reviewing his journey to what he now regarded as a sacred place. Fiddling with the black box controlling the vibrators stuffed into Melissa, he smiled as she jumped and tried to stifle her unwanted climax. Then he heard footsteps on the gravel outside.

Melissa had been close to reluctant orgasm when Jeremiah dialed in its highest setting, her body shaking so violently that she could not stop her teeth chattering. And then after a moment of O-ing silence, her swollen clitoris and pussy pushed her into a flailing form writhing on the limousine’s leather seat, screeching her strongest orgasm of the day. Just then the door abruptly opened and a shaft of daylight sliced into the car. As the vibrating bullets inside her mercifully stopped, Melissa looked at the open door where she saw a face and then that it was female. Seeing a woman for the first time in her captivity filled her with hope. Which lasted a second before being taken away.

“Welcome back, Mr Johnson,” the Asian woman said, completely ignoring the sweaty panting woman across from the fat American, “would you like help with your cargo?”

Melissa was stunned. A woman was helping the man who had raped and tortured her! And had even referred to her as ‘cargo’! Even as she lay there panting and sweating from multiple forced orgasms, aching from weeks of sustained torture, this woman showed no interest in helping her. She looked helplessly around but clearly nobody here, wherever it was, would help her.

“No, thank you,” Jeremiah replied, “she’ll do as I say. Come on, girl, out!”

His sharp tone required Melissa to obey or face his wrath. Her body ached but she steadied her buckling legs with her hands and, bent over, staggered like a newly born foal slowly to the door. Since the vibrators made extending her legs difficult, she paused there to work out how to step down. Given her weakness, the sudden firm slap on her arse made her legs collapse and, unable to hold on, she sprawled out of the car onto the stony gravel.

As the two men cackled in laughter, the blonde lay on the drive, hurt and humiliated. The Asian woman looked on. She didn’t enjoy odious foreign men treating women in an infantile way just to get off and often pitied the women who were sadists’ playthings. Still she did nothing. Blood trickling from a cut on her forehead, Melissa struggled up, looking at the woman for aid. But the Asian knew that helping her would earn a one way ticket to a torture chamber and ignored her. The blonde did not know this, viewing her as just another cruel person who loved inflicting pain. But the elegant woman, dressed in black, knew where she had come from and what she had left behind.

As their laughter died, Jeremiah began the significant task of hauling himself out of the low riding car. Gripping the rim with thick sausage-like fingers, he slowly swung his legs out, his cowboy boots crunching the gravel. Now came the hard part. First steadying himself, he swayed back and forth then took a huge breath and used his momentum to pull himself out of the car. Though red with the exertion, the woman didn’t help; he was be far too proud to accept and would immediately report her to the castle owner. Like an elephant raising itself in the morning, he hauled himself up, his groans and creaks from the car’s suspension filling the air. Finally standing, he paused to catch his breath and readjust his belt before smiling at the woman, totally unembarrassed by his struggle to get out of a car. Behind him, slim and athletic, Tyrus patiently waited.

“This way please, Mr Johnson,” the woman said as she turned and started toward the castle, her long high heels requiring intense concentration to walk fluidly on the loose gravel.

Stiff from the journey, Jeremiah stretched and looked at his surroundings, the towering peaks of this stunning valley far different from the barren desert of his Texan oilfields or the drab cityscape around his Dallas office. Jeremiah was not awed by it. He was not a student of culture or nature and his tremendous wealth had not changed that. For him the real sights of this place lay inside. He had been waiting long enough and it was time to do what he enjoyed most.

“Quickly,” Jeremiah snapped to his captive, “there’s a lot in store for you inside.”

His chuckle after the comment made Melissa’s skin crawl as she stumbled toward the castle’s massive stone steps. Turning her head as much as she dared, she took in the jaw dropping scenery. She normally enjoyed looking at mountains and sweeping valleys but these only inspired dread. Even if she escaped, there was nothing around to help. What’s more, it was hardly inconspicuous and yet she already had a sense of what went on here. How could such a place exist in 21st century Europe? But her musings did not solve her problem and her dawdling now drew her captor’s ire.

“Move, cunt!” Jeremiah barked so loudly he clearly wasn’t worried about being overheard.

With her legs still weak, she took uncertain small steps and, her confidence shot, was unsure where to put her arms. Her self-esteem was so low that she now meekly decided to hold them across her chest. Acutely aware of eyes boring into her back, crossing the massive driveway to the steps took an age. As the dribble of constant orgasms dried on her legs and her wet underwear started to chafe, she kept her head down and climbed, the clicking heels of the Asian woman always before her. At the top, the woman waited at a huge wooden door and she also stopped, desperate not to go in. As her tormentor wheezingly approached, his inability to even climb stairs easily only worsened her disgust and shame. With a tremendous sigh, he arrived and Melissa shuddered.

Behind her, Jeremiah paused for breath. On first coming here nearly twenty years ago, he had bounded up these steps, excited at what lay in store for him. Now he could barely crawl up. But it didn’t bother him for regardless of how he got here, when he did he would enjoy its delights just the same. Still wheezing heavily, he waddled over to Melissa and placed his hand on her arse.

“Pretty darn impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, speaking to her as a father might a daughter, though of course not wanting an answer, “Just wait till you see what’s inside. I can’t wait to see what you make of everything, baby. And I promise, if you pay attention, it’ll be very educational. Shall we go in?”

Giving her firm rump a squeeze and a slap, he walked on. With no chance of escape, she reluctantly started forward as the Asian woman pushed against the stone archway of the door and the great wooden panel swung open. As the four of them went in, her heart sank.

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Lucy blankly stared at the wall, transfixed by images of what she had seen and her own disturbing thoughts. It was like repeatedly watching a movie where the thwack of staves on the hanging girl’s body and her piercing screams were the soundtrack to images of the red haired woman and the grotesquely tattooed man gleefully smiling as they brutally beat the girl. But it was not a mental patient’s stare, blankly seeing troubling images. When the woman had returned her, she had tightly hugged the blue robe to her slender frame and sat, thinking. Surviving here clearly meant obeying orders or suffer terrible punishment, not only to her but her friends whose whereabouts and fate she knew nothing. More disturbing than captivity or being fucked everyday was that she, a cold but ultimately kind hearted girl, was expected to inflict terrible pain on innocent people. As she considered how she could ever bring herself to do that, the door suddenly opened.

Scarlet filled the gap and Lucy physically recoiled, backing up to the wall. The woman she was thinking of was even more intimidating in person than seen through the glass. Despite ludicrously high leather boots, she still stood over six feet tall and her appearance terrified the teenager. With orange hair so bright it almost gave off light, a heavily made up alabaster complexion and tightly cinched-in corseted waist she looked almost other-worldly. And if now her red robe was not open but tied, little was left to the imagination as her obscene breasts pushed against the thin silk and her nipples looked like bursting through. But her green eyes looked at Lucy impassively.

When the woman threw down a pair of heels, Lucy slid off the bed to sit next to them. It felt like forever since she had anything on her feet and as one who loved fashion, she was quite excited. The shoes were nice, almost ones she might have picked herself. Sliding her feet in, she wasn’t surprised at the perfect fit; this operation was well organised and getting this detail right was easy. As she tied the straps, she tried to enjoy the small familiarity before being again forced to do, witness or endure something horrible. Finished, she stayed seated, passively resisting whatever was next.

“Get up,” the woman said in a strong Eastern European accent, “you come with me.”

Unlike last time, this woman didn’t turn and expect her to come but just waited. Standing up, Lucy found the heels higher than she usually wore but not unmanageably so. Slowly and a little ungainly, she walked to the door, expecting the woman to turn and lead on. When she didn’t, Lucy nearly walked into her massive chest. Unsure of what to do, she meekly waited for her next order.

“Stand straight,” the woman barked, “let me look at you.”

Standing up, Lucy raised her head and chin, trying to look confident and avoid further humiliation. The red headed woman looked at her then circled, examining her body with eyes and hands. When she grabbed her arse, the girl flinched but stayed composed, the grab nothing to what she had already endured. Continuing to poke and prod, the long nails easily felt through the thin silk gown, she moved to Lucy’s front and used both hands to clasp her breasts, tracing the outline and then slightly squeezing them as if inspecting fruit. Then, seemingly satisfied, she put her hands down.

“Not bad,” the woman said and Lucy was strangely relieved to have passed the test, “nice tight ass, good legs, thin. Tits small but I don’t think for long. Let’s go.”

As she turned and strode off, hair and robe flowing, Lucy followed, feeling strangely ungainly on the heels and shocked by the penultimate sentence. She had always been proud that her breasts were decent enough for a cleavage, big enough for men to love playing with during sex and small enough to wear any dress without a bra. She didn’t envy her friends their more ample chests but now this bizarre woman was talking about making her a freak like her. But with nothing to do about it now, Lucy just followed, looking and thinking. Where the Asian woman had been in total control of herself and situation, this one looked different, her walk far less graceful, her control artificial, really not one who decided her own fate. If not comforting, for the first time Lucy felt a sense of power.

Acting on this new inner strength, Lucy moved faster to catch up. The corridor seemed longer than before but then she realised they were going in the other direction. Adjusted to the heels, she now strode confidently behind the red robe, almost appearing to be the one in control, her grace and poise far exceeding the woman in front. Lucy couldn’t know it but that thinking was intended. When the woman came to a heavy wooden door, Lucy instantly noticed she knocked, unlike her previous guide who had pressed her hand to the stone. When it opened and they walked through, Lucy expected to see someone at the door but there was nobody. But people were there.

This room was neither a dark cell nor filled with the sight and sound of sex but draped in purple velvet. Wearing different coloured robes of the same design as Lucy’s, women stood or sat on chairs or couches, all silent and oblivious to the others with only the eerie chiming of some gentle Oriental music breaking the quiet. When the two entered, no-one even looked to note the woman’s bizarre appearance. Fearing reprisals, Lucy didn’t ask what was going on and so merely waited for some cue.

Leaving Lucy, the woman strode to the end wall and sat on a couch. As the door clicked closed, for the first time Lucy was free of threat but had no idea of what to do and just walked after the woman, trying to project control. It was like walking into a prison yard where how she acted determined her standing. On the wall was a small ticket dispenser and despite no idea of its purpose, she took a number - ‘64’ - then made for a velvet chair and sat down. Suddenly there was a loud beeping and Lucy looked up, convinced she had done something wrong. Everyone was looking at a screen above the door which displayed a bright red ‘42’. As the other women looked away, a woman from the back approached the opening door and left. Since taking a ticket was no mistake, Lucy relaxed and settled down to wait with a mix of fear and some small curiosity for her number to appear.

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As he looked at the man swaying in his chair, Daniel Hanneman began to think it all a complete waste of time and money. The first drink he bought him was clearly not his first and sipping his own double whiskey, he thought about how to get anything from this sad excuse for a man.

“So,” he said, edgily annoyed, “do you have ANY information about those three girls?”

“Oh yeah,” the man slurred, his purpose in the bar coming back to him, “those three off the news. I did see them in this bar a few nights ago now you mention it.”

“Yes,” the detective was exasperated, “you said that before. You also said they sat with two Turkish guys, do you remember that?”

“I do!” the man exclaimed, “sat in that booth over there. All three were drunk, falling about….”

“Yes!” Daniel’s bark made others at the bar look at them. He was far too busy and the case far too important to repeat the same material over and over. If what he had learned last night was all the man knew then this was another wasted day. Which he’d had far too many of recently. “Can you tell me anything new? Have you seen the two Turks here before? You said one worked at the bar?”

“Ah yes,” the man said, unperturbed by his irritated tone, “one does work here. He’s quite unfriendly, only interested in the women who come here.”

Finally, Daniel thought, he was getting somewhere. Of course this man’s story needed checking but having one potential suspect was a start. But he needed more to take to his superiors. Over the next hours he tried, buying him drink after drink. It was largely fruitless, the man’s drunken ramblings often having no information at all. But just occasionally an useful snippet prompted Daniel to continue. One point was intriguing. The man recognised three of the women missing over the last few years, each time saying the same bartender and friend spoke to them. But after so many drinks, Daniel saw he would get nothing more. It was time to see what the bar staff could tell him. Thanking the man and leaving change to pay for the drinks, he headed for the bar.

Behind the bar, the same short haired girl of the previous night watched the haggard detective approach. She had seen plenty of police officers down on their luck, drinking then making horrible leers and comments. She knew she had to take some customer abuse but when it came from those in authority it was worse. Still, she knew her job and as he came over she stopped drying the glass.

“Can I help you, Sir?” she said with a professional smile.

“Good evening, Miss,” the detective said, trying not to sound intoxicated, “as a matter of fact you can. I was wondering if I might have a few moments of your time?”

The woman sighed before answering, knowing that since barely anybody was in the bar she could hardly claim to be busy. And men like this gave her most of her tips so it paid to be pleasant.

“Of course,” she smiled.

“Oh thank you,” Daniel was surprised she gave him any time at all, “I’d like to know if you knew anything about these three missing English girls?”

The pretty girl’s eyes widened and she looked around uneasily. She had hoped the man had moved on from last night’s subject but clearly not. After going home she had thought about the girls while struggling to sleep. The more she thought the more she was convinced she had seen them and the more she realised how suspicious it was. She remembered them being taken outside too drunk to stand, by a guy she worked with and his friend. He’d started about eighteen months ago, seemingly out of nowhere and gave her the creeps. But what really worried her was that after taking them out, not unusual in itself, he hadn’t come back. After checking nervously, she leant over the bar.

“Yes,” she said, “I think I do.”

“Ok,” the detective said softly, “tell me everything you can.”

Taking out his notebook and pen, his excitement was so great he had to stop himself from shaking but he tried to remain calm, the girl’s nervousness very clear. The testimony of some old drunk helped but his superiors would ridicule it. This was far more believable and for the first time he might actually be taken seriously. As she nervously looked from side to side, he prepared to write.

“Well,” she began, “I’m not 100% sure.”

“That’s OK,” he said, desperate for any information, “Any information could help find these girls.”

Encouraged, the girl told him what she knew. When he showed her pictures of other missing women, amazingly she recognised some and talked further. But soon she stopped.

“I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, “I have to close up now.”

“Ok,” he said, “but write down your contact details so we can be in touch if we need more help.”

After she did, Hannemann gathered his stuff and left. In the cold night air, he felt braced by his progress and decided to go in tomorrow with his findings. Of course he needed more time to speak to this girl and perhaps do some recon but he couldn’t ignore the urgency. The chance of finding them after three days was slim to non-existent and help had to come now. So he readied himself for his biggest moment. That night, drifting off to sleep, the thought of being a hero filled his dreams.

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Olivia had no idea how long she had been bound in the dark but she did know that every second was agony, her legs screaming in pain as the tight bondage kept her in throbbing stillness. Certain irreparable damage had been done, her tortured mind was filled with images of being crippled, her legs stretched beyond recognition, her whole body a grotesque mess. Her other pains, her burnt crotch or bruised breasts were nothing to the burning pain in her lower body. Exhausted by her screams, all she could do was occasionally cry out, her ring-gagged mouth allowing only the most pathetic wails and mewls, the sounds adding to the creaking at the other side of the room. She was so desperate to escape this hell that on hearing heels click on the stone steps she felt relief.

That the arrival of the girls’ chief tormentor evoked this emotion was no accident. Walking down the stairs, Greta knew what they felt, her control of her captives so great she could make them feel any emotion she chose, having often done so to many other women. Reaching the bottom, she strode into the room, her high heels very clear in the dungeon’s near silence. Counting her steps till level with the table, she then moved up to listen to the anguished sounds coming from the doubled up girl who whimpered even knowing her captor was listening and enjoying them. Silently smiling, Greta touched her taut hamstring. The blonde gasped and Greta chuckled as the muscle quivered uncontrollably. Rubbing her hand up and down the agonised limb, she leant in.

“Does it hurt yet, baby?” she whispered, knowing full well the girl had been in agony for hours, “I bet even those beautiful toned legs are cramping up terribly by now. But do not worry, you will soon be up and getting down to work. First though, I seem to remember I gave you a little something to keep you company but it seems to have gone out. Shall we have a look?”

On that, a spotlight suddenly turned on. Olivia shut her eyes to lessen the light’s intensity but her eyelids still flashed painfully. Knowing it was coming, Greta had turned away. Now she looked at the remains of the candle jammed in the girl’s arse. A storm ravaged red sea covered her crotch and arse cheeks, bumps in the wax rising and falling like dunes in a barren desert. From the main body small rivulets ran down her back and beneath her breasts. Running a long finger down Olivia’s leg and onto the wax, Greta pressed it. Its firmness showed it had been cool for hours but the ring of pink skin round that sea of red was evidence that each drop of wax had burned, if only momentarily.

“Ahhh,” Greta said as if genuinely excited, “that looks so pretty! Look at it!”

Pulling her golden mane, Greta forced her head up, bending her body still more. Olivia opened her eyes. She had not looked at the candle jutting from her arse and hadn’t seen the full extent of her wax panties. Now she had to watch Greta move a finger to her arsehole, now completely corked with wax, and onto the red mound of her encased pussy. Tapping a long nail on the hardened shell, she then crashed Olivia’s head onto the table. Briefly blanking out, Olivia’s eyes flashed painfully.

“Very pretty,” Greta whispered, “but sadly it cannot stay like that. You will not be much good with two holes blocked, will you? So I must get rid of it. But first, that horrible gag needs to come off.”

Feeling for the buckle at the back of Olivia’s head, Greta undid the tiny clasp to release the leather strap. After working the metal ring out of Olivia’s teeth, she watched her react to her mouth’s newfound freedom. As always, the struggle amused her. Acting as if she had just woken from a night of drinking, mouth dry and lips wrinkled, the teenager tried to wet her mouth then remembered what had been done to her tongue and hesitated. Discovering the surgery still allowed almost normal use, she tentatively ran her tongue round her mouth as Greta clicked her fingers loudly.

“That is much better.” Greta didn’t expect an answer as she held out her hand for Mehmet to give her a small plastic baton. Wrapping a hand in Olivia’s golden mane, she again pulled her head up as she weighed the baton and swished it slowly, tantalisingly through the air.

“I will not insult your intelligence and lie,” Greta said, slowly swinging the baton up, “this is going to hurt. But you can watch and use that mouth of yours to finally please your mistress.”

