King Vasil sat on his throne overlooking the common square. He was pleased to see that Alexandra Vaenko was there already, her wrists and neck locked into the holes of a free pillory board. Two of his guards stood to either side to hold its sides and ensure that the girl couldn't turn her head away from the horror before her. "Oh, no no no!" Alexandra cried. "Oh, no!" She tried to turn her gaze away, to somehow blot the scene before her from her mind, but Bojek was ready for this and grabbed the back of her head to turn her eyes back to the stage.
And a hideous scene it was. There, up on the public stage were her parents, both stripped naked. Two of the king's newer executioners had started with her father, once an important boyar. They had chopped off his hands, sealing the stumps with molten pitch, then set him atop a dully pointed stake, so he would be slowly impaled up his rectum. The surrounding crowd laughed at his futile efforts to somehow grasp the stake with his stumps and lift himself off the ever penetrating post. But, ghastly as that was, it wasn't the worst. Alongside him on the platform her mother, Mikaela, was tied spreadeagled between two posts. She was being slowly flayed, the pale skin sliced and dragged from her body in strips. Her mother was still in her thirties, and an attractive woman. The torturers had spared her head—the better to show the agonized contortions of her face under the monstrous agony—but were steadily peeling away all the skin beneath it. Her legs had already been skinned, from ankles to crotch, as had her arms to the shoulders. The executioners were too skilled to start with the torso and so allow her to die from blood loss or shock before they had wrenched every last measure of agony from her nude body. Until then, they would continue their fiendish task. There was a separate palace guard standing by holding a bucket of salt. Whenever a new patch of skin was cut and torn from her body to reveal the angry nerves beneath, the black-hooded men would move away so the guard could toss some of the powder on the freshly exposed raw flesh to further aggravate the exposed nerve endings and add to the already hellish pain. The screams echoing over the assembled audience were loud and ragged, no longer recognizable as human. They had just started ripping the skin from the woman's stomach up towards her heavy breasts when Alexandra was dragged back and away from the desperate shrieks. Away to face the special amusements of King Vasil Hricko.
It was a bright afternoon the day later when Alexandra was brought to the new King's expansive play room by his two senior torturers. Her head and wrists were once again locked in the pillory board. This one had eye bolts screwed into each end. Ropes from a winch had been passed through rings on the ceiling, hanging down and waiting. Without a word, the two brutes reached for the ends and threaded them through the board's bolts. Havel, the younger, then went to the winch and cranked the drum to pull Alexandra's form up until she was balanced on her toes. The girl had still not yet recovered from the horror of seeing her mother and father being publicly tortured to death, but now she faced a more immediate and personal trial. She heard a sound and looked over to where Vasil sat, lounged actually, in this room's throne. She saw him look at her, saw the glint of lust in his eyes, and unconsciously shivered in fear. She had seen his perverse malevolence first hand during the punishment of Marja Sosenko, brought before him and the Privy Council while still just a prince. By his command, she had been stripped to the waist and flogged cruelly on her back and breasts until they bled for nothing more than the improper cleaning of some pots and pans. That was the last time she had seen him. Now it was 1582, just two years into his reign. Even before the savage execution of her parents, scarcely a week went by without some grotesque public spectacle in the square, often for some trivial offense. Then, of course, there were the stories, the unsubstantiated—but still widely believed—tales of how he sent his soldiers to roam the countryside to find young women and drag them to the dread chamber beneath the castle for torment and rape. And now she was helpless in his hands. . .
Vasil stared at her. She had been twenty-one the last time he had seen her, publicly condemning the maid, Marja's sadistic punishment—and four years since he had tried to get her into his bed, a spoiled boy of fourteen. Then she was barely eighteen and lovely with her newly blossoming sexual maturity and he was smitten. But instead of fawning before the arrogant young prince and willingly spreading her legs, she had laughed at him and mocked his clumsy approach to the other boyar daughters with her, leaving him to slink away, blushing and frustrated. Now, at twenty-three, she was even more stunning, the curves beneath her bodice fuller, with even greater promise of the lusty female flesh beneath. His memory of her was being taller, but then he himself had only been fourteen at the time she humiliated him and he had grown since. Now, he saw, she was actually rather petite, only a few inches above five feet. Her hair was still the light rust color so rare in Ruritania. And if anything she was more beautiful than he recalled, with a slightly upturned nose and freckles across her cheeks and the upper slopes of her chest above the boyar dress. He could see that she was fighting to maintain her composure, but also that her breathing was rapid from her growing terror. His eyes fixed on her quickly rising and falling chest. Oh, yes, he thought, the bitch's tits were even larger than he remembered. Excellent. Vasil simply loved female breasts. He loved to play with them and especially loved torturing them. His father, the late King Krajnik, had sent a serving wench to his bed on his fourteenth birthday, but he was then more focused on the sensations between his legs to think of much else. It wasn't until later that he recognized his obsession with a girl's breasts. It was a seminal moment in the young man's life. On a whim, he had grasped the full gourds of a maid servant, one Paraska, from behind while she was cleaning his bedchamber. Instinctively, she had turned and slapped him. Despite her fully understandable reaction, the law decreed that striking a royal condemned the offender to death by torment. Understanding the circumstances, old King Krajnik had reduced the sentence from the standard seven days of suffering to only one. He also ordered the prince to witness the execution of the sentence in the castle dungeon, fully expecting that young Vasil would abhor the consequences of his thoughtless act. Instead, the young man had discovered his other passion in life: sadism. Over the course of that day, the royal executioners, Bojek and Havel, had showed the young man the unique pleasures to be had by tormenting and raping a woman. Four times that day, he had come to orgasm, each one better than the one before. Then Prince Vasil found that there was a natural, even inevitable confluence of his boyish fascination for a woman's breasts and the intense newfound arousal brought by bloody torture. Not that he shied away from genital abuse—Bojek and Havel had also showed him how that uniquely horrific agony could enhance the subsequent, or better yet, concurrent, fucking—but his first passion would always be the torture of his female (pain alone, he discovered, did nothing for him, so while he had no problem with condemning men to ghastly methods of execution, their suffering was nothing more than a way to amuse his citizens) victims' breasts. As prince, he had created a small cadre of hand-picked soldiers look for peasant wenches for his amusement in the dungeon, women he could, along with the two royal executioners, abuse and rape. But regardless the more savage play of his executioners with every part of their victim's bodies (they were professionals, after all), for Vasil the primary focus was always the breasts. And now he had lovely Alexandra to play with and the chest he had fantasized about for years.
"Ah, the noble Alexandra Vaenko," he purred, leaning forward on the ornate chair. "I still remember that time six years ago when you shamed me in front of everyone. Everyone! I gave you the opportunity to share my bed, me a prince, and you laughed. You laughed at me!" he finished with a loud roar, half out of the throne and almost beside himself with rage. With a clear effort, Hricko regained control and settled back again. "Well, you're not so haughty now, eh? Even if you don't remember, I do. I have never forgotten. Or forgiven. You shamed me, your prince, but there was nothing I could do. Then. Now I am King and now I can do as I please to make you pay for that affront to my royal position and dignity. Now I shall make you pay for your arrogance."
