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The next evening the line had been hung up again. As it was for each of the four evenings after that. During the day and at night the captives were locked away in various parts of the house; Kirti and Rhianna back in their tiny bedrooms, Mei and Lao in the cellar. They were kept bound, gagged and naked throughout. All they could do during the abominably long waits was shiver with fear and cold and try to recover their strength. And desperately try to shut out the pain wracking through their bodies, and thoughts of the upcoming evenings. Rhianna was fed a full cooked breakfast, a large, fattening dinner and a good supper. She was surprised at this generosity, not knowing that the others were only being given bread and water. The men went to work every day as normal. They were confident that their captives were secure and certain that none would even try to escape anyway. The assumptions were correct. As the days went by, their hold over the women was growing. It was transcending their original blackmail and becoming stronger with each brutal session.
After the men had dined, they hung their prisoners up again. Unlike the first night, not all were caned each time. Only two every evening were selected to be tied back to the whipping stool. Peter chose this unfortunate pair with a method no more sophisticated than a game of ‘eeny meeny miny mo.’ He knew this was childish but still enjoyed the slow build-up it allowed. He enjoyed the terrified expression of each woman every time he pointed at them and positively savoured their horrified expression when they realised they were indeed ‘it.’ Mei and Rhianna were selected the first time. Neither had recovered properly from the previous night. Their cheeks were still horribly sore; they had spent the day trying not to lie on them because the slightest pressure brought more pain. There was no word for the sensation when the cane landed again, causing the whole expanse of skin to ignite once more. And certainly not for the feelings they received when the beating was nearing its end. Peter and David gave them both twenty four more strokes. They showed no mercy to the blotched, scarlet flesh, bringing their canes onto it as hard as if it were virgin flesh. Rhianna was selected the next night too, when she was accompanied by Kirti, and the third when she was again partnered with Mei. By the end of that session her broad ass was a great mass of scarlet tramlines. There were virtually no gaps between the weals. Each time a cane landed it fell over the marks of a dozen previous strokes. She was so sunk into her agony that she could no longer even scream with a fresh stroke, simply making quiet grunts. The burning had barely receded when she was hung up once more the next evening. Fortunately she was passed over on that occasion in favour of Kirti and Lao. But she, together with Lao, visited the stool once more the following day.
If the beaten ones felt resentment to those spared, they had no cause. Nobody escaped. When they were hung back up after the canings, all the captives had clamps and weights attached to their nipples. It was an interesting experiment for the men. Nobody’s breasts stretched as far down a Rhianna’s but the plump mounds of Lao came quite close. Kirti’s were a very poor third while the tiny, underdeveloped tits of Mei barely moved. But the sensations provoked were all the same, the intense bite of the clamps coupled with the aches as their breasts were dragged downwards. The women whimpered and gasped as the weights rocked back and forth, the pain lancing from their nipples through the rest of their bodies. Sometimes – especially Rhianna and Mei, whose endurance seemed less – they would plead with their tormentors for mercy. Mei begged almost constantly, her “No, please, no,” as gentle and incessant as a babbling stream.
It was, of course, to no avail. The men liked to play with the weights sometimes. David would pull one and then the other a little further down, each tug eliciting a loud gasp from his victim. Peter’s favourite game was to send the one at the end of the line swinging, knocking into its neighbour and pushing that into motion. With each swing, the agony from the imprisoned nipple grew a little more intense. After a little practice he was able to set the whole line into motion, producing an evenly spaced series of moans amidst the sound of knocking weights. And the men found a way to produce an even stretch from the quartet. From the second night onwards, each woman also had a metal clamp fastened to her pussy lips. The pain it produced as even worst than the nipple clamps. The steel teeth dug viciously into the sensitive flaps, producing a fire which seemed to start deep within their bodies. Then weights were fixed to the clamps. They hung around the centre of the women’s elongated breasts, stretching their lips to their limits. There the prisoners would dangle as the men played with them, weeping and moaning, terrified to move as the slightest shift would increase their agony. It was a less overwhelming torture than the caning but in some ways it was worst. The sense of being utterly trapped was greater. And they were being attacked in the most intimate parts of their bodies.