On that, she smashed the baton into the barely visible outline of Olivia’s hidden pussy. The impact was instantly drowned by her reverberating wail of agony which Greta enjoyed immensely. Her pain didn’t end with that sickening thump for her body involuntarily bucked in response. Tied so tight she couldn’t move, this caused an almighty spasm in her legs. And her torment was far from over.

For Greta, Olivia’s noise just proved she was doing a good a job, a huge crack in the wax showing the soft skin beneath. Eagerly continuing, the black plastic crashed near the first, thudding into the girl’s crotch and exploding small shards of red wax from the surface to open yet another gash that revealed more bronzed skin. Olivia scream was intense, her mind racing with images of horrendous bruises and broken bones. Her next swing squarely hit Olivia’s right arse cheek, loosening a large chunk over the base of her pussy. Flicked away by her abuser, her inviting sex was at last exposed.

Mehmet watched Greta’s fourth strike and listened to another piercing shriek in the theatre of screams. When he had seen the little teen, his cock had stiffened but now, watching Greta beat the girl so brutally, he felt annoyed. He had brought quite a few women here but since meeting her in the bar three nights ago, he could not get Olivia out of his head. Before talking to the three teens, the men decided to take them to the castle and so he’d convinced himself he wasn’t interested in what they said when she chatted on with a reckless easy-to-listen-to abandon. Though supposedly scouting them, he had found himself drawn to the little blonde. It hadn’t stopped him raping or hurting her but for some reason he didn’t quite understand, watching Greta crash another fierce blow on the girl’s pubes created a strange anger. He felt this one his; he had found her and only he should do this to her. Still, he knew his duty and if he interrupted Greta while she was working, well, he wasn’t sure what would happen but he didn’t care to find out. And so he stood watching as the sight of Olivia’s beautiful pink pussy stirred his lust once again.

In a world of pain, Olivia wasn’t thinking of Mehmet at all. The excruciating stretching of her legs was now joined by the baton’s rhythmic pounding whose force felt great enough to shatter bones. Pulled up by her hair, she had to watch each sickening blow. If she hadn’t felt the pain she wouldn’t have thought it was her. The situation was so unbelievable she still subconsciously hoped it was all some awful dream, that she’d wake in a hospital having been spiked but safe. But these actions were real, real pain, real humiliation and real cruelty. As another blow slammed into her and another chunk fell away, the wax was now only strips criss-crossing her hips, streams running down her body and two plugs in her arse and cunt. Greta ran the tip of the baton over her two holes, tapping each one lightly. Watching in sheer terror, Olivia waited for the next terrible torture, imagining the baton being rammed deep into her. But Greta had something else in mind and put it down.

“There we go,” Greta’s voice contrasted cheerily with Olivia’s misery, “that was not so bad, was it? Now, you cannot work with all those wax streaks so you are going upstairs. Time to get you up.”

Greta pointed and Mehmet edged round to the cuffs binding her ankles. Pushing down on her calves, they undid the buckles strapping her feet to the table. Pushing up desperately, Olivia’s stretched legs tried to return to a natural position but her tormentors held them. On release, her legs swung round, slamming her heels into the hard wood. Again she screamed, first at the impact and then at the excruciating pain of her agonisingly stretched legs resuming to their normal position. By the time Greta undid her strapped arms and then the band holding her forehead, her screams had died to intermittent sobs. Mehmet then scooped the small girl off the table, tossed her over a shoulder like a rag doll and marched up the stairs, his thoughts about her seemingly forgotten.

As they disappeared, Greta went to the room’s other girl. Holly didn’t know what had happened to Olivia but had heard her screams and as her torturer approached began to shake. Knowing her fear, Greta smiled broadly and stopped to look at the blindfolded specimen whose massive bulging tits were level with her face. Holly knew where she was but could only flinch as her sharp nails traced down the sensitive red skin of her mountainous breasts. Bound like this, Greta knew those magnificent tits were very sensitive, each touch of her sharp nails painful. Scratching along the bulbous flesh until she reached a nipple, she ran her finger through the white liquid and slowly mouthed it with a loud sucking noise as if tasting a luxurious chocolate. Then, running her palms along the bound mounds, she slapped them hard. Small drops of white arced across the room as Holly’s bound tits bounced from the impact and a soft muffled moan escaped her gagged mouth. Resting once again, more liquid oozed from her nipples to run the familiar path down her breasts.

“Mmmm, delicious,” Greta spoke loudly for the girl to hear, “soon it will be ready to be put to work. I wish it could see how ridiculous it looks with its big udders sticking out and leaking. It better enjoy the next few hours because when I come down next, it will not be so comfortable.”

Taking one last look, Greta then turned to follow Mehmet and Olivia up the stairs. For the first time Holly was alone. Her thoughts ran in a mouse wheel, uselessly circling what Greta had said. Being referred to as it, having her breasts slapped, pinched, scratched and abused in unimaginable ways, being treated like an animal was “normal”. That Greta planned something even less comfortable than this worried her but that was intended and knowing that made it easier to bear. But one word troubled her: ‘leaking’. How could her breasts be ‘leaking’? What could possibly make them ‘leak’? She thought about the needle that had been jabbed into her breast. But what could it have done? And what was ‘leaking’? Blood? Water? Milk? All seemed implausible. Yet despite the pain Greta caused, the girls were, physically at least, almost the same as when they’d been captured. If they were rescued, she thought, there was no reason why they couldn’t return to their old lives but each passing torture made that hope fade. Holly knew she would never be mentally the same but now she wondered whether she would be physically intact. It made trying to be strong and not lose hope increasingly difficult. Every second wore her down and it was certainly true that things would not get any easier. If she knew what was coming, though, she would have despaired even more.

Carrying Olivia’s limp body up the stairs, Mehmet cared little for Holly’s worries. His role was not to think about the minds of the girls coming through here but to shape their thoughts with his actions, hurt them, make them feel powerless and, most of all, enjoy himself. Early on he hadn’t understood this, merely obeying orders, fucking a long line of beautiful women and taking increasing pleasure in inflicting pain. Now, though knowing these girls were always changed here, he chose not to think about it. But now, walking up the stairs, he puzzled over what Olivia thought. Carrying her on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, an arm across her pert little bottom, he wondered. Did she despair? Did she have an inner strength and determination to resist? And now he was suddenly troubled by thoughts of why he was worrying about what this bitch thought. He hadn’t worried about others nor had his feelings made him any easier on her than them. He’d fucked and abused them all.

On going through the door, he veered right then into another room. Olivia was out of the dungeon for the first time but didn’t care. Though fearful of the future, it couldn’t be worse than the past. Indeed when Mehmet slung her on his shoulder, she tried to enjoy it as a brief respite from crippling agony. “Respite” was relative of course since her pussy throbbed painfully from Greta’s battering, her legs ached from hours of cramp and her elongated tongue felt strange and alien. Still, Greta’s absence was a plus for if the two Turks had been unbelievably cruel, she was worse. Another plus was leaving Holly. The two had been friends for years, virtually inseparable since primary school and doing everything together. To see and hear Greta abuse her, both physically and verbally, was like being abused herself. The cruelty wouldn’t stop but at least she wouldn’t have to see or hear it.

The room differed from the dark and dingy basement since it had the basic fittings of a prison cell: a small bed and a chair, a space for a toilet and shower. Kicking the door shut, Mehmet put her on the mattress and silently dragged a chair to the middle of the room. Plonking himself down facing the bed, he stared at the girl curled in misery, her legs up to her chest, covering her breasts as best she could and turning her hips toward the wall to hide her arse and pussy from his gaze. Despite the hours of tears, she still looked beautiful. Mehmet could have just sat and watched her but he had a deadline. Clicking his fingers loudly to get her attention, he spoke in his softest voice.

“No time to sleep, baby,” Mehmet whispered, “you must be ready to work. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you but I have to clean you up.” He tailed off as he realised he shouldn’t be talking, reassuring her or anything. The whole point was to grind down these girls’ self esteem and courteously talking to her shattered the illusion. Looking at the blinking camera in the corner, he knew that if Greta investigated, she would catch his unprofessional moment and potentially detect his weakness for this girl. The consequences of this weren’t clear but he didn’t want to find out – Greta was not one to get on the wrong side of. But he could do nothing about it now and so just got on with his job.

“Up.” Mehmet said but Olivia didn’t move. He wanted to give her time but now he couldn’t afford to be lenient. Angrily grabbing her, he lifted the small girl up, surprised she didn’t resist but merely hung limply, her head slumped against her chest. “Stand up,” he was annoyed, “or I will hurt you.”

Knowing she had to obey, Olivia reluctantly straightened her legs to stand. They buckled at first, having not taken weight for many hours, but as he held her, she tried again and though her stiff legs hurt, eventually stood. Showing a persistent mind-set, Olivia crossed one arm across her chest to hide her breasts and snaked the other down to her sex. Despite being naked over the last few days and having unspeakable things done to her, she still tried to modestly cover herself. Mehmet didn’t shatter her illusion but brushed her golden hair from her face and then tenderly, as if a doting lover, lifted up her chin. Olivia knew what he wanted and kept her eyes down, not wanting to look at one of her assailants but he kept lifting her chin. Considering it, she decided that though looking at him hurt emotionally, she could show her strength and resistance. So, reluctantly, she lifted her eyes.

The Turk dwarfed Olivia’s slender 5’ frame. He wore only a pair of baggy sports shorts and she took in the milky coffee colour of his rippling torso, his roughly hewn jaw and hazel eyes. Tears welled as memories flashed back of having to look at him when first raped. Having cried many times in front of this man, she tried desperately to control herself but couldn’t. Barely seeing through a film of tears, she felt a hand grab the arm on her chest and briefly resisted. Knowing he would finally succeed, she stopped and with a heavy heart, felt it pulled away, revealing her pert breasts just as a tear dripped onto them. Quickly taking a beautifully formed breast, he looked at her face as he gently squeezed the soft globe of pliant flesh. Olivia tried not to react to her breasts being squeezed but, remembering how roughly he had treated them, she flinched. Still squeezing her tit, his other hand took the arm covering her sex. Again she resisted but a swift muscular tug pulled it away.

Naked and exposed, Olivia stood as Mehmet softly fondled her breast and moved his other hand to her still waxy privates. Each pretty tit could fit into a hand but they looked large on her small body and no man would have complained about squeezing them. Mehmet certainly wasn’t and as he drank in her delicate features he could no longer stop himself. After telling him to get the girl ready, why would Greta bother to check? Part of his brain knew he could be throwing away his career or worse but another part didn’t care. Stroking the side of her face with one hand, he gripped her hair and leant in. Her mouth was slightly dry and her lips cracked but he still pressed his lips firmly to them, forcing his tongue into her mouth and not caring that she didn’t respond. Lost in a heady mix of lust and confusion, he kissed her passionately while tightening his grip on her tit. His cock throbbed in his pants and Olivia felt it rise, the fabric of his shorts rubbing her thighs. He could wait no longer; it was time to put Olivia’s new tongue to work. He stopped kissing to whisper

“I want you to suck my cock,” he said breathlessly, “but I’ll be gentle.”

Not waiting for agreement, still gripping her hair and breast, he led her to the bed and sat on the edge, pulling her to him and forcing her to kneel. Releasing her breast, he used his hand in her hair to force her face toward his crotch and rubbed her face over it, the fabric rough on his sensitive cock. Releasing her to pull down his shorts, his prick bouncing proudly up, he waited for her to obey.

In the context of this whole nightmare, giving a blowjob was a fairly humane command. She stared at the throbbing veiny cock, a paragon of masculine strength and virility but there was no reason to delay. Gripping its base with a tiny hand, she peeked quickly at Mehmet’s face, his anger during her first rape now seeming like genuine tenderness. Extending her long tongue slightly, she bent over to slowly engulf his cock’s engorged tip and then, responding to a soft appreciative moan, inched further down his shaft, getting halfway down before the head touched the back of her throat.

As Olivia slid up until just the head was in her hot mouth before going down, Mehmet moaned again as her tongue rasped the sensitive underside of his dick, her dry mouth barely inhibiting his enjoyment. He looked down as she fellated him, her golden blonde hair cascading over his dick. As he brushed it out of her face, her eyes flicked up, the sight of her baby blues making it even more erotic. Still stroking her face as she bobbed down again, he took care not to push her down. He could face fuck a girl whenever he wanted but that wasn’t what he wanted now. He wanted to share a moment with a girl as he used to, a tender moment where the goal was not merely pain and pleasure but genuine human connection. Though spanking a woman or squeezing a big pair of tits while fucking a screaming babe was fun, part of him missed the fun of mutual passion. Looking at Olivia’s pretty head on his shaft, a semblance of that emotional connection returned.

Her mind and mouth filled with dick, Olivia had no idea Mehmet was contemplating the value of human connection. Still, this was the most relaxed she had felt since being abducted. It wasn’t enjoyment, no, but with no crippling pain or threat of imminent torture, she could focus on simply pleasing a man, something she had enjoyed before all this. An ex-boyfriend had first taught her how to suck cock, guiding her through her inexperience. In the two years before he went to university, she had done it many times, becoming not only proficient but enjoying it too, not so much in itself but from pleasing her partner. She had none of that satisfaction here. Even trying to please Mehmet and Hasan had only been to stave off some impending punishment. But this felt different. Here he seemed to be enjoying not just her blowjob but a moment alone with her. She couldn’t put her finger on why but it allowed her to relax and clear her mind of the horrors of the last few days.

“Oh fuck yes,” Mehmet muttered under his breath, “jack my cock.”

As her hand moved up and down, she rested her free arm on his leg and again went down on his cock, pushing it deeply in and speeding up her jacking off. His moans grew in intensity and the hand stroking her cheek now gripped her hair hard. Though he pushed his groin toward her, it was a far cry from Hasan’s face fucking. Breathing through her nose, she moved the cock in and out of her mouth, jerking the base up and down like a salt shaker. When he twitched, she knew he was close.

“I’m cumming,” almost shouting, he stood up and pulled his cock from her mouth, “look at me.”

Wide as dinner plates, her brilliant blue eyes looked on as Mehmet jerked himself off. With the tip of his cock just inches from her face, he came after only a few strokes, a thick blob of sticky white cum shooting from his dick in a line from her hair to the bridge of her cute button nose. With a loud roar, a second jet shot over an eye, welding it shut. Milking the last drops from his twitching cock, he squeezed his jism over her face. Looking at her, he knew he had betrayed his duty by sharing an intimate moment with a slave. And looking at her cum covered face, he knew he would do it again.

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Their footsteps echoed loudly in the great marble hall. The brilliant white polished surfaces almost blinded the terrified American, the room’s splendour showing her situation as even more hopeless. When she hesitated, not knowing where to go, Jeremiah immediately verbally abused her.

“That way, bitch,” he said loudly, his brash Texan personality showing no signs of abating as he pointed to the hall’s far corner where a man and woman stood. Waddling as best she could with two dildos stuffed into her, Melissa soon saw a terrifying looking woman with peroxide blonde hair tied tight in a bun that pulled her skin taut on her bony face. She filled Melissa with sheer terror. Her perfectly tailored grey suit seemed more appropriate to a successful business woman than one in this business. The other was a very attractive man, tall, dark and handsome, dressed in a black shirt and trousers. The four stopped about a metre away and Jeremiah greeted the woman.

“Ms. Schweinberg,” he said warmly, offering a fat hand which the woman took in her bony one.

“Mr. Johnson, good to have you here again.” she replied, seemingly genuinely pleased to see him.

“It’s great to be back, I can’t wait to get started!”

“All in good time, old friend, all in good time.”

Melissa was unable to take her eyes from the woman’s piercing features. When she looked at her, Melissa audibly gasped as her emerald green eyes locked on, her stare chilling.

“So this is what you have brought,” Greta walked over, her eyes still fixed on Melissa’s, “very nice.”

Melissa didn’t know what was happening but with no way to avoid this terrifying woman, she stood still as the woman came up. Though used to being treated as an object, she was still startled when Greta gripped her face, pinching and pulling her cheek as if hoping to find something amiss then grabbing her breasts as if inspecting them for some unknown sign. Even through the jumper’s thick material, she still felt the bony fingers squeeze her soft flesh. Examining her like furniture, Greta relaxed her grip to inspect the back, fondling her arse while Melissa stared into a middle distance, trying to ignore it all. Coming back round, Greta handling of Melissa’s cunt made her flinch. On Jeremiah’s sharp look, she stood still while Greta groped her pussy, probing the stuffed opening with a bony finger. Seemingly satisfied, Greta released her grip and turned to Jeremiah.

“Very nice indeed,” Greta said to her friend, “tits, ass and cunt all seem in order. I am sure we will have plenty of fun with her. As for you, you will soon know how to behave.”

Greta said this last with a snarl, surprising Melissa with the hatred she showed to a stranger. How could anybody refer to another person as ‘tits, ass and cunt’? But for all her many talents, Melissa knew that was all she was to these people. They had no respect for her or her achievements but only wanted hurt and abuse her. And she was sure that was not about to change any time soon.

“We will get her sorted,” Greta said, ignoring Melissa, “bathed and ready to begin her lessons.”

“Excellent,” Jeremiah said gleefully

“Good, good. Now I will escort you to your quarters. I need to tell you some things about your entertainment. Take her downstairs.” As Greta turned, her heels loud on the marble floor, Jeremiah moved to Melissa.

“Enjoy your stay, cunt,” he said gleefully, “by the end you’ll be the perfect obedient little slave.”

With that, he followed Greta in animated conversation. As they disappeared, Melissa heard his fat bellowing laugh and looked at the woman, hoping to be set free. A forlorn hope quickly snuffed out.

“Follow,” she snapped, “quickly.”

Obeying, Melissa followed the woman and dreaded what was in store for her. With good reason.

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A creaking door signalled the next circle of Holly’s living hell. Still blind, she had no idea who it was or what was coming. Not that she could do anything about it, trussed tightly, completely helpless and at the mercy of her tormentors. Clicking heels signalled Greta’s arrival and Holly’s heart sank, the tiny hope of someone rescuing her from this nightmarish horror gone. They had been missing for days; surely the police would find them. But a slim hope of future rescue did not help her situation now and as the heels came nearer, she knew more pain and humiliation was coming.

“Get the cunt down.”