He gestured around him. "Soon after assuming the kingship, I had this room prepared. The dungeon offered its delights, of course," he stated, confirming the stories, "but it was dark and smelly. Crude. Certainly not a suitable area for a king to play in. No, this is much better. No miserable torchlight to illuminate my 'toys' while they entertained me. No stench. No shit and piss stink from the straw. Now this is a proper playroom for royalty. Look around you." He pointed to the horrid devices arranged about the room in turn. "There is the whipping bench, just a table to hold the victim's hands and feet away from her body during my games. You would be amazed at how strongly my playthings try to prevent me from doing the things I like to them. The tits of the more—well-endowed, shall we say—tend to fall over to the sides, losing their prominence and thrust—a disappointment—so it can be angled to my preference." He smiled. "But I don't think that will be an issue with you." He pointed next to a squat device with two spiked rollers, much like a washer woman's clothes wringer. "That is the mangle. It squeezes the tits and pulls them forward and out. Compressing a wench's globes not only hurts terribly, but also makes them more sensitive for further attention." He paused. "Although I don't think I shall use that on you—today. You can also see a few mounted dishes. That shimmer you see above them is from the coals glowing within. The handles sticking out are attached to various tools: rods, blades, even pincers, all now red hot. I have found," he commented idly, "that nothing produces louder screams than the kiss of hot steel. That X-frame rather speaks for itself, as, of course, do the cuffs hanging from the ceiling and bolted to the floor." He pointed to another—thing—in the corner, a vicious looking frame with cuffs, turnbuckles, and spikes. "Now that," he chuckled, "that doesn't even have a name. Not to worry, though, that is the final act in any play and I won't be using it on you, certainly not so soon. No, for today's introduction, I think that the bench will suffice. If I have learned anything these past couple of years, it's that while you can always get more extreme, once severe damage is done, you can't undo it. As you can imagine," he chuckled again, "I sometimes get more enthusiastic than even the royal physician can repair." Another pause, then he returned his hard gaze to Alexandra. "But not with you, oh no. Not with you today. I have been thinking of this for a long, long time and I won't ruin your delectable body right away; I certainly won't let you die quickly, not before I am ready, not before you ask to service me, and not before you beg me for death!" His voice was rising in stridency again as he finished. With effort, he regained control once more. "Enough! I have waited long enough! Havel! Strip the bitch! I want her naked. Naked, you hear me! I want her naked as a worm!
The whole time Vasil had been talking, Alexandra Vaenko was growing more and more terrified. He's mad, she thought, mad and I am in his hands. But then those thoughts were driven from her mind when Havel grabbed the top of her dress from behind and suddenly wrenched it down and apart. He ripped at it savagely, tearing the once-fine fabric to shreds until the tatters lay in a pool at her feet. One final wrench and the young woman's body was revealed totally nude in the wide open room.
Vasil's eyes opened wide at the sight. Alexandra stood before him, her dainty feet mincing in shame. She wrenched at the board holding her wrists, frantic to somehow free her hands and cover her body. She backed against the heavy executioner, desperately trying to hide herself from Vasil's attention, but there was no escape from the young king's eyes. His eyes went straight to the young woman's now bared breasts. He had imagined them, lusted after them those years back when he had tried to seduce her, relying on his royal position to succeed—only to be casually rebuffed—humiliated even, by her insolent dismissal. He had sworn revenge, and now he had her in his power.
Still, even his imagination was inadequate to this exhilarating reality. Alexandra was barely twenty-three. Her light cinnamon-red hair contrasted wonderfully against the creamy skin beneath. That coupled with her bright green eyes, also a rarity in Carpathia, made her a singular beauty. In addition, her shoulders, face, and the expanse of skin crossing her chest were liberally sprinkled with freckles, a decoration Vasil found demurely appealing. The king's gaze moved down the young woman's strong rib cage, down the flat belly, her elegant flanks, her loins, to the junction of her muscular thighs. There, nestled in that tantalizing grotto, was a delicate pubic patch of fine auburn curls covering a prominent mound. Never before in his recently discovered sadistic pastime, had he seen reddish pubics. He leaned down a bit and discovered that he could even see the tender lips of her sex peeking out from between them when her legs parted. His attention returned to her upper body. He was amused to see that the girl had shaved her armpits, a scandalously shameless act for Ruritania. But as attractive as all those qualities were, it was her virgin breasts that aroused his passion the most.
In the relatively brief time he had been king, Hricko had had the opportunity to see many breasts bared to his painful attentions. Most were similarly shaped, like ripe pears (many flat-chested girls would never know the blessing their small breasts provided them—Vasil required some heft for his games.) A few, a very few, displayed arrogant cones like those of Marja Sosenko, and those only among the youngest. But Alexandra's were unique in his experience. The young woman's tits were fully developed, mature, but instead of pears, or even cones, Alexandra's proud breasts had a slight up-curve, the same teasing lilt as her nose. While large enough to fill his hands, there was no overlap on her ribs. So the nipples weren't just exposed, but lifted up, arrogantly presented. And what nipples! They were broad, the size of the largest coins of the realm, and a demure coral-pink color. Vasil couldn't stop staring at them, for rare as her breasts' shape was, those of her nipples was even more rare still. The aureoles protruded out and away from the turrets offering them, like mushroom caps, as if with a desire of their own to draw the eye. They stood up high as if demanding attention. Ripe. Insistent. Like nothing he had seen and he felt his penis rise to a hardness between his legs beyond anything he had felt before. Vasil rose from his throne and walked up to her where she stood. She tried to twist her body away, but Havel simply grabbed the ends of the board and turned her back. There would be no such easy escape for her.
Hricko lifted his hands to Alexandra's breasts. For the briefest moment, his hands trembled above them—wanting, yet almost timid to actually touch them, again like that inexperienced fourteen-year old boy. Then his desire overwhelmed the unexpected reluctance and his hands finally grasped them. Unconsciously, he groaned exultantly at the silky feel. He fondled Alexandra's proffered globes then, caressing them almost as a lover would. Despite their imperious lilt, they still possessed the exquisite softness he had come to love. And again there were those nipples! His fingers found them. Soft, yet elastic. Tender, yet resilient. Demure, yet proud. Vasil lightly rubbed his thumbs back and forth across the tips, teasing the points into erection. While unique, nipples like hers even more rarely rose to appreciable peaks, the stiff buds he so loved. For him there was nothing like a girl presenting her erect teats as a target for the whip. Still, Alexandra's nips seemed reluctant to reveal themselves to their full potential, even with the work of his fingers. Well, he knew how to address that, but he had also learned patience, a lesson from the old executioner, Bojek. "Be savage when savagery was called for to make the wench provide information or just suffer under a deadline, but do not hurry when the wench has nothing to offer but your pleasure from her body. In that situation, my Liege, taking your time will pay dividends of delight you can't imagine. Forgive me, Lord, but you are young and virile. I envy you that. Yet the crown pays me for my experience, and I would be remiss if I did not pass on that experience. Being a Royal Torturer is all I would ever want to be. I have enjoyed sexual pleasures beyond that of any boyar—even that of most royalty. By your leave, I would teach your Highness in the sublime delights to be had by one of your youth with my experience. If I offend with my forwardness, I humbly apologize. My Lord may execute me for my affrontery. Yet I saw something—unique--when Bojek and I tortured the wretch Prohaska to death. You, if I may say, were inspired. And having the vitality to fuck her four times! Truly the power of a king!" It had only been a year since Bojek had said that to him, but the young man had learned the truth of that advice. Well, patience or no, it was time to start the play.
