Role Playing III - Raven and the Inquisitor

F/f, f-self, serious, torture, bondage

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"Allow me to explain a few matters before we commence," said the female voice, speaking from the shadows at the far corner of the dark, cold room.

"You are not here to determine if you are guilty of any crimes. Proof and fact do not matter. We know you are guilty. We knew this before you were brought here.

"You are not here to confess, or to protest your innocence.

"You are not here to implicate your associates, any other traitors and revolutionaries, any other criminals.

"You are here to suffer. You are here to be tortured. You are here to be tormented. You are here to be abused."

Raven tried to say something. She was not sure what she would say, but no sound left her mouth save muffled moans, that could have been of fear, or defiance or any of a hundred other things.

The dark-haired beauty who was stretched naked across the table in the middle of the room was gagged, her mouth tightly filled by a hard leather ball, held in place by a thick strap. Her mouth tasted dry and bitter, and of her own blood.

"We know you are currently unable to speak," continued the calm, reasoned voice of the inquisitor. It as a voice brimming with power, eroticism and sexual menace. Raven could njot see the women, who was resting in the shadows. All the prisoner had to go on was her voice, which was at once utterly evil and incredibly erotic.

"This is because at first you will lie. We know this. All our prisoners lie at first. We will remove the gag after a suitable period of persuasion. By then, we will be able to assess if you are ready to speak the truth.

"We know everything there is to know. You had better not forget that.

"Now, it is time for us to begin."

----------

Holly paused and wiped a bead of sweat away from her forehead. It was hot, almost too hot for comfort. She was used to the weather in England being much colder than this. She had experienced rain, snow, hail and high winds in the ten months or so she had been here, but this was the first time she had experienced a heat wave.

The house did not have any air conditioning and they did not own a fan. She was left with no recourse but to open the window, but due to the nature of her work, that was not possible, so she was left to suffer the heat.

Holly was sitting at the computer in her bedroom, situated at the top of the house, and covered with books of various kinds, most of them related to her studies in medicine. However, she was not involved in any work at the moment. She was not writing an essay, updating revision notes or performing any coursework.

She was writing a story. A special sort of story.

Holly enjoyed reading, particularly her special books. The ones she had kept hidden in a box far from prying eyes for a very long time. Her parents did not know she shared that interest, and would no doubt have been horrified if they had discovered if. In fact, no one knew, until the night that Becky had come home unexpectedly early.

Becky had been her roommate in their first year at university. Outgoing, popular, sexy, gregarious, she was everything Holly wasn't (although Holly was finally coming to realise that she was not as plain as she had always believed). She had gone out role-playing one evening and had come back early to see Holly indulging in a little role-playing of her own.

Holly's books were what might charitably be called erotica. They were fantasy books, feauring a great deal of lesbian bondage, rape, slavery, domination, sorcery and frequent torture. The heroines always endured unspeakable torments, but usually emerged triumphant, in a way.

Holly had always been quiet and shy, and had hid her lesbian feelings, until Becky had discovered them. Something had come over the two of them that night, and they had enacted one of the scenes from Holly's book. Since then, they had role-played many more, and made up several of their own. They had moed into a house together at the end of their first year.

It was now the summer before the start of the second year, and the two of them had encountered a problem: money. Renting a house was expensive, not to mention the bills, the cost of renovating the cellar (making it usable for their games) and buying various toys and costumes.

Holly worked during the day as an office temp, Becky in the evenings as a barmaid in a nightclub. Both of them were suited for their jobs, and were making enough money to make ends meet before the next installment of Becky's student loan and Holly's money from her parents came through. However, it did mean they seldom saw each other.

And as a vehicle for her sexual desires, which had grown a lot since becoming involved with Becky, Holly had taken up writing, largely at her girlfriend's urging.

The heat did not make it easy. Holly liked the cold. When it was hot, she became too aroused, too lost in her work and that made it harder to concentrate on writing. Becky had given her permission to pleasure herself, but that felt wrong to Holly somehow, so she struggled on with her writing.

As part of her effort to keep cool, she had stripped down more than she usually did, even in the privacy of her own home. She was currently wearing a short, white T-shirt, stained with enough sweat to reveal her small, shapely breasts and dark nipples beneath, and a pleated skirt that she had bought as part of a costume. Her panties were simple cotton and damp with her arousal. Other than those three garments, she was naked, displaying smooth legs and delicate feet. Her pretty, Oriental features gave her a quiet and unassuming look, and her shoulder-length black hair was currently hanging loose about her face.

She was not the beauty that Becky was, at least not in her own mind, but she was very pretty indeed, and had only become more so since their relationship had started, some confidence developing within her. More and more men had hit on her recently, something she found disturbing but also flattering.

Drinking from the bottle of water she kept by her desk, she checked the clock on her computer. Only 7.35. It would be hours yet before Becky came home. Holly wanted to give up and lie down, but she wanted to get this short story finished.

Taking another drink, she returned to her work.

----------

Raven Iwasaki was a beautiful woman. Only twenty-two years of age, she inspired feelings of desire and arousal in almost all she met. Soft, smooth skin the colour of light bronze; doe-ish eyes the colour of dying leaves; hair as dark and shimmering as the wings of the bird from which she took her nickname; breasts round and delightful, volptuous and impressive, but not so large as to overpower her small and slender frame; lips full and red, able to fom a seductive pout or a wry and knowing smile.