The voice and tone was Greta’s, obviously standing just inches away. Hanging motionless, Holly heard footsteps go to the wall followed by a whirring as the bar she was tied to was lowered. When her latex clad feet touched the ground, she didn’t try to stand since it continued pushing her back down, making her kneel and forcing her sensitive bulging breasts into her knees. This was clearly intended for there was a slight pause before it started again, bending her further and making her whinny in pain. Her painful position seemed enough for it stopped and she felt the ropes binding her to the bar and constricting her tits being undone. A second later she groaned in agony as the blood rushed back, renewing the pain all over her beaten breasts. Her muffled groans lasted longer than anticipated for her breasts seemed surprisingly sensitive. But no longer bound, they still returned to their usual glorious shape, no longer firmly pressing into her knees but softly resting.

“Bring it over here.”

Suddenly pulled forward by her ponytail, Holly was dragged over the uneven stone floor, kicking her legs and screaming into her gag, her sensitive nipples rubbing painfully across the cold abrasive surface. Holding her hair like a lead, Hasan dragged her, snaking from side to side to prolong her agony, to drop her to the floor at Greta’s feet. Then, standing behind, he waited for the show.

“Kneel!” Greta barked. Quickly scrambling to her knees, arse resting on her heels and back straight, the gagged and blindfolded girl waited for her next order. Greta looked at her pretty slave’s hidden face, the blindfold and gag making her more like a sex toy than a human. The ponytail popping out the top and large nose ring only reinforced this. The latex body suit hugged the rest of her body, its tight fit exquisitely emphasising her curves. What showed the figure wasn’t a giant rubber doll were the two magnificent globes jutting from her chest. By supporting herself with hands on her knees, Holly’s tits were tightly squeezed together into a dream cleavage. The same injection that made her breasts ‘leak’ also swelled her tits even bigger than before. But though larger, they were still youthfully perfect, sitting high and proud on her chest. As he stared at her protruding breasts, Hasan was twitchingly desperate to handle them. Greta reached round to undo the gag and blindfold.

Blind for so long, her doe-like eyes blinked in the light and she recoiled, shutting her eyes again. But she was determined to get used to it. Seeing gave her some control, allowing her to anticipate and prepare. Finally adjusting, she looked at the two figures towering over her, dressed as she had first seen them. Knowing how merciless they were, she just knelt and waited for their next abuse.

“Hello again, Tits,” Greta said, squatting down level with Holly, “it has been a long time since it could see its masters. But something has changed since we last saw it. Stand.”

Holly stood, eager to show as little resistance as possible. Walking slowly to her rear, the German pressed against her firm arse and reached round with both hands to squeeze her tits just behind the nipple. To Holly’s amazed horror, two jets of white liquid shot into the room from her breasts, almost reaching Hasan four feet away. She gasped again as Greta repeated the trick, squeezing two more streams from her tits. She knew what the liquid was but couldn’t believe it. At first she thought she was pregnant from being raped. But women lactated weeks after conception and her pre-captivity virginity made that impossible. No, the only explanation was the injection into her tits. As she stared at the milk on the floor, trying to grasp what had been done to her, Greta spoke.

“Does it know what I just squeezed from its tits?”

“Yes, mistress,” Holly said after a brief pause for she knew she couldn’t hesitate too long.

“Well, what is it?”

“Milk, mistress.”

“And why does it have milk coming from its tits?”

“Because…because that’s what mistress wants…” confused, she stammered, unsure of what to say.

“Does it remember why it has the ring in its nose?”

“Yes, mistress,” she said as the whole thing made more sense, “because it…”

“This cunt!”

“Because this cunt is a cow…?”

“That is right, cunt!” Greta said, releasing her tits and walking in front of her, “Because it is a worthless fucking cow. Its ridiculous big udders make it good only for being fucked and milked. Does it see how its tits are even bigger now? Now it can please its masters even more. Is it pleased?”

“Yes, mistress, thank you, mistress.”

“It is welcome. Now it will show its appreciation by licking its own milk off the floor.”

Holly paused then gingerly got on her hands and knees at the start of the line of milk. As she went down on her elbows, her huge tits hung down to touch the stone. Then, like an animal at a watering hole, she began to lap, licking along the stone and inching forward as she finished a section. She worked slowly for though the floor was relatively clean, it still had small bits of dust and stone. Inch by inch she licked her way to Hasan until, after five minutes of licking and trying not to wretch, she finally reached his shiny black shoes. She was about to stop when Hasan lifted his foot and she cleaned it with her tongue. With both feet done, Hasan stepped away, leaving her on the floor.

“Thank you, mistress,” Holly was hoping for some brownie points. Feeling her breast prodded, she looked round to see Hasan poking his shoe into her soft flesh, clearly enjoying her vulnerability.

“Never say its mistress never gives it anything. It is a very lucky cunt and should never forget that. Now it will follow its master upstairs to be prepared for a very special guest. But first it will listen. It will obey anybody it is told to. If I find out it has been a bad cunt then it will be severely punished. Remember, it is a worthless cunt and if it is bad, it can easily be destroyed. Does it understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” she shuddered to think what was meant by ‘destroyed’.

“Good, now get out of my sight!”

Holly was about to get up when Hasan dangled a small leash in her eye line, then clipped it to the gold ring in her nose. Yelping as he yanked her forward, she followed him across the dungeon to the stairs, walking on all fours and feeling totally worthless, Greta’s constant abuse clearly working. Silently she was led up the stairs, struggling to keep pace. When she slipped and fell, Hasan barely stopped, painfully tugging her nose ring until she got to her feet to follow him. At the top, they turned into a corridor and then through a door. Dropping the lead, he closed the door.

As a professional, Hasan had none of Mehmet’s problems with Olivia. Sure, he’d squeeze the bitch’s gorgeous tits, suck some milk from them and slide his monster dick between those huge mounds. While preparing her, he would embarrass, humiliate and wherever possible hurt her but he couldn’t even imagine feeling anything for her other than lust. To him she was a sex slave, to be used and abused at her owner’s pleasure. He loved playing with these girls, especially ones as pretty and well endowed as this particular specimen. And if he missed having a woman fuck him as much as he fucked her, he only needed permission to visit a professional whore upstairs. All he wanted was here and he wouldn’t throw it away for some worthless thing. So, walking back to her, he thought of nothing but the fun he was about to have with her and her monster tits.

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Tick, tock went the clock. Greta watched it intently. She had an appointment in an hour yet her entertainment for that hour was late and her impatience grew. Mehmet had more than enough time to clean Olivia, and for her to test drive that new tongue, he had to be HERE. Turning to the laptop on her desk, she moused over Surveillance. Perhaps Mehmet had disobeyed orders and violated the girl he had been charged with? Unlikely given his sterling service but she had been wrong about such men before. Clicking the icon to bring up all the cameras covering the house, she scrolled through to the room Mehmet had taken the girl to. It was empty. On their way presumably, but why so long? She rewound until she saw Mehmet and Olivia leaving the room later than they should have and then rewound further to see what had previously happened. Then she heard a knock.

“Come in,” she turned impatiently as Mehmet pushed a naked Olivia through the door. Excited at the new arrival, forgetting her suspicion, she closed the window just as Mehmet ejaculated.

“Thank you, Mehmet,” she said courteously, her annoyance disappearing, “you may leave.”

As he closed the door, the tall Turk was unaware of just how close he’d come to being caught. Now alone with Greta, a shivering Olivia was surprised by what she saw. A woman she’d only seen dressed like an extra from a horror film now stood at a desk wearing a sharp grey suit with her hair now styled into a far more flattering bun. And the room was the swankiest office Olivia had ever seen. No stone floor, chains, whips or torture devices; luxurious shag carpet, stylish décor, a gorgeous oil painting on the wall - and large windows with a breath-taking view of snow capped mountains on one side and wide sweeping U shaped valley on the other. If it wasn’t for a face that Olivia associated with terror and pain, she would think her just a business woman enjoying the perks of a prestigious job. Shivering, she subconsciously covered herself against the room’s chill.

“Arms down,” Greta snapped, “never cover yourself in front of me. Over here.”

Lowering her arms and walking toward the desk, the little blonde’s perky breasts jiggled slightly as her feet sank into the soft carpet and goose bumps rose on her soft bronzed skin. With the wax gone and both her holes unblocked, Mehmet had washed her and allowed her to relieve herself. Olivia’s flawless complexion made her look incredible even without make up. The sunlight streaming through the window made her blonde hair into a halo as she stopped at the desk. Walking round, her high heels making no noise, Greta’s eyes never left Olivia who looked ahead, her knees shaking as much with fear as cold. As part of her act, Greta absently checked how thoroughly Mehmet had done his job though she didn’t really think he hadn’t. With limited time, she was anxious to get on.

“Open wide.”

Taking a light-pen from her pocket, Greta probed her mouth and underneath her tongue. Her cut had healed perfectly. Keen to maintain her professional appearance, Greta stifled an excited smile.

“You look cold?” Greta said to Olivia who didn’t realise it was a question at first, “Answer me!”

“Yes,” Olivia answered, then adding quickly, “mistress.”

“Well, we would not want that, would we, baby?” Greta stroked her face then went to a cabinet, turning round with an object that made Olivia gasp. Glinting in the light was a large conical sex toy or so she assumed, having heard of such things without ever actually seeing one. Its silvery rounded point expanded to what she thought an impossible girth before shrinking to a black plastic with a cable and plug trailing out the bottom. Putting it down and plugging it into the wall, she silently put her desk chair in front of the menacing cone, then looked at Olivia and clicked her fingers.

Shoulders slumped, Olivia moved to the German with shocked eyes fixed on the thing she had to impale herself on. Even after being raped by the men’s giant cocks, as a small girl with only a small hole, she could not see herself getting onto it. But Greta would not let her pain be a reason not to do it. Standing next to the device, she looked pleadingly at Greta.

“If you are cold,” Greta spoke like a parent to an unhappy child, “stick that up your twat, it will warm you up nicely.”

She looked from Greta to the toy and then back at Greta’s raised eyebrow. With nothing to say, she looked down again at the giant glistening cone, not knowing how to even approach the task. It was clearly too big to fit inside her but with no choice, she knelt and tentatively shuffled forward until the tip just touched her pussy. And recoiled; the metal was not warm but freezing. Looking up questioningly, she was about to ask if this was really intended to ‘warm her up’ as Greta answered.

“It will heat up when inside you. So unless you want me to do it for you, you need to hurry up.”

Knowing Greta doing it for her would be painful, she ignored her fear of this thing “heating up” and moved her hips until the tip rested at her hole. Sniffling to prevent more tears, she lowered herself, the cold making her wince as it went in. At first it went in quite easily because of the cold metal and her dryness but halfway down, it was more difficult. Another inch and Olivia felt her walls so painfully stretched that going further would tear them apart. She tried again but it was impossible. Her eyes filling with tears at the strain, she looked at the blurred figure above her, thinking that even this woman could see that going further would permanently damage her. She was sorely mistaken.

“Why have you stopped, whore!?” Greta snapped, bending down level with Olivia’s face.

“Mistress,” Olivia replied, a tear running down her face, “I can’t go any further.”

“Was I not clear, bitch!? I want it in your slutty little cunt! Am I to do all your work?”

“No…no…please I’ll….”

“Too late, you ungrateful English whore, after all I have done for you, you repay me by forcing me to do your job for you.”

Grabbing Olivia’s pale pink nipples, Greta yanked down. Olivia squealed at both the pain from her breasts and her pussy being stretched still further. Even two more tugs on her breasts did not induce her to move much further down, despite significantly more pain. But Greta seemed untroubled and even smiled as she stood up, her crotch now level with Olivia’s tear stained face. Placing her bony hands on the girl’s golden hair, she slowly ran them to her narrow shoulders. And pushed.

Forced down with a sudden thump, a momentary pause was followed by a blood curdling scream. Her banshee wail cutting the air, Olivia’s stretched pussy was pushed over the cone’s widest part to close up over its thinner part. But if her young supple sex closing with the entire cone inside her was painful, it was not the primary reason for her scream. Nor was it her legs being spread painfully wide by being forced down. It was the tip rammed excruciatingly into her cervix that made Olivia continue shrieking. The agony just did not decrease, the intense wave of pain lingering on and on. Indeed she screamed for an eternity of ten seconds. As this most piercing agony very slowly lessened, she stopped screaming but the continuing ache was so painful she still wept, a weeping intensified by seeing the outline of the cone’s widest part visibly distending her taut skin. To relieve some pressure in her hole and on her cervix, Olivia shuffled her knees together as much as the toy allowed, to raise the base off the ground. Then the sobbing girl knelt motionless, her heavy breathing making her reddened breasts bounce slowly, to wait for whatever Greta would do next.

“Should have done it yourself, eh, cunt?” Greta said, “Now show how sorry you are.”

Taking off her jacket, Greta meticulously folded it and put it on her desk, doing the same with her shirt, tailored trousers and bra and knickers. Then, taking a small black item the size of an electronic car key and still wearing her high heels, she turned and sat on her chair, her pussy about a foot from the kneeling girl. Olivia blinked away some tears and for the first time stared at Greta’s naked body. Her skin was in good condition for one probably in her 40s. With not an ounce of extra fat, she was lean and obviously muscular, good definition to her abs, her breasts little more than puffy nipples. If anything, the super fit German looked even more intimidating without her leather. Olivia had seen that pussy with its triangular crown of short blonde hair before and knew what she had to do.

“Stick that tongue out,” on command, Olivia obeyed, “Yah, good. You know what to do now.”

“Yes, mistress,” Olivia stuck her tongue out at the end of each answer

“What?”

“To lick you, mistress,” and stole herself mentally for what she was about to do.

“Where?”

“Your…your…” pausing, unsure of what word to use, “pussy?”

“Cunt, you stupid slut,” Greta snapped as she inched forward on the chair, spreading her legs and slowly moving her pussy lips closer and closer to Olivia, “And why are you going to lick my cunt?”

“Because,” Olivia was again unsure what to say but tried ...“my mistress has told me to.”

“Very good,” Greta said, moving closer, “And because you are a pretty little cunt licker, I am going to be very kind. Because you are a weak English bitch who cannot handle being a little chilly, I am going to treat you. Once you start lapping my cunt with that lovely new tongue, I will press this button.” She held up the small black box, “I will not press it again until you make me cum, so just as before, it would be in your best interests to do a good job. Now lick me, whore!”

Sliding forward a final few inches, Greta slammed her pussy into Olivia’s face. As her nose plunged into Greta’s folds, the smell of sex hit and she heard a click. Putting her tongue right inside, she began licking from the bottom of Greta’s vagina up to her hooded clitoris. She had scarcely begun when Greta grabbed her head and pulled her violently into her crotch. Coughing for air, she couldn’t breathe until she got her nose out of Greta’s lips but still she kept licking, only occasional heavy breathing from Greta showing any effect. Soon, however, Olivia felt something else, a very gentle warming deep inside her pussy. Her eyes widened as it steadily intensified.

“Good, slut,” Greta groaned, “It will get very hot very soon. Lick harder, cunt!”

Quickly lapping all of Greta’s pussy Olivia sped up, flicking the tip of her tongue against the hooded clit, running the flat over the lips and occasionally pushing as far into the hole as she could. She tried to emulate the techniques she’d enjoyed when, in a previous life, she was eaten out by a doting lover. By now the dildo was about hand washing temperature and she shuffled slightly, trying to move it around and reduce the heat. From behind and with only the device’s small flat base jutting out, Olivia’s peachy arse seemed to wriggle in arousal. Greta’s hand wrapped in Olivia’s hair and as she pushed her head deep into her groin, she pulled the golden locks to elicit a yelp from the mouth buried deep in her pussy. As Greta moaned in pleasure at her attentions, the young woman moaned for an entirely different reason. The heat was now painful, her wriggling making no difference. Suddenly Greta slid forward on the chair, knocking Olivia back slightly, and pulled her legs up.

“Tongue my ass, cunt!” she shouted, her hands never leaving Olivia’s head.

Forced down an inch to tongue Greta’s arsehole, Olivia’s button nose was slicked in pussy juice. But she never stopped licking since which hole she pleasured didn’t matter, only that she pleased Greta as quickly as possible. Extending her tongue, she slipped it into Greta’s sphincter and was forced to anally tongue her molester by the bony hands pushing her head back and forth. As the pain in her abdomen grew, her tears mixed with Greta’s cunt juices on her extended tongue. Forced into Greta’s groin, she struggled to breathe, snatching only small breaths when momentarily pulled away. The excruciating pain made her now dread what was happening to her sensitive pussy and she half expected to hear flesh sizzling over the squelching sounds of Greta’s dripping cunt and arse.

“Fuck yes,” Greta yelled, “now make me cum, you filthy bitch!”

As she pulled Olivia’s head back to again lap her sex, the feeling of the bitch’s modified tongue on her most sensitive parts was heavenly. Looking at the mess of blonde hair she was forcing into her cunt, she saw the girl hopping from knee to knee and wriggling her arse to relieve the pain in her hole. Greta moaned with delight, partly because the girl’s tongue had just flicked her engorged clit but also because forcing Olivia to lick her while her insides burned made her feel so powerful. Pulling her head away, she listened to the bitch now keening a high pitched whine of terrible pain. On the final stretch, Greta ground her cunt into the bitch’s face. With the girl’s tongue sticking out, Greta now did most of the work, gyrating her pelvis and rubbing Olivia’s head up and down as pleasure welled up. Then her climax began and Greta came in a crescendo of screams.

“AAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” a sheer euphoria of screaming, “Lick me, lick my fucking cunt, you stuck up English bitch. OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHEEEE!!!”

Coming hard, a gush of pussy juice covered Olivia’s already slick face. The intensity of her orgasm surprised even Greta as she cooed in the last waves of its pleasure. It was more than a day since she’d last cum, grinding her snatch into the big-titted cunt’s face, and combined with the skill of her slave’s new tongue, Greta had squirted more than she had for a very long time. Clearly learning her place, Olivia still lapped Greta’s drenched sex frantically, wailing as she did so. In no rush to stop the pretty little girl’s pain, Greta stroked her hair softly while she continued to lick, squeal and wiggle her cute little arse. But, regretfully, the toy had to be turned off or that pretty pussy would be damaged permanently. So, grabbing the bitch’s hair, she threw her to the floor. Blind to it coming, Olivia had no time to brace herself, her head hitting the carpet with some force, her hips still writhing as the pain intensified. Standing and walking over the damp patch on the floor where her juices had fallen, Greta stood over the wriggling girl and knelt, her pussy slapping wetly on Olivia’s belly button, to lean over her face. Her eyes were closed and so, to make her attend, Greta twisted a nipple hard. Her beautiful blue eyes opened to see a smiling Greta holding the little black box in her hand.