"Bojek, I shall no longer need you. Havel, go and bring me a chest belt," Vasil commanded the younger executioner. He lifted the mounds, testing their heft. "Number two, I think. But before that, I believe I shall entertain the bitch's back." Vasil moved behind the girl. He examined Alexandra's upper torso. Her shoulders were slightly broader than one would expect for her size—a consequence of her athletic equestrienne hobby—although the rest of her back was slender, a quality that served to make her breasts seem larger. Her sides tapered down into to a narrow waist before flaring above hips just now grown large enough for child-bearing. Slim, the knobs of her spine were clearly visible and on either side of the small of her back the man could see the delicate sacral dimples straddling them. Just beneath the hips sat the tight round globes of her buttocks, small like a boy's, but still feminine and clenching in fear to her captive dance. He nodded and Havel handed him a slim whip. Alexandra's shoulders twisted the board, so she could look backward toward him in some vain attempt to anticipate what was to come. She saw the man holding the fearsome thong, saw its tail twitching in preparation. Then he twisted his shoulders and the leather leapt from the floor to bite across the broadest curves of her bottom with a sharp Crack! "Ahhhhhh!" she gasped. She had determined to maintain her pride, to endure whatever degradation this boy—she still couldn't accept him as a man grown—inflicted on her with dignity, but the sudden pain of the whip caught her by surprise.
Vasil smiled at the reaction. He waited a moment, watching as the weal bisecting her tensing ass cheeks rose up and turned bright red. He dropped the lash again and then twisted his shoulders to sweep the braided leather snake a bit lower to seek the tender flesh where her upper thighs met the rounded globes. Alexandra managed—just—to keep a cry of pain within, but oh! it stung.
For the next fifteen minutes, Vasil attacked the nude girl's back with the whip. He varied the strikes, crossing her shoulder blades up high and down low to the backs of her thighs just above the knees. He sent four rapid strokes to her lower back, with a bit of additional reach to ensure that the pointed tip could bite into her tapered sides. Still she managed to hold her cries in check, but couldn't keep her legs and bare feet from a mincing dance of pain that Vasil found uniquely exciting. He had to reach down into his silk trousers to rearrange the seating of his erection, harder than he could remember it ever being. As he removed his hand, he was surprised to see the gleam of fluid on his hand, clear evidence of his extreme arousal. He stopped a moment, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. Remember Bojek's advice, he told himself, don't rush. This is only the bitch's back. Save your excitement for her front. The next few lashes were delivered with measured deliberation. He focused on his technique and accuracy with the whip, adding a slight wrist snap to send the tip up between her left thigh to bite the oh so sensitive inner curve just beneath her slit. This drew another involuntary gasp from the naked girl, even if not the scream he desired. Still, even if silent, Alexandra could not help writhing from the bitter pain of the beating and a fine sheen of perspiration made her nude body gleam. He experimented with trying to get the point to burst directly into one of the dimples above her now well-striped buttocks. Once more he pulled his arm back when he heard Havel reenter the room. He gave the girl one last cut across her shoulders then dropped his arm. Just as well, he thought. Already the whole front of his pants was wet, testament to his intense sexual excitement and it wouldn't do to waste his first orgasm while still fully dressed.
The girl took advantage of the break in her torment to regain her breath, her chest heaving as she sucked in air. The king turned to his executioner and saw that he was holding the device he requested. He gestured with his head toward the low table. Havel went to her and opened the board holding her head and hands captive. Her wrists were abraded and raw from her efforts to free them and protect her nude body from the lash. She sagged down to her knees, but wasn't allowed to rest. More shocked than weakened from her ordeal, Alexandra put up little fight when the powerful young man lifted her from the floor. It was a short walk to the waiting bench where he unceremoniously dumped her face up on its unyielding surface. She gasped as her throbbing back came in contact with the hard oak bed, stained from the blood of previous victims. Havel immediately began to lock her wrists and ankles into the waiting cuffs. Hricko had changed the basic device, originally just a horizontal table, to enhance the original simple purpose of offering the front of a nude young woman to the torment. Instead of just holding the woman's arms secure above her head, this one pulled her arms above and then down to iron rings beneath the bench. Vasil wasn't content with that alteration. No, he had also changed the lower binding to a pair of angled legs, almost 90 degrees apart. The refinements didn't end there either, of course—Vasil was a perfectionist—so now instead of just locking the sufferer's ankles to a pair of holes, this new bench pulled her limbs over the frame's legs at the knees and then down before being tied beneath. Finally he had also shortened the bed so there was nothing supporting the buttocks. Small changes, but the combined effect was profound. By tying the arms this way, the woman's back was forced to arch, raising her chest upward. Down below, the leg binding rotated her knees out with the desired effect of lifting her hips. Small additional ridges were placed under the shoulders and lower back which further raised her chest and hips. All in all, the combined effect of his alterations was to best present a female's breasts and genitals for torture and rape. She was secured tightly enough that every fearful breath lifting her chest showed her rib cage in taut relief and drew her stomach beneath into a concave depression before rising again to the rounded bulge of her abdomen and pubic mound, but just loosely enough that her body could still squirm on the table the way he loved. The bench could also be angled, of course, usually to better maintain the shape of the breasts, but the king was right that it need not in Alexandra's case since the young woman's breasts stuck up and out with no need for artificial enhancement, yet he still had Havel tilt the top up a bit so Alexandra's sex was available at the optimal height and angle for him to fuck.
Once secured, Vasil could not help staring at her nude body, totally offered to his sadistic ministrations. Usually he would have his victim's pubic hair removed before the torture, denying her even that pitiful protection. Sometimes slowly plucked with pliers or even burned away with a flaming torch, but not this time. Vaenko's dainty bush was small, an exquisitely feminine patch of fine auburn hairs that enhanced rather than obscured her delicate pudenda.
At the sight of her splayed and helpless form, the young man could no longer ignore the straining rod between his legs, demanding its release to better enjoy the delights soon to come. He opened his belt and let his red silk trousers fall with a groan of ecstasy, kicking them aside. Now he was naked below the waist, his engorged penis sticking up and out proudly from his crotch. He saw Alexandra's emerald green eyes grow wide when she saw it reaching toward her. "Ah, you see this, do you? He's very happy to see you, as you can tell." Even as he was speaking, she saw the shaft twitching up as if with a mind of its own.
Hricko walked down and around the bench's legs, moving in close between the girl's spread thighs. Looking down her body, she could just see the swollen head above her loins. Even worse, a moment later she felt the taut underside of his sex touch her labia and slowly slide up against the lips. She groaned in shame. But Vasil was just starting. He leaned forward and began to play with the girl's body. He started up at her shoulders and leisurely trailed his fingertips lower, caressing the hollows beneath her arms, and continuing down the concave sides. His hands rose again, this time finding her upthrust bare breasts, his dominant interest, but he had learned that restraint was the key to the greatest pleasure. Vasil cupped them, caressed them as a lover would. Alexandra could only sob at the humiliation. The mans fingers went to the pert nipples, rubbing the coral-pink aureoles and then pinching the tips into even more prominent erection. Once they were really sticking up, he used his thumbs to lightly brush the points back and forth, drawing more weeping moans from the girl. And all the while, Vasil was rubbing the sensitive underside of his rigid cock against her gaping labia, an exquisite frottage. He secretly congratulated himself on not having her pubic hair removed; every gliding thrust made those private curls tease the nerves of his shaft beyond what the flesh of her lips alone could do. Getting rid of his father, King Krajnik, which made this play possible, was the best thing he had ever done.
