You will want to have read the earlier episodes of this story.
This one has a 5-🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 rating, due to the intensity of the piercing event, right at the end.
Chained at the foot of the stairs in the cool early morning light, the house silent, feeling otherworldly as the intensity of her recollections of the previous evening shook her, Prilly recalled the overpowering and deep impact of her feelings as she climbed from the jacuzzi pool after having allowed herself to be so abused, after having so freely and helplessly advertised her weakness and neediness to LeStrade, all with Maria looking on.
She experienced again the sense of total and complete vulnerability, of the deepest, most excruciating quivery shyness, from having let them treat her like that, from having just given herself, all over again, in the most abject and explicit way possible, to LeStrade, grinding her pussy against him, kissing with total submissive abandon, begging him, with breathy urgency, to rape her, all of it with helpless emotional honesty.
Felt again how overwhelming it had been— the rawness of being so completely dependent upon the whim of another— a near stranger, a brutal and sadistic older man, how her whole body— warm now, and very weak— as if she was made of bendy stuff— all her joints loose as never before after the repeated cold/hot intensities - how her whole body somehow knew, now, that he held the ultimate power over it— held its very life.
How it had been sweet to feel that way.
Yes, sweet to be so powerless, so filled with fear and awe and need and helplessness so that displaying herself with complete commitment was an unquestionable requirement— legs splayed, feet maximally extended to raise her up onto her toes, though the muscles in her feet ached, shoulders back, belly in, chest thrust forward (remembering Maria’s stricture to have her breasts free to sway), head high, eyes down, trembling with the intensity of it all, breathless with it, filled with stupid gratitude.
Stupid, perhaps, but real; almost painful, so vivid was it, to have been permitted this experience, managed so carefully, leaking tears again, but smiling; a small smile, her lips tremulous, parted, her tongue tip on her lower lip, as she gave herself entirely into her body’s control; her whole being somehow at peace, at one, despite the trembling, the overwhelm of being defenceless, of offering herself so fully to these two.
These two whose only interest in her was to violate and degrade her, humiliate her and hurt her; these two who at the same time were now the only two people in the world she could be her new self with; who understood her, who saw her; she was at the same time devastated at the extent of her loss, her diminishment, and abjectly, pathetically needy for their interest in her— the only thing which could make sense of the insane decisions she had made that day.
She was thrillingly, preternaturally aware of her nakedness, of the need to display herself to them, despite her shyness; to show them how aroused she was— her stiff nipples, her pink and puffy sex lips, to show them that she was utterly committed to opening herself to them, her hips slowly rolling— just a little; back, forward, back, forward, as her sex asked to be raped, to be filled, deep fears of what was next all part of it— experiencing the fear as trembling excitement, rather than terror— despite knowing that terror would be totally justified in light of what they had just subjected her to, what was promised her.
She was literally breathless with the certainty of intensity to come, as if her repeated brushes with drowning had left her unsure of how to breathe at all.
She could feel the fear building though, the trembling it induced, and it made her wish that this unthinkable thing, this ‘burning’, would come soon, so that she could have suffered it, know what it was, however bad, instead of the horrible ideas which come into her head.
This ‘burning’ though, too— the idea that she would be marked— tagged as Maria was, that was heart-stoppingly awesome; she was about to be changed for good, mutilated — the word came into her head, unbidden, enormous.
It was all so much, so hard, so confusing, her feelings all jumbled up, everything out of control, it had been impossible to control the tears that welled in her eyes, though she maintained— at great cost— a smooth face and willing smile, however, small and quivery, advertising her submission, her defeat, her acknowledgement of their total power over her, their dominion, her eagerness to please.
And then Maria had come to her, put a hand directly onto Prilly’s hypersensitive, overstimulated sex, and gently but uninhibitedly, invasively caressed her, eliciting an immediate and raw moan from her young victim, the depth of her weakness, her neediness, her vulnerability evident to all in the still of the night.
“Thas goo’ preeety! Hol’ jou possishon lik’ goo’ lil’ slayv girl, lemee play with jou; jos how I liyk, hoh?”