“My, my,” Greta pantomimed surprise, “that was quite a performance. An expert cunt licker already! Now you have made me cum, would you like me turn off that hot toy inside you?”

Barely hearing what Greta said over the pain, Olivia did hear the last bit and immediately answered, desperate to get the evil object out of her.

“Yes, mistress,” she wailed, “It hurts so much!”

“Well, as you did such a good job,” Greta said, her dripping cunt juices pooling on Olivia’s belly, “I suppose I could. As soon as you thank me.”

“Thank you, mistress, thank you so much.”

“What for?”

“For…for,” the writhing girl hesitated, “for letting me lick your cunt.”

“You are welcome, whore,” Greta thoroughly enjoyed this psychological torture, “would you like to do it again sometime?”

“Yes, mistress, please, anytime. Please, mistress, let me lick your cunt just…just please…”

“Very good, sweetie, I will enjoy you lapping my cunt. So since you have been so good ...”

Twisting the girl’s soft breast again to make her look up, she then very theatrically pressed the red button. Though off, the dildo was still very hot and Olivia continued to thrash about. After a minute or so she began to calm, Greta enjoying her last few writhing movements and groans. Putting down the box to roughly squeeze Olivia’s tits, her talon fingers again dug into flesh.

“What do you s…?” she asked.

“Thank you, mistress,” Olivia instantly interrupted despite heavily breathing, “thank you so much.”

“You grateful little slut,” Delightedly leaning in to force her tongue down Olivia’s throat, Greta kissed her forcefully, pushing her head deep into the luxurious carpet and listening to her yelp as her nails scratched that soft tit flesh and her pussy rubbed Olivia’s sopping stomach. After some minutes of such torment, Greta sat back on the girl’s stomach, her hands reluctantly leaving those perky tits.

“Are you warm now, sweetie,” Greta was tormenting, knowing her cunt would still be hot.

“Yes, mistress, thank you, mistress.”

“Would you like me to pull the toy from your cunt?”

“Yes please, mistress.”

“Very well,” Greta stood, leaving a large glistening patch of vaginal juices on the girl’s toned belly, “spread your legs nice and wide.”

Olivia obeyed although her legs were already spread by the huge toy. Looking at the girl’s pretty pleading face, she put the flat of a stiletto on her pelvis, just above the bulge of the dildo, and bent down to slowly tug at the exposed base. Olivia’s tight lips seemed almost reluctant to let it go, so, pushing her foot down painfully, Greta then pulled, all her muscles straining, as hard as she could.

Her screams wavering breathlessly as the base came slowly from her cunt, Olivia’s labia stretched so thin that even Greta thought they would tear. After thirty seconds of screaming, the widest part came out, the rest following immediately – and her scream intensified, a sound so shrill that even Greta who normally rejoiced in her victims’ most agonising screams, found it a little off-putting. Looking at what she had pulled out, she saw why and smiled. The metallic surface had small but unmistakeable scraps of her cunt. Carefully not touching the still warm metal, she inspected the small specks of pink flesh dotting the shining toy. No wonder the feisty little bitch was screaming. Greta could only imagine her excruciating pain. If her cunt wasn’t sensitive before, it would now be sheer agony if she was fucked in the next few days. Which of course she would be. But Greta wouldn’t permanently damage a new slave. It would heal in time but until then she would be in serious pain and telling her how temporary it was would miss a perfect opportunity to break her spirit. Greta walked over to Olivia, her screams having died to a sobbing whimper.

“Look, baby,” Greta held it for Olivia to see, “look at the bits of your cunt stuck all over your toy.”

Seeing what Greta held, Olivia gasped and very nearly fainted. The thing was apparently covered in tiny scraps of meat. Since they had not been there when forced inside her, there was only one place they could have come from. She instinctively tried to close her legs but this caused more pain and so moved her hands to cover her sex. But the damage had been done and she had no idea how severe or permanent it was. Looking at the silver thing Greta twirled in front of her, she felt as if her whole vagina had been torn out. As she whimpered quietly on the floor, Greta continued to torment her.

“Well, well,” Greta was enjoying herself, “next time we play this game you need to please me a little quicker or it will tear all your snatch out. Now what do you say now that I have pulled it out?”

“T…Thank…you mistress,” Olivia sobbed.

Greta chuckled and placed the device back in its cabinet. Then she dressed herself as meticulously as she had undressed, pulled the chair back to the desk and sat down, totally ignoring the mewling girl in the centre of the room. After some minutes there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Greta said, rather less excited than previously, merely pointing Mehmet to Olivia lying on the carpet. Flashing her a brief look of unseen contempt, he nonetheless carefully picked Olivia up, holding her in outstretched arms. As he was about to leave, Greta stopped him.

“Mehmet,” Greta was now looking at her computer, “bring her here, please.” Coming to the desk, the Turk lowered her to eye level with the sitting Greta.

“Look at me, bitch,” Greta said, glancing up from her screen as Olivia slowly turned her head to meet her gaze, “you have pleased me. And you will please me again. One way you will please me is to please those I lend you to. You will do everything you are told, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Olivia limply nodded, “mistress.”

Dismissing them with a nod, Greta returned to her screen. Using his feet to widen the open door, Mehmet strode off. He didn’t know what had happened in that room but he did know a small trickle of blood was leaking from Olivia’s pussy. Speeding up, he couldn’t hide his fury as he thought about what could have happened, his mind swirling in rage and loyalty and his enjoyment of this job. So confusing. But his troubles did not compare to those of the girl he was now almost cradling.

After Mehmet left, Greta dialled a number and waited for answer.

“Hello there. She will be down in an hour. Oh, and she has a little surprise for you…”

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Following the woman down a labyrinth of corridors was not easy. With two dildos in her holes, walking was difficult but Melissa still gamely struggled to keep up. Her blonde hair was stuck to her sweaty forehead since she had gone over 24 hours without her normal shower. But this was about as far from normal as it could get, her old life so distant it seemed only a dream.

“Quickly,” came the command from far in front and Melissa half-ran just to catch up, the thought of disobeying not even occurring to her. Her heavy tracksuit weighed her down and unable to walk properly, she had to swing her legs from side to side in a strangely comical waddle. Then, much to her relief, the woman stopped at a door seemingly no different to those they’d passed. The occasional sound of screaming coming through those had chilled Melissa to the core. When the panting blonde caught up, the woman showed no tiredness at all. Pressing a seemingly innocuous stone, there was a click, a whir and the heavy wooden door opened to reveal a plain stone room.

“In.”

Melissa walked to the middle and waited for further orders. There was little to see: a hose in the corner; a toilet with a plughole next to it; no furniture; a single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. All a far cry from the luxurious surroundings of the grand hall but she wasn’t thinking of that. As the door slammed shut behind her, she turned to see the woman walking toward her.

“Remove your clothes,” the woman said coldly, “or I will do it for you. You do not want that.”

Melissa did not want to since the clothes gave at least an illusion of protection. But helpless, she reluctantly hooked her fingers beneath the sweater’s heavy rim and pulled it up to reveal her gloriously toned midriff and then her ample bosom, hidden by a small black crop top. On pulling it over her head, a small gesture from the woman signalled her to drop it on the floor. After slipping off the flimsy pumps, she took off the tracksuit bottoms, to stand in small black hot pants and top.

“Everything,” her stare didn’t leave Melissa at all.

Melissa sighed, reaching for the bottom of her top and pulling it up. With nothing holding her breasts, they spilled down to bounce on her chest. But the woman was not interested in her beautiful body but her orders. When Melissa dropped her bottoms, she saw her tensing to keep the two dildos in, obviously afraid of the consequences if they fell. Walking over to the hose ...

“You can relax,” she said, unwinding the hose, “those are not needed anymore.”

On this, Melissa immediately relaxed her muscles. As both artificial cocks fell, she felt both free and strangely empty, relishing the welcome feeling for as long as possible. Which was little indeed.

“Go there,” the woman snapped, pointing to the toilet, “Relieve yourself.”

After readjusting to moving without things deep inside her, Melissa sat down. Her three weeks captivity had habituated her to very little privacy and she just ignored the woman as she relieved herself, sitting for as long as she could since the hose made no secret of the woman’s intentions. After waiting some minutes to ensure Melissa had finished, she then spoke.

“Up. Bend over.”

Knowing what was coming, Melissa bent over. A hand held a cheek apart, the hose pointed over her crack and puckered arsehole and she shrieked as a blast of cold water squirted up her chute, the dirty water running into the plug-hole. After satisfying herself she was clean, the woman then squirted icy water over her crack, Melissa’s shocked shrieks expressing discomfort rather than pain. After cleaning her holes, the woman stood, hose still pointing at the girl.

“Stand,” said with her usual sternness, “against the wall.”

As Melissa backed against the wall, she confusedly felt like a condemned prisoner facing a firing squad. Focussed on the pointing hose, the confusion dissipated and she tensed for another ice cold blast. Which did not stop her squealing when it slammed into her belly. After doing her front from face to toes until she was clean, a quick gesture when it finished signalled her to turn and be blasted once more. Finished, she was left shivering and dripping, her blonde mane hanging lankly and sticking to her soft skin. But she had no time to warm up. Replacing the hose, the woman said

“Follow me,” and turned to a stone wall. Melissa looked on bemused as she pushed a seemingly random stone, a section of wall suddenly sliding back and to the side. She couldn’t see into the hole but since the woman went through, she had to follow. Behind her, the wall clicked shut, plunging her into darkness. When a light suddenly flicked on, she gasped, terrified by the dozens of torture instruments racked on the walls. The woman, however, stopped at an innocuous looking chain hanging from the ceiling and gathered up two manacles attached to the end.

“Over here,” the woman had not reacted to Melissa’s intake of horror, “quickly.”

Walking forward gingerly, head hanging low, Melissa shuffled over, desperate to avoid the inevitable. To be in a place like this numbed her mind. Looking at the devices lining the walls, she wondered not only how much they would hurt but also whether she would get out alive.

“Put your arms out,” oblivious to Melissa’s continuing terror.

Taking both wrists in one well manicured hand, the woman pulled the chain down with the other until it was level with Melissa’s outstretched arms. Clipping the manacles on her wrists, she ensured they were tight then let go. Yelping as her arms shot over her head, Melissa was suddenly and violently pulled up with her toes just off the ground, all her weight on her shoulders and manacles digging painfully into her wrists. The woman was totally unmoved by her pained moans.

“Someone will see you soon,” walking away, she then half turned, “do as you are told. It is easier.”

Walking back to the wall they had come through, she again put out her hand. As before a section opened and she seemed to hang a moment in mid air before disappearing. Then, on a click, the wall once again slid shut and the lights above Melissa flicked off. Plunged into darkness, she felt she had sensed something in the woman’s voice. Sympathy? No, not quite, but something suggested that perhaps not everyone in this place was as evil as she had first thought. But that was pushed aside as she hung in the dark, wrists hurting and arms aching from her position. Only the clink of chains and foreboding memories of the surrounding torture room kept her company.

----------------------------------

After several hours, Lucy had almost blanked out the beep, just appreciating the silence and the comfort of her new home, the mindlessness allowing her to forget the horrors of the last few days. Initially thinking about her current predicament, she later moved on to things she had thought about before this nightmare then to nothing at all. But this perverse idyll was about to end. On another beep, she glanced cursorily at the numbers, expecting only a brief look before again mindlessly whiling away the time. She gasped when she saw “64”. The numbers hadn’t been in any order, flitting wildly from single digits up into the 90s and so she had no warning hers was next. As a few women glanced round, curious that no-one came forward, Lucy stood.

Though she had seen many women leave, she panicked and for a second confusedly looked round for any clue as to where to go. Regaining her composure, she started for the door, striding to project confidence. At her approach, the door opened and she walked through. As it clunked shut and her eyes adjusted to the darker corridor, she heard a familiar and terrifying voice.

“Walk straight forward,” a calm German accent said over a speakers, “then take the second right.”

Lucy didn’t hesitate for she knew Greta was capable of anything and so walked quickly, her eyes fixed on the right hand side, walking past one corridor before turning at the next, her number slip still clasped in her hand. She paused and was soon told what to do next.

“Go forward then take the stairs on the left then through the door and along the corridor.”

Walking forward, Lucy climbed the staircase, all the while wondering how the two women who had previously led her through these corridors knew their way around such a labyrinth. And going up stairs in high heels was not easy. Forced to notice the stairs, she saw the stone steps becoming less uneven, more finished. On reaching the top, she pushed against a door – and entered something bizarrely normal, a brightly lit corridor more appropriate to a high rise office building with paintings on its whitewashed walls and floored with an expensive wooden laminate. Slightly stunned, Lucy walked down the corridor to an open door on her right. Looking in, she saw a heart-sinking sight.

“Hello,” Greta smiled, “I trust you have been comfortable. Come in.” and turned back to her computer.

Lucy slowed, desperate not to go in and face her tormentor but equally desperate not to piss off the crazy blonde woman. Caught between, she hesitated for a moment, wondering whether she had to knock before entering.

“I said come in!” Greta was still working at her computer but sounded more than a little impatient.

Walking in, Lucy’s mouth dropped as she saw how luxurious the room was. She didn’t know that just fifty minutes ago her best friend had been here, marvelling at the same things and the same woman. Had she known what had happened to Olivia, she might have tried to escape but there was nothing to see except luxurious appointments and the suited woman at the desk.

“Take a seat,” not looking up from her laptop. Sitting in the chair in front of the desk, Lucy looked at the bony features of the woman who had captured them in that bar a few days ago, remembering her in her leather corset about to begin hour after hour of torture and rape. Every pain and humiliation this woman had made her suffer flooded back and she winced. But looking now, she barely recognised that person as the one working on a computer like a normal business woman. Indeed were it not for Lucy’s own attire, this almost seemed a normal business meeting.

“So,” Greta turned to look straight into Lucy’s eyes, “how do you find your new surroundings?”

Lucy didn’t quite know how to respond. Last time she had been expected to say ‘mistress’ and ‘master’; was that still expected? And if she said “yes”, did that consent to everything that had happened? She felt that agreeing she had been comfortable since leaving that dungeon would validate everything done to her. Yet though not wanting to give this evil woman any satisfaction, she couldn’t return there. She flash remembered having to watch Holly being whipped and double penetrated and then the sight of the poor woman being thrashed with those huge bamboo sticks followed. Lucy was never going to be in that situation. Even if she was the one torturing those poor women, even her friends, she would prefer that to being on the receiving end.

“They’re very nice,” she said, then through gritted teeth, “mistress. Thank you.”

“You are welcome but you need not call me mistress anymore. You are much better than the cunts you came with. They are worthless, you are not. Do you know why you were chosen?”

“No,” Lucy said, flinching slightly at having her friends referred to as ‘cunts’.

“Because I saw you could be a very good, high class whore. And that you have a natural aptitude for inflicting pain. Do you remember fucking that big-titted bitch while beating her fat udders?”

“Yes,” Lucy hung her head in shame as she remembered what she had been forced to do to Holly.

“Do not be ashamed,” Greta chuckled, “the snivelling cunt deserved it as you’ll see in time. And her screaming as you paddled her was delightful. You obviously enjoyed it as well for you came very hard all over her face after. You would probably enjoy what is being done to her now even more.”

As Greta described her past actions, Lucy held back a tear, knowing she was right. While pounding Holly’s pussy, swinging the paddle hard into her friend’s soft breasts, Lucy had indeed been highly aroused by her high-pitched screams, grinding her pussy into Holly’s pretty face when she came. Lucy knew their relationship, if they ever escaped, would never be the same and, thinking about the terrible torment her friend could be suffering now, she felt immense sadness flood over her.

“It is alright,” Greta continued, “you will now get the chance to inflict pain once again. I know you do not think you want to but soon you will enjoy it. I will give you some tips.”

Lucy could only stare, her mind numb with the perversity of it. A woman who had kidnapped the three friends and horrifically tortured them in that dungeon, who had forced Lucy to cause a friend terrible pain, now spoke to her as if she was not only a human being but an accomplice. But so much had happened in the last few days that even this strange twist barely surprised her.

“The first thing you must always remember is that you do not have a choice. You may have been saved from the fate of your friends but you still belong to me. You are mine to command, to do with as I see fit. And if you disobey, you will go straight back to that dungeon. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Lucy replied quickly.

“Good,” Greta almost smiled, “if you remember that, you will be fine. Now, you may be wondering how I expect you to torture women you have never met, who have never hurt you.”

Lucy slowly nodded, an observing part of her still not believing this conversation was happening.

“Very simple. Find a reason to hate them. No matter who they are, convince yourself they deserve what you do to them. Whatever you think of, anything that works for you, use it. Understand?”

“Yes,” she replied but she didn’t really. How could she justify hurting an innocent woman, convince herself they deserved it? Yet she had no choice. She was out of the dungeon but Greta was making it clear she still did not control her actions. Depressing and daunting as it was, Lucy had to agree.

“Good. For instance, consider your one experience of your new role so far. When you were beating those big fat tits, your friend screaming while you fucked her, what were you thinking?”

Lucy could think of no answer and just stared open mouthed at Greta. How could she answer? She didn’t know what she had been thinking. She’d been horny, the effects of that wicked chair having taken their toll. Still, she racked her brain for an answer. But she needn’t have bothered.

“You do not know what you were thinking, do you?”

“No,” she said sheepishly, expecting this revelation to be met with punishment.

“That is your inexperience,” Greta said, her eyes still fixed on Lucy, “and that is why you still feel ashamed of what you did. If you had realised how much the cow deserved it, you would have made your peace with it. So that is what you must do in future. Now, are you ready to put in more work?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, her eyes going slightly wide at the prospect of seeing more terrible things.

“Good,” Greta said, standing up from her desk, “then follow me. We have a new American bitch. Our job is to train her to be an obedient slave. You will do exactly as you are told when you are told.”

Walking round the desk, Greta gestured Lucy to stand and, not waiting, with her usual purposeful stride went out the door. As the teen rose, turned and followed, the door slammed shut behind her. Walking behind the blonde torturer, the prospect of future horrifying decisions made Lucy shiver.