Only Bojek and Havel knew the truth, of course, of just how Prince Vasil Hricko became King Vasil Hricko. They had taken another simple maidservant, one Sefina, and brought her to the deep torture chamber. There she had been made to watch as some nameless wench was being tortured. Her breasts had been encircled with leather cords that were then tied to the low ceiling, raising her to her tiptoes. Then they had slid a spiked plate under her feet, just raised enough to ease the ghastly constriction of her fleshy tits. They waited a bit, then shoved a shallow pan of glowing coals beneath the plate. In minutes the pointed platform grew hot enough to start roasting her feet. The only way to avoid that acute pain was to lift them, but that, of course, just increased the strain on her tightly bound breasts. The two men laughed as Sefina tried to ease one pain only to be assailed by another. She tried alternating feet, but there was no possible evasion. When one set of leg muscles—or the pain on that foot—failed, the other was soon to follow. Her only escape from having her feet roasted was to lift her legs and allow all of her weight to torment her tightly bound breasts. Listening to the miserable tortured girl's screams had so terrified her that she did as ordered and poured a few drops from a vial into Krajnik's evening tea. The next day, just after the unfortunate Marja Sosenko had been flogged before the Privy Council, the old king was discovered dead in his bed.
Sefina had panicked when the palace guards—tipped by Vasil—had arrested her. She had tried to explain, but the stolid guards just dragged her to a cell. There was no trial, the vial was found, her guilt was obvious. The very next day the young woman was presented before the Council, blindfolded, only to hear the announcement of her sentence. There were suspicions, of course, but the wench was illiterate, so couldn't write (even if she still had eyes) and couldn't speak as her tongue had already been cut from her mouth. Vasil was effusive in his professed love for his father, and dire call for vengeance on the poisoner. And so the terrified Sefina was consigned to the torture chamber for her protracted death. The sentence of striking a royal was death by torture, to last a week. The punishment for regicide was even more severe: Still torture, but that the criminal be tormented for as long as the Royal Executioners could prolong the pain. Seven days, fourteen, forty; nothing but agony for as long as the criminal's body and life could be prolonged to suffer.
Sefina became a living instructional aid old Bojek used in teaching the new king the varieties and refinements of female torture. And he proved a most willing pupil. So while both executioners knew the truth of Prince Vasil Hricko's ascension to the high throne, they also knew the price of opening their mouths and violating that trust. For better or worse, the young man they had introduced to the sublime pleasures of the torture chamber was the king. Their very lives were by his leave. However, played properly, their relationship with him could pay unimagined dividends. So both executioners resolved to keep their mouths shut and their opportunities open.
It was with Sefina that Bojek had taught the vicious young man the unique vulnerabilities of the female body. One full day had been spent while the old executioner showed him the specific parts of their sex, and how best to agonize them. "See here, Majesty," he had said, using a calloused hand to spread the fleshy labia, "this tiny berry up at the top? Believe it or not, but this small bud can bring more pain to a woman than any other part of her. Sultan Suleiman's Chief Executioner, Asadulla al-Uzza, called it a 'clitoris', but we just call it 'the little bald man in the boat.' See how there is a small hood of skin to protect it? You would almost think it knew, way back when it was first growing, that there were men like me—and you, of course, my Liege—waiting and eager to give it the hideous recognition it deserves. On a man, the entire cock and sack—and the walnuts within, of course—properly treated can be excruciating. But for a woman, abusing this small gleaming pea is worse, much worse. The Sultan's chief executioner himself taught me this, and so I pass on the wisdom of a master of his craft. I regret we were ordered to use his own methods to kill him—he was a genius and may have taught me and Havel some grisly Moorish tricks, but our lives depend on following orders from our betters and so we executed him. Slowly and wailing shamefully, I might add. Ain't no man who fears the torture more than one who has spent a lifetime inflicting it. So I advise Your Majesty, forgive my impertinence, that if you want to cause a female criminal extreme suffering, you respect this apparently insignificant bud. It is fragile, but filled with nerves, and so should be used, often, but not wasted in the passion of the moment."
The newly crowned king was a regular visitor to the lurid chamber after that. First, he had participated in the grueling execution of the poisoning maid, Sefina. Even with her tongue removed she could still scream at the ghastly torture inflicted on her; even with her eyes put out, she could still feel the torments inflicted on her body. She had been young and strong and so lasted 51 days of ceaseless pain before finally expiring, but every one of them was used to further educate the young man in the excruciating intricacies of inflicting agony on a female. And, always, the intense sexual pleasure to be derived from it.
It was time now for one of the pre-torture preparations he especially enjoyed. Havel, knowing the young man well, was ready. He brought over a bowl of melted lard. Vasil dipped his hands into it and then applied the soft grease to Alexandra's nude front. The difference in feel between Alexandra's perspiring skin and that now lubricious tissue was profound. The girl's naturally resilient flesh slid beneath his fingertips. Every time he squeezed, it would resist, but only for a moment, before rising up between his grasping digits. The haughty young boyar cursed him for his coarse familiarity with her, calling him a coward, a rake, a boor who needed to arrest a woman to get one. All she got in response was a short laugh as he continued with the delightful preparation.
Hricko returned often to the bowl Havel held. Up and down, he slathered the molten lard on her body. He rubbed it over the tensing muscles of her upper thighs and further up to coat her yawning labia, spreading the soft lips with one hand so he could expose the dainty button of her clit for the other. He spent the majority of his attention on the girl's breasts, squeezing and kneading the perky globes. He also took a moment to lubricate his cock. He almost came at just that, his own touch after the lascivious stimulation of sliding the rod up and back against Alexandra's labia and the thrill of greasing her nude body, but with much practice he had learned to repress his orgasm until he was ready. It took almost ten minutes of the erotic massage before Vasil was satisfied. He stared down at her. Alexandra's nude body, spread and stretched for torture, was by far the most sensuous and tantalizing he had ever seen. Now well oiled, her every feminine curve gleamed in the light from the windows, accentuating them, enhancing them. Vasil couldn't keep his hands from caressing it again.
"You should be thanking me, you know, and not cursing me. This lard will protect your skin from the hot irons—otherwise they would burn and char this most delicate flesh. And then there is the gift I shall soon bestow upon you. This may be the last time your body feels pleasure, so you should appreciate it. Few young women can have their king stoop to grant them his royal cock to make a girl into a woman—unless you are a lying slattern, eh?"
"Oh, Highness," She begged. "I am still virgin. Never have I even seen a manly probe! Only heard of them from my old governess! When I saw yours, it was the first time. My parents were arranging a marriage to boyar Dragomir Ceausescu, but I am still virgin to any man. Please, I beg you, this is wrong! I deserve the respect of my position! I am no peasant wench!"
"Deserve? Deserve?! You deserve nothing except pain. You humiliated me before my family and all the boyars. This is what you so richly deserve."