She had a reputation for haughtiness or arrogance, but that was undeserved. She was pursued and pestered by many whom she would rather not pursue her. In a city as hierarchical as Athro, where wealth and influence allowed for a great deal, her refusal had cost her dearly.

She was no revolutionary, just a simple dancer, exercising her supple and lithe body, earning some coins to purchase her transport from this island city. She was no more, and she was definitely not a whore, whatever some thought.

She had had no part in any criminal or treacherous acts. She also knew there was nothing she could do or say that would allow her release.

She was bound tightly across a table, her head pulled back over the edge painfully, a white rope around her neck bound to a hook in the floor directly below the middle of the table. Her legs, spread wide over the far corners, were also fixed to that hook, as were her arms. Her limbs were pulled apart in four separate directions, rejoined in one pivot of her bondage, stretched almost beyond endurance. Her muscles trembled with the unnatural position of her bondage, straining for release.

She had been wearing a long, thick robe when she had been arrested. She wore it still, although only barely. It had been opened, the belt removed, her undergarments cut away. The sleeves were hunched up around her shoulders. Other than that, the small white socks that came to her ankles were the only other garment she wore.

The raven-haired beauty was practically naked, and utterly helpless, bound in agony, her doe-like eyes searching this way and that. She could hear the voice of her Inquisitor, but could not see her. She could not speak. Terror filled her, her heart pounding rapidly beneath her luscious breasts. In their bonds, her hands closed and unclosed furiously, straining for some grip on the harsh ropes that held her, but no avail.

She was helpless, the prisoner of a cruel and merciless inquisitor, about to be tortured in countless hideous ways.

Her heart pounded furiously with terror as she waited for the Inquisitor to begin.

----------

Holly paused, gasping for breath, her heart pounding with the claustrophobia of Raven's bondage, utterly unable to see her tormentor, trapped in misery of the tortures that would follow.

Raven was the first character she had created entirely on her own. Holly had imagined her as a much more beautiful version of herself. Creating a new character had been hard, after so many games playing the beautiful and tragic Star Lily, heroine of the book she had been reading the night this had all started.

Their last game had left Star Lily trapped in a dungeon, brutally raped by a monstrous, tentacled demon, her captor dragged away screaming to a hellish realm. Holly and Becky both knew Star Lily would be rescued eventually, but for now, they had decided to try something else. They both had various ideas, but no time to carry them out.

So, Holly had started writing.

Waving her hand in front of her face to move some of the thick, stuffyair, she sat back against her chair.

Maybe she could open the window, at least just a little.

But no, someone could notice, could hear her, perhaps even see her. She could not let anyone see her, not dressed like this, practically naked. She had adapted a lot since starting her relationship with Becky, but she was not ready to come out as a lesbian, let alone reveal some of the games the two of them played.

She had no option but to endure the heat.

She peeled the T-shirt from her skin, wafting it up and down, revealing smooth, lightly curved belly and the under curves of petite, lovely breasts.

She drank some more water.

----------

The first tangible impression Raven had of her unseen tormentor was the feel of slow, long fingers trailing along her taut belly. It was a simple, swift touch, lasting no more than two heartbeats, but it was enough to send shivers of anticipation running through the helpless girl's lovely body.

A moment's bitter laughter greeted that tremor, and Raven knew her cruel torturer found her fear amusing.

This was not a matter of interrogation. Raven was no witch, no member of dark and corrupt covens. She was simply a girl lucky enough to be beautiful and unlucky enough to be desired by those in power. The Inquisitor did not want the truth from her. She wanted Raven to suffer, to be humiliated, tortured, wounded, pained.

The trapped girl's imagination ran away with her. She had only been touched once, and already her heart was pounding, fear filling her, thoughts of a hundred ghastly tortures running through her mind.

The Inquisitor touched her again, longer this time, sliding the tip of one sharp nail up the ridges of Raven's ribcage. The girl was slender at the best of times, and her slim body bound as it was, her bones were pressing against her skin.

Each light brush tickled, but Raven did not laugh or giggle, or squirm in deliciousplay. She writhed and shook, awaiting far worse.

"Your body speaks to me in countless different ways," the Inquisitor intoned, her finger now at the base of Raven's breast, flattened against her chest. "You can hide nothing from me."

Her nail pressed hard against the soft flesh of Raven's right breast, not enough to break the skin, but always just a brief moment's pressure away from drawing blood.

The nail brushed against Raven's dark nipple, gliding around it in slow, small circles.

Twitching, moaning into her gag, light-headed and giddy, the beautiful prisoner felt an absurd twinge of shame as her nipple hardened beneath the Inquisitor's slow, deliberate touch, almost as gentle as if she were Raven's lover and not her torturer.

Had the girl been in an appropriate state of mind and with all her ability to reason, she would have understood that arousal could be just as potent an instrument of totrure as pain. The Inquisitor would surely be an expert in her field, aware of many different ways to break a writhing victim. By arousing Raven, by teasing and touching her, she would make any later pain ten times as effective. She could also gain as much information from granting her release as she could from denying her that final lash of the whip.