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Stepping back, Hasan admired his handiwork. The figure before him was unrecognisable as the thing he had dragged in an hour ago. He thought he’d done a great job and most would have agreed. Looking at her now, no-one would ever know what Holly had been through over the last few days. The teen looked every inch the gorgeous beauty schoolboys had been lusting over for years and, dressed as she was, they would have recognised her instantly. No longer in a suffocating latex prison but dressed in almost normal clothes – well, almost. The buxom babe was now dressed as an archetypal sexy schoolgirl even if, unlike most, she was not trying to be. On her small feet were soft canvas pumps with long white socks that rose to just below her knees. Halfway up her slender toned thigh was the bottom of a tartan skirt, shorter than Holly would have worn in her own school. Her torso though was far more modest; a grey sweater covering a crisp white shirt. Even through two layers, her assets were tantalising, the tight fitting jumper hugging her curves magnificently. Her collar was secured by a small tartan neckerchief that matched her skirt and completed the ensemble perfectly. Holly’s pretty features only made her more alluring, her big brown eyes inadvertently fluttering seductively as she blankly stared straight ahead. Her hair was pulled back, allowing her beautiful face to be seen and the tight ponytail was replaced by two pigtails sprouting from the sides. Looking at the adorable teen, Hasan smiled at his creation.

Of course it wasn’t just the finished product he enjoyed. Preparing the girl had been highly pleasurable and he had taken any opportunity to make it uncomfortable. He had begun by brandishing a large knife to terrify her, slapping her tits with the flat while smiling menacingly. Holly had been relieved when all he did was cut the latex off, ripping and tearing the suit until she was completely naked on the floor. He then had his fun; sucking milk, spanking her and eventually fucking those enormous tits until he’d covered her chest with cum. Silent the entire time, he then washed her, took out her piercings and applied minimal make up before dressing her. Now he was to hand this exquisite toy to someone else to play with.

“Follow me,” Hasan said sternly. On these, his first words, he turned and walked out the door, not waiting for her to follow. Finally Holly was alone, standing in the middle of the room with her hands by her sides. But she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to stay, using her legs properly for the first time in days, she meekly followed Hasan. On turning the corner, she saw Hasan way in front and, desperate to avoid punishment, jogged slightly to keep up with him. He strode at a blistering pace, twisting and turning in the maze of corridors, through heavy doors and up and down staircases. Trying to keep up, Holly alternated between a fast walk and a semi-jog, her arm across her chest with the latter to prevent her breasts bouncing up and down too much. She felt ridiculous in her schoolgirl outfit and pigtails but she tried not to think about it, concentrating instead just on keeping up with Hasan. After a few minutes she caught up with him as he stood next to a large dark wooden door, waiting for her to arrive and when she did, he checking to make sure everything was in order.

“Go,” Hasan smiled, “enjoy, cunt.”

Holly paused and stared at the door, terrified by what was inside. But she could not refuse and it would be good to get away from this sadistic bastard. She knew his last words would be a lie; she would never enjoy herself in this dreadful place. Reluctantly opening the heavy wooden door, she peered into the dark room beyond amd, with Hasan still leering at her, walked into the darkness.

“Come in,” the voice was exotic sounding. Leaving the door’s relative safety, Holly felt her way further into the room, still completely blind, jumping as the door slammed shut behind her. She continued feeling her way but the more she went, the more tentative she became and the more she questioned herself. So she began to slow, looking around for any clue as to what to do.

“Stop.” When Holly stopped, a light turned on, blinding her. When she shielded her eyes, someone in the room found that amusing. After adjusting, she looked around. The room was a stone basement with her standing in a circle of blinding light, its sides shrouded in darkness. Two figures waited. One was an oriental woman who, though Holly didn’t know it, had led Lucy to her new place. The woman was expressionless as if she wasn’t surprised to see a beautiful schoolgirl standing in a room. The other could scarcely have been more different. Sitting in a large luxurious armchair was an enormous man with a ridiculous wide rimmed cowboy hat who looked at the cowering Holly with a large smile on his face. Stretching out his stiff arms, Jeremiah put his chubby hands together.

“Oh my,” his slow applause reverberated, “what have we here?”

With his applause still echoing, Jeremiah stopped clapping to begin the arduous task of getting up, levering his panting mass of blubber very slowly out of the armchair and onto his snakeskin booted feet. Holly shuffled back as the lumbering American came toward her, beaming from ear to ear.

“Don’t move away, baby,” the man had a broad Texan drawl, “I want to see what I’m dealing with.”

Holly looked down as his clicking boots drew nearer until she saw his pointed toes. Grabbing her chin, a chubby hand forced her to look at him. In his heeled boots he was taller than Holly and so he looked down into her big brown eyes, smiling broadly at the girl’s pretty face. Greta had promised something special and she had not disappointed – the girl was glorious. Her pigtails made her look so cute and innocent that he couldn’t wait for her beautiful face to be screaming in pain. As for the rest of her ... his eyes went her bulging chest. Excited, he very gently pressed his palm to her sweater, his thoughts centred on what lay beneath. Pushing against the fabric, he sighed. No doubt a small part of her had hoped he wouldn’t use her as she had been used before. But of course he would. Pushing hard against her breast, her soft flesh offering no resistance, he spread his chubby fingers wide and squeezed down, squishing the pliant boob while looking into her eyes and chuckling.

“My, oh my,” he was genuinely amazed, “you are very special indeed. Greta promised something extraordinary but in my wildest dreams I never thought she’d serve me something so … delicious.”

Holly just stared at him while he spoke of her like food he’d been served in a restaurant. Having been beaten, pierced, bound, raped in all holes and treated like dirt for the past few days, having a strange man fondle her breast through several layers of clothing was not much of a torture. But his words were far more cutting than his tit squeezing. To be promised to this man, given to him like an old book, was very distressing for a girl with no experience of people’s inhumanity. But she knew light fondling would not be enough for this man and so tried to save her true distress for later.

“You’re a very, very pretty little school girl, especially with those cute little pigtails. Lovely big eyes as well. But fuck me, those tits! Good god, they’re huge! Are they all natural, sweetie?”

“Yes, master,” Holly replied instantly.

“Holy fuck, we’ll have to whip them out and have a good play with those puppies soon. But you don’t have to call me master, baby. Your mistress has generously allowed me to use you. Of course as your superior you need to show respect so just call me ‘Sir’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly nodded.

“Good girl, but something else. I know your mistress has stopped you being a real person, just a worthless cunt. You are whatever your mistress wants. But I want you to be a little school girl for me so I’m going to treat you like that. But when I’m done with you, you’ll go back to being the worthless, unhuman cunt your mistress wants. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly could barely take in what he said to her.

“Excellent. Now what’s going to happen is that I’m going to torture you and make you scream at the top of your voice. I hope you’ll be in so much pain, you’ll wish the floor would open and swallow you up. But it won’t. I’m going to hurt your whole body but most of all, I’m going to hurt those big fat tits until you wish I’d just cut them off and be done with it. While you’re squealing and wailing like a pig, I’ll be having the time of my life. I’ve been waiting a long time to get my hands on you and I’m going to enjoy every last second. And you will obey whatever I and my assistant ask you to do. No matter how much it hurts, you will obey without hesitation. Do you understand?”

Holly was shocked dumb at how blasé this man was about what he intended to do to her. And was as confused as she was terrified. She could understand this man wanting sex with her; a fat old man like him could never dream of getting a girl like her in the real world. And she could just about understand him wanting to tie her up and have rough sex, for she knew now that rape was about power as much as lust. But she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to torture her. She had done nothing wrong to him, had no information to give and had to allow him to ... to fuck her. That she was to suffer severe pain for this odious old man’s amusement was soul destroying but she couldn’t stop it. So with a heavy heart and just before Jeremiah got angry, she responded.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Terrific,” Jeremiah smiled, pleased with how obedient the girl was, “you’ve clearly been trained very well. I hope when Greta’s finished training my slave, she’s just as obedient. I’m sure when I’m done, you’ll make your mistress very happy. Oh, and there are cameras everywhere so if you misbehave your mistress will find out so obey. Now let’s begin! Take off that sweater.”

After giving the order, Jeremiah went back to his chair. Holly readied herself and as he sat down hooked her hands under the jumper. After being naked for so long, being clothed had been a relief even if she was dressed up like a middle aged man’s wet dream in very tight clothing. She didn’t want to be naked before this man or indeed anyone especially since once she was, the real torture would begin. But she had no choice. So she lifted her jumper as the two looked on.

“Quickly, girl, get your ass over here. I want to see you stripping nice and close, you little slut.”

Holly walked forward, pulling the bottom of the jumper up over her breasts with her arms crossed, the incredibly tight fitting white linen shirt stretching as her arms went over her head and obscured her face. She kept looking forward while pulling the sweater up, her face slowly revealed to Jeremiah, her pigtails finally emerging from the neck. Holding the grey jumper, she stared at the smiling man in front of her. With outstretched hands, he beckoned her to him and she shuffled forward till her legs touched his. Taking the jumper, he smelled it, taking a long deep breath before handing it to the woman. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, collapsing her onto his lap and holding her with her arse on his knee while he looked at her chest.

“Come and sit on daddy’s lap,” Jeremiah said, “Look at those! That shirt barely holds them. I can’t wait to get my hands on them. Now tell me sweetie, what was your name before you came here?”

“Holly, Sir,” It was amazing to hear her own name even if she said it, for the first time in days.

“Holly. That’s a very pretty name. And how old are you, Holly?”

“18, Sir.”

“Wow, 18. Well, Holly,” he said, “I know you’ve got magnificent titties. But I don’t want to neglect the rest of that tight young 18 year old body. I mean, look at these legs.”

Saying that, he ran his hand up Holly’s leg and up under her skirt to her white panties. When he hooked his finger under the waistband, Holly took an intake of breath as she anticipated his chubby fingers rubbing her pussy. After being treated like a piece of dirt for the last few days, having this man talk to her like a child was both very strange and very perverted indeed. As he moved his hand up and down her leg, she couldn’t decide what she preferred; to be talked down to like shit or patronised as she was now? He had said what he was going to do to her – that he would torture her terribly – yet he talked to her as if she were his niece at a wedding. Either way it was awful and the worst part was that she could do nothing about it. She was helpless and everybody knew it.

“And this,” Jeremiah almost whispered while rubbing the outside of her knickers, “this pretty little pussy. Your mistress tells me you never had a cock inside you before coming here, is that true, Holly? And before you answer, know that if I think you’re lying, you’ll regret it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly seemed ashamed but was really remembering what she had lost in so short a time.

“Wowee. And you’ve been fucked here, haven’t you?” He rubbed her pussy on the outside of her panties.

“Yes, Sir,”

“And have you cum?” Jeremiah asked, his rubbing quickening.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh, Holly, you little slut, even after being abducted, raped and beaten you still came? Well!?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly was increasingly embarrassed by the questions he asked as she started to feel the effects of his gentle genital stimulation.

“I never knew the English were such whores,” Jeremiah said, abruptly pulling his hand away from her crotch, “you don’t deserve me rubbing your cunt then, do you, Holly?”

Holly resisted the not very strong urge to move to his hand. Despite what Jeremiah may have believed, a quick rub of her pussy would not get her dripping wet. Not that he gave any thought to whether Holly was horny or not. All he cared about was himself and enjoying the treasures this girl had to offer him. Greta had always treated him magnificently but she had really outdone herself this time. Though he knew Holly’s real age, she still seemed young, looking at her; seeing her on the street, he would have thought her just 16. As he took his hand from her crotch, he looked from her angelic face to her bulging chest and began to salivate as he stared at her tits. Their outline was clearly visible through a tight fitting shirt clearly not made for such an ample chest, the buttons stretched almost to breaking point and the outline of her bra and pale skin visible through the thin linen. Keeping one hand round her waist, he took one of her soft round globes. Purring with delight, he roughly dug his nails into the soft flesh. Though her breasts gave to his touch, there was some resistance and he imagined how such firm young tits would look naked.

“I think it’s time to get that shirt off,” Jeremiah whipped his hand away from her breast and began to undo the tartan cravat, “untuck it from your skirt for me, sweetie.”

Holly obliged, reaching around to untuck the fabric. It made little difference; the shirt was so short it barely reached her waistband. Then she watched Jeremiah try to undo her top button with just one finger. His fat fingers made it difficult and she watched with trepidation as he became increasingly frustrated. After trying once more, he grunted in frustration and clicked his fingers.

“You do it,” he barked at the woman. “slowly!”

As the woman reached over, Holly turned to focus on the woman for the first time. Her vision was obscured as the elegant figure reached over her shoulder and daintily undid the top button of her shirt but she smelled a beautiful scent, intoxicating her and momentarily making her forget where she was. A low loud growl brought her back to earth and she looked back to see the third button on her shirt undone and the tops of her breasts, pushed up by her bra, just revealed. Jeremiah’s eyes were fixed on the well manicured hands undoing the third and then the fourth, each time making him groan in pleasure and anticipation. When she undid the fifth button, Jeremiah stopped her and she immediately resumed her previous position. With the buttons undone to just below her chest, Holly saw as he did her gargantuan cleavage. The bra was only a plain white cushioned fabric, not a push up or a sexy lingerie, just a regulation bra any busty woman might wear. But it still didn’t give her a normal cleavage because it was at least a cup size too small. It would have been small on her before but since her breasts had grown slightly when forced to lactate, it was now ludicrously tight. Hasan had forced her flesh into the cups, not caring how rough he was. But though the bra gave her a tight and hugely inviting cleavage, her breasts still spilled over the lip. Holly would never have shown herself like this and as the man’s leer burned into her chest, she felt both shame and disgust.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremiah said, his jaw agape, “just look at those things! Can’t even get a bra to hold them! I bet you always stride round with them on show don’t you, you teasing little whore?”

“No, Sir,” Holly told the truth as she was wary of his earlier threat.

“Lying bitch!” Jeremiah snapped, glaring in rage at Holly’s face, “What did I say about lying to me?”

“I promise, Sir,” Holly said panicked, “I’m not lying! I wouldn’t! I never did…display myself.”

Jeremiah’s gaze was fixed on her eyes. She was telling he truth but he revelled in her fear and anguish at his accusations. Oh, he had struck gold with this bitch. A beautiful girl with a wonderful body who was embarrassed at her own attractiveness and covered up two of the finest assets he had seen on any woman either in the flesh or on screen. It didn’t get much better for him than that and her desperation to avoid punishment made him all the more eager to mete it out.

“This from the bitch who comes as she’s being raped?” his rage filled eyes glared at her, “You were only a virgin because you liked teasing men and now I’m going to put you in your place. And on top of that, you lie to me…”

“Sir, it’s the truth I swea…”

“Silence!” Jeremiah barked, “You will speak when spoken to! I don’t want to hear your pathetic whining lies. Now I said you’d pay for that and you will.”

Holly swallowed hard on the urge to answer back. This man obviously had no desire for truth; all he wanted was to make her suffer and humiliate her. She suspected, correctly, that if she had said “yes”, his ire would have been the same. She couldn’t win with these people and would have to take whatever punishment they decided until she was rescued, a prospect that now seemed so far away. This man had come a long way to be here and knew her torturess well. Holly began to realise that this wasn’t the work of a few sick individuals but a far more complex and altogether more terrifying network. As she came to this slow realisation, Jeremiah looked back at her straining breasts.

“Don’t make me angry like that again, sweetie,” his voice resumed its previous calm tone, “or this’ll just be harder for you. You can’t tease me with your tits because I can do whatever I want to you. Now, sit up straight, I’ve got to taste these babies.”

After handing the woman his hat, Jeremiah showed surprising strength for such a fat man to lift Holly up under her arms. He was too short to lift her all the way but what he wanted was clear and so she helped him, placing her knees either side of his legs as he lowered her to straddle him, her crotch pressed against his burgeoning erection. Kneeling, she looked down as he grabbed the bottom of her breasts through her bra to push them even tighter together. Then, with outstretched tongue, he leant forward and put his face to her chest, moaning in pleasure as he tongued the top of her breasts, tasting a creamy femininity still preserved despite all her degradation. Eyes closed, his tongue dived between the furrow of her breasts to the other side, then moved back, pausing just as he reached the middle again. Giving both breasts a firm squeeze, he plunged down, saliva dripping from his open mouth, crushing her breasts to his face. She watched the grey-haired man pause then violently shake his head. His loud slurping noises as he motorboated her turned her stomach but she kept still and took it as best she could. After thirty seconds, Jeremiah came up for air.

“Oh Holly, those tits taste just as good as they look!” He bent down to run his face over her breasts then put her left breast into his mouth and bit down hard. She moaned in pain as he ground his teeth into her flesh. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes to deal with the pain as he bit his away across her skin. As the pain diminished, she opened her eyes to look at a chuckling Jeremiah.

“We both got a taste then didn’t we?” Jeremiah laughed, moving his eyes up to look Holly once again in the eye, “Me of that delicious tit meat. You just a small taster of some of the pain to come. But it’d be a shame for me to bite one tit and leave the other one out, wouldn’t it?”

Jeremiah laughed loudly at his own joke then dived back down, Holly’s screech showing that he was once again biting her breast. Behind him the woman looked on. She had seen many such scenes and knew far worse was coming for this poor girl. If she couldn’t handle this then the next few hours would be unbearable. Still, though she had seen and would see far worse, she still felt sorry for a teen who was only 18 years old and had been snatched from the streets just a few days ago; now her tits were being nibbled by a lecherous old goat with much worse to come. Such a pretty girl had had her whole life ahead of her but now that would never happen; a lifetime of rape and torture awaited her. She knew this for her story was similar. As the mistress of a gangster and casino owner in Macau, Xia Lin as she had been called, was no stranger to seeing and receiving violence. When he had gifted her to Greta as a sign of good faith, she had found her new position far more privileged. No longer would she be struck or beaten whenever it took a man’s fancy. And though she had escaped that life, she remembered it vividly and watching other women suffer something similar, often worse, was difficult. But her resolve was steely; she would never go back and no matter how much it hurt, she would stick to her duty. So she just watched as Jeremiah punished Holly.

“Ahhhhh,” Jeremiah sighed as he released his teeth from Holly’s breasts, “tastiest tits I’ve ever had. But now it’s time to punish you for lying. Are you ready to learn your lesson, Holly?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly said with trepidation at what he might have in store.

“Good girl. Now let’s get this shirt off,” he said, before ripping the remaining few buttons on her shirt to send them popping around the room, “take it off and hand it to my lovely assistant.”

Still kneeling, Holly tried to get her shirt off but it was so tight she struggled. Only by thrusting her breasts out at Jeremiah could she do so, her slow wriggle from the short sleeved shirt causing loud laughter beneath her. Once removed, she handed it to a beautifully manicured outstretched hand and resumed her previous position, her breasts receding from Jeremiah’s smiling face.