Even with all of his experience, Hricko could no longer ignore the intensity of his carnal excitement. He remembered another lesson he had learned during the most influential event of his adult life, the torturous death of the maid, Paraska: That one early orgasm prolonged and enhanced the second. That the second prolonged and enhanced the third; and that one greatly prolonged and enhanced the fourth. The young king remembered that occasion with some embarrassment, how he had spent his first seed on Paraska's belly, and despite his acute sexual arousal resolved that he would not let that happen with this far more stimulating girl. Both were ready enough, their genitals well lubricated. Again came old Bojek's advice: "Lord, fuck 'em as often as you can. possible. Please your Royal shaft as many times as possible. Make use of every opportunity. Noble you are and so noble are your manly desires. As king there will always be wenches available to you. Take them as and when you will. The only fuck regretted is the fuck not taken."
Well, this one I'm taking, and now. Vasil lowered one hand to position his rigid penis at the entrance of Alexandra's cleft. He rubbed the turgid glans between the slippery lips a moment then violently stabbed his throbbing penis in to its full length, hard and deep. "AAAAHHHHHHH!" She wailed at the sudden intimate penetration.
Hricko, once embedded, slowed his rape. Patiently and leisurely, he moved his hips to fuck the maid, drawing back until the swollen head just barely parted her sex lips, then ramming forward with his hips to bury the shaft to the balls into her vagina. It didn't take long, sooner than he intended in fact, before the sensations brought him to climax and he spurted inside her with a loud groan of pleasure. He was clenching her oiled tits as he did, a most pleasing addition. He withdrew, grinning, but he wasn't finished with her, not yet, not nearly this soon. This orgasm, while exhilarating, was merely to take the edge off. Now it was time to begin the serious work. At a nod, Havel went to the naked young woman with the belt.
Vasil moved to Alexandra's side to watch. The fiendish device was simple, just a flat strip of leather with two holes cut from it. At his command, Havel laid it on Alexandra's chest. He attached one end to the bench at her far side to a clip specially made for it, then carefully positioned it over the middle of her breasts. The holes had been designed to capture just the victim's nipples. Havel slipped the near end through a separate metal loophole then pulled on it. As it was drawn tighter to the near side, it constricted the paps and forced them upward. Vasil himself aided in the final placement, pinching and tugging on the teats to pull them up through the holes and center them. They were slippery from the grease, but the extra effort required was hardly an unpleasant task. Havel gave a final yank and then anchored the belt. Now Alexandra's pert tits were pressed flat except for the rosy nipples, which bulged up and out away from the dark leather belt.
Vasil stood over Alexandra. He reached down with one hand to fondle and tease the distended paps. "I had these chest belts made to better present my victim's nipples to me, four different variations so I would have the right one regardless what kind of tits they had. Oh, a woman's breasts are responsive enough, but it is the nipples that truly react the way I like." He continued to pet them with his fingertips, relishing their elasticity. "I find it amusing that belts like these were designed to make a girl's nips protrude the way yours do naturally. Most don't without this preparation. So this is an experiment, one I am happy to investigate, to see just how much more it will make them bulge out. I wish you could see them as I do. Bloated, almost like plums, offering themselves to me." He now went with both hands, resting his palms on the leather so his fingers could pinch the teats, forcing blood to engorge the sensitive tips even more. "As much as greasing your body was pleasing for me, that wasn't the only reason I did it. You see, I like to burn my wenches. The irons are excruciating, but using them on such delicate flesh makes it all too easy ruin it for further play if too enthusiastically employed." He actually giggled, the boyish innocence of it even more horrifying to Alexandra. "And I must confess that I can sometimes get overly enthusiastic." Then he placed one oily hand on her forehead and leaned over her face. "But not today. No, today I shall restrain myself. That is why I took the time to fuck you before the strenuous play." He straightened up and returned to the languid caressing of Alexandra's form. "I am going to torture you now, bitch", he said, "First on these pretty nipples, then the entire front of your body. I am going to burn you with hot iron and beat you with whips You will scream, oh yes, you will scream. They all do. But that won't stop me, only encourage me to even greater torments. No, the only way you might spare yourself from even worse pain is if you beg my forgiveness for your action four years ago, beg and say that you were wrong, that you should have taken me to your bed, spread your legs, and thanked me for the honor of my cock inside you. Or," he smiled lewdly, "or ask me for permission to take it into your cute little mouth, to lick it, to suck on it until I am satisfied. Perhaps, perhaps that will spare you some pain, eh?"
NO!" the still proud young woman yelled, lifting her head from the bench to confront the grinning man. Even after her recent rape, she still had the contemptuous pride of her previous noble life. "No, NEVER! You were a loathsome child then and you are a loathsome man now! I won't give you that satisfaction." She lifted her head a bit further and suddenly, unexpectedly, spat into his face. "I curse you, and all your vile line. I call you for a coward, a false king, nothing but a boy in a man's body! Never shall I accept you willingly into my body!"
"As you will, my beauty, as you will," he responded, wiping the spittle from his cheeks. "Frankly, I had hoped you would be stubborn. But I shall be gracious. Your pain will end when you ask me to take you as a husband would. But for now, for now those bloated nipples of yours simply demand my best attention. A woman's paps always deserve torture, but never have I had ones as lovely and arrogant as yours to play with."
Vasil stepped back beside her and accepted a short, thick strap from Havel. He stared down at her nipples, bulging and—it seemed to him—insisting on the lash. SMACKKT! He swept a harsh vertical stroke straight down to flatten both of Alexandra's poised nipples. "AHHHHHHHHH!" she wailed. She had been determined to refuse the king the slightest gratification from her screams, but the sudden pain in her chest was shocking and could not be denied.
Delighted by this reaction, Hricko swept the short leather strap down and down again to punish Alexandra's nipples. The belt across her chest served two purposes: first to force the swollen aureoles up and out for the torture and, second, to shield the flesh around them from the punishing leather and so focus the agony of the strap on them and them alone. SMACKKKKT!
Fighting the pain, the captive redhead fought to maintain her control, although she couldn't fully stop panting in reaction. It felt as if her entire existence was, in each instant of impact, focused in her nipples. SMACKKT! SMACKKKT! Again and again, Vasil brought the short, flat leather down to pound Alexandra's distended areolas. Sometimes he would strike one or the other individually to further concentrate the horrific breast pain, but the majority punished both tips. She gasped to every stroke, but still denied him the maddened screams he wanted. The writhing he enjoyed was also lessened because of the leather belt's tight chest stricture, certainly not her fault, but that still didn't ease his anger over even this minor frustration. Again and again and again, Vasil used the strength of his arm to sweep the strap down to scourge Alexandra's captive nipples.
Finally, after twenty fiendish strokes, he stopped. The girl's breast tips, once a delicate rose-pink, were now bloated half again as large and a florid plum red color. The combined effects of the constriction and strapping had so engorged them with blood that the very peaks stood even more rigidly up and out, far in excess of what was usual for her kind of mushroom-cap nipples. Vasil reached over and used one finger to flick the hard teats, back and forth, going from one breast to the other. Alexandra turned her head side to side in pain and shame at this almost affectionately teasing play. He could easily have continued beating her paps with the belt, with pleasure, but had something very different in mind now, something truly fiendish. A gesture to Havel brought the lard bowl back and he liberally coated the bulging caps with it. He wiped his greasy hands on his shirt. "A hot iron now, Havel," he ordered.
