Warrior of The Chevaan

Conine

'Table for Two'

Abruptly, just as the prodding of the wicked point against her clit was becoming unbearable, the torture stopped.

Conine blinked and opened her eyes. The direct stimulation had ceased, but the after-effects lingered as a fire in her nether regions. She heard footsteps retreating and glancing down saw that the man Quintilus had left, taking his obscene tool with him. Before she had time to feel any sense of relief, though, Conine heard other steps approaching from the side of the table. They were slow, measured step and somehow filled her with a sense of growing dread as they came closer.

Another soldier appeared in the circle of light around the rack. He was dressed in tunic bottom and helm as Quintilus had been, but this man carried not a delicate metal tool but a heavy iron ladle, so large he had to carry it with both hands, the bowl of which was filled with something that bubbled and steamed. As the Chevaan watched the man, he came to stand level with her upthrust breasts, smiling like a fiend as he kept his eyes riveted to those two glistening orbs.

Conine's breath, which had slowed since the barb had been removed from between her legs, quickened again as she stared up form the wooden torture table at the ladle and its hidden contents. The heat emanating form the lower edge of the container could be felt clearly on her skin even though the metal was poised a good twelve inches above her. She struggled again against the pull of the chains holding her spread-eagled and was surprised to find the tension had eased slightly, though the ache of her brutally wrenched muscles and ligaments continued to torment her. Before she could wonder at this seeming mercy, however, a drop of the liquid contents of the ladle was spat over the side and landed on her right arm.

The pain was startling, a sudden burning shock that cut through the constant suffering of her joints like a knife. The ladle was filled to the brim with some kind of thin oil heated to boiling. The full horror of what was about to happen flooded through the proud beauty, her flashing blue eyes rimmed all round with white as the soldier tipped the ladle gently to one side and began to pour.

For a split second the yellowish liquid was suspended in the space between the metal holder and the soft curve of her bosom. Then the spatter of boiling oil splashed against the upward slope of her breast like lava.

'NNNNHHHHHhhhh!!!' A voice that had never given such an utterance on the rack now choked out a strangled cry of agony as the liquid bequeathed a searing kiss to her tender mammary. Compared to the heat of the oil the whipping had been a sweet caress. Conine's large eyes were no more than a scrunched line as her long lashes mashed tight, and her body shuddered awfully as the pain washed over her.

With terrible precision the man with the ladle moved the instrument carefully. The rain of scalding liquid shifted its target, cascading down directly onto the tit-globe's erect red nubbin.

'EEEEUUUUuuuuuNNNN…NNNN….NNNNRRRRRRRR!!!!!' The pain was unbelievable, as if the Roman fiends had planted a red-hot poker against her flesh. Conine's entire body spasmed mightily, lifting clear of the table in an upward curving arch of gorgeous femininity. Her mind was ablaze with the terrible agony of her scorched nipple as the oil continued to sizzle against the sensitive nerves clustered in her swelling chest mound.

From his chair Gracus leaned forward to enjoy every detail of the display with glee. The easing of the tension on the table's chains allowed the prisoner to writhe exquisitely, and this Chevaan slut was putting on a magnificent show. The tortured athletic frame on the rack heaved and shook so that the entire exquisite composition of lean muscles, shining smooth skin, long tapering legs, flat midriff and blessedly large firm tits performed a cock-stiffening dance macabre, accompanied by the strangled cries bubbling between those as-yet still clenched teeth. As the man with the ladle continued to move his tool the burning liquid showered down over the sensitive underside of that rigidly defined love-orb, causing the victim to crash back down onto the wooden table again as she thrashed and heaved, straining with muscles already wrenched with pain and multiplying her suffering threefold.

The rain of scalding liquid shifted, and the oil splashed now over the lower quarter of the prisoners trembling bosom. Fresh half-choked cries of anguish echoed through the torture chamber as the heat washed over the sensitive underside of the tit. Gracus knew that a woman's breast flesh was often far more tender here, used as it was to being covered far more than the upper part of the mammary. His insight was rewarded by the Chevaan warrior twisting wonderfully in her restraints; lips pulled back form white teeth in a rictus of pain that only enhanced the beauty of her features in the general's eyes.

