Captive Page 24

  The High-Priest, Ghirais, stood behind the King, ceremonial hammer in one hand, the other resting on the throne. Prince Agrath sat to his father’s side, with others who Aisla did not recognise seated according to their rank. Every one was looking at her, their expression varying from the pure hatred of Ghirais to simple lust among the younger men. Of the few women present most showed carefully blank expressions, Sulitea alone displaying sympathy as she gave Aisla a brief, regretful smile. Buthor stopped and performed a sweeping bow, then a series of lesser ones, each directed to a specific person.

  ‘Your exalted glory, Mogath, King of the Hai,’ he announced, ‘Prince Agrath, Honoured Divine Ghirais, nobles and ladies of Hai. I bring before you the vile harlot and murderess known as Aisla, blasphemer, liar, witch, renegade and more besides, to be put to death to your most elegant design.’

  Mogath gave an almost imperceptible nod. Aisla lifted her eyes and found herself fighting the urge to prostrate herself and grovel in the dirt. Ghirais was staring full at her, his black eyes burning into hers, forcing her to his will. With effort she held her gaze, praying over and over to Uroth and wishing he was there. His voice seemed to come to her and she sucked her cheeks in and spat on the ground.

  Ghirais’ face went black, the King’s also as cries of outrage sounded from all sides and a great, deep murmur from the crowd. Buthor pulled her quickly back, retreating in a series of unctuous bows with her chain grasped firmly in his fist.

  ‘Are you mad?’ he hissed as they moved out of earshot. ‘Do you want to die by ten thousand incisions? They will make your torture last the day, the night and the next day beyond!’

  Aisla shrugged, trying to tell herself that whatever happened her gesture was worth the cost. Within hours she would be in the feast halls of heroines, so long as she tried to fight her persecutors. Once, there, the more pluck she showed before her death the higher would be her place. As they reached the gibbet it again occurred to her to attack Buthor, only for the idea to be put aside at the sight of the thick leather cuffs that dangled from the end of the rope.

  ‘Hands behind you back,’ Buthor instructed.

  She obeyed, and allowed her wrists to be fixed into the straps. Buthor stepped to the main part of the gibbet and hauled on a rope, forcing Aisla’s hands up behind. She gave a yelp as she was pulled up onto her tiptoes, realising at once that the position was designed as much to put her body in a ridiculous posture as to leave her helpless. In was effective in both ways. Her arms already hurt, while she could do nothing to protect her body save swing herself in circles and kick her legs, both thoroughly undignified motions. It also left her breasts dangling down and her bottom the highest part of her body, while she could feel the warm, dry air on both her tuppenny and her anus, and so knew that both were showing.

  Buthor fixed the rope off on a cleat, pulled his whip from his belt and gave it an experimental crack. The crowd gave a peel of laughter and sporadic clapping for the way he had positioned her. He responded with an all inclusive bow, then flicked the lash of the whip out to show its length. Aisla felt the knot in her stomach tighten still more. The whip was a huge thing, a long snake of oiled and braided leather, black and glistening, with a triple snake’s tongue at the end. It would have been excessive for a wain camel.

  She braced herself, unsure whether to obey Buthor and kick and writhe and scream or to attempt to hold herself back for the sake of pride. He had stood back, behind her, and was giving a demonstration of his skill with the whip, twirling and cracking the lash to make her muscles jump involuntarily with each snap. The crowd cheered and clapped, to which he responded with a final bow before whirling the whip up and bringing the lash down full across Aisla’s naked bottom. She screamed as it hit, all thoughts of restraint blown aside in her pain, kicking and opening her legs as the crowd roared with laughter.

  Buthor whirled the lash high once more, bringing it down across her buttocks with an ear-splitting crack. Aisla screamed and jerked, feeling the flaming line spring up on her bottom, then another, a fourth and a fifth as he laid into her mercilessly with the whip, the last catching the rear of her sex lips. She kicked out in her pain, lost her balance and for a moment hung by her hands with her legs splayed wide to show her sex to the crowd. A great burst of laughter rang out at the sight, then more as she fought for balance with a display of kicking legs and wobbling buttocks every bit as ludicrous and obscene as the King could have wished. Buthor joined in the laughter, waited until the exact moment she had regained her poise and then struck again, spending her instantly into another sequence of absurd postures.