The muscular executioner returned from the nearest dish of coals with one of the dread implements, a round two-foot long rod. The final six inches glowed yellow with intense heat. It was mounted on a wood handle to protect the wielder's hand. Accepting it, Vasil swung the fiendish tool in a rapid circle to send bright ashes flying—a sight not lost on the supine and helpless girl—to clean it for the task to come. Then, with no further delay, he lifted the shimmering iron and slid it up and back quickly across the girl's swollen right breast cap. For a moment the room heard only a sputtering hiss, then the redhead's throat exploded in a shriek of agony, any resolve to retain her pride shattered in the face of the ferocious pain afflicting her nipple. Vasil didn't wait. "Bring me another," he barked, "a fresh one!" A moment more and there was another ghastly sizzle of burning flesh and the scream of a young woman suffering hideous sexual torment.
The king handed the cooled rod back to his executioner. Vasil lifted his hands to the captured paps, sliding his fingertips over them. They radiated fierce heat and he could feel several tiny blisters rising up on the surface even as his fingertips caressed them. One small hard bleb, he noted with delight, grew out on the very side of the left's distended teat. Alexandra whimpered in pain when he brushed it. He smiled. Down between his legs, he could feel his exposed penis rising again to full hard erection from the thrill of this new sadistic play. The heavy coating of lard ensured that the glowing metal rod didn't char the skin and so kill the nerves for further abuse, but did nothing to prevent the more painful second degree burns. These new blisters, he knew, would only serve to agonize her even more when he applied the whip to them. And that was the next part of her ordeal. Time now to remove the chest band. As always, it had served its malevolent purpose, but now it needed to go.
Vasil himself unfastened the near end of the band. He pulled it up, but her nipples had swollen so much from their brutal abuse that they resisted coming out of the holes, drilled deliberately smaller than the areolas. Havel released the far end and lifted the strap at both sides. The bound girl's chest actually lifted slightly above the bench before the engorged nipples popped free and she dropped back down on the ridge beneath her shoulder blades. A couple of the burn blisters on the aureoles cracked open from their reluctant escape. "Aaahhhhhhh! Oh, god, god! Oh, my chest! It hurts, it hurts so!" she she wailed. "I don't deserve this! Please, PLEASE, no more, no more!"
Hricko just laughed. "Even if you had not humiliated me years ago, your lovely body alone would deserve my continued play. What you have felt so far is nothing, NOTHING, you hear me! Merely preparation for the even better sport to come." He looked over at the executioner. "Bring that pot of coals over beside the bitch, then leave us, Havel, I will no longer require you." The executioner dragged the shimmering crock close to Alexandra's head on the far side, close enough that she could just feel its intense heat on her face, then bowed and left the room.
Vasil's gaze went back to the nude young woman bound and helpless on the wood bench. "There, now we're alone," he said. His hands returned to her body, wandering up and down its sensuous length. He teased her near side down to the hip after tickling the graceful armpit, chuckling at the sounds of embarrassment she made. Next his fingertips glided up her inner thighs from knee to groin. Once at the apex, he lightly caressed the slippery elastic lips, then slyly slipped a finger inside her vagina, drawing even louder groans of humiliation. The earlier rape had been degrading, yet that was a quick act of lust; this casual, even playful violation of her body was vile beyond tolerance. Finally he stopped the intimate sexual violation. He was excited enough to take her again, right now, but he had more foreplay in mind first, and the way she was laid out presented her ripe for it.
Choosing a short whip from a nearby rack, he went back to her side. He held it up before her terrified emerald eyes. "I'm going to beat you now, you arrogant bitch." He held it with thong against the handle and used it to slide back and forth over her naked form. He was amused to see goosebumps rise up on her oiled skin at the feather-light touch. He decided to add to her terror a bit before he started the beating. "I have had many conversations with my executioners, you know, about the best way to agonize a woman. Not just the various methods, but the philosophy. The peasant girls they bring me couldn't understand, but you are nobility, educated. Specifically, we discussed whether it's more effective to start a flogging on the less sensitive places so she can better appreciate how much it will hurt when her private parts feel the lash, or better to begin with them when she is fresh and strong and so can fully appreciate the agony . . ." Alexandra shut her eyes in horror at the dispassionate way the man was commenting on her imminent misery. He reached over and slapped her face, jolting her back. "Pay attention, bitch! Show some interest. This concerns you, after all. Ah, that's better. Now where was I? Oh, yes. Or better to begin with her sex organs so she can experience the pain with her fullest vitality and awareness. It comes down to purpose, you see. Interrogation where time may be a factor, or punishment," he chuckled, "or amusement, of course. I, I am happy to say, have all the time I want. There is nothing I need immediately from you except your suffering. No, the only thing I want from you is to ask me to fuck you. That first time doesn't count since you had no say. This time I want to hear you beg me to take you. Beg me to mount you like a stallion horse." He turned her head toward him and pointed down at his erection. "As you can see, I am already prepared, even eager." She opened her mouth to plead for mercy, but he stopped her with a finger over her lips before she could speak. "No. Not yet. I want you to have time to fully consider your answer. I could gag you until I think you are ready to do that, but I confess that I enjoy hearing the screams of a young woman being tortured. Their pathetic bleats of agony only make me harder." He moved the quirt down between her legs and brushed it against the trembling inner thighs. "Here, I think. Yes, I think I'll start here."
With no further delay, Vasil took a step back and raised his arm to bring the short whip down with a sharp crack to burst upon Alexandra's trembling right thigh a hand's-span above the knee. A second followed as quickly as he could deliver it, closer to the notch. "Aahhhh! AAHHHHHH!" she cried. Her thighs, especially the soft inner curves, were extremely sensitive and the cuts from the whip hurt atrociously.
Hricko sent three more to it, then addressed the left thigh with as many to it. Then he moved the strokes upward. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, each scoured her writhing nude body from the top of the pubic bulge to the base of her heaving rib cage, crossing her abdomen, midriff, and belly on its way up. He debated whether he should go, now, to her tits—he wanted to—but decided to wait, just a bit, before indulging his immediate lust. Back to the writhing young woman's thighs and middle torso. Each and every slash exploded on her flesh with a sharp Crack!, the sound made more crisp by the grease that coated her skin. Then there was a pause in the rapid beating and he again moved closer, looking down into her lovely face. "I told you, before I started your torture, that you should appreciate my more tender attentions, that it would be the last time your body felt pleasure. Well, perhaps it was the last time for your body, but it certainly wasn't the last time for mine. I shall experience many delights with you before I tire of hurting you." He leaned closer, so he could whisper into her dainty ear. "I'll tell you a secret, you haughty bitch. Whether or not you ask me to fuck you again, I shall do it—and soon. Never have I enjoyed having a young woman in my 'special room' as much as I have you. While you might spare yourself even worse should you beg to suck me, you will be fucked, and not in a way you will like. That last time was mutually enjoyable, or may have been, but for your arrogance. This time it won't. No, this time it shall be for my enjoyment and mine only. I need hardly tell you that your pain shall only add to my gratification. Your screams will only enhance my delight. Well, after today that pretty notch of yours will never again feel any joy, or even any moment free of pain. Every time I choose to penetrate it, it will hurt. Every time. Every fucking time!"
Vasil stepped away and then moved back beside her head on the right side. He lifted his arm and then suddenly brought the bitter thong down so the pointed tip could dart into the divide between the girl's legs and bite into the soft labia.