On the rack Conine continued to struggle hopelessly against her bondage while the terrible searing deluge snaked down over her boob and continued lower, washing her sternum and the flat plain of her abs with its fiery touch. Tears welled freely in her eyes, which were closed tight against the horrible pain. She gasped and tried to catch her breath but the torture was constant, the pain in her scorched tit-flesh as fresh and clear as the moment the oil had first found her budding nipple. As the ladle progressed further down her form her body became a canvas of torture on which the Romans painted a portrait of epic cruelty.

By the time the burning sludge pooled in the cavity of her navel she could no loner think clearly through the red haze stabbing through her mind, but understood instinctively the final destination of the molten flame. She managed to lift her head as her belly was added to the list of tormented flesh, willing herself to stare down as the ladle dipped and swayed and scattered burning drops amid the sweat shiny thatch adorning her pubis.

It was a moment of exquisite cruelty for Gracus, the proud warrior staring wide-eyed but still defiant at the ladle of hot liquid poised majestically over her most intimate region, the parted red lips offering no protection to the vulnerable quim meat within. For an instant she waited with her breasts quivering with the fight to control her breathing, to hold onto some shred of dignity in the face of her conquerors.

The ladle dipped again.

The oil fell through space.

Conine's clenched fist drew beads of blood form her palm.

The first drops of the fiery liquid spattered against her inner lips and trickled down into her cunt.

At that flaming touch on her womanhood, Conine lost the battle against the pain washing over her. Her mouth opened wide, her head arched back, her diaphragm flattened as the agony ripped free form her in a single, tearing sound.

'EEEEAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!! '

The watching soldiers were witness to a site such as they had never seen, the exquisite creature on the rack transformed into a goddess of suffering. Her lank back hair was cast back and her red lips stretched wide as the scream and its brethren erupted from her. Her body thrashed so violently it seemed even that muscular body must tear itself apart in the fury of her convulsions. She heaved, trembled, fell back, rose again, all the time screaming, choking, shrieking.

Conine had lost all conscious thought, all control. Her vagina blazed with pain – it ripped through her like a thousand burning knives, tearing away her pride, her dignity. She lifted herself and screamed again, yielding to the need to express the terrible pain, and more than pain. As her cleft of sweet pink flesh howled under the onslaught of the burning oil her womanly soul howled in unison, howled at the terrible pain being inflicted on her, and raged that her agony was the source of pleasure for the human beasts fondling their stiffened members at the exhibition of her torture.

Finally the pain became too much even for her and she collapsed back onto the wooden table, her strength spent, her voice hoarse from screaming. The fire searing her skin and the private places of her womanliness continued unabated, but her body lack the energy to respond to the agony with more than a faint shivering and twitching, or to voice it with more than coarse sobbing groans.

Seeing his prisoner thus humbled, Gracus knew his time had finally come. Setting aside his goblet he rose from his chair and stepped down from the dais, drinking in instead the sight of his victim as he walked slowly over to her. As he walked his hand worked to remove his belt, then he reached up to begin pulling his tunic up over his head. The moment he had waited patiently for since this young bitch's capture had come.

Lying amid her stupor Conine felt her head lifted roughly off the rack and force upward. One of the solders was holding her by her damp black hair and forcing her to face Gracus as he approached, shedding his clothing slowly, dramatically. Water splashed onto her face from a small bucket, helping to revive her. She blinked the icy water from her eyes and saw the Roman general come to a stop at the end of the table between the two beams that angling outwards to keep her tapering legs spread wide.