“Jou liyk to moov fo’ me hoh? Slow and sessy, for MonSeñor, hmm?”
And Prilly, helplessly weak, needy, frightened, moves her hips, losing herself in the needs of her sex, into her shameful desires, pathetically grateful to be commanded, to have no choice. No matter that the humiliation is bad, so is the knowledge that LeStrade is watching incredibly powerful, and she almost laughs through her tears at the pleasure of it, and the sweetness is back, a hundred-fold, and she would happily die like this, she thinks.
“The marks off the wheep look GOO’ on jou, pretty— gettin’ darker, now, more o’vios; jou looc li’ reel slayv cont now, hoh? Lovely naked girl weeth hot sticky poosy and NO leemits!”
Prilly can only moan, almost howling, sometimes, with the jolting pleasure of it, the whole experience, everything, up on her toes, breasts swaying, elbows tied, all the abuse.
Maria is managing her carefully, hurting her as well as pleasuring her, Prilly not flinching when she does, only wailing pathetically;
“Jou gonna be goo’ tomorrow— open jouself like a goo’ lil’ cont? For everyone? So MonSeñor let you beg again, for another day of thees?”
Prilly can hardly form words, but she is determined, needs him to hear her;
“Yes, oh, yes! Yes, I’ll be good.”
“Say eet preety— say jou open jou cont, give jou cont to everyone.”
“Yes! Yes I will, I’ll … I’ll open my cunt to … to everyone”
Saying those words out loud broke yet another barrier in Prilly’s mind, and she knew she wanted to, for that moment at least— be the girl who opened her cunt to everyone, got fucked by everyone, fucked all the time, fucked everywhere, fucked carelessly, fucked greedily, and she nearly went over the edge, save that Maria had seen it coming and smartly slapped Prilly, her bony knuckles, with the heavy rings, crashing into Prilly’s clitoris, so that she almost collapsed with the hurt, the tears spurting from her eyes as she fought to maintain her pose,
“Goo’ girl.” was all Maria said.
“Now, jou ask MonSeñor agen; what jou beg for, hmm?”
And it was almost a balm, in her turmoil, her shock and pain and despair, to be commanded to say those words, which she had only learned today were possible for a girl to say, never mind with total sincerity, and her voice was hoarse and husky but also full of emotion;
“Please, please MonSeñor, Please rape me. Rape me hard, Rape my cunt, please?”
LeStrade’s voice then;
“Kneel, Prilly, kneel to Maria and kiss her feet, soft and slow; thank her for what she has helped you become; thank her for her attention, thank her for hurting you and torturing you. I want to hear your real feelings in your voice.”
It took quite a few moments for the meaning of his words to become real in Prilly’s head, so far from reality had she been, so lost in pure sensation; pleasure, shame, pain, need, the imminence or orgasm, but when the sense did come to her it was both obvious and logical— she should thank Maria— she had had such bursts of gratitude but never expressed them, would never have survived the day without her.
In the morning, reliving this, remembering that thought, it occurred to her that Maria had also done terrible, destructive things to her, Should these not be weighed in the balance? Did she really owe gratitude to Maria, or was that just what she had heard called ‘Stockholm Syndrome’— where a girl begins to see her abusers as kind, as a form of mental defence?
But even there, in the cool and quiet, able to think relatively straight, as she had been unable to for most of yesterday, it was hard for her to see Maria’s cruelties as even cruelties— the shocking, violent fist fucking, the forced, chained enema, the half-drowning, the nightmare of the burning which had effectively scarred Prilly’s sex for life, all of it somehow seen through a different lens, as— yes— mad though it seemed— acts of kindness, necessary cruelties to help her be what she needed to become— a girl LeStrade would want to keep, would be interested in. One he might want to enjoy raping.
Prilly knew that this was madness; in some small corner of her mind, she saw the appalling reality of what had been done to her with hard, cold objectivity, and knew that she had been wrecked by these two— Maria and LeStrade; monstrously taken advantage of, deliberately destabilised, manipulated, violated. It was all true.