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" she screeched at this sudden, searing genital pain. She had played with her sex on occasion, as every young woman had, exploring the unexpected delight of doing so, but had never, ever thought that the subtle pleasure those dainty lips gave her could also cause her such hideous pain. HissSwackk. HisssSwickkt. HissssSwikkt. Again and again Vasil brought the quirt down to strike the spongy flesh of her sex. Every stroke added to the sharp pangs of the one before until it felt as though her loins were afire. Her fine auburn pubic hairs were no protection against the vicious leather snake seeking her most intimate flesh. Every lash was a fresh assault to her ever more aggravated sex lips. Hricko would occasionally (well taught by his mentor, Bojek) snap his wrist so the bitter tip would burst only against that most intimate skin, but most of the cuts were delivered flat so the final few inches also scoured her upper thighs. After a dozen of the strokes, there were almost that many scarlet lines over her right hip pointing toward the notch. Then he moved around her head to the other side. He had to take some special care now with the quirt as the basin of glowing coals was still positioned so closely beside her. But he had learned, oh yes, the young man had learned. "HissSwickt! HissSwickkkt! Again and again, the braided leather bit deep into the gap between Alexandra's legs, now from her left so the leather could kiss her nether lips from that side. At each, her slim hips jerked up from the bench in reaction to the pain afflicting her genitals.
After fifteen more slashes between the girl's legs from the left, Vasil stepped back. Both needed a break, both breathing heavily. The wench from her agony and the man from his sadistic arousal. He stepped back, gasping. Enduring any torture was hard work, especially sexual torture, so, despite the cool air, Alexandra's naked body was sweating profusely. Coated as it was with the lard, countless droplets of moisture had burst up, separate and gleaming, from her skin above the grease. Vasil reached out to tease one shiny droplet near her neck with a finger and draw it down her chest, collecting others over the slope of her breast and down over the lower bulge. Even as the smaller beads gathered into a large drop under his fingertip, he felt his penis twitching up rapidly. Damn, but torturing this bitch was exciting.
For once, he decided to go against Bojek's advice and not fuck her immediately. No, old man, you may need to fuck as best you can and when you can, but I am young and I can enjoy this sublime foreplay to its fullest before I take her again. It feels good having my cock exposed while I hurt this succulent girl. Not quite as intense as the actual fucking, true, but with a lesser sweetness quite its own—and one not to be quickly squandered, but relished. Bojek was wrong in this, he thought, there is a special gratification to be had from the prolonged denial of orgasm, while maintaining its imminent availability. Now I shall whip those proud breasts of hers. I have been putting it off. Waiting. Relishing, but now it is time. Even as the thought filled his mind, he felt his sex jerk up in happy anticipation. Yes, oh yes.
Hricko went back to the girl's right side. He could continue hurting her from the left, of course, but avoiding the basin of coals was more effort than he felt like making at the moment, and there was no good reason to exert himself beyond his immediate desires. He reached down and grabbed a handful of rusty hair, lifting her face toward his. "I have been patient, Vaenko," he snarled. Then his visage softened into a cruel smile and again he used the folded whip to caress her, gliding over her stomach until it found the rising bulges of her breasts, lifting and caressing them. "There is nothing like whipping a pretty young wench's tits," he purred. "Nothing like it. Those nipples of yours, now." He brushed the caps with the whip, drawing gasps of pain. "Yes, they already hurt terribly, don't they? The hot steel really hurts, doesn't it? And those hard little blisters? Agonizing, aren't they? Now I am going to beat them. And I can promise you that this new pain will be beyond your imagining." This time he used the whip to flick just the erect teats. "Yes, I think I can promise you that. But you appear less interested, less in-the-moment than I would like, certainly not when I am ready for the best part of your ordeal." He removed a small ampoule from a shirt pocket and lifted over Alexandra's contorted face so she could see it better. "A marvelous elixir," he said, "spirits of hartshorn." He pulled the cork from the vial's small mouth. "This will wake you up." He lowered the bottle until it was just beneath the girl's nose. Already gasping from the torment, she couldn't stop from inhaling the ammoniacal fumes. Her nostrils flared and her heart rate surged to almost double its previous rate. Her chest heaved. Every already over-excited nerve ending seemed to explode into new, reinvigorated, enhanced awareness. "Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah! she gasped.
Introduced to the extraordinary way the acrid fluid accentuated a body's excitement, Vasil then passed the vial quickly a couple of times beneath his own nose, immediately feeling a heightened arousal. His already twitching penis seemed to grow even harder, more stimulated, more erotically sensitive. Its very existence nothing but a physical manifestation of sexual ecstasy throbbing between his legs, driving him to even greater cruelty, even greater savagery, compelled now by nothing more than the exquisite sensations in his groin.
His sensual awareness still thrilling to the effect of the stimulating chemical, he stepped back to position himself to the best distance for the quirt. Alexandra looked to him and saw his dark glazed eyes turn hard as they focused on her nude body. Then his shoulders swept forward and the whip darted down to strike the heaving upper slopes of her breasts. "AAHHHH! HEEEEEEEEAAHHH!," she screamed. It felt as if her bare breasts were being burned by liquid fire. Now committed to this final play, the man's arm rose and fell with regularity, every swing bringing the braided leather lash down to caress the girl's upthrust bosom.
Alexandra screamed to each blow. There was no longer a battle between whip and will. As always, the whip triumphed, especially when the only will was from a young girl's exposed and vulnerable tits. Alexandra's head tossed side to side as the whip flew down again and again to punish her upper chest. Soon he altered his aim to start punishing the tender under curves, if anything more sensitive than the tops, and the shrieks became even louder and more strident. Most of the time her eyes were closed against the hellish agony, but sometimes when they opened she could see the large shaft of his rigid penis bouncing and wobbling from the motion of swinging the lash. Even now, after everything she had endured, her mind still couldn't conceive how a man could take such obvious sexual delight in the infliction of savage torture on a woman. Even her earlier rape she saw as more the young man's lust than anything else. But no longer. Now she understood that her pain, specifically the pain afflicting her female parts, was all he needed to stimulate him, to drive his passion.
In the few years that he had been indulging his nascent sadism, Vasil had become adept with the whip. Not as skilled, true, with the long bullwhips as his executioners used to publicly beat their criminals to death, but—he thought—something of an artist with the shorter and thinner dog whips and quirts. Ten she had taken on her smooth upper slopes, and a dozen more, slightly horizontal to carve the bottoms. Each announced by a squeal of pain from the squirming naked girl. Even though Alexandra's breasts were not as large as many of the girls he'd had under the whip, they still quivered and shook delightfully to every lash across them. Now he changed his attack again with short, biting vertical strokes aimed directly across her swollen nipples. The very first burst one of the blisters left from the iron on the bottom of her left areola. Alexandra wailed in pain even as bright red blood oozed down the side of the globe. Again and again, the quirt kissed her upthrust nipples so that there was now a steady stream of fluid streaked with blood running over the jiggling mounds from the burst vesicles. Alexandra's naked body squirmed lasciviously on the bench, an erotic horizontal dance that would arouse the dead. For the miserable girl it was an excruciating ordeal. It felt as though her entire chest was afire. She was no longer even capable of making a case for pity. The sounds coming from her throat were no longer recognizable as speech, barely human, in fact. They were little more than the frantic howls of a animal in extreme mindless agony.