But Raven's mind was not clear, or rational, or capable of reason. Almost insane with terror, she did not appreciate the fiendish and cruel tactics of the heartless and still unseen woman. All she knew was that she was tied all but naked across a table, threatened with unspeakable torture, and she was becoming aroused by the evil woman who would torture her.

In her own mind, she despaired of the shame she had brought upon herself, by responding so. On some level, she knew she would deserve torture, if only to remove these disgusting feelings growing in her magnificent body.

Soon, that nipple was erect and hard, a dark bud against the light gold of her skin.

That done, with the same care and attention she had displayed upon the right nipple, the Inquisitor silently turned to its mate.

----------

Holly paused, leaning back on her chair. Her own nipples were hard, pressing at the damp, sodden fabric of her thin T-shirt. Her fingers trembling, she got up to go to the toilet. All the water she was drinking was passing out of her system quickly.

Afterwards, she washed her hands, holding her wrists under the torrent of cold water. She'd heard that cooled down the blood and while she didn't know if it worked, she was willing to give it a try.

She splashed water up over her face, soaking her hair, neither as dark nor as lustrous as that of Raven Iwasaki. She wondered how Raven's hair must look. Would it be as lank and sweaty as her own, clinging to the delicate perfection of her terror-marked face? Or would she maintain her prstine beauty even in the face of such torture?

Holly stared at herself in the mirror. She looked tired, drained, exhausted, but there was a glow in her eyes, a certain, faint radiance about her body. Becky would notice instantly that she was aroused. Becky was able to spot that about her. In fact, Becky was usually the cause.

No, let Raven remain beautiful. Degradation and filth might be arousing in some cases, but Holly wanted Raven to stay perfect in her torture. She wondered idly if the Inquisitor might remove Raven's hair, but quickly discarded that idea. She might want to use Raven again later, in another story, and she would need her heroine intact.

That was one of the things Holly particularly enjoyed about the heroines she played. Star Lily in particular. She had been raped, by men, women and groups of both. She had been publically humiliated, sold as a slave, threatened with torture. She had been whipped, prodded with needles. She had been devoured by a hideous, ancient demonic mass of tentacles.

And she always survived. Whatever happened, she endured, ready for the next ordeal.

Holly knew that any real women put through half the things her fictional heroines were put through would be most likely dead, mutilated for life or at least, sent irrevocably insane. But that did not interest her. It was the fantasy that did.

She had no wish to be raped or kidnapped for real. But the thought that she might be, the realisation that her health and safety were in Becky's hands, that Becky could choose not to let her go, could choose to disregard the safewords...

Okay, Becky would never do that. But she might.

And of course, whichever evil villainess she was playing would certainly pay no heed to such things.

The fantasy was exciting and thrilling, but Holly knew the true excitement came from the tiny core of reality within. Sometimes, as now, she found herself desiring Becky herself, and not just the person she was playing.

She splashed more water on herself and headed downstairs, to collect another bottle of water that had been cooling in the fridge.

She paused in the living room, looking at the large, thick, old table. It was been part of the furnishings when they had moved in and had thus far been used for nothing more erotic than eating breakfast and reading the newspaper.

But...

It looked sturdy enough to bear her weight.

Maybe later. For now, Holly grabbed her drink and headed back upstairs.

----------

The clasp was cold and hard, fixed mercilessly around Raven's teased and hardened nipple. She could not see it, but she could feel it clearly, an ache, an itch, both unbearable, running throughout her taut and nude body.

The Inquisitor fixed another clasp, identical, to the other nipple, squeezing and deftly manipulating the hard, dark nubbin. Then, carefully, the cruel and unseen tormentor pulled at the chain that bound the twin clasps together.

Raven shook, writhing as the ache heightened, throbbing through her. Her toes tingled and she curled her feet up. Her hands clenched and shook. She wanted to scratch, to rub herself, to tear those accursed clamps away from her tender nipples, but she was bound tightly and expertly, and could do nothing but endure and suffer and pray for a futile mercy.

That single, light pull done, the Inquisitor turned her attention away from Raven's lovely breasts, leaving the helpless young girl to shake helplessly at the ever growing ache rising and spreading from her beautiful and shapely bosom.

For a long time, growing longer and more terrible in Raven's tortured mind with every passing loud heartbeat, the Inquisitor turned her attention away. What next? the anguished girl wondered. What could possibly happen to her now?

She knew in her heart that the Inquisitor had barely even started, and already the girl was paralysed with fear, sobbing and trembling. Could she but speak, she would confess to anything, everything, just to end this ordeal, or at least transfer it to something else.

But she was gagged, and not a sound could pass her full red lips, but for the tiny squeak of a choked cry, or the distant echo of a terrified moan.

At first, she thought the light brush against her belly was nothing but another caress by the Inquisitor's long nails. But this seemed colder, harder, somehow different.

Then the shadowed woman held up an object, catching the light of the flickering torches, for the imprisoned girl to see. Raven screamed inside her mind, a cry of negation, a hopeless effort to remove what the Inquisitor held from reality.

It was a knife, the blade a little longer than Raven's hand, one edge straight, the other lightly curved, coming to a sharp point. The edge was smooth and sharp, not marked or serrated. It could cut clean and straight, and smooth, soft flesh like Raven's, it would cut best of all.