  At last she managed to balance herself, expecting Buthor to strike, only for him to step away and bow to the crowd. Clapping rang out and she struggled to regain her composure in the lull, wondering if it was over. She could feel all six of the swollen, burning whip marks that decorated her bottom, and if her juice was running freely down the insides of her thighs, then the pain was still very real. Buthor turned again and she realised it was not over. He flicked the whip high and brought it down with a vicious crack. Aisla winced and screamed instinctively, only to realise that the blow had been no more than a touch, painful, but nothing like the first blows, with the whip cracked a hair’s breadth from her skin. Twice more he struck, using the same technique, and each time she screamed and danced her legs, her response real if exaggerated. Buthor stopped and came to her front, pulling her hair back with a hard tug to force her head up.

  ‘You are doing well,’ he whispered through clenched lips, his face set in an expression that made it appear her was taunting her. ‘That gyration when I caught your cunt was truly admirable, the crowd loved it. There will not be much more but I need to put in a few good ones, I trust you can endure the pain?’

  Aisla nodded numbly. The worst pain was now in the joints of her arms, with her burning bottom feeling huge and swollen, but also intensely in need of a cock. Buthor gave a knowing nod.

  ‘Let you bladder go if you can,’ he went on. ‘It will amuse the crowd and making the pain less when the trolls fuck you. If you do I shall remit three, no six whip strokes.’

  Aisla said nothing. From the pressure in her belly she knew it would be possible to wet herself, yet doing so would be more degrading still. Then Buthor had whirled the whip up and brought it down again, a full powered smack across the fattest part of her unprotected bottom. All thoughts of holding back were lost, the shame of peeing insignificant beside another six of the agonising whip strokes. With her face screwed up in misery she tensed her bladder, screamed and jumped as another whip stroke hit her, then let it all go.

  Agonising shame hit her as the pee squirted from her tuppenny, spraying backwards onto the sand in full view of most of the huge crowd. An explosion of laughter greeted the sight, and claps and whistles Looking back between her legs she could see it, a long stream of yellow arcing out behind her to splash on the ground. Buthor cracked the whip down across her upper thighs, breaking the stream of pee into a shower of droplets. She screamed and jumped in response, kicking her legs and loosing her balance to send the pee stream into a wild spray that splashed her burning bottom and pattered on her legs. Again he struck, across her bottom, spattering pee from the wet skin, then stopped, leaving the crowd to enjoy the sight of her stream dying back to a trickle down one leg, then nothing, leaving a substantial pool behind her in evidence of her disgrace.

  Buthor took another bow to the acclamations of the crowd, but rather than go back to work on Aisla’s crimson, whip smacked bottom, he went to her wrists and began to undo the knot. She waited, grimacing at the pain as he pulled her arms up, then sighing with relief as the knot gave, leaving her wrists in the cuffs but her arms blissfully free. It was done, and although her bottom felt huge, swollen and a blatant object of both lust and amusement, she also felt a certain pride.

  She swung her arms, grimacing as the circulation returned, then, on sudden impulse
, raised them to the crowd and made a low, deliberately mocking bow. Laughter rang out once more and a number of cheers, also betting calls, while the royal podium stayed silent. Buthor stepped up to her and took her wrists, linking the straps in front of her belly before he once more approached the King, made a profound salute and bowed deeply as a new hush fell over the arena.

  ‘I trust the whipping pleased, exalted,’ he announced, ‘and now I present my colleague Ulor, beast-master to the arena, to conduct the second part of this just and amusing punishment.’

  The largest of the gates in the arena walls opened at his words and Ulor stepped out, his scar showing livid pink in the sunlight. Buthor hurried to join him, throwing Aisla a last glance that mixed pity with lust. She turned at a grinding noise and saw that a wheeled cage was being propelled to the great door, filling it exactly. Within movement could be seen, an indistinct scurrying in the dimness.