“Look at Miss ‘I don’t flaunt my tits’ shoving them into my face,” he cackled, “then you have the gall to lie to me? There was me thinking you were a good, shy little girl; turns out you’re a very naughty whore. Now stand up and lie down across this knee.”

Creepily smiling, he patted his knee. Carefully not pushing her breasts into his face, Holly shuffled back until she almost had her feet on the floor. Seeing this, Jeremiah spread his legs wider and she very nearly fell into him but just managed to keep her balance. With her breasts still aching from his bites, Holly got to her feet and slowly positioned herself, unsure of how best to do it. Standing between his legs, she placed her hands on his huge thigh and slowly lowered herself. With her knees just off the floor, she stopped, hoping she had done enough.

“Get that ass higher!” Holly shuffled forward till, supported by her hands and feet as well as his thigh across her stomach, she perched with her arse in the air, her white panties clearly visible and her barely supported breasts seeming about to fall out. Jeremiah enjoyed her pert arse. Unlike most girls with tits like hers, this one had beautifully toned legs, not a hint of cellulite, and a firm round peachy behind. Moving her skirt to make her whole arse visible, he then stroked it firmly.

“Oooooh,” Jeremiah cooed, “quite the ass you got, Holly. What a pleasant surprise. Most naturally big-titted bitches like you have fat legs and big wobbly asses. But this,” he slapped her arse hard, “is very nice indeed. Now to your punishment. What is a good way to punish a naughty school girl?”

Holly very quietly sighed. She had been asked before about what punishment she wanted and it hadn’t gone well. First she must understand what had been said to her. Though she had a thicker skin now, it still wasn’t easy trying to understand how anybody could talk to another human being like that. She was a sweet and good natured young woman, not a ‘naturally big-titted bitch’. Yet she knew she couldn’t dwell on the emotional hurt he caused but had to prepare for the physical hurt. This time, choosing her own punishment would be easier. Her position made it clear what he wanted and so, with some trepidation, she ventured an answer.

“A spanking, Sir?” she said, her position diverting the sound to the ground.

“Speak up, girl!” Jeremiah barked, although he had heard exactly what she had said.

“A spanking, Sir?” Holly was much louder.

“Yes, what an excellent idea! A nice hard spanking to teach you not to lie. How many times do you think I should spank you, Holly?”

“Erm…” Holly desperately tried to think of an answer that would please him, “ten?”

“Ten!?” said in mock consternation, “You think ten spanks is enough for lying to me, girl?”

“No, Sir,” Holly whimpered, “20?”

“That’s more like it but I don’t think it’s enough. You’ve been such a naughty girl, I think 25 would be best, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly was resigned.

“Good. Now let’s get these panties down whilst my assistant here grabs the paddle.”

Tensing on the word “paddle”, Holly had a flashback to her best friend slamming a dildo into her pussy and repeatedly crashing a paddle into her breasts. The betrayal she felt as her friend seemed to revel in hurting her was the worst moment of her life and the word brought the feeling rushing back. She barely noticed as he edged her panties down her thigh to expose her pale white arse.

“Oh Holly,” Jeremiah vaguely sensed her discomfort, “you didn’t think I’d only use my hand, did you? You need to be punished properly, girl, you need to learn your place. Ah, here it is.”

The woman handed him the paddle and Jeremiah beamed at its weight. And the holes in the surface that would speed up his strikes. Teasing her with the instrument that was to torment her, he pushed down against her creamy arse then rubbed it from side to side, watching small circles of skin emerge through the paddle’s holes. Lightly tapping the paddle against her bum, he leant in.

“Are you ready for your instructions, Holly?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. I’m going to strike your ass 25 times. You got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent. Now I want you to count the strokes. Let’s try that.” With barely any warning, Jeremiah swung the paddle into her arse with a loud smack. Holly shrieked loudly as he cackled loudly. When his laughter died down, he spoke again. “Stupid bitch! I told you to count the strokes. Lucky it was just a dress rehearsal. Let’s try again.”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly whimpered, her arse still tingling from the first blow. No sooner did she finish than he crashed the paddle down hard into her already reddening cheeks. The stinging pain ripped across her rump but she had just enough composure to yell ‘one’ in a pain drenched squeal.

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard was it? Now I think we’re almost ready to begin.”

Holly gasped at the first two blows not being part of her allotted punishment. This was the first time her arse had been specifically targeted for abuse other than when she had been sodomised but pain was pain, regardless of where it was. Her surprise was greeted with more derision.

“That’s right, Holly,” Jeremiah chuckled, “I had to be sure you understood before we began. Now if you lose count or fail to count, I’ll have to start again. Remind me again why you’re being punished.”

“For lying, Sir,” Holly gulped.

“Good.”

Resting his hand on her back, Jeremiah took an exaggerated intake of breath to show he was about to begin then brought the paddle down across her peachy bottom. Listening intently, he heard her scream a number which, disappointingly, was ‘one’. He had hoped the bitch would say ‘two’ so he could start again but maybe she was cleverer than he gave her credit for. Undeterred, he swung again, this time enjoying her scream far more. After the third blow, he was in rhythm and able to relax and enjoy it. Her echoing shrieks were like music and knowing he was causing it only increased his passion. He reached down and grabbed her bra strap as he delivered the fifth blow, lifting Holly up off the floor a little. He closed his eyes as he pulled back for the sixth strike and smiled gleefully as the most intense of her screamed numbers rang in his ears. Readying another strike, he was deliriously happy and knew it would only get better.

Holly’s arse was on fire but she still screamed the number ‘seven’ as loudly as she could. Lifted up, the cups of her bra squashed her breasts and tears and drool fell slowly to the floor. All she had in her head between each blow was the next number so when the blow struck and pain hit, she merely screamed it out. On reaching ten, Holly was daunted at not even being halfway through but was equally sure she couldn’t endure starting again. So as her arse throbbed with pain and she screamed at the blows, she focussed on keeping count. After thirteen blows, she was in a terrible state. Tears fell, drool dripped in long strands and her sobbing cries never stopped but she still counted.

“More than halfway through now, Holly,” Jeremiah had to catch his breath, “does it hurt?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly got out through the tears, wary that she was forbidden to lie.

“Excellent,” Jeremiah panted, “I’m not surprised either; your pretty ass is very red indeed.”

Looking down, her previously white arse cheeks from the top of her thighs to just over the curve of her rump had been transformed into one continuous scarlet stripe which almost seemed painted on. Touching her skin, he felt the heat radiating off and, smiling widely, thought about the pain every one of his blows had caused. The prospect of increasing that pain was all he needed to continue.

“Are you ready for the rest, Holly?”

“Y...y…yes, Sir,” Holly knew what she was agreeing to. Sure enough, a moment later her arse was on fire again, her piercing scream of ‘fourteen’ her only outlet. Each blow made the pain greater but she displayed a resolve she hadn’t known she possessed just a few days ago.

While Holly lived in a pain filled hell, Jeremiah was having tremendous fun. And fun was the word. Spanking this beautiful teen was certainly arousing but it was also highly enjoyable. Not enjoyable in the playful sense of spanking a girl in the bedroom but because he enjoyed his power to inflict pain. Exercising this sadistic pleasure on this wet dream of a babe was pure heaven. If many would have seen her pain and wished to help her, Jeremiah had no such impulse. In his mind the girl he was spanking so mercilessly entirely deserved it. And so, after giving twenty lusty blows to her peachy arse, he was disappointed that the pathetic bitch had successfully managed to keep count.

“TTTTWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEENNNNNTTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY,” Holly screamed desperately.

“That’s right Holly,” Jeremiah was very disappointed, “I’ve spanked your lovely ass twenty times. And you’ve counted every single one. You really are a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly answered, her mind still entirely filled with the pain she was in.

“You’re not going to be naughty anymore, are you?”

“No, Sir.”

“You’ve learnt your lesson, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But there are still five spanks left,” he enjoyed this little game, “what will we do about those?”

Despite the pain still raging on her arse, Holly’s attention was drawn to the idea that she might be spared the last five blows of her punishment and the incredible pain it would cause. She was desperate to ask him to spare her this agony. Yet she was wary. Asking for mercy hadn’t gone down well before and she dreaded to think what this man might do if he disapproved of her doing so. But as she thought this, she also thought how naïve it was to ask him to stop. She may as well ask to go back to her family and her old life. Sniffling slightly, she tried to prepare her answer.

“I don’t know, Sir,” she replied tentatively.

“Of course you don’t,” Jeremiah chuckled, “you’re just a stupid little girl. Which is why you need to be disciplined. You were never beaten as a child were you?”

“No, Sir,” Holly now knew exactly what the eventual outcome of this conversation would be.

“Exactly. That’s the problem with young sluts like you. In my day children were beaten whenever they were naughty. But now all these liberal sissies complain even if you smack a child. And what have we got? A generation of whores like you who don’t know their place. Do you agree, Holly?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So though you think you’ve learnt your lesson, I would be remiss not to fully punish you. It might only encourage you to be naughty again and we wouldn’t want that. Isn’t that true, Holly?”

“Yes, Sir,” said a heavy hearted Holly, already steeling herself for the pain to come.

“I’m glad,” He was pleased at how easily he could exert power over her, “stroke 21 incoming!”

Holly closed her eyes then screamed the number as the paddle crashed once more into her arse. Determined to make all these last blows count, Jeremiah released his grip on her bra, letting Holly slump back down. Using his left hand to rub her sore arse, he watched Holly look round, wondering whether she had to call out a number for this as well. Jeremiah looked at her and laughed at the worry in her eyes. For a second he thought about punishing her just to hurt her some more but decided against it. He had plenty of painful things in store for her and using too much energy too soon would only ruin his fun later. So he merely chuckled as he stroked his toy’s arse cheeks and theatrically wound his arm up again. Holly’s head sank back down so her chin once again brushed the top of her breasts before, inevitably, screaming at the top of her voice as she was pummelled by yet another blow. Jeremiah laughed heartily as he put all his strength into the next two blows. But it was time to end her punishment. He placed the paddle against her rump and purred gently. Grabbing her bra strap, he tugged her up hard. She made no attempt to right herself and so for a moment he just looked at her. Pulling her up squashed her tits even more and he thought they would pop out altogether. Her head hung down limply and though her face was obscured slightly by a pigtail, he could see tears. Looking at the picture of misery across his knee spurred him on. Swinging his arm back, he closed his eyes and put all his strength into one final blow.

“YEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWW!!!!” Jeremiah shouted as the paddle whistled through the air to crash into her buttocks with a sickening THWACK, swiftly followed by Holly’s loudest scream of the day, a shriek so piercing the number was barely audible. The sound seemed to ring out forever and when it finally ended, was replaced immediately by sobbing. Jeremiah chuckled while she sobbed, proud of what he had inflicted on the girl. Looking at her red arse, he could see it almost throbbing, the beginning of inevitable bruising already starting to develop. Releasing his grip on her bra, she once again slumped forward still sobbing as he held out the paddle. When the woman took it from him, he leant forward in unconvincing concern.

“Oh there, there, Holly, your punishment’s all over now. Come to daddy.”

Wrapping his arms round Holly’s waist, he lifted her up. While not standing on her own, she didn’t make it difficult for him, supporting herself as best she could despite the pain. Waiting a moment, he then sat her down on his leg. Holly jumped so suddenly when her beaten arse touched the fabric of his trousers that her breasts almost popped completely free of her bra. Predictably showing no sympathy, Jeremiah this time forcefully sat her down. She yelped loudly, her sobbing becoming louder as pain again throbbed in her arse. Having tried to keep control all the way through, suddenly it all flooded out of her, the pain and the humiliation too much for a girl of her age and disposition to handle. Jeremiah was gleeful at her reaction. Like a father to an upset child, he pulled her to him, her head against his chest so he could smell her hair and pat her as if to comfort her. While doing this, he reached up and softly kneaded a breast.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he was amused by the irony of making her to sit on her painful behind while he pretended to comfort her, “if you’re not naughty, I won’t have to do it again. Will you be good?”

“Y…y…yes, S…sir…sir,” Holly sobbed.

“Good girl. Now stop that pathetic sobbing, we need to get on.”

Holly tried but couldn’t, the emotion of the previous few days rushing out. Sat on this monster’s knee with him ‘comforting’ her after what he had done to her while he continued to squeeze her breast, was so humiliating that she simply couldn’t stop crying.

“I said, stop crying, you little whore,” Jeremiah pulled hard on a pigtail to force her to look directly at him, “don’t disobey me or I’ll have to spank you all over again. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No, Sir,” Holly sniffled, the threat of another imminent spanking snapping her out of her trance.

“Good,” Jeremiah said, relieved to hear the end of the girl’s crying, “I don’t want to play with a snivelling little bitch. Have you pulled yourself together now?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly said, sniffing the last few tears away and wiping her face.

“Excellent,” He squeezing Holly’s tit extra hard on this, “now slip those panties off for me.”

Holly tried to recover herself, slightly ashamed at being so carried away and sobbing like that in front of this dreadful man. In all her suffering, she had always tried to control herself and not give these people the satisfaction of seeing her lose her cool. These people wanted to see her in pain and distressed but the effort of denying them the satisfaction took its toll. Taking a few breaths, she bent over and pulled her panties over her knees to fall at her ankles. While she wiggled her legs to drop them to the floor, Jeremiah undid her skirt clasp, pulling it away and tossing it to the side. Now only her bra protected her modesty but that wouldn’t last long. When Jeremiah placed his hand gently against her slit, the girl gasped a little and her eyes went wide as he steadily began to rub.

“You like that, don’t you? You love it because you’re like all the others, a filthy nympho whore.”

With that Jeremiah forced her face toward him to look straight into her eyes then clamped his lips on hers. Holly did nothing, merely sitting there and taking this as she had the rest of her ordeal. As he forced his tongue inside her, he forced a finger in her pussy, figuratively raping her in two holes. After a minute of moaning into her mouth and finger fucking her he stopped abruptly.

“But you’re not here to have your pussy rubbed. Get up!” Shouting, Jeremiah abruptly took his hand away and bounced her off his knee. Holly wobbled slightly on her feet and when he spanked her hard, squealed and leapt forward, her red arse staring tantalisingly at her tormentor. Jeremiah couldn’t resist kicking and sent her sprawling to the floor. As she lay there, he struggled to his feet.

“I said get up!” Jeremiah barked, hiding his pleasure at the girl’s struggle to get up, “Don’t disobey me. Stand up straight over there and push those tits out!”

Holly scrambled forward slightly on her hands and knees before getting to her feet. She slowly turned and looked at Jeremiah, the patronising father look having given way to a look of rage. Terrified at what he might do when angry given what he had already done when seemingly calm, Holly immediately stood up straight and, reluctantly, forced her chest out. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and tried not to notice Jeremiah leering at her bulging breasts.

“Don’t make me shout at you again!” Jeremiah barked, “Cane, please.”

Holly blinked when she heard this. The woman took a long thin wooden cane from behind the armchair and gave it to him, the menacing stick looking ludicrously small in his chubby fingers. Swishing the cane through the air, he edged towards her, smiling.

“Good,” Jeremiah said, his eyes never leaving her overflowing chest, “tits out. Show them off to me, Holly, you should be proud of those puppies.”

Jeremiah knew that even if Holly had once been proud of her mammoth breasts, she wasn’t anymore. He knew Greta well and was certain she had tortured Holly’s big tits something fierce, her bruises evidence enough of that. Stretching the cane out, he ran it across her cleavage and his own bite marks. The spanking had been an interesting and highly enjoyable sideshow but he had really come for this. That he couldn’t do in regular society what he was about to do here was, in his opinion, a travesty. He saw so many women who deserved exactly this treatment, stuck up self important bitches who thought they owned the world. When he was growing up, women had known their place, having tea on the table when their husbands came home and spreading their legs when they were told. He remembered vividly his grandfather telling him, about how women in his day knew their place but that now they had forgotten their role was to please and look after men. That was fifty years ago and he shuddered to think what his grandfather would now make of how bitches like this one carried on. The old man would be turning in his grave. Running the cane over the bountiful breasts of this helpless girl, it didn’t matter one iota whether she was one of these women or not; to him she represented everything wrong with modern women. And he was about to punish her for it.

“Right, Holly,” Jeremiah said, making his point by bringing the cane down on top of her breast, “that’s the preamble done with. Now you know how to behave, we can have some fun. Before we take that bra off so I can see those tits in all their glory, let me tell you a few things about biology.”

Once again, Jeremiah swished the cane through the air, harder this time, against Holly’s chest. She let out a squeak of pain, nothing more, as a red stripe appeared across her pale skin. As she watched him turn slightly to one side she sighed. Knowing he was going to hurt her was bad enough but listening to him was just as bad. But she had to listen to him as he rattled off some senseless drivel, no doubt punctuated by the occasional blow from the cane. Being talked down to, belittled, humiliated and degraded was almost, though not quite, as bad as the pain, rape and abuse. She was an intelligent young woman and destined for a bright future yet she was utterly beholden to the whim of this psychopath. All she could do was just stand and endure.

“I imagine you don’t know why men like girls with big tits, do you, Holly?” Jeremiah paced in front of her, the cane held ready to lash out at any moment.

“No, Sir,” Holly replied obediently, knowing that he wanted her to behave like a dim thing.

“Of course you don’t,” Jeremiah said, flicking the cane hard again onto her breasts, “after all you are just a stupid girl. But men have come up with a number of theories. You see, though titties are great fun to play with, they do serve a purpose. Do you know what that purpose is, Holly?”

“For…for feeding babies, Sir,” Holly was unsure whether she was supposed to answer correctly.

“Good girl,” Jeremiah patronisingly flicked the cane against her breasts for no apparent reason, “for feeding babies. But then you would know that, wouldn’t you! Now men are programmed to pass on as many of their genes and make sure as many of their offspring survive as possible. And because tits have a role in feeding babies, men are very interested in them. One theory is that big tits mean you’ve got access to food. Do you know why they might think that?”

“No, Sir,” Holly concealed how irritated she was by this and then squeaked with pain again as another stripe was laid across her chest.

“Well, you see these gigantic mounds on your chest Holly?” He accentuated this by bringing the cane down twice hard on each breast.

“Yessssssss, Sir,” Holly said through gritted teeth.

“Look at them! What are they made of?”