A thin line was drawn across Raven's belly, a light and gentle touch. For a moment, there was nothing, a sensation little more than a caress from the gentlest of lovers. Then, came a burst of pain, a sudden welling of blood and anguished cries and sobs muffled by a merciless gag.

Another line, no longer than one of Raven's fingers, across her thigh. A sharp prick into the underside of her breast. A tickling trail down across her ribs, not breaking the skin, but always carrying the threat of it.

A long trail up the inside of her left leg, from knee to groin.

The metal of the blade was cold as it rested carefully against the fleshy lip of Raven's innermost treasure. The girl froze, her breath caught in her throat, her racking sobs held still. Even her tears did not fall, but welled in her doe-like eyes, waiting for the moment that froze her to pass.

But it did not pass. The Inquisitor touched the point of the knife to Raven's lip, slowly trailing it inside, running it up inside her body, cold against the dripping warmth, penetrating her no more than a fraction of an inch, but there, invading her body, threatening her with more wounds, more blood, more pain, more mutilation.

Raven locked all her muscles into place, refusing to move even at all. Her arms, her legs, her body, tightly bound by the ropes and chains of the Inquisitor, now bound even firmer by her own mute and paralysing terror.

The side of the blade touched her hard, quivering flower. Nausea filled her, a terror so instant and so profound as to cause her physical illness. She swallowed back the rising gorge, focussing all her will on not moving. Even a single twitch could be enough for the Inquisitor's hand to slip, for the knife to move inside her.

Not a single muscle could she move, not a single squeak could she make. She could do nothing but remain locked in place, hoping and praying the monstrous woman would not do it, would not...

The Inquisitor removed the knife, setting it down on the floor with an audible clink. She moved to the back of the room and her form was lost to the shadows.

Raven let out a terrified scream that only she could hear, that existed only in her mind.

----------

Holly leaned back, exhausted, both with the heat and with her feverish imagination. Sweat was trickling down her forehead and her back and between her breasts. Her T-shirt was sodden and as transparent as if it had been soaked in a bucket of water.

Wearily, she got up from the chair. She could not continue writing, not feeling like this. She needed to rest, to recover her energy. It was too hot for coffee and she did not like cola.

She needed to cool down and nothing she had tried so far had done the trick. She needed a shower. A long, cold shower. That would achieve the twin tasks of washing the sticky sweat from her body and, hopefully, cooling the arousal swirling around inside her.

According to the computer clock it was not quite nine. Becky would still not be home for hours. Holly suddenly missed her very much.

Scooping up a towel, she headed slowly downstairs towards the bathroom, which was on the first floor, Holly herself having the attic room. (Nice and quiet for her studying, and her writing, had been the theory.)

She had to peel the T-shirt and panties from her body, and even the skirt was too damp and sticky to be worn again without a wash. She looked at the small pile of clothes on the floor, her eyes kept away from the mirror, and then she stepped into the shower.

The water was cold, and she shivered at first with the sharp sensation of countless icy needles raining down upon her naked body. She adjusted the spray, and picked up the shover gel. A pleasant, minty smell reached her senses, but not strong enough to replace the smell of her own arousal.

She rubbed the gel into her belly, and up across her breasts. Small, smaller than Raven's, smaller than Becky's, but the perfect size for her slender frame. She slowly rubbed the foam across her nipple, imagining the clamps squeezing mercilessly on the soft flesh.

She had used clothespins once, in one of her self-bondage games, before she had met Becky. She had not been able to bear the pain, growing and rising with each moment. She had practically torn her hands free to rip the pegs from her breasts, and the nipples had been sore for days afterwards. Becky had suggested using them, but she had declined, not wishing to have to endure that again.

Perhaps...

No. She stopped that thought as the nipple teased into hardness beneath her slow and rhythmic caresses. Realising what she was doing, defeating the point of the shower, she set to work soaping and lathering her legs. She never used to wear any skirt that came above the shin, but Becky's powers of persuasion had changed that. Guys certainly noticed her legs now. Smooth and devoid of marks or pocks. Holly had them waxed, her own idea, not Becky's. Becky seemed to love her legs and there was very little Holly would not do for her girlfriend.

What would the Inquisitor do to Raven's legs, Holly wondered? Besides tie them in such an agonising position. Raven was taller than Holly, her thighs slightly fleshier, slightly more curved. Not fat, or plump or even especially curvaceous, but...

Holly's hand instinctively reached up to the dark hair between her legs.

No!

This was... really... not... working... Becky had given Holly permission to pleasure herself. Well, she hadn't phrased it like that, but after Holly had spent an entire week wandering around in a fog of desire because Becky had been pulling all-night study sessions to finish her coursework, Becky had made it clear she didn't mind if Holly took matters into her own hands.

But still, to Holly's mind, it felt wrong. She owed Becky everything, and one of the smallest ways she could think of to pay her back, was to keep all her pleasure for Becky only.

She drew her hand away from her groin and quickly washed her hair. She kept her mind on the functional task before stepping out of the shower and quickly drying herself off.

Ah, she realised. She had no clean clothes here. She normally brought a change of clothes with her to the shower, but she had forgotten now. Biting her lip, she thought over her options. She couldn't put back on the sodden clothes she had discarded, but the alternative was walk through the house naked.