  Her heart jumped as a huge, green penis was thrust suddenly between the bars, then another as Ulor pulled at a catch and the cage front swung open. Aisla said a prayer to her mother as the goblins surged out, only to stop short as she caught their scent. Her knees went weak and seemed to part of their own accord. Her well whipped bottom seemed to swell out behind her, a fat, wobbling thing to be stuck out and mounted, her tuppenny a gaping, sodden hole to be filled.

  Even before they reached her she was on her knees. A moment later a fat, green cock was in her mouth and she was sucking eagerly. Another mounted her and her vagina filled, bloating with goblin’s cock as long, spatulate fingers grasped her buttocks. Others grabbed her breasts, her arms, her hair, rubbing their turgid cocks on any part of her they could get at. Her knees gave way, sliding apart as she was buried in a mound of heaving flesh, every one of them working her body for their pleasure.

  The one in her mouth came, his sperm erupting down her throat to make her gag. He pulled out and squeezed a thick gobbet of come onto her nose, only for another to push him aside and thrust an erection at her face. She took it, her resistance vanished in the haze of their musk, her desire only to be used in every hole and crevice, over and over. All sensible thought vanished in a haze of musk, cocks and sperm as others began to come, up her vagina, over her buttocks and back, in her hair. Hardly aware of what was happening, she let herself be turned and spread, one leg held high to get at her tuppenny and bottom simultaneously. Fat, rubbery cock heads probed at her, sliding into her vagina and straining in the ring of her anus. Her bottom hole burst, admitting the cock into the already slimy embrace of her back passage until it was all in and two sets of fat balls were squeezed together between her opened thighs. Fingers gripped her breasts and flopped them around another cock, while with both linked hands she jerked at another among her tormentors.

  A gout of sperm erupted in her face, catching both eyes and blinding her. The one up her bottom came, and she felt an agonising pressure in her guts, only to have the contents of her rectum spray from her anal ring as the goblin pulled out. Another replaced it, using the lubrication of his fellow to jam his erection deep up her bottom with one smooth motion. The one between her breasts began to slap and wobble them around his penis, having trouble getting purchase on her two sperm sodden orbs. Sperm erupted in her vagina, then in her face again as the one in her mouth deliberately pulled free and emptied his load over her features.

  Again she was turned, and lifted, stuck on the cocks in her body, each pumping as her mouth, vagina and anus were simultaneously used. Lost in an ecstasy of fat cocks and slimy sperm, she struggled to get at her tuppenny, forcing her hands to her clitoris past the bloated belly of a goblin. She came at a touch, gulping at the penis in her mouth, every muscle in her body tight on the invading cocks, coming over and over in spasms. The pleasure drained, only to rise again, and once more as two cocks erupted their sperm in her body cavities at the same time.

  With her orgasm over she lost all control or sense of time. Her body was shaken like a doll, used and used until at last, after two, three or even four orgasm each, the goblins began to lose interest. She was dropped in the pool of sperm that had formed on the sand beneath her, face first, bottom up, then mounted anally as she rubbed her face gratefully in the filth. The one in her bottom buggered her thoroughly, came and dismounted. She was left, face down in the mess, her vagina a gaping black hole, sperm bubbling from her slowly closing anus. Vaguely she became aware that it was over, and felt only regret.

  Aisla sat down in the pool of sperm and her own juice, her head swimming with helpless lust. Coughing, gagging and farting, blowing sperm from her nose, she let her body clear itself. When she dared to open her eyes she found the arena a blur. The cheers and laughter of the crowd seemed impossible distant, her overwhelming emotion neither fear nor hate, but the desire to spread her thighs to the entire masculine population of the world and be fucked over and over again.

  Guards emerged and began to chivvy the goblins back towards the wall, using nets and threatening with tridents. Aisla’s vision cleared slowly as the scent of musk diminished, until the stands swam back into focus. Several women in the crowd had been overcome by the goblin musk and were on their men folk’s laps, obviously mounted on cocks, to the amusement of the others. Others, both men and women, were casually masturbating, either alone or in pairs.