With evil pleasure shining in his eyes the Roman leaned forward and moved his hands over her thighs, up over her midriff, smearing the slowly cooling oil over, then up over her breasts, cupping them and rubbing them forcefully, pressing and squeezing them. The pain in the scalded mammary flared anew and she gasped instinctively. Gracus continued to manipulate the proud swell of tit-flesh, pressing the twin orbs together and twisting them in his strong grasp. He was leaning so far over her now that the Chevaan could fel the tip of his erection prodding gently against the hard curve of her pelvis.

Without a word Gracus abruptly stepped back and seized his jutting phallus in his hand. The hand twined in her hair still held her head up and Conine had an all to clear view of the general's organ, a stiff length of respectable size and girth that sprang from a body well toned by military life, despite his age. Only the slightest hint of a middle-aged paunch overhung Gracus' outthrust cock, and his arms and chest showed the man's ongoing devotion to remaining in fighting trim.

Gracus stepped forward again and wrapped the fingers of his free hand about the circumference of her oil-burned breast, while his other deftly guided his cock-head to the open entrance of her pussy. Conine struggle feebly against the feel of his dick poised to penetrate her but could do no more than glare helplessly as her captor readied himself for her ultimate degradation.

'This is for your courage, child,' Gracus said in a voice so genuinely respectful that Conine was taken aback. The two enemies stared at each other for a heartbeat, then the Roman surged froward, driving into her.

For Gracus the sensation was beyond pleasure. Lubricated by the boiling oil dowsed on it earlier the woman's outer gates buckled easily, his shaft carrying more of the now warm liquid deeper into her, moistening her further. Her muscles were taught with the suffering caused by the racking and her sensed her trying to resist him, fighting to the last, but that only added to thrill of his conquest. Beneath him on the table her body surge, rising up like a wave, a sensual groan bubbling from deep within her.

For Conine the thrust was like a flaming torch being plunged into her quim. Though the oil itself no longer burned her, the heat lingering within the reddened flesh was fanned to new heights by the friction of the man's hateful penis driving into her. She bit back another shameful cry but shook helplessly as the pain continued to tear at her.

In vain she tensed her exhausted muscles, tyring to expel the invader form her inner regions, but ebbing strength was no match for the oil-slick harness of the Roman member, backed with all his strength and contempt for her people as he pushed, pulled back, pushed again. Every plunging movement of the oak-hard organ drove deeper and deeper into her, ravaging her unstoppably. With sick comprehension Conine fully realised the full horror of Satyra's rape beneath the sweating bodies of the Roman soldiers, as she was now force to endure her own defilement.

Gracus surged onward, building into a rhythm and determined not to let the moment end to quickly. The girl beneath him squirmed only feely now, and the general found that somehow unsatisfying. After her performance during the flogging, racking and scalding he was not now content to let her lay idly when he knew the fire in her simply needed a little rekindling to make the experience truly memorable. 'Anthus,' he called over to the man by the wheel, watching appreciatively with his peers, 'our young guest is in need of refreshing. Stretch her a little to perk her spirits would you.'

The man smiled and nodded and seized hold of the machine, unlocking it and tensing himself as he felt the gentle tugging caused by his commander movement carried up the chains form the fetter about the gorgeous captives wrists and ankles. Carefully he increased the tension, drawing the prisoner's body taught again, stretching her further along the wooding platform on which she was being fucked.

Conine gelt her limbs drawn anew toward the extremes of the rack and gasped, her eyes screwed tight. The pressure from the invading meat between her legs increased as her diaphragm compressed under the strain and her thighs sent messages of overstrained ligaments and ruptured muscles.

Feeling life surging through his victim again Gracus increased his assault. Sweat beaded on his back and hest and his hands were now wrapped around the girls pointed hips, using their leverage to ram himself forcefully into her hot moist opening. Anthus had now felt out the rhythm of the motion and was working in concert, hauling on the wheel with a sow steady pace, easing back, hauling again, stretching the prisoner painfully then allowing her a moment to recover before stretching her again, and again.