But those were the unemotional hard facts. When Prilly asked herself how she felt about it all, she was overcome, her whole body trembled and whimpered with it, so that she all but laid herself down onto the cool floor like a puddle, as it took everything from her, as the weight and depth and speed of her loss, of her defeat, her abjection, her ruination fell onto her poor young mind and crushed it.
But there was no bitterness; no blame, no rejection, only emotion, emotion that seared her, left her diminished, but also fed her, made every moment rich and full of life.
I never lived before this: only existed. What a waste! To not know what it is to ask a man to rape you, and mean it, knowing that if he does, he will take you with total abandon, total greed, not caring if he hurts you, that when he does you will feel exalted, blessed, even, that you will lose yourself in his violence, which will be another blessing which you will be able to go back to again and again.
She could do it now, go to each of his rapes of her and relive them them by the second, the millisecond; their agonies, the intensities, the rollercoasters of feeling that each of them had been, his hard cock driving deep into her, and knew that she would revisit those memories time and time again, as the moments in her life when everything, every tiny thing, had been of supreme importance. That was what being alive felt like. It wasn’t nice, not at all. But it was real and wild and free and she wanted him to come to her then and do it again, felt her poor damaged pussy spasm for him, knew herself to be happy to have been taken, looked forward to begging him again.
That was how it felt. The facts stood no chance.
Slowly, panting, her hips working, Prilly pulled herself back into her spread thighs kneeling position, reset herself, occasional earthquakes of violent emotion traversing her.
The objective voice said; “This is how it works; emotional exhaustion, continual overstimulation, hunger, thirst (she was indeed needful of both water and sustenance), each abuse immediately doubled down upon, interspersed with interludes of consolidation, reinforcing the messages which distort your reality, cementing in your brain when you are at your most vulnerable, when you’re at your neediest for even fake emotional support.”
And again, there was no argument in Prilly’s mind, only a weak, helplessness. Yes, yes, that’s how they did me and they are masterful at it and I am weak and needy and they do it so well and it will work and … and I want it to work, so I can be like this forever.
“Forever might not be very long, at this rate— look at you, whipped, bruised, raped, burnt, chained, starved, nearly drowned …”
And this one landed.
They are going to kill me with this. Use me up, at least, so that I’m no use to him; if he abandons me then— which he will, it will be even worse than death.
And the solution was obvious.
I guess I’ll want him to kill me then. Before he uses me up. Go too far with me in the middle of it, and end up with a lifeless doll.
Sadness took her then; more tears, deep shaking, as she mourned herself.
But again, after some minutes of deep, bone-aching pain at the thought of it, of having to encourage him to go too far with her, so that she would not have to live with the pain of rejection, of abandonment as a worn-out toy, through it all, still; still, there was no anger, no rejection, no resistance.
That’s just how it has to be. For the best. If he had drowned me yesterday, I would have spent my last day fully alive, without a moment of meaninglessness. More seconds of living that day than in the last five years.
I must be sweet— as sweet and sexy and fuckable and cute and willing and just encourage him to do everything, everything he wants with me, so that I can have it all.
It was still sad. Terribly sad. But it was beautiful as well.
And she was ready to face reliving the really hard part:
Somehow it was easy— mentally, at least, though her whole body was weak and her joints all seemed wobbly— easy to kneel and kiss the shiny leather toes of Maria’s shoes, felt right to spread her thighs wide, to make it obvious that she was humbling herself, to have her stiff, sore nipples graze the rough pavings, easy to say the words, though they ate into her soul, though the last part got suddenly difficult, as Prilly fought the need to sob;
“Thank you, thank you Maria, for helping me, for your attention. Thank you for hurting me. Thank … thank you for … for tort … for torturing me.”
Her chest rose and fell, then, with desperate, deep gusty breathing as the implications sunk in; that she would be tortured again. That openness to— gratitude— for torture was in her future, unquestioned, Maria and LeStrade both smiling at the prospect, while she was naked, bound, on her knees, deliberately setting her breasts moving and shuffling her knees apart a little wider.
“Goo’ girly, Goo’ preety!”
