JD's bazaar

[doe.1971]

The chains bit into Aloy’s wrists like the jaws of a Sawtooth. Iron, not the alloyed smart-matter the Old Ones favored, but crude, honest iron forged in the fires of Sunfall. The Shadow Carja liked their prisoners to feel the weight of the past.

They had taken her bow at the gates of Sunfall, snapped it in front of her like kindling. Her quiver was emptied, arrows broken one by one while a priest in a golden sun-mask recited the crimes of the “Nora savage.” Then the hood came down, smelling of incense and old blood, and the world went black.

She woke in the back of a prison wagon rattling west, toward the mountains that bled red dust. The other captives—outcasts, foreigners, anyone who had looked too long at the buried secrets under the Citadel—kept their eyes down. Aloy tested the manacles, felt the rivets, counted the guards. Six. All tired. All afraid of what waited in the mines.

The place was called the Pit of Cinders, a scar in the earth where the Shadow Carja dug for the glowing relics they called “Sun’s Tears.” Machines prowled the lower galleries—Corruptors, Scrapper packs, even a tethered Deathbringer half-mad from decades of containment. The priests said the Buried Shadow itself whispered through the metal there. Aloy didn’t care what it whispered. She only cared that the deeper you went, the sloppier the guards became.

They stripped her of armor, affixed the mine slave rings then gave her a pickaxe. Her hair, once braided tight for the hunt, hung matted and dull. They thought that would break her. They were wrong.

Weeks passed—or maybe months; the sun never reached the lower shafts. She learned the rhythms. The clang of the shift horn. The way the overseers drank fermented cactus juice after dusk. The blind spot behind the ore crusher where the watchers couldn’t see. She learned names, too. Jalah, the Oseram foreman who owed the Carja a blood debt. Little Tidemen, a Nora boy taken in a raid, barely twelve. And Hekarro, a towering Tenakth who smiled with too many broken teeth and spoke softly of freedom.

At night, in the slave barracks that stank of sweat and despair, Aloy traced plans in the dust with a stolen nail. A collapsed tunnel here. An old ventilation shaft there. A guard post that changed only four men instead of six when the moon was new.

All she needed now was a distraction.

[doe.1971]

A triumvirate effort, with device design by matto lollo, text by LordLudwig and pixel mashing, petit moi.

“Good morning, Triss. I hope you spent a pleasant night?”

The voice pulled her back from the slumber in which she had fallen, half forgetting the pain a spiked, dick-shaped iron… thing was causing in her vagina. The events of the last day flashed through Triss Merigold’s mind.

Together with Ciri and Yen she had seized an unexpected opportunity and fled the Ofir salt mines in which they had been working as slaves over the last two months, among repeated floggings and rape by the guards. Their plan was sound: running away in separate directions, to reunite at dusk. But fate had decided otherwise. She had stepped on a snake resting under the sand. The bite would have killed her, but she had been found and saved by the mine guards. She heartily wished they hadn’t.

Taken back to the mine, they had immediately brought her to the attention of Al Haqir, the director of the mine and far relative of the reigning Ofir dynasty.

Still sick and nauseous due to the snake venom, she had offered little resistance when made to kneel in front of him.

“Take her to the dungeon and put her on the special questioning chair!” was all he said.

So had been done, and she had spent the night in utter misery. What else would happen now, she wondered? A fierce whipping in front of the other slaves, she guessed, but likely they won’t kill me. Back to the mines, then?

“Now Triss” – Al Haqir went on – “we all know crossing the desert would be suicide. So, your plan was likely to hide in one of the nearby villages and wait for someone to smuggle you on a caravan. That means, someone was ready to help you. So now you are going to tell me two things: who here at the mines told you about people willing to hide eloped slaves; who are those hiding Ciri and Yen. Tell me, and I’ll release you from this seat and send you back to the mine without further punishment. You have my word of honour”.

“Release me, so you can take my place, you camelfucker. That’s my word, with or without honour” said Triss.

“All right, if you want to play it this way… Please Ahmed, proceed to tighten the collar and deprive her of air. You will be allowed to breathe again in thirty seconds, Triss. Better if you use that precious air to tell me what I want to know”.