And further ‘treats’ were waiting for the pair who were not caned. When the clamps, after some considerable time, were removed, a bucket was brought from the garage. The stench permeated the room as soon as it was brought in. The bucket was filled with a disgusting mixture of faeces and urine, possibly not all human in origin. The men had obviously been collecting it for some time, just as they had carefully planned all details of this depraved punishment. The first night the bucket was placed directly under Lao’s head. She winced and wrinkled her nose as the fumes wafted up to meet her. David then began to winch the line of women down. Lao started writhing and screaming as she realised what was happening. Peter grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her firmly and guiding her into place. Slowly, inexorably, she descended towards the bucket. Her long black hair touched the surface, curling up at first as it failed to penetrate the thick broth. Peter dropped into a crouch, still gripping the wriggling Chinese girl. With an unpleasant slurp, her scalp pushed through the liquid. Then her screwed-up eyes, then her nose. Her wails were suddenly curtailed as her mouth went under to follow them. Lao was left suspended up to her neck in the excrement. It rolled through her nostrils and into her nose, increasing the already potent odour a hundredfold. Tight as she shut them, the liquid managed to seep between her lids and burn her eyes. She held her breath for as long as she could. Eventually, though, the pressure of air forced her lips apart. The excrement poured greedily into her mouth. She coughed and retched, thrashing helplessly in Peter’s grip. Panicking now, she swallowed more and more of the soup in her desperation for air. Peter and David watched her plump body writhing, saw bubbles rise to the scummy surface of the bucket. They laughed and continued to let Lao choke in her private hell. Finally they exchanged professional nods and David turned the handle again. Lao rose slowly, coughing frantically. Her face was contorted with fear and disgust. But the lines in the skin were hard to see, covered in a thick, slimy brown mask. Her hair hung beneath her in a sodden lump, matted and pungent.
And there was more to come. Peter moved the bucket away. Still coughing, Lao was lowered down again. She ended with her head and shoulders resting on the floor, the rest of her body still suspended upside down. Peter prised her jaws open and shoved a funnel down her mouth. While he held it in place, his friend lifted the barrel and upended it over the other end of the funnel. The thick mixture crawled down the plastic tube and started oozing into Lao’s mouth. She gave another muffled squeal and tried to turn away but was again held firmly. More and more excrement slurped into her mouth; she had no choice but to start swallowing it. Being immersed in the broth was terrible, of course. The smell had been everywhere, and for a few awful seconds she thought she was going to choke. But at least she had only swallowed a couple of mouthfuls. Now she had to gulp it down without relief. She had never tasted anything remotely as bad. The first time she swallowed she thought she was going to be sick instantly. But meeting the vomit rising in her throat was another wave of excrement. If she stopped swallowing she would choke; so she desperately had to gulp it all down and carry on. Eyes wide with horror, brows locked with disgust and throat muscles working feverishly, the little Chinese girl continued eating her vile supper. The men watched the spectacle with delight. They only moved the barrel away when they grew tired of the sight, not when they thought she had had enough. She was left retching and panting, excrement smeared across her head, filling her mouth and belly. The barrel was replenished every day. Lao had to undergo the treatment once more but none of the others escaped it either.