And Maria stepped in to her, lifted her head by the hair, pushed her pierced, aromatic sex into Prilly’s face, then kept going, pushing Prilly backward, so that she ended up cracking the back of her head sharply on the pavings, knees bent double, the joints shouting with pain, all Maria’s weight on her face, her mouth full of Maria’s sex, bound hands trapped beside her, Maria humping herself hard, demanding, onto Prilly’s mouth, Prilly making what poor, weak efforts she could with her tongue to give pleasure, fighting once again for air, the reality of the weight and hard edges of the ring and monogram medallion in Maria’s pussy in Prilly’s mouth, bruising her lips, them, with a shock, feeling what must be LeStrade’s big bony hand at her sex, pushing several fingers directly into her, entirely without finesse, so that her hips bucked with the shock of it, her mind recoiled, then forced itself to accept, to open, to attempt to serve, give herself— to try and please…
Used, Used again and again, like nothing human; not a person, just a bendy sex doll with squishy breasts and wet holes…
Feeling again that eager part of her respond to the thought with excitement and physical openness, doubling down on the thought, welcoming it, demanding of her that she make her giving of herself as a sex doll more obvious, no matter that she was bound and immobilised, desperate as much for the validation of approval as anything, Lost. Lost in an emotional whirlpool of weakness and need and helplessness.
That, though, seemed merely an entertaining interlude; without any recognition of the intensity of Prilly’s experience. Maria and LeStrade exchanged brief satisfied comments before briskly moving to the business at hand, leaving Prilly flat on her back, legs bent backwards, arms crushed under her back, face sticky with Maria’s sex juice, chest heaving, hips spasming; abandoned, just as a toy would be when the play moved on.
Since she hadn’t been commanded, Prilly hollowly concluded that she should simply stay as they had left her, the sweetness ebbing away, leaving only its memory, and a deep, hungry yearning in its place.
Seeking to regain that level of peace, she concentrated on improving her display of herself, spreading her thighs, arching her back, tentatively cleaning her lips of Maria’s juices with her tongue tip, fighting off waves of despair and neediness. She was appalled and bewildered in equal measure by the experience of such a depth of defeat, of dehumanisation, achieved over her in such a short time, without any sense inside herself of the strength LeStrade had talked of— certainly no sense of rejection of their treatment of her, only in terms of being able, somehow, to live with it without becoming hysterical, without screaming.
Good cunt. I can perhaps manage to be good cunt for him. For my MonSeñor. For the cruel stranger who is now my unchallengeable owner, body, mind and soul.
It was astonishing to have such thoughts in her head, to have no resistance for them; for them to seem entirely incontrovertible, no matter how surreal, how impossible.
But there was nothing else. Nothing. Nothing but fear, and shame, and worthlessness and the overriding desperation of the need to please, the idea of being fucked as the only escape, the memory of the sweetness of total defeat.
LeStrade— her MonSeñor, her owner, was her only possibly salvation from … from the devastation he had wrought upon her.
She almost laughed at herself, then; Girl, you are so, so fucked.
But the laugh aborted and tears formed again. This was so far beyond college stuff. She suddenly saw just how shallow, how much play-acting, how completely divorced from the realities of life she had been, for so very long - more extremely with every year as she had grown. And it helped.
This. This is real.
LeStrade went in through the glass doors, to emerge with the chaise, while Maria stirred up the coals in the fire, now glowing very brightly indeed, the flames mostly blue, with little or no smoke. A discreet switch brought a soft whirring noise, and a puff of ashes rose from under the metal fire-bowl, followed quickly by a growing intensity at the centre of the fire, which began to glow more yellow than orange, the heat increasing, a small, tight roaring building.
The sound of a blacksmith’s fire, if Prilly had only known it.