She was the only one here. There were no open curtains through which anyone could spy on her. She had no objections to being tied up, dressed in revealing lingerie or kinky clothing, or even to being penetrated by three vibrators set up to resemble tentacles.

But she couldn't bring herself to walk about naked in an empty house. It was just... one of those things.

Finally, she wrapped the towel around herself. It came to the tops of her breasts and to the middle of her thighs. That was enough to satisfy her modesty. She returned quickly to her bedroom, holding the towel in place in one hand and carrying her damp clothes with the other. The echo of footsteps and the sound of doors creaking open followed her, haunting her.

What if someone was here? What if some woman had broken in, or was hiding? What if she found Holly, overpowered her? What if she read the stories and wanted to try some of those things out on Holly? What if...?

The door to her room closed behind her, and she breathed out in relief. The perils of an overactive imagination, a submissive nature and a libido enhanced beyond all her wonderings.

She dressed quickly, although only to her underwear. A black, padded, low-cut bra, that pushed up and displayed and revealed her breasts, giving her a fairly impressive cleavage. The bra was a gift from Becky of course. Holly would never have dared buy something like that herself.

And simple, plain black panties.

Holly sat down to continue writing, when she forced herself to slow down. It was still only 9.24. Despite her cold shower, she was still burning with desire. As much as she wanted Becky to come home now, she knew it wasn't going to happen.

Wait. Take her time. Write carefully, motivated by the desire to write a good story, not to make herself even more aroused than she already was.

She played three games of Freecell, losing them all, and threatening her push to make 75 wins in a hundred games. She finally won a game of Minesweeper, and then returned to writing.

She had just written the word Raven when she hesitated, got up and pulled the wheeled drawer out from under her bed. A moment's rummaging revealed a leather collar with long, dangling leash. She fixed the collar around her neck and only then did she return to writing.

She had felt strangely naked without it.

----------

Raven dared to hope that for now she was to be allowed some peace, that the Inquisitor had been called away, that they would recognise this was all a mistake, that she would be permitted to leave.

She knew, with rational thought, that would never happen, but rational thought was alien to her now. Terrified beyond reasoning, her muscles aching with the pain of her bondage, her body trembling from countless little cuts, her nipples burning with an itch she longed to tear free...

The girl had never known such torments before, and she knew that there was so much more that could be done to her. So far, the Inquisitor had done nothing that would leave permanant signs. If released now, Raven's body would heal.

Much worse could yet still happen. The Inquisitor would permanently mutilate her, cut away her breasts, or her limbs. She could be starved to death, or whipped until the skin was flayed from her body, revealing the red muscle and flesh beneath. She could be blinded, or her tongue removed, her fingers broken beyond healing.

She could be raped.

That fear, more than any, filled her. Sweaty, grunting men rising above her, thrusting themselves into her warm, inviting holes, over and over again, laughing at her screams, raining their thick, foul-smelling juices across her face or breasts.

She remembered the cold touch of the very tip of the knife inside her, and she shivered, strange sensations running through her, feelings that she did not want to explore.

She closed her eyes to prevent the tears welling up and blinding her. She shook and writhed and ached, and time passed in a twisted parody of blessed sleep. She suffered in her dreams and imaginings as she had suffered in real life, never knowing which was which.

At first, she wondered if the presence of the Inquisitor above her was just a hallucination, but she swallowed and realised the bitter taste of leather and metal was gone from her mouth and her gag was gone.

"Please," she said, a dry croak no more audible than the caress of bare skin by a leather whip. She coughed, and tried again. "Please, I'll say anything, confess to anything. Whatever you want. Anything. I'll do anything, just... please... don't... hurt me... any more... Anything..."

It was a shameful and pathetic display, but the girl was capable of no more. Her pride had deserted her in this dark chamber, gone utterly from her soul.

"I know you will," whispered the woman, her face still in shadows. Her body, what Raven could see of it, was a thing of artistry, magnificent curves and tawny skin, displayed by leather and mesh and almost transparent and powerful...

She had something in the palm of her right hand. Her left was stroking it.

"I know you will," she said again. "Do you know why I have removed your gag?"

"No," whimpered the terrified and pathetic creature.

"I have decided I want to hear you scream. Can you see my little pet?" She lowered her hands, allowing Raven to see what was in her hands. The girl squinted, straining her eyes in the barely lit room, and then she realised what it was, and she screamed.

"No! NOOOO!"

It was a spider, a dark and vile thing, covered with thick, dark, spiny fur, its legs long and hideous. Mercifully, and it was a small mercy, Raven could not see its foul, alien head, nor look into its cruel and unforgiving eyes.

"I collect them," continued the cruel but stunning tormentor. "I breed them. I have many. And all of them will use your body as a place of exercise."

Gently, as if cradling an object of immense value that would be easily broken, the woman lowered the monstrosity onto Raven's belly. Just the touch of those hairy, disgusting mandibles across her soft skin... the clicking noise, the brushing of the hard hair...

Then came another, and another, and more until she had no idea of the numbers.

They trailed across her body. No part of her was untouched by them, not her belly, nor her fine breasts, nor the dark nipples still cruelly clamped, nor her long legs, bleeding lightly from faint cuts, nor the dark patch of her own fur between her legs, from beneath where came the dripping and warm sign of her greatest shame, and not even her face, eyes closed against the terrible things she might otherwise see, mouth open in anguished screams until one of them brushed a leg over her open lips and she clamped her mouth so close she felt she might never open it again, not even to breathe...