Holly looked down at her breasts, the tops already criss-crossed with tiny red lines where the cane had hit her, bruises and bite marks all over the surface. For the first time, she properly looked at herself, the evidence of her tortures staring right back at her. Each mark on her otherwise flawless skin had Greta’s signature on it. Holly wondered if she would ever be able to look at herself in the mirror without remembering the awful tortures she had suffered. Still, she couldn’t dwell too long on the future when she had to get through the present.

“Sir,” she stuttered, “they’re made of fat, Sir.”

“That’s right,” Jeremiah flicked the cane against Holly’s toned stomach this time, “big fat tits. Those wobbling lumps are just big sacks of fat. And for cavemen fat meant plenty of food. So if a cave bitch had big tits like you that meant they’d have plenty of food to feed a baby. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Yes, Sir. Eeeeeeeek!” Another cane strike to her sumptuous bosom.

“So that’s one theory. There’s another one, would you like to hear that one as well?”

“Yes, Sir,” came the familiar reply.

“Well, some people think that back in the Stone Age men thought big tits meant more milk, and more milk would make a baby more likely to survive. So if you had those ridiculously big knockers back then, you’d be very popular, men mounting you left, right and centre. Of course, that isn’t quite how it works. Even flat chested bitches can produce plenty of milk to feed a hungry growing baby. Do you know how much milk you can squirt out, Holly?”

“No, Sir,” she replied crestfallen, now knowing where this exchange was inevitably leading.

“Well, before I tell you why I like big tits, I think we should find out,” As he strode forward, he dropped the cane and raised his hands to her breasts, “now let’s unleash those beauties.”

Jeremiah had been waiting for this ever since he had planned coming back to Germany, even more so on seeing this vision of beauty in front of him. Now it was time to see the ultimate prize. He had one last look at her breasts in their fabric prison, pushed out obscenely by her ill fitting bra, and with some trepidation, reached round her body to her bra strap. Her tits looked so good he was certain they could not live up to their promise. He had an awful vision of undoing this bra and her tits sagging out to hang down by her navel. The closer it got, the more anxious he became about being in for a major disappointment, a disappointment he would punish brutally and severely. Reaching all the way round, he hugged her tightly to him, the feeling of her breasts against him magical. His tongue stuck out as he fiddled with the clasp, occasionally flicking her nose. Finally undoing it, he then stepped back, the bra so tight the cups remained in place, obscuring her nipples. He looked at her, standing almost entirely naked, and nervously prepared for impending disappointment.

“Hands by your sides, wriggle those tits free, Holly, there’s a good girl.”

Holly paused to wonder what he meant by that. One look at his rage filled face told her not to wait too long. Still unsure of what to do, Holly began to sway slightly from side to side and felt the straps at the back slapping against her as she continued to wriggle her shoulders to and fro. Looking up, she saw the leering drooling face of her tormentor just staring at her chest so she sped up since she was obviously doing it right. Slowly the shoulder straps slid down her arms and though feeling like a cheap stripper in a sleazy bar, she kept shaking. Jeremiah watched mesmerised as with every centimetre the straps moved, Holly’s tits began to jiggle more and more. Eyes fixed on her chest, his mouth dropped open as the cups of her bra slowly fell away to reveal two large light coloured nipples atop the most perfect pair of breasts he had ever seen in his life.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, mouth agape and eyes wide.

Jeremiah didn’t care what Holly did now for as the bra fell to the floor, he was transfixed. All his fears disappeared when her magnificent globes were revealed. These were breasts as perfectly symmetrical as they were gigantic, each massive globe sitting high on her chest without a hint of sag, perfectly round and just begging to be squeezed. The pale untanned skin was covered in bruises but this didn’t detract from their beauty. His eyes drank in every inch of her sumptuous mounds, from the gentle slope at the top to the large pale nipples adorning each jiggling tit. And Holly continued to sway hypnotically, her heavy tits wobbling tantalisingly from side to side.

“Stand still,” Jeremiah said, his eyes not moving as if glued to her chest. Greta had promised him something special to play with but this time she had really outdone herself. He had seen plenty of tits in his time. He’d even had a chance to play with them, both with and without their owner’s consent. But these were something else entirely. These were the two most perfect things he had ever laid eyes upon. He reached out a chubby fingered hand and lightly, delicately, brushed it against the soft skin of one breast. Purring with delight, he stretched out his fingers and softly squeezed the yielding flesh. Holly stood obediently still as he sank his fingers into her breasts, at once soft and inviting as well as youthfully firm. He shuffled forward slightly and raised his other hand, placing both beneath her breasts. As he lifted them up slightly, he was struck by how heavy they were, great sacks of joy delivered from heaven. He pushed upwards until he couldn’t push anymore and then quickly took his hands away, watching in wonder as her tits bounced and jiggled. He repeated this several times, each time chuckling with delight at the sight. Then, with the flat of his hands, he bounced her tits first up and down then side to side, playing with them like a cat would with a ball of string. Next he gripped as much of each breast as he could and squeezed hard, the supple flesh so delightfully pliant in his hands. It must have been at least three whole minutes after she had revealed her breasts that Jeremiah finally snapped out of his trance like state.

“Oh Holly,” Jeremiah said, his hands not leaving her tits, “your mistress has really outdone herself this time. She always treats me well but giving me these to play with really spoils me. I think these might be the best pair of tits I’ve ever seen!”

Holly didn’t react to Jeremiah’s words or actions since she was stealing herself for the pain to come. Compared to what she had endured, having her breasts fondled was nothing; unwanted, creepy and sickening but mercifully not very painful. Of course, when his stumpy fingers closed on a bruised part of her breast, it was uncomfortable but nothing she could not handle. But she knew that just fondling her breasts would not be enough and though she tried not to dwell on it, the prospect of imminent pain always loomed. Suddenly Jeremiah’s fingers which had been gently teasing her nipples to erection, twisted the sensitive nubs hard. Holly gasped as pain again tore into her breasts.

“You ungrateful cunt!” Jeremiah barked, taking Holly by surprise.

“Sir…”she stammered in response, but was cut off by another sharp twist of her nipple.

“I pay you a fucking compliment and you don’t even thank me?” came the angry response.

“Sorry, Sir,” a panicked Holly blurted out, “thank you, Sir, thank you.”

“Why should I have to prompt you to show manners, you little bitch?” Jeremiah again violently twisted Holly’s nipples, “I thought you said you would be a good girl?”

“Sorry, Sir,” Holly said frantically, “I will be good Sir, I promise, please Sir.”

“You promised to be good before but that’s twice you’ve been very naughty,” Jeremiah’s anger was replaced by patronising disappointment, “I can’t let you get away with such naughtiness, can I?”

“No, Sir,” Holly said meekly, hanging her head.

“Do you like being punished, Holly?” Taking his hands from her breasts, Jeremiah put them on her bright red arse. Holly gasped then squealed as he gripped hard, digging his fingers into her buttocks.

“No, Siiiiirrrrrrr,” she whined, pushing her hips forward in an attempt to escape him.

“Then why do you keep being naughty?” Jeremiah continued to squeeze her arse, pulling the girl into him so her breasts pressed against her chest, “Or are you just too stupid to realize?”

“Yesssss, Sirrrrrr,” Holly barely registered the ignominy of calling herself stupid due to the pain.

“I thought that might be the case,” Jeremiah’s hands left Holly’s arse, much to her relief, and moved back to caressing her breasts, “too much effort growing these puppies I think. Still, I’m glad you did. I can’t very well play with your brain, can I?”

“No, Sir,” she said despondently.

“That’s the problem with women these days,” Jeremiah said, his hands still fondling Holly’s tits absentmindedly, “they spend too much time trying to be intellectual instead of doing what they should be doing; pleasing men. I’m glad you haven’t done that, Holly. Congratulations!”

“Thank you, Sir,” Holly said, trying to not let his mocking tone get to her.

“Women nowadays think they’re equal for some reason. Can I ask you a question, Holly?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you feel equal?”

“No, Sir,” she answered reluctantly but truthfully.

“No, Sir,” Jeremiah parroted, savouring the words, “I’m very glad to hear you say that. It means I’m doing a good job. Because you’re not equal. Not by a long way. You’re just a dumb pathetic little bitch with a pretty face and big tits, aren’t you?”

“Y…Yes, Sir,” Holly replied, taken aback by how anyone could reduce another to just bits.

“That’s all you are. And now you’re exactly where you belong; naked and waiting to please me by being tortured. That’s why you exist. That’s why you’ve got that pretty face, those nice long legs, tight little arse, pretty pink cunt and those big fat titties. All so I’ll enjoy playing with you more.”

Holy just stared blankly straight ahead during Jeremiah’s rant, only trying to listen to places where she might be expected to respond. But she did hear what Jeremiah was saying. She was a fiercely intelligent girl, a firm believer that men and women were equal and that she was far more than her physical attributes. Yet despite how horrible what he had said was, Holly had to think he was right. What she had been outside didn’t matter here; here she was only “tits, ass, and cunt” as Greta put it. Her body was only a plaything for these monsters and her mind didn’t matter at all. And as a toy, she could be discarded at any moment. As if reading her mind, Jeremiah spoke.

“That’s right, Holly,” one hand migrated to her cheek, “you’re a pathetic, worthless cunt. You only exist to please me. The quicker you realise that the quicker you can settle into your new life. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll enjoy having your tits whipped and your ass spanked!”

He laughed heartily at his little joke, confident she wouldn’t discover some deep rooted masochism anytime soon. Taking time to calm down, he squeezed her tits like stress balls while he laughed.

“Of course it doesn’t matter if you do enjoy it,” he looked directly into Holly’s big brown eyes, “it will happen even if you don’t. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t enjoy it. I’d be very surprised if you did though with what I’ve got in mind. You see, we all have our little fetishes. I bet you do too, you little whore. Well, my little fetish, what really gets me off, is making pretty girls like you scream. And not scream in ecstasy, oh no. I like making them scream in pain. There’s something about the power, the sounds and the sights of torturing a gorgeous babe that gets my juices flowing. And if they got tits like you, well, that’s just heaven on earth.”

Looking into his wrinkled face, confusion and fear flooded her mind. She had been confused for the past few days but Jeremiah saying it bought it back; she simply couldn’t understand anyone finding pleasure in hurting others. She knew people had strange fetishes, bondage and the like, but that was consensual. That people actually enjoyed inflicting pain on a non-consenting victim outside of horror films was unbelievable. In her worst nightmares being such a victim was equally unimaginable. Her fear was more obvious; she was scared because soon she would be in terrible pain.

“Right, Holly,” Jeremiah took his hands off her tits and clapped them together, “enough chatter. I think it’s time for another punishment, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly’s hands instinctively moved to her bottom as if that would protect it.

“Oh no,” Jeremiah said, holding a hand out behind him for the implement, “as much as I’d like to spank you, I will give your ass a rest. Since they’re displayed so beautifully, I thought it time to have some fun with those big ass titties. Paddle!”

Watching the woman pass the paddle that had already caused so much agony, Holly began to shake, anticipating the coming pain he would cause. Holding the paddle, he relished her fear. Seeing a chance to mentally torment her, he raised it quickly and laughed when she flinched.

“Stay still, Holly,” he chuckled, “if you didn’t want to be punished, you shouldn’t have been so naughty. Can you stand and be brave for me?”

“Yes, Sir,” her voice was unsteady.

“You better stay still. If you flinch, try to move out the way or fall over then I’ll have to tie you up, and you won’t like that. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” Jeremiah put the paddle against the side of her breast and tapped it lightly, “now don’t worry, this time you don’t have to count. I haven’t decided how many times to hit your tits so I’ll stop when I think you’ve been punished enough. Just concentrate on screaming. You ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Show me you’re ready. Ask me to punish you.”

“Sir,” Holly said, trying to find the right words, “please punish me, Sir.”

“If you insist,” chuckling, he tapped the paddle on the side of Holly’s right breast, each time pulling it further back and striking harder. When the wood slapping her skin became audible, he hit her three more times then theatrically pulled back his arm to swing with all his might. Its loud THWACK crashing into her tit was continued by Holly’s shriek, her breasts jiggling with mesmerizing violence before slowly coming to a rest. Smiling at the beautiful sound of her pain, he hit her again in the same spot, the sound of this blow seeming to catch up with the still ringing echo of the first. After three hefty slaps, the side of Holly’s tit began to turn pink. Keen not to let any part of Holly’s breasts off the hook, he switched his hold to a backhand grip then unleashed three ferocious strikes to the side of her left tit. As her squeals became high-pitched shrieks, Jeremiah paused to savour them.

“Oh boy,” he was clearly enjoying himself, “I could listen to that all day. I can’t wait to get you really screaming. Does it hurt, Holly?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly was slightly breathless.

“Excellent,” beaming, he ran the paddle across her ample chest, “When I’m finished, you won’t believe how much your tits hurt. A man loves nothing more than a pair of big all-natural boobies.”

Taking another horizontal swipe at her tits, this time he just caught her left nipple with the edge of the panel. Holly howled, her swollen nipples so sensitive that even a light touch would have hurt. And there was nothing light about Jeremiah’s attentions.

“Which means for me,” he said, this time swinging the paddle down hard on the top of her right breast, “there’s nothing better than torturing some monster tits.” To illustrate this, he crashed an uppercut full onto the underside of a soft tit, causing Holly to off-balance and step back to steady herself. Quickly resuming position, she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Stand! Fucking! Still!” each word punctuated by slapping the paddle hard into Holly’s breasts, “If I have to tie you up to be punished, I won’t be happy. Have you got that, you dumb whore?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly whimpered, “Sorry, Sir.”

“You will be,” he said, crashing another backhand into Holly’s nipple, “now remind me what I was saying before you disobeyed me.” Holly froze, her mind whirring. She had been barely listening, all her energy going into not being knocked over by the force of the blows. She racked her brain for what he had been rambling about. “Quickly, cunt!” Jeremiah shouted, slamming the paddle down onto the top of her breast again.

Even as she squealed, Holly thought frantically. He had shouted at her when she had lost balance but what had he said before it? He’d been talking about how much pain she’d be in, how much men loved breasts. Jeremiah held the paddle and just as he was about to strike, it came to her.

“Sir,” she shouted, stopping the paddle for a moment, “you were talking about torturing…t...”

Desperate to get the answer, Holly hadn’t thought about what she was saying until it came out of her mouth, causing her to tail off and hang her head in shame. She couldn’t bring herself to complete the sentence and expected to get in trouble for it.

“Well remembered,” he said, before swinging the paddle once more into her chest, “and I’ll forgive you for not finishing your sentence, baby. I know it’s hard for you English girls to talk about stuff like that, especially when you know it’s your tits I’ll be torturing!”

Taking a slight step to the left, he turned side-on then brought the paddle all the way back and slammed it full into her chest. Holly could do nothing about this, not even scream as all the air was knocked out of her. When her legs gave way, she stumbled back before tumbling to the floor. Watching her lying on the floor and gasping, desperately trying to breathe, watching her tits rise up and down as she fought for air, her struggles were nothing but an amusement for him. Even lying down, her breasts still looked huge being simply too big for gravity to have much effect. Before Holly could get up, he loomed over her with the paddle still clutched menacingly in his hand.

“Well, well, well,” he stared down at his prone victim, “Didn’t I tell you to stay on your feet?”

“Y…y…yes, S…Sir,” Holly wheezed, her breath only just returning.

“So what are you doing lying on the floor?”

“I…I…”

“Shut up, you stupid little slut,” Jeremiah barked before bending down as much as he could to stare into her face “You had your chance to talk and you ruined it. You are a worthless, useless little whore and you need to be treated properly. And since you can’t be trusted to do as you’re told, you’ll have to be tied up. Fetch the equipment!”

Jeremiah shouted this last straight into Holly’s face but it was clearly not meant for her. In the distance, Holly heard heels coming closer and out the corner of her eye she saw the woman confidently stride past her. Holly had been bound before and found it agonising, so being bound again was terrifying. But as usual she had no choice. She could only stare straight into the eyes of her tormentor as he swung his arm like a scythe to cannon into the soft flesh of her breast, screaming as blow after blow slammed into her tits. Jeremiah worked up a tennis-like rhythm with forehand and backhand strokes to ensure each breast was given equally brutal attention. Amidst the deafening combination of wood slapping against flesh, Holly’s screams and Jeremiah’s roars of pleasure and anger, the sound of her next torture device being brought over was quite lost. But the Asian woman didn’t seem to care as she wheeled the frightening looking apparatus into position behind Jeremiah who was still savagely beating Holly’s tits. The exertion was effecting him for she saw a bead of sweat drip from his grey hair straight onto the girl’s face. Her initial job done, she just stood and watched, knowing the assault’s ferocity would diminish as he tired. Sure enough, after a few more seconds, he stopped swinging the paddle and just stood over the weeping babe, panting.

“Wow!” Jeremiah was breathing heavily, “That was some goddam beautiful screaming. I’d save the tears though if I were you, baby. We’ve barely started yet. Get up.”

Holly sniffled, tears streaming down her face. Every part of her felt on fire, her beaten arse rubbed on the abrasive stone floor when she moved and her breasts screamed in pain. Jeremiah had gone at them savagely, making the outer side of her breasts an intense crimson. As she flopped around, Jeremiah tucked the paddle into his waistband and bent down again. Reaching for her tits, he grabbed them as hard as he could and then with the strength of a man in much better shape, pulled up. Squealing like a pig as she was yanked up by her tits, Holly took almost her whole weight on her sensitive globes. Holly took care of herself and so she weighed relatively little for her size but the American still grunted at the considerable effort needed to lift her. His fingers digging deep into her flesh caused her much pain but finally she was high enough to use her feet and slowly but surely he hauled her into a standing position. Needing a break after his efforts, Jeremiah pulled her to him, savouring her feminine smell while regaining his breath to speak again.

“Get your ass over there,” Jeremiah pushed Holly off and pointed behind, “and do as you’re told.”

With that he returned to the chair, to rest until everything was set up. Holly waited a moment and brought her hands up to try and comfort her throbbing breasts and then, not wanting trouble, turned. Although she had never seen anything like it before, the sight terrified her. Five metres away was a what looked like a sinister jungle gym with three thick horizontal metal bars operated by a series of pulleys. As the Asian woman beckoned her over, Holly slowly moved toward the frame, each step revealing more if its workings. Each bar was about four inches in diameter, about six feet wide and attached to cogs at either end mounted on toothed pillars. Looking at the lever, Holly could see each bar’s height could be adjusted by cranking it up or down these pillars. At the base she could see each of the bars was also mounted on sliders, allowing them to be pulled either forward or backwards, meaning the three bars could be in adjusted almost infinitely. At the ends of each bar Holly could see what were clearly cuffs, leaving nothing to the imagination regarding its purpose.