The order was carried out. But Triss, aside from heavily inspiring, kept silent.

“This time it will be a full minute. Please proceed”.

While thirty seconds had been almost easy, this time Triss was struggling towards the end of her asphyxiation. But again, she kept adamantly silent.

“Give the bitch two full minutes!” said Al Haqir, who was starting to lose his phlegmatic demeanour.

Triss feared she might not survive. She felt her lungs close to bursting and was almost unconscious when, at last, she could again gulp in air. Her heart pumped fiercely to distribute the precious oxygen to her body.

But again, she kept silent.

“Do you think you could survive four minutes, red witch?” asked Al Qahir.

Triss smiled and slowly shook her head.

“You are cunning, I’ll give you that” said Al Haqir. “You called my bluff; you will not escape through death’s door today. Ahmed, fetch the breast press. And start heating the pincers and needles”.

by Lord Ludwig

[yyy02]

A triumvirate effort, with device design by matto lollo, text by LordLudwig and pixel mashing, petit moi.

“Good morning, Triss. I hope you spent a pleasant night?”
...by Lord Ludwig ...

Like the image, love the story.
Thanks for sharing.

[wulf]

A triumvirate effort, with device design by matto lollo, text by LordLudwig and pixel mashing, petit moi.

“Good morning, Triss. I hope you spent a pleasant night?”

The voice pulled her back from the slumber in which she had fallen, half forgetting the pain a spiked, dick-shaped iron… thing was causing in her vagina. The events of the last day flashed through Triss Merigold’s mind.

Together with Ciri and Yen she had seized an unexpected opportunity and fled the Ofir salt mines in which they had been working as slaves over the last two months, among repeated floggings and rape by the guards. Their plan was sound: running away in separate directions, to reunite at dusk. But fate had decided otherwise. She had stepped on a snake resting under the sand. The bite would have killed her, but she had been found and saved by the mine guards. She heartily wished they hadn’t.

Taken back to the mine, they had immediately brought her to the attention of Al Haqir, the director of the mine and far relative of the reigning Ofir dynasty.

Still sick and nauseous due to the snake venom, she had offered little resistance when made to kneel in front of him.

“Take her to the dungeon and put her on the special questioning chair!” was all he said.

So had been done, and she had spent the night in utter misery. What else would happen now, she wondered? A fierce whipping in front of the other slaves, she guessed, but likely they won’t kill me. Back to the mines, then?

“Now Triss” – Al Haqir went on – “we all know crossing the desert would be suicide. So, your plan was likely to hide in one of the nearby villages and wait for someone to smuggle you on a caravan. That means, someone was ready to help you. So now you are going to tell me two things: who here at the mines told you about people willing to hide eloped slaves; who are those hiding Ciri and Yen. Tell me, and I’ll release you from this seat and send you back to the mine without further punishment. You have my word of honour”.

“Release me, so you can take my place, you camelfucker. That’s my word, with or without honour” said Triss.

“All right, if you want to play it this way… Please Ahmed, proceed to tighten the collar and deprive her of air. You will be allowed to breathe again in thirty seconds, Triss. Better if you use that precious air to tell me what I want to know”.

The order was carried out. But Triss, aside from heavily inspiring, kept silent.

“This time it will be a full minute. Please proceed”.

While thirty seconds had been almost easy, this time Triss was struggling towards the end of her asphyxiation. But again, she kept adamantly silent.

“Give the bitch two full minutes!” said Al Haqir, who was starting to lose his phlegmatic demeanour.

Triss feared she might not survive. She felt her lungs close to bursting and was almost unconscious when, at last, she could again gulp in air. Her heart pumped fiercely to distribute the precious oxygen to her body.

But again, she kept silent.

“Do you think you could survive four minutes, red witch?” asked Al Qahir.

Triss smiled and slowly shook her head.

“You are cunning, I’ll give you that” said Al Haqir. “You called my bluff; you will not escape through death’s door today. Ahmed, fetch the breast press. And start heating the pincers and needles”.

by Lord Ludwig

I love this one. A nice big dildo on a spiked beam, and a mechanical garotte for prolonged strangling. Very exciting
for me.
Thanks for creating and sharing.