----------

Holly was finding it difficult to type one-handed. After sentences, before sentences, in the middle of sentences, her right hand slipped into the soft fabric of her panties. She kept stopping, forcing herself away, but still her hand wandered, obeying orders that came not from her mind.

10.47. Still a long time. Still...

Holly could see the scene in her mind, knew what the Inquisitor would do to the beautiful Raven. She seemed to write so slowly. If only she could make the words on the screen as quickly as she could make them in her mind. If only...

Of course, she'd type faster if she didn't reach out to touch herself every few words. She'd be much quicker if she wasn't always so aroused when writing.

But then, that was most of the fun.

Ah, she knew what to do.

The same place she had kept her collar, the one with the leash brushing sensuously betwen her breasts, the end rubbing against her sore and sensitive groin, she kept other things there as well.

She clipped the handcuffs over her wrists. The chain was less than a foot long. Enough room to type, with difficulty, but it should prevent any... other activities.

She hoped.

She would have to see if she could buy a chastity belt. She'd heard they were very uncomfortable, but that might work. Becky hadn't been fond of the idea. She preferred easy access to all parts of Holly's body, but still...

Slightly more encumbered, Holly returned to work, but not before checking the time first.

----------

Raven's screams had become moans, motivated by something other than fear now. The spiders had crawled from her body, their loathsome caresses over her bare skin now replaced by caresses of a very different sort. Pain and fear had been replaced by fear, but the writhing girl would almost have preferred the pain.

The Inquisitor was touching her, caressing her, stroking her. Light, delicate, careful touches. Brushing her here and there.

Raven was incapable of coherent speech, unable to speak words. Nothing left her mouth but moans and groans, squeaks and whines. The sounds of a woman brought closer and closer to ultimate ecstacy, filled with shame and embarrassment and humiliation.

The Inquisitor pulled gently at the chain running between Raven's nipples. This was not a sharp, brutal tug, but a gentle toying. Raven wanted to reach out and tear the things away from her erect, shivering nubbins.

Goose bumps had risen all over her body. Her skin had become so sensitive that every touch sent her into writhing paroxysms of desire.

She had never felt like this, not with any of her lovers. No one had been able to touch her, to make her as aroused as this monstrous, evil torturer.

A stranghled cry left her mouth a slow finger slid inside her, where the cold metal of the knife had been placed. Her hardened centre of pleasure shuddered a this invasion, so much more welcome to her body than the last one had been. A gentle touch on her clit...

She couldn't think, couldn't concentrate, couldn't imagine anything, coldn't wish for anything other than for this to continue. She knew the Inquisitor would stop soon, would leave her like this, leave her to suffer this arousal, or perhaps rase a whip or the knife again and turn from pleasure to pain but she did not stop. She never stoped, she jus kepy touching her and every secon brought her closer to release...

Her hert pounded in her chest and each great, gsping lunful of breath was not enough and Raven felt the beginings of a great trembling runn through her and she knew that soon, soon...

No!

Soon...

No...

----------

Holly stopped. Her hands, still cuffed together slid down, resting on her thighs, clawing into her skin. She had seen the typos in that last scene, the places where her finger had slipped, where the cuffs had restrained her movement too much, where her mind had been concentrating on too many other things than spelling.

She could go back and correct them, but it seemed too much bother. She wanted to finish the story, but she could not. She wanted to... oh, God, how much she wanted to just finish this... the way she felt...

With a cry every bit as anguished as any of Raven Iwasaki's beneath her torture, Holly got up, reeling. She could not finish writing. Every word she wrote put her mind in that of the helpless victim, and just as Raven craved release from the feelings of pleasure cascading through her, so did Holly. Raven would never gain release, but Holly needed to...

She saved the story and knelt under the bed, picking up various items she would need. Carrying them in her cuffed hands, she scurried downstairs, carefully turning off every light as she went.

She wanted to just bring herself to release here and now, but she knew she could not. She knew what she had to do, and however much she wanted to do it, she had to be careful and cautious.

The first thing she did was make sure the front and back door were locked. Becky had a key, of course, and so did the landlord, but he would not come around at this time of night. Having done this, she then checked again. It would have been a weird thing if the doors had been open and some burglar had burst in. Holly, in her underwear, collar and hands cuffed. What a sight that would have been.

She then made sure the living room curtains were closed, firmly so, that no one could look in. She could hear passersby outside, many of them obviously drunk. She didn't want any of them seeing her like this, although she realised if anyone wanted to look, they could already have done so.

She looked back at the table. She had lowered all her goods by there, but she had to clear and clean it first. She took the cups through to the kitchen, piled the newspaper near the recycling bin. She sprayed the table with surface cleaner and wiped it down thoroughly, removing every coffee and milk stain. She dried it off with kitchen towel, making sure it was dry and spotless.

All this time, she was burning with desire, not helped by the fact that her hands were still cuffed and the end of her leash kept brushing against her groin and legs. She had simply not thought about removing either, not yet.

She and Becky had plenty of gags. Holly liked the image of her wearing a gag. It heightened her eyes - the one part of her she did like - and it made her feel that much more vulnerable and helpless. Becky preferred her without a gag, partly for obvious reasons, but also because she liked to hear Holly moan and cry out.