“Hands off your tits,” the woman said impassively, “and come here.”

Dropping her hands, Holly walked gingerly to the rear of the machine. As she did, the woman picked up a long length of white nylon rope. Holly looked at where she had got the rope and saw other items but before she could identify them, she felt a hand on her shoulder. With the woman’s long nails draped almost round her neck, Holly was led back to a bar almost level with her crotch.

“Stay.” Holly obeyed as the woman went to the side and cranked a lever, raising the bar at her thighs to below her navel. The mechanical cranking only added to the sinister atmosphere. Satisfied, the woman moved behind her, pushing her up to the bar and bending her over it. Holly didn’t offer any resistance, passively allowing herself to be moved. After adjusting her position, mostly to further spread her legs, the next thing Holly felt was the rope passing over her back, then round the bar and between her legs. The woman tied it tightly around her upper thigh, first one and then the other, binding Holly to the frame. In a minute and with minimal effort, the woman had bound her so securely that even the most violent struggle would not loosen the bonds.

“Spread your legs.” As Holly shuffled her legs apart, the woman ran her hand down the inside of Holly’s thigh to her ankle and pulled a cuff attached to some thick elastic from the frame’s base. She cuffed an ankle then let go, the elastic pulling Holly’s leg hard sideways as it contracted. After the other leg was also cuffed, her legs were now pulled hard in opposite directions and she had to squeeze hard to keep somewhat comfortable. With legs spread wide and bonds making her lean slightly forward, both her holes were fully displayed. Holly was sure this wasn’t a coincidence.

“Lean forward and don’t move.” The woman’s voice still betrayed no emotion but Holly preferred her orders to Jeremiah’s so she leaned forward. With no support for her body, she knew this would quickly become painful but she needn’t have worried. Head down, pigtails brushing the side of her face, she could only hear another bar being moved into position above her shoulders and down across her upper back. Heels clicked on the floor as the woman came round to her front. Pulling her right arm up and stretching it back along the bar, her wrist was then tightly bound with more rope followed by her elbow. After her other arm was done likewise, Holly could only move her head but, hanging limply, she just looked down. And saw a third bar moved below her, its height adjusted to just inches from the ground below her midriff. As she still saw the woman’s pedicured toes, when she heard more footsteps, there was only one person it could be. Holly’s heart sank.

“Oh wow!” he exclaimed as Holly kept her gaze averted, “You won’t be going anywhere soon, will you, honey. Let’s see that pretty face.”

Before Holly could raise her head to look at him, a hand pulled her pigtails to jerk her head back. Quickly a leather strap was placed round her forehead and connected to the bar at her shoulders with metal hooks on the ends. With her head forced forward, she could only look at Jeremiah or, more accurately, since he had taken off both his saturated jacket and shirt, at his grotesque hairy stomach just inches from her face. Which a wrinkled hand gently stroked.

“There we go,” he said, his savage anger when beating her on the floor seemingly gone, “such a cutie. I can see you’re bound up nice and tight. Can you move at all?”

“No, Sir,” Holly said, a cursory attempt to wriggle confirming she was indeed completely bound.

“You can’t even jiggle those big fat tits?”

“No, Sir.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” his face was almost level with Holly’s, “but I wouldn’t worry, honey. They’ll soon be jiggling plenty all by themselves. You haven’t been a very good girl, have you, Holly?”

“No, Sir,” Holly said, just waiting for the next punishment to be announced.

“No, not a very good girl at all. In fact, you’ve been very naughty. But I know it wasn’t all your fault. You see, I forgot you’re just a little slut, aren’t you, honey? A filthy teenage whore, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly said, the innocence she’d had now having completely disappeared.

“Yes, Sir, indeed. So because you’re a dirty ho, I’ll reward you. Now I’d love to fuck your slutty cunt myself; maybe I will later but I haven’t finished punishing you. So someone else has to fuck you.”

With this, he moved to reveal the woman who had bound Holly facing away, having discarded her black robe to show her almost naked rear, her olive skin covered only by a thin leather thong — and dozens of scars. Holly gasped as she looked at the criss-crossing patterns on the woman’s back which were well healed but had been very deep. She knew instinctively a whip had caused them, wielded by someone who didn’t care about the pain and permanent damage caused. Holly’s bondage made her shudder more mental than physical, as she imagined how much pain this woman had endured and, identifying with her, how much she might have to suffer herself.

“Wait!” Jeremiah said, seeing Holly’s horror, “Let her see your scars. You see how deep they are? Just imagine how painful that must have been. But that’s what happens when you whores are naughty. Are you going to be a good girl now?”

“Yes, Sir,” Holly said frantically, unable to take her eyes off the woman’s scarred back.

“That’s good to hear,” Jeremiah said, gleefully drinking in her fear, “because it’d be shame if I had to do that to your beautiful young skin. Shame for you, I mean. I’d have a fantastic time! Just think how much you’d scream as I tore into your flesh. Mmmmm!”

Holly whimpered, knowing it was the truth. This monster would enjoy permanently disfiguring a woman and she was now terrified he would do exactly that. But she was also thinking about the woman. She had assumed that this woman, like the three sadists in the basement or this fat troll, just enjoyed others’ suffering. But this woman had once been in her position and yet had gained a position of relative power. Maybe, just maybe, if she behaved herself, she might escape this world of pain. While thinking this, Jeremiah once again loomed into sight, his wrinkled face right up to hers.

“Of course, you’ll never be like her. She no longer gets whipped, tortured or raped. Your mistress employs her as a servant whereas you’ll always be a slave. You’re going to be a pain slut forever, suffering torture after torture, rape after rape until you’re all used up and disposed of. This is your life so get used to it. Now, let’s see what will be fucking you very soon.”

Jeremiah stood to let a shell-shocked Holly see the woman again. And again the bound girl gasped in horror, not at the scars on her belly but at what protruded from her crotch. When the woman turned to reveal its full scale, Holly gasped again. The foot long strap-on was truly terrifying but that wasn’t what made her whimper. The dildo wasn’t one long piece of hardened rubber but was divided into three circular sections each 3” high and across, with a tapered cone at the front. If she could have moved, she would have run but she couldn’t and so she begged.

“Please, Sir, please don’t make me…don’t…please, Sir…I’ll…”

“I know,” Jeremiah smirked, patting her head, “it’s quite something, isn’t it. Just think, in a few moments that thing will be imbedded deep in your cunt. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Sir, please…I…I can’t tak…”

“Silence, you snivelling cunt!” Jeremiah barked, “That thing is going up your pussy and there’s nothing you can do about it. And that isn’t all you’ll have to scream about.”

With that, Jeremiah showed her what she thought was the same paddle he’d used on her before. But when he flipped it over, she gasped again. Embedded in the rich mahogany were thick metal wires which only just rose above the surface. In an agony of terror, Holly squirmed against her bonds with such desperation that she forgot the consequence of speaking out of turn.

“Please, Sir, don’t ...,” she begged, tears welling up in her eyes.

SMACK!

“Shut the fuck up!” Jeremiah said, his free hand smacking Holly across the face, “I told you I didn’t want to hear your whining limey voice! Yet you disobey again, you stupid fucking whore!”

The sound of his hard slap and her anguished cry combined in a very satisfying way. The second slap sent her over the edge and she began to cry. He wasn’t really angry nor did he blame her for fearing the huge dildo about to be shoved up her cunt. But just hurting this beautiful bitch wasn’t enough; he also wanted to torment her psychologically, to blame herself for the horrible pains she suffered and to genuinely believe she deserved everything that happened. Pointing, he sent his assistant to Holly’s rear and stepped back in front of Holly, grasping the wooden paddle tightly.

“Right, you big titted bitch,” his face was only inches from hers, “time to get fucked. In a few seconds, that huge dildo will be forced up your tight young cunt. But I’ve just remembered ... I told you why some people like girls with big tits but I never told you why I did, did I, sweetie? So while that thing tears you apart, I’ll tell you why I want to play with you and your big fat titties.”

Forced to look ahead, Holy could only listen to Jeremiah, mystified by the sheer enjoyment he got from talking to her like that. But pressure on her pussy soon distracted her. Placing her strap-on against Holly’s slit, the woman had slowly moved it into position at her opening. Once lined up, she grabbed her hips to slowly ease herself forward. As Holly’s lips slowly parted to allow the huge thing into her tight dry hole, a chubby hand grabbed a big soft tit.

“Mmmmmm, so soft,” squeezing her breast, Jeremiah groaned, “who’d have thought two sacks of fat on some dumb whore would feel so good. I can’t get enough of them. Look at them bounce!”

Jeremiah bounced Holly’s huge tit up and down, scarcely believing how perfect this bitch’s breasts were. It was a crime they weren’t permanently displayed. As he played, he looked at her face. She really was beautiful and with her wide brown eyes slightly red from crying, she looked gorgeous. He could only imagine how often her classmates and teachers had dreamt of covering her pretty face with sticky white cum. What would they have given to play with her giant tits as he was now?

“And look how they swing!” slapping his hand against her tit’s soft creamy skin, “I’d like to thank you for growing these babies for me to play with. But I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t just love playing with big titted whores because I like how their tits look and feel.”

When the paddle hit her hanging tit, all Holly’s anticipation didn’t stop her scream straight into Jeremiah’s face, the combined sound of wood and wire on tit flesh with her wail making him smile. He enjoyed it so much he battered her tit four more times. Already the results of its special additions were appearing as thin red streaks more intense than the general reddish hue of her tortured tits.

“You see,” Jeremiah kept swinging the paddle into her hanging breasts, “when a bitch has tits like yours, they can’t be taken seriously. You don’t see news reporters with ridiculous udders like these nor any politicians with such massive melons. In all history, do you ever see bitches with udders like yours? Whores like you are only good for one thing.”

The last sentence was emphasised by a ferocious forehand to her breast. Holly’s scream this time voiced both the pain of the blow and her pussy stretching as the dildo advanced another inch into her fuck hole and nearly to its full diameter. Even when she stopped screaming from the blows, she was still groaning from being stretched. Having been ordered to fuck the girl with this huge dick, the woman was unconcerned by the tight fit and would do so, regardless of her screams. Impassively staring ahead, she pulled Holly’s hips to thrust further in, the first of the balls now fully inside her. As her supple labia closed tightly around the dildo’s thinner stem, Holly screeched.

“With tits like that,” Jeremiah continued ferociously backhanding them, “I can’t take you seriously. That’s why I love big juicy tits because it’s so easy to torture them. You’re not a person, just a toy, who exists only to be played with. No man would ever marry you, Holly, they’d just fuck you and toss you away. If you were lucky, a man might have played with you nicely. But as you know, I don’t.”

On the next blow, he smiled when a wire caught a nipple, her scream becoming even more intense and made worse by the second ball going inside her cunt. Holly felt totally full with less than half the monstrous dildo inside her. When he hit again, the wired paddle made her breasts feel on fire. Time after time, her anguished cry followed the paddle’s satisfying smack thudding into her soft swinging breasts which now felt like an inferno. Assaulted from all sides, her tits jumped and danced madly, something the sweating hulk clearly enjoyed. Pausing for breath, he was pleased to hear that even when not assaulting her, the girl was still in pain. Six inches of the knotted dildo was now deep inside her resistant cunt and the tapered point was at her cervix. Unable to force the notched rubber cock further up, the woman looked at Jeremiah. With a small nod he signalled her to begin.

The woman didn’t especially want to hurt her but had no choice. Gripping the girl’s creamy white hips, she paused a moment then slammed forward. Only an inch went in but when the tip smashed against her cervix, Holly’s scream was high-pitched and wavering. Jeremiah smiled at her face, mouth open and eye’s scrunched up, screaming. Pulling the dildo out slightly only to ram forward again produced another scream. Holly tried to squirm away but she was tied too tightly. Again the dildo thrust in, its force lifting her slightly and making her huge breasts jiggle on her chest.

“That’s right, bitch,” Jeremiah was timing the paddle with the thrusting dildo, “scream. Scream, you little whore. You wanted your cunt stuffed and now you’re screaming about it. Ungrateful slut.”

Striking his paddle against her dangling tits, Jeremiah then walked round trailing it along her back to see what was causing all her pain. On seeing Holly’s plump pussy lips stretched so extraordinarily thinly around the massive phallus pumping in and out of her, he could not believe she’d got even half the massive cock inside her tight teen pussy. He looked at her perfect tits which even hanging down were still pert, almost impervious to gravity, quivering like jelly with each painful thrust and tortured scream. Grabbing them hungrily, he squeezed the soft flesh between his hands.

“Do you know what, Holly?” Jeremiah said as he bounced her tits in his hands, “Beating those giant tits has made me quite thirsty. I need a drink. And you’re about to give me one.”

She hadn’t heard what he said over the pain in her pussy and scarcely felt him releasing her tits to pick up a small table and a large bowl from the corner. As her hoarse wavering high-pitched screams continued each time the tip rammed into her, he put the bowl on the table just below her quivering tits. Then, taking the soft flesh of her huge hanging breasts in his hands, he whispered in her ear.

“Time to treat you like the cow you are,” Jeremiah said gleefully, “I’m going to milk you, girl. How does that feel, cunt? I’m going to milk you like a fucking cow. You’re no innocent teenage girl but a fucking cow who’s going to feed me. Now stick out your fat udders so I can milk you!”

Even through the pain of her rape, Holly heard what Jeremiah spat into her ear. When Greta had shown Holly her lactating breasts, she had known this could happen but hadn’t anticipated the intensity of the humiliation. That this horrible man even touched her breasts was bad but milking her was worse. Squeezing her soft flesh, his chubby fingers closed on her swollen nipples and then, as he squeezed and pulled down, came the distinct sound of liquid hitting the ceramic bowl.

“Whoosh!” Jeremiah said as two white streams squirted from her tits, “Look at that! I’m milking your big fat udders, Holly! How does it feel, baby, squirting milk like a cow? Moo, whore, moo!”

Cackling loudly, Jeremiah worked hard to squeeze more milk from her luscious tits. Holly was too busy screaming to moo. As he pulled her breasts down, she felt it slightly uncomfortable but not painful. But the psychological pain was very real, the humiliation worse than she’d ever experienced. Overwhelmed by both the pain of her rape and the shame of being milked, she sobbed loudly between squeals. Jeremiah couldn’t stop smiling, her pathetic cries amusing him as he worked her tits like udders, pulling down on her nipples and watching the streams of milk fall into the bowl until it was almost full, her swollen nipples just inches from the frothing surface. Giving her tits one last squeeze, he reluctantly let them go, a few drops just hanging before falling into the bowl.

“There we go,” Jeremiah said as he picked up the paddle again, “all done. I bet it tastes fantastic, thank you, Holly. But there are a few drops left, shall we shake them free?”

He swung the paddle, crashing it into Holly’s midriff to make her toned stomach a red sea of pin-pricks from the embedded wires, knocking the air from her and cutting her scream short. As her tits danced, more drops fell into the bowl. Waiting for her breath to return, he crunched her again, creating an airless scream, then gestured his assistant to speed up. As the cock only moved another two inches into Holly’s stretched pussy, her tunnel still wasn’t stimulated and its rubbing hurt her dry walls. But that pain was nothing to the agony of its tip slamming into her cervix. Her tormented screams soon had other causes as he began slapping her bruised behind and crashing the paddle onto the underside of her tits, making them jiggle wildly. Assaulted from three directions, squealing like a stuck pig with every blow, thrust or slap, the intensity of her screams grew. And as she screamed and screamed, she hoped the ground would open up and swallow her. But it didn’t.

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“Come in!” the voice boomed from behind the door and Detective Daniel Hannemann gingerly entered, clutching his file tightly. He was sweating nervously for this was a huge moment for him. If all went well his career, his life, could change dramatically.

“Ah, Hannemann,” the man behind the desk exclaimed, his deep voice seeming to fill up the room, “It’s been a long time. Come in, take a seat.”

Shuffling forward in his tattered shoes, the greying man sat, relieved to take the weight off his feet. Looking at his Commissioner, he suddenly felt more nervous. Reporting to someone this high up was surprising but the nature of the case explained it. The imposing man sitting behind the desk still seemed to tower over the detective. His bald head and massive grey moustache made him look like a character from a period drama but Hannemann knew this was deceptive. Rising faster through the ranks than any police officer since Germany’s unification, Rudolf Papen was Munich’s most senior officer despite unconfirmed rumours his father had been a key officer in East Germany’s infamous Stasi. Although his portly physique and seemingly gentle nature suggested otherwise, this man had deep connections. If Hannemann impressed him, it would help his flagging career immensely.

“Right,” the man said, looking up from the work on his desk, “you called my office in a hurry late last night. And obviously didn’t have time to shave this morning. What is it, Hannemann?”

“Well, Sir,” the man stammered, rubbing his unshaven face, “it’s about these missing girls.”

This got the man’s attention as he leant forward, his fingers twirling one end of his great whiskers.

“The English ones?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent! London are pestering me for any information I can get on this. You have something?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, go on then, spit it out!”

Detective Hannemann stuttered and stammered through his file of evidence. Sitting there silently, his Commissioner only interjected occasionally as the flimsy evidence was reeled off but became really interested when the detective mentioned the barmaid. His questions beginning in earnest, it took fifteen minutes to explain and when he finished, Rudolf sat back, twirling his whiskers.

“Well, you’ve certainly done some fine detective work. Fine work indeed. I’ll pass this onto Strauss and his team. But I won’t forget your contribution, Hannemann. Thank you very much.”

When he gestured the detective to leave, he shuffled out with a sycophantic thanking routine. On closing the door, the bedraggled man breathed in relief. As he walked to his desk, no doubt piled with meaningless cases, he felt his hard work, long nights and dedication had paid off. Tomorrow all would be different. Sitting down, the weight of many years lessened.

Meanwhile Rudolf Papen sat at his desk. He hadn’t expected anything new in this case, least of all from some washed up detective. The lead was interesting. Somehow this man had found where the girls had been taken from and who a key potential suspect was. It needed immediate action. Grabbing his phone, he entered a number and waited for answer.

“Hello, Papen here. There’s been a development; I have to see you right away. Well when’s the earliest? Tomorrow morning it is then. OK.”


I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. Don't hesitate to leave a comment underneath or email me at [email protected] with any feedback whatsoever. Cheers, Josh

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