For Conine the rape was a nightmare of brutal pain, shame and sex. Tears flowed openly now, and little cries of pain were coming freely form her lips, mixed with a colourful barrage of curses. She could not fight what was being done to her, could not prevent in any way the relentless use of her body. Her only means of resistance was to sporadically lift her head and stare fixedly into the eyes of the man embedded inside her. She cursed her own weakness that her eyes should be filled with tears, but they were also filled with defiance, and contempt. This male would hurt her, could have her, but he would not break her.

Riding atop the prisoner Gracus matched her fiery gaze with his own look of mocking triumph. Did she know how much more her strength inflamed him, as he pumped in and out of her goddess-like form. Unlike sessions of love with his slave girls the general felt not the slightest temptation to close his eyes and envision other women, other pleasures. The sight and smell and feel of the warrior jerking to pulse of his cock was all the sight he needed to keep his shaft hard as iron. His strong hands roamed over her, gripped her powerful biceps, curled around the steel cables of her neck and shoulders, gripped her chin as he watched her every flicker of pain and shame in those large liquid blue eyes.

The general quickened his fucking, feeling his climax building within him, no longer to be denied. His breath came more quickly and his lips were drawn back in a grimace of control. Conine felt the change too and tried to relax herself, but the merciless tug of the rack on her swollen joints was an inescapable stimulus, forcing her to respond.

Gracus pumped more forcefully, feeling his eruption surging in the depths of his loins, fighting its way free. He thrust again, and again, growling as he did. The muscles of his buttocks were clenched tight as he drove deeper into the woman under him, then gave a triumphal cry.

Conine's head fell back as she felt the man's disgusting seed shooting into her like a hot torrent. Her tortured and inflamed sex burned like fire between her legs and she cried out as the Roman cock slammed into her, grating her scorch-sensitive quim-meat. Her own cry was a strangled echo of her rapists' as she arched back, trying to pull herself off his impaling member.

Gracus continued to pump his sperm into the hot orifice, releasing himself utterly. Then, looking at the defeated women under him he pulled back further, allowing his dick to slip free of the grip of those lovely inner lips, but not escape them. Using his weight to force her hips back down onto the table Gracus continued to thrust. Grinding his exposed phallus into the cleft of her pussy, the Roman watched the gleaming head showering her oily/sweaty belly with pearly drops.

By the time the Roman general's passion was spent Conine's midriff was a gooey puddle of translucent white liquid. Thirst and exhaustion wracked her and as the soldier behind her let to of her hair she could no longer keep her head raised, so that it feel back with a thud onto the wood of the torture table. Her breasts rose and feel slowly as she tried to regain her energy.

Wiping his cock on the inside of the prisoner's leg, Gracus stepped back and accepted his tunic form a soldier that had retrieved it form the floor. He stepped out from between Conine's legs and walked around to look down at her directly. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open as she fought to catch her breath. Gracus took a sup of water from one of his men and drank, then tipped the last quarter of the water onto the girls face. Conine gasped and looked up angrily, but Gracus noted with satisfaction that she also used her tongue to lick the water form around her lips.

'You are a magnificent fuck, my dear,' he said sincerely, 'a credit to your people. I will treasure the memory of our encounter, and your screams, always.' Gracus smiled at the tightening of her face at the mention f her anguished cries under the torture. 'It would give me no greater pleasure than to deliver you to my villa in chains and continue your education, but alas, your crime against my soldiers in the forest demands justice, and I would not deny my men the chance to personally repay you for the murder of their comrades.'

'But I do feel that some measure of reward is due to one whose endurance provided such rare entertainment,' the General went on. So I shall spare your lovely horned companion. I am sure there is much she can teach us about your people's ways under the right promptings, and much she can learn from us as well. I think when the time comes I will let her recreate your own experience on the table. It will be interesting to observe how well she can live up to your high standards.'

Conine's eyes burned with hatred as Gracus smiled down at her, but the thought of Satyra suffering on the abomination to which she was strapped left her throat swollen and incapable of speech. Only her eyes could give voice to the terrible fury inside her. Gracus nodded appreciatively and turned to his soldiers.

'Crucify her.'

More to follow.