Oh well, Becky could remove the gag later. Holly had chosen a ball gag, not overly large, but big enough to ensure not a sound could leave her mouth. Her jaw would start to ache in no time.

Then came the clothing, such as it was. Holly debated the issue silently, standing her with her leash, handcuffs and ball gag. She knew the underwear made her look good, but she also knew that Raven was naked, and she would have to be as well. She opened the key to her left wrist and very quickly stripped nude.

There was something about being nude in bondage gear... A shiver of delicious anticipation ran through her.

The next item was one she was not sure about. Becky had bought her some nipple clamps. She had tried them once and the feeling had been unbearable, almost unendurable. She had been screaming for them to be taken off her within minutes. If she attached them now, she would not be able to take them off until Becky came home. That would be hours away.

She held them in her hands, looking at them. Tiny clips, connected by a thin, silver chain. Finally reaching a decision, she put them on, wincing immediately.

She had to finish this soon, before she lost her nerve and tried to take them off. They were painful and irritating, but if Raven was wearing them, then so was she.

She quickly attached cuffs to her other wrist and to both ankles. The matching cuffs were all left open. Darting across the room, she turned off the lights, leaving her alone in the dark. It was all right. She could do this in the dark.

There was a moment's panic as the table creaked as she lay down on it. She felt it should be able to take her weight, but was not sure. A moment resting there, wondering how she would explain breaking it this way to Becky, or the landlord, and she was satisfied she had nothing to worry about.

Still wanting to tear the clips from her nipples, as hard and dark as Raven's were, she sat up and hooked her ankle cuffs to the table legs. The chains were short, very short, holding her legs spread wide around the table corners. Her muscles protested at the position, but she lay back down, her back against the cold, still slightly damp table top.

The next part was the most difficult. She carefully threaded her leash under the table, getting it to the underbar. Weaving the leash through the small gap between the top of the bar and the underside of the table was difficult and took several tries, but she finally managed it. She then drew the end of the leash around, and clipped it to itself. Her head was now pulled down over the edge of the table, the collar pulling hard on her neck. Breathing was difficult and uncomfortable, but not impossible.

The last thing to do was fix her wrist cuffs to the other table legs and that was managed easily and quickly. She was now helplessly bound to the table, unable to free herself, unable to move.

It was only then that she realised she should have taken the nipple clamps off. And she should have inserted a vibrator before doing this.

Oh well. She lost herself in the fantasy of Raven Iwasaki, allowing time to pass as she waited the three or four hours for Becky to come home.

----------

There could be better ways to be greeted upon coming home from work, Becky thought, but she couldn't imagine any off hand.

She had not had a good time at work. Leaving aside the heat, the smoke and the idiotic customers, she had had to put up with the bar manager hitting on her again, mopping up large amounts of vomit and being seriously overworked as two other barstaff just hadn't bothered to show up.

She had walked home in a foul mood, and a good forty-five minutes later than normal, which evaporated the instant she turned on the lights and saw Holly bound spreadeagled across the living room table.

Holly began to whimper, shifting uncomfortably in her bonds. Becky had some idea of her girlfriend's self-bondage skills, and she had no doubt Holly was very well tied indeed, with no hope of getting out. For a moment, she was angry. What if there had been a fire, or something? But then she smiled.

Slowly and deliberately, fighting back the sudden feeling of arousal, she hung up her coat in the hallway and walked slowly towards her lover. Becky was taller than Holly and dressed in the bar uniform of tight top, very short skirt and black stockings that showed her body off very well. In her eyes, however, there was nothing sexier than Holly, naked and helplessly tied up.

She sat cross-legged before Holly's dangling head, and absently ran her hand through Holly's dark hair.

"Been here long?" she said, smiling. Holly whimpered something through her gag. It was a wonderful sound, loving and hurt and pathetic and yearning all in one. Becky leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"Have you been writing?" Holly nodded as well as she could with her head hanging upside down and tightly secured by a leash. Then came another whimper. "I'll go and have a look. And change to something more suitable, depending. And maybe have a shower first. I'm quite sweaty. And hungry. Maybe I'll order a pizza. I think that place down the road is still open. Or... I don't know. I am quite tired. I might just go to bed."

Holly began to whine frantically, pulling out with her bound limbs. Becky smiled. She had no intention of going to bed, not with this waiting for her. Even going upstairs to read Holly's latest magnum opus seemed almost like an unpleasant diversion. Still, Holly had clearly gone to a lot of effort with this, and Becky always appreciated it when she put some effort in.

She kissed Holly's forehead again and awkwardly stood up. She had been on her feet all night and her legs ached. Oh, to sit down and...

Then she noticed the nipple clamps Holly was wearing. She didn't normally like them. No wonder she was writhing and moaning. It probably wasn't all desire. Playfully, Becky gave the chain a quick tug. The sound that came from Holly's gagged mouth definitely sounded more like desire than pain, but there was some of the latter there.

The sooner she went upstairs, the sooner she could come downstairs again.

Smiling, Becky left, taking the stairs two at a time, her fatigue fading quickly.

----------

The Inquisitor waited in her darkened sanctuary, mind lost in meditation, pondering her lovely young captive. Raven Iwasaki lay helpless in the room just beneath her feet, ready to break with but a moment's more pressure.