A further treat was begun on the second day. A small electricity generator was brought into the room. The clamps on Rhianna’s nipples and clit were removed and electrodes fitted in their place. Then the generator was switched on. The result was so pleasing to the men that for the next three nights they attached electrodes to all their victims. The women were given simultaneous bursts of electricity. A great one at first, then a second when they were close to recovering. None had felt anything like it before. If the latter stages of a caning was searing pain without the impact, this was almost the reverse. It felt as if every part of their body was being struck at once. For a moment the shock would almost knock them out. They were scarcely aware of anything for a long time afterwards, their minds being only slowly reassembled. Full control of their bodies took an even longer time to recover and when eventually let down, they found they could barely stand. Rhianna thought it was like having a rod strike her directly on her brain. But to the men it was a delight to watch. When the dial on the generator was turned, the four suspended bodies abruptly convulsed. Mei’s might arc backwards, Kirti’s bend double until she was almost touching her toes or Rhianna’s arms could flail wildly through the air. Though they flopped back a second later, like puppets with their strings cut, the bodies didn’t hang still. They spasmed involuntarily as the after-effects of the current continued to short-circuit their mind. Kirti’s hands made rapid little gestures in the air. Lao’s breasts knocked together as her frame shuddered, her breath coming out in rapid little pants. The cellulite on Rhianna’s thighs was sent quivering by the juddering of her legs. The men stared in delight at the trembling, shaking line denied any control over their own bodies. They would bend closer and study the wide eyes and the tics contorting the faces, at Rhianna’s thick lips opening and closing rapidly, at a twitch beating madly in Mei’s cheeks. The men would wait for these after-effects to slowly subside. Then they would re-attach any electrodes thrown off by the initial convulsions and turn the generator on again.
Afterwards, three of the four prisoners were sent back to their rooms. But for the one not cane or dipped, the evening was still not over. Only Rhianna escaped this final stage. Peter knew they were being negligent here. It should have been part of her ‘re-education.’ With a self-proclaimed lesbian like Rhianna, it was perhaps especially important. But they found her fat body so repellent that they could not face it. Instead her far more attractive Sapphic friend got the treatment three times, including her first night. Her hands bound tightly behind her back, she was taken to Peter’s bedroom. He lay on his bed and pulled out his cock – ramrod stiff, as it had been all evening. Kirti was ordered to bend over him and take the dick in her mouth. As she began to suck, pulled down his pants. He gripped her hips and shoved into her from behind.
It was an appalling experience for Kirti. She had always known that she was gay. No man had even been allowed to even touch her. She loathed them, sneered at them, thought herself totally superior to them. Now she was trapped between the two worst specimens in the most humiliating position possible. She had to suck and lick the huge rod which kept thrusting down her throat. Meanwhile David was wrenching her tender ass with cruel hands and pumping her remorselessly. His strokes were hard and savage. Partly because he wanted to hurt Kirti even more, but he was also desperate for relief. Each evening for him had been hours filled with the most erotic experience imaginable. The Indian woman soon felt a damp mass shoot into her body. A moment later her mouth also filled with cum. She gagged at the taste of the sticky substance but Peter kept her head pulled close. She had to keep swallowing until the stream had run dry. At her other end David was also pumping every possible drop into her pussy. Only when both men were totally sated was her ordeal over for that evening.
The third night the men swapped places, David receiving the fellatio while Peter screwed her. The fifth, she was made to squat on the floor like a dog and swallow David’s cock. Peter climbed on top of her and she braced herself for the stab of pain from her pussy. The cock came, but into her ass hole. Peter remorselessly drilled his way in, showing no consideration for the tightness of the passage. Kirti gasped in agony until David roughly reminded her of her duties. While she sucked him off obediently, Peter sodomised her crudely and sent a spurt of cum into another part of her body.
On other nights, first Lao and then Mei were taken by the men. The ordeal for them wasn’t quite as bad mentally, with neither being lesbians. But no mercy was shown towards their delicate bodies, their young holes. Neither Chinese girl was technically a virgin before. A succession of dildos stuck in by Rhianna and Kirti had taken that from them. However, both still used to dream what it would be like doing the act with a man for the first time. They still used to be romantics deep in their heart. And neither imagined in their worst nightmares that it would be like this. Being brutally used by men whose single thought was to hurt them. And afterwards, locked sobbing in an attic to await another evening of pain and degradation.
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