When LeStrade had arranged himself comfortably on the padded leather, leaning against the low back, legs spread, Maria herself, after an almost shy little bob, asking for permission, knelt between his legs, and smoothly, without hesitation, her own arms locked behind her now, took his stiff cock fully into her throat, and began slowly and thoroughly to serve him, her whole body clearly engaged in the business of giving pleasure, her own thighs splayed obscenely wide, giving obeisance to him, until he pulled her up, gently enough, by the hair, saying;
“Enough now; enough, old friend; I well know and trust the completeness of your giving; there is skill and comfort in your throat, to be sure; always. But no thrill of domination, of violation any more; Thank you, Maria, for your help today, and in the days to come; you have got me as hard as can be; time to hurt the pretty’s tight little ass, then you can burn holes through her cunt lips, just as my father did to you, so many years ago.”
“Bring her to me, now.”
And Maria, wordlessly, smoothly, though Prilly saw pain in her eyes, came to Prilly and helped her up— almost tender now, by comparison with her typical brusqueness, whispering in Prilly’s ear; “Jos take i’; accept i’, preety Preely. Eet weel be ba’, but jou will be happy he hass marked jou as hees, I know eet.”
Gentler or not, Maria is still forcefully controlling Prilly, and she is managed with ruthless pragmatism, her ankles kicked apart (shouts of pain from the bruised bones, fresh hot tears - how could there still be tears to shed?), bent at the waist, facing away from LeStrade, his stiff cock in his hand, her ass filled with some sticky, greasy paste, the fresh tear there singing its song of pain— a high, rending note— and then his voice, casual, relaxed, ejoying himself;
“The bar, please Maria”
“Jou stay, work jou poosy for him.”
A few moment later, her mentor / tormentress was back, after passing him something Prilly could not see, and arranging a thick towel, doubled over, to cover his this, tight up to his balls, was straightening Prilly up, guiding her back, positioning her. Then;
“Ben’ jor knees, leetl cont; slow, slow; He is feerce hard, jor owner, Preely; he is gonna hort you ba’ly.”
And it was true, the slathered lubricant or not, his entrance into her tight, already ripped back passage was an agony, and many more tears fell, and desperate, broken cries were forced from her before he was fully inside her, his cock jerking in her innards - the strangest feeling, LeStrade appreciating not only her tightness, but the suffering he was causing her, her helpless sobs, her tremendous shakings, Prilly’s hand at her pussy a coruscating distraction, almost intensifying the pain and the shame of it;
“Oh God, Oh Gooodd! I . I can’t, it’s too BBIIGG! It hurts too much!”
But there was no let up, no respite, as her own weight bore her down, as Maria pushed her down, as LeStrade reached forward and hooked one strong hand under each of her thighs, lifted and split her and she screamed, screamed blue bloody murder as he final fully entered her and she fell back against his chest, her bound arms strained awkwardly to one side, so that everything hurt and she sobbed like a child, feeling his cock jerk inside her when she did so, as he enjoyed her agony, as her heart felt as if it had been lanced, so sharp was everything in that moment.
But there was no letup. She had felt, under her shoulder blades, a cold stripe, felt with her inner thighs, pulled up hard to either side of her breasts by his strong arms, felt similar coldness there, vertical.
With him inside her fully, her weight born by his torso, the terrible pain subsided a little, and Prilly was able to suppress her sobbing, only for a fresh insult to announce itself, as the metal bars which were upright, either side of her chest were, one at a time, pulled out and away from her body, metallic clicks announcing some sort of ratchet lock at each stage, pressing at the back of her thighs, just above the knee, forcing her legs further back, further down, until the backs of her thighs were nearly flush with her chest and she was crying with pain again, her sex now mechanically split open, legs immobilised.
“Thank you Maria, this is a most excellent arrangement. It feels wonderful to be in her, her tits and cunt fully available to me”— and he demonstrated by mauling her in both places, deliberately rough, bringing sharp pants of pain from Prilly, Laughing his appreciation of his power over her, her sad, desperate , hopeless cries, Prilly all but lost to sanity at that point, clinging on by a thread.
“The glue now Maria, before you show her the bodkins.”
Prilly was helpless as Maria approached her, talking softly, as to a horse or a dog about to suffer some indignity;
“Steel now preety; Jou don’ wan thees in jor ey! Not won leedl bi’.”