  With the last of the goblins clear of the sand another pair of doors opened. Aisla turned, and tried to rise, only to fall back into the mess with a sticky splash as a great dark grey troll shambled out into the arena, then a second, growling his anger at the first, and more, until five stood blinking in the sunlight. The noise of the crowd changed, from pure merriment to gasps of shock, delight and even pity. Betting calls began again, only for the noise to sink to a dull murmur as the five trolls began to advance on Aisla, each snarling at the others.

  The largest, and closest caught his massive cock in his hand, masturbating as he walked to draw sighs of awe from women and envious gasps from men in the crowd. His cock was huge, a bar of rigid grey-pink flesh the length of Aisla’s forearm and thicker around. He was clearly the dominant beast, the others holding back, growling. Not wishing to be hurt as she was manhandled about, Aisla scrambled into a kneeling position with her bottom towards the troll, then wiggled it invitingly. At the sight a roar of approval went up from the crowd, along with whistles, clapping and obscene suggestions aimed at the troll.

  He reached her, caught her by the waist and lifted her onto his cock, stuffing in as much as would go up her sperm slick vagina in one go. Held in his grip, hands lock in front of her belly, she could do nothing, only gasp and pant out her shock as she was fucked, jerked up and down like a doll on his penis, her legs and hair flying in time to his thrusts, her breasts bouncing and slapping on her chest. The crowd roared in delight to see her used, yelling encouragement to the troll and calling bets as to whether she could take it. Aisla could neither speak nor struggle, but only flop up and down on his penis until at last it jerked, her insides seemed to explode and a great gout of sperm erupted from the mouth of her vagina.

  The troll held her on his cock for a long moment, then dropped her to the sand, loosing all interest. She struggled to her knees, fighting for breath and control of her body, only to find that her ordeal was far from over.With the dominant satisfied, the others came in a group, snarling and growling at each other, then grabbing Aisla as they could. The first to reach her mounted her, pushing his enormous penis hard up her gaping vagina the moment he had a proper grip on her hips. The second forced her mouth, taking her by the hair and jamming in the bulk of his erection.

  Her straps were broken, the thick leather band that linked her wrists torn apart with ease and her hands pulled onto the remaining trolls’ cocks. She began to masturbate them, pulling up and down frantically to the jerking rhythm of her body as she was fucked. Hands took her breasts, pawing them, bouncing and slapping the fat, dangling globes in erotic glee until her nipples were set in a
gonising stiffness.

  The one in her mouth came first, filling her gullet with sperm, spurt after spurt which she was forced to swallow. The slimy texture and salty taste made her gag, but the contractions of her throat muscles only made the troll come more, pouring his full load of sperm down her neck. Aisla felt her belly swell and retched at the sensation, only to be forced to swallow hard as the troll’s cock was jammed yet further down her throat as he finished his orgasm.

  He pulled out, leaving Aisla gasping, coughing and blowing bubbles of sperm froth from her nostrils even as she twitched and jerked on the cock in her vagina. Both those whose cocks were in her hand moved in, jostling for her mouth. Aisla took one, sucked his knob into her mouth and quickly transferred her attention to the other, eager to have both spunk down her throat. The first growled a warning and jammed his penis at her mouth, so that for a moment she had two fat knobs within her gaping jaws. She struggled to cope, only for the smaller troll to pull back at the very instant the one in her vagina came with a powerful thrust. Her head was jammed forward, the fat cock stuffed past her tonsils and deep down her throat, stopping her breathing. She felt the sperm burst from the mouth of her vagina and over her tuppenny, and heard the troll in her mouth grunt with satisfaction as he started to squirm his penis in her gullet.

  Unable to breath, she began to panic, but could do nothing, only allow her head to be fucked as her hips were dropped and she collapsed onto the filthy sand. The cock in her throat continued to move, the leathery skin writhing against her flesh, the fat head straining out her windpipe to make her gag over and over, milking the huge penis into her belly as she scrabbled ineffectually at the trolls’ legs. He came, the milking motion of her throat spasms bringing on the orgasm. Once again Aisla felt her gullet fill and her stomach bulge, then he was pulling back and she was sinking to the sand, half-conscious, sick and dizzy. His cock was wiped in her already filthy hair before he withdrew, leaving her to the last troll.