Hricko only stopped after forty of his strokes had punished the redhead's heaving breasts, the final twenty dedicated to her seared nipples. He could have continued, of course, but had longer-term plans in mind for her. Even as he beat her, his mind was thinking of future tortures he would inflict in future sessions. As intense as this prolonged ordeal had been, there was no permanent damage done. The bleeding cuts, even the gliding caress of the rods over her nipples, would heal, leaving them available for further play. At fourteen, his young male vanity had been wounded. In the years since, he had obsessed about what he would do to her when he had the power. Now he did. Now he was King. No, the bitch wouldn't get off this easily.
But now there was the insistent rigid shaft between his legs to be addressed and satisfied. Every time he swept the whip down to kiss her bare breasts, he felt it jerk up in delight. The floor around him was decorated with splashes of clear fluid that had flown from its tip in testament to his intense sexual arousal. Used to indulging his sadistic lust, he still couldn't remember a time he had been this excited. In truth, he had stopped the girl's tit whipping as much to draw back from the cliff of his orgasm as any thought to her future ordeals. And he had one final amusement to play with her.
Vasil dropped the bloody quirt and walked around the base of the bench, moving up close between Alexandra's splayed legs. Down at the junction of her thighs, he could see the beaten labia, now bloated and flushed, prominent between the auburn thatch. He licked a finger and used it to rub the nether lips, astonished by the puffy elasticity and intense heat they exuded. Alexandra's head was tossing side to side in pain and shame, eyes closed and weeping. Now the reason for the basin of coals beside the bench became obvious. The man grabbed one of the wood handles, pulling forth a short metal skewer. The final three inches glowed with an unholy yellow heat. He lifted it close and blew his breath on it to scatter a spray of incandescent ashes and make the steel glow more brightly. Quickly, he lowered the rod and touched it to the puffy female flesh of her genitals, rubbing it lightly over them. The hot instrument of torture produced two distinct sizzling sounds, one from the cringing pubic curls and the other, more lubricious, from when it came in contact to the greasy lard that still coated them. He darted in with the point to seek out separate spots from the origin of her perineum to the very top, spreading the lips with one hand so he could apply the ghastly thing to the swollen bud of her clitoris. The shrieks were almost deafening—hard to believe such a once defiant creature would produce them. He replaced the rod into the radiant embers, then stepped back briefly, but only to better place the glans of his rigid penis to the girl's gaping labia. He touched it to them, but jerked back immediately. The lips were so hot from the recent searing that just the contact to his engorged head actually hurt! Then he grinned. If just touching her genital flesh is painful to me, how much more must it be hurting her? He approached again. Knowing what to expect—and why—he positioned the stiff head between them so the corona was just within the lips. He took a few deep breaths, then pushed it an inch deeper into her vagina. It took all of his control not to shoot at just this shallow, intimate penetration. He pushed in a further inch, then reached for another of the waiting red-hot lances and raised it to her sweating nude body.
For the next few minutes, Vasil played with Alexandra's body with the glowing rods, replacing them when the contact no longer sizzled. Now it was a challenge, how long he could indulge his lust, tease it, let it rise, then draw back at the last moment. His cock acted with a desire of its own, thrusting forward and deeper, then drawing back. Meanwhile, he used the red-hot irons to repeatedly touch her torso. He would bury himself into her to the hilt, while sliding the glimmering metal along one of the welts on her belly and abdomen. He traced stripes still rising from the kiss of leather so recently applied. At every subtle touch, Hricko could feel the slippery vaginal muscles embracing his cock ripple, reactively clenching about its embedded length as if milking it, nursing it.
Even with his increasing self-control and earlier climax, Vasil knew he wouldn't last much longer, so like his favorite (well, second favorite he thought) it was time for the end game, the girl's upper torso. The first iron touched Alexandra's chest across her ribs. Now his rape became more consciously deliberate, languidly burying his rigid penis all the way into her vagina and then pulling slowly out until the corona just reached the pouting lips. The very next rod caressed her naked breasts for the first time. It slowly glided up the lower curve of the right mound until the tip reached the nipple. Two carefully aimed touches found taut blisters, making them explode in sizzling eruptions of steam. The screams were piercing, but only added to his pleasure.
Vasil now stayed with the aching breasts. He held onto the bench with his left hand, holding himself steady while the right applied red-hot implements to them, alternating between the left and right. Well trained with the doomed Sefina, he knew that there were other sensitive areas up there besides the actual mammaries. He selected a fresh rod and pressed it into the girl's left armpit, digging into it, then tracing the curve where it rounded into the breast, always rewarded with the sound of crackling, burning flesh. And always the maniacal screams. Used to the smell of singing hair from past burnings, he found that he enjoyed Alexandra's brazen underarm shaving even more. For the next iron, he switched hands to hold onto the bench with the right so the left could delve into the other hollow.
It didn't take long now—it couldn't. His arousal was just too intense. Vasil devoted the final glowing wand to the erect teat of her left nipple. This time he pressed down against it, rupturing the blister that had so intrigued him when it first popped up there. He rubbed the hot metal back and forth into it, reveling in the crackling of burning female flesh. Down below, her inner muscles grasped and gripped, squeezing his embedded cock. This time, he gave himself completely over to the sensations. Vasil groaned, then arched his back and shoved his hips forward to bury his throbbing cock to its maximum penetration. There was the heat, the muscular internal clenching, and the exquisite thrill of torturing this beautiful young woman—all driving him to the precipice, and now over in an erupting cascade, past any restraint or control. "Ah, ah, ah, ah," he exclaimed as the molten surges burst from his scrotum to explode from his cock. Without conscious thought, he dropped the cooling implement. "Ah, AH, AH, AH," every thrust producing a new hot jet of sadistic pleasure from his penis. He leaned forward until his own sweating body covered hers, grunting like a rutting animal to mirror hers of agony.
Finally, the spasms died down. Finally, the fierce stiffness weakened, and the young man withdrew his sex from Alexandra's with an audible "plop!" The girl was gasping, whimpering, sweating and weak from her torture, while the king was gasping, moaning, sweating and weak from his powerful orgasm. He wobbled back to the nearby throne and collapsed into it. A half-full glass of wine still sat on the table beside it, which he grabbed and gulped down. He looked over to the whipping bench. Alexandra's nude body was still writhing on it, consumed by her suffering and the shame of her brutal violation. Vasil gradually regained control, sooner than the girl did. By God!, he thought, that was even better than I had hoped it would be. And the haughty bitch isn't hurt all that much. Surely not enough that I can't play with her again in a couple of weeks. And I still want her to suck my cock, to ask me for that privilege. Now what torture will compel that he wondered? Just the thought of it was enough for him to feel the first fresh stirring in the flesh between his legs. Again going against Bojek's advice, he decided to have the young noblewoman taken away and treated by the physician. I could fuck the bitch again, he knew, but I would have to increase the torture too much for that right now. No, I want her to be fresh and healthy for the next session. Fully conscious and aware. Now, how should I torment her then? Come, man, use your imagination. Ideas immediately sprang to mind, each more exciting than the one before. He felt his sex twitch again as the options crossed his mind. Oh, yes, it's good to be the king. And you, you haughty bitch, will find that having a boyar father who produces grain for the ungrateful peasants means nothing.