Rapidly, it became clear that, with just a small dot of some cooling fluid under the eyebrow arch of each eye, the a quick, uncomfortable pull at the corresponding eyelid, Maria had glued the upper part of her eyelids to the underside of her eyebrows— she could no longer close her eyes. LeStrade’s hand at the back of her head directed her gaze to her own crotch, as Maria turned away to the fire, before turning back, with two dully glowing, obscenely thick needles.
“Thees, Peely, thees will make ver’ nice beeg holes in jou soft leeps dow’ ther’. It weel be bad; ver’ bad. Bu’ the woon weel be cleen, clean with fire. Jou weel take the reeng strai’ away. "
Now that she understood exactly what was to be done to her, Prilly experienced the strangest thing; after an initial surge of physical terror, which washed through her immobilised body to almost no effect except for making her feel as if her heart might burst, she found herself becoming calmer. It was going to be bad, for sure, but Maria had survived it, and LeStrade was going to be holding her, and Maria was going to hurt her, and it all made a crazy kind of sense and when Maria said;
“Bu’ firs’, leel gorl, we gonna make shor jou comming har’ when thee pain heet,” and then bent to apply her clever tongue to Prilly’s sex.
When LeStrade in turn started to move within her, her conscious mind gave up and she began to be drowned again— this time in sensation; not only the hot, skilful tongue at her quivering sex, and LeStrade’s hard cock, but the anticipation of a terrible, permanent thing to be inflicted on her, the palpitations the idea induced coming and going in waves— sometimes calm, sometimes like a high voltage electric cable to her heart, and it became a dream again; one where her sex got hotter, and the relentless machine of LeStrade’s cock in her ass, and the strangeness of not being able to look away, the slowly increasing burning in her eyeballs, the building tension in her groin, until she was moaning in time with Maria’s tongue laps, and shivering and quivering in between them and, without having believed it could be possible, she was building towards a big orgasm, unwilling at first, then, helplessly, over a hump and heading downhill fast, not caring anymore that the climax would bring the outrage, just needing the release, going for it, begging for it, knowing without knowing how she could that Maria was watching LeStrade, timing everything for him so that he would be close when Prilly kicked off so the Maria could turn to get the bodkins from the fire and do the deed, so that Prilly’s agony would convulse her body and add to LeStrade’s experience.
Knowing how precise and in control Maria was, Prilly, trembling with the memory of it all, assumed that something like this had happened but she had no memory at all beyond the intensity of the orgasm — way beyond pleasure or pain, just raw, searing experience, suddenly trumped by the even rawer, more truly searing experience of having her labia pierced— first one then the other, with red hot bodkins, while being made to watch.
She had fainted, presumably, at that point, overwhelmed by it all.
The aftermath had been slow, and painful and weirdly gentle, LeStrade already gone by the time she had returned to consciousness, with Maria dabbing at her eyelids with what smelled like nail varnish and blissfully releasing them, then slowly releasing the ratchets on the bars cranking her thighs back, so that they came back to a more manageable position— slowly, first one side then the other, all the time talking, soft and slow in Spanish, the words meaningless to Prilly, but the soothing intent quite plain. She was being looked after, by the same woman who had done her a terrible harm.
The same woman who showed her just what her pussy looked like now, with a heavy silver ring worked through the 1/8” holes which had been burned through both her inner labia, just above where they joined, Prilly shedding big fat tears, softly and continuously, for several minutes after seeing herself thus transformed, watching Maria affix the ‘LS’ monogram medal, feeling it as a a terrible defeat and a badge of perverse pride at the very same time, unable to compute.
Meekly, mute, not understanding but helplessly accepting, she had allowed Maria to chain her here, in the open hallway of the house, like a dog that could not be trusted, given a soft pad, a bowl of water, and left in the dark.
She had fallen asleep almost immediately, too exhausted, too broken, to do anything but sleep.
And now, alone, in the early light, she had worked on herself, worked to make the impossible, the unacceptable, the appalling, to make it all somehow desirable, necessary, welcome.
Because really, there was nowhere else that she wanted to go now. And if she is to stay here, this must become her ’normal’.
More fat tears find their way onto her cheeks, but she is working to be at peace. Looking for the way…