What to do? How to complete the shattering of the girl's tormented psyche?

The cruel woman shivered with the coming experience. This was always the part she most treasured, most anticipated. Soon...

Soon, Raven Iwasaki would be hers utterly, in all things, body and soul...

----------

Becky sat back from the computer screen, her eyes tired but the rest of her body shivering with anticipation. So that was what Holly had been up to.

Becky had always been imaginative. While she did not like writing, she could create plots and characters in her mind. It was the effort of getting the stories down in a tangible form that irritated her. She role-played often (the more mundane variety) and her imagination served her there. She could visualise and identify with the character of the Inquisitor just as well as she knew Holly would with Raven.

The thought of Holly lying naked and sread-eagled across the table intruded on the forefront of her mind, but Becky pushed it away, with some reluctance. This would be done properly. Becky had spent weeks preparing the dungeon in their cellar and creating the tentacles she had used to violate Holly's body. The wait had definitely been worth it.

As for now...

An outfit. That was what Becky needed. Holly had done most of the work, but she had not described the Inquisitor properly. No doubt that was deliberate. It left the exact nature of her clothing up to Becky.

Musing on the matter, Becky went downstairs to her bedroom on the first floor and opened up her private wardrobe of certain special clothing she would not wear in public.

What to wear? What to wear? Most of the outfits had connotations with other characters and other games. That one and that one for Lady Senyakhaz. That one she had prepared for Vaga, chieftainess of the Panther Girls, although she had not yet had the chance to use it. A pseudo-superheroine costume, half-done.

Ah, yes... this should work.

Quickly, she stripped out of her smoke-smelling barmaid's uniform and dropped them on the floor. She was nowhere near as neat and tidy as Holly (usually) was. Naked, she felt the warm air brush against her body. Past three in the morning and it was still hot. She was sweaty after work and her walk home. Perhaps she should have a shower first?

She decided aginst it, and set to dressing first.

There was very little to this costume. It consisted of a few bits and pieces she had bought online. She had always planned to extend on it with some jewellery or a few extra accessories here and there. As it was, it would have to do.

The top half was simple enough. A leather collar around her neck, with a few small studs. Extending down the front was a leather strap, running to just above her belly button. Similar straps ran down her sides, joining up in the small of her back. Hooked to these straps were five lengths of chain, running across the front of her body. They were loose and jangled as she moved. They caressed the upper and lower slopes of her breasts, and her belly. One chain ran directly across her nipples. Cold and hard, they caused her to shiver.

Low on her waist, she wore a thin leather belt, with straps running between her legs, forming the bare outline of panties with nothing in them. More leather chains linked these straps, concealing her pussy in the briefest of ways.

She wondered about wearing boots and finally decided on her high-helled, thigh black boots. She was very proud of her legs, and she knew Holly liked them. Holly liked those boots, and they gave her a few extra inches with which to tower over her helpless captive. Besides, she liked the feel of them on her legs.

She picked up a small, five-tailed lash from the chest as well. Just for fun.

And Becky the Inquisitor went downstairs to her helpless captive.

---------

Raven lost track of how long she had spent there alone, her muscles aching in the dark chamber of her torment. Her nipples burned with the cruel clamps on them. She wanted more than anything to rip her hands free of the bonds that held them and tear the terrible clamps from the sensitive buds of flesh.

But worse even than that feeling, was the burning in her loins. The cruel Inquisitor had teased and tormented her, using finger and tongue and her dark knowledge, to bring the raven-haired beauty almost to a climax the likes of which the girl had never imagined possible.

But then, without a word, without another action, the Inquisitor had gone, leaving Raven to her private torment.

She had wept, she had cried into her gag, tears stained her lovely face. More than anything else she could conceive of more even than her freedom at this point, Raven Iwasaki wanted nothing more than for the Inquisitor to return and slake her lust.

The girl's body quivered as the sound of a door opening reached her ears, and a familiar shadow fell over her lovely form.

----------

The lash across her stomach caused her to shudder, lovely limbs pulling against the tightness of her bonds. The blow itself had not been so hard, but it was the anticipation of it, the fear of it, the wondering as to what was to happen next. To be alone for so long, tied and helpless, burning with a passionate desire... Every inch of her gorgeous body was trembling and the slightest brush would be enough for her to shake.

The pull on her nipple chain, however gentle or light, was also enough to cause her to writhe helplessly. Her nipples were burning with an itch the bound girl could not slake, could not ignore. Even a single breath on her breasts would cause her feelings both delightful and terrible.

But worst of all was the single finger that penetrated inside her, rubbing her hard source of pleasure. Shocks ran throughout her body and a moan seeped around the edges of the tight and painful gag that filled her mouth, a moan borne of equal parts desire and shame.

"Do not speak," Becky said. "A single word and I shall leave you here until the sun rises, and let all and sundry look on your nakedness."

The girl wondered at this, through a mind fogged by pain and desire. How could she speak? She was gagged most thoroughly. And she was trapped in a dungeon. None would pass through... Unless the Inquisitor intended to allow others to parade past her sweet nudity.

The first question was resolved when the woman, darkness still covering her form, bent down and removed the gag from the girl's mouth. The rattle of chains sounded as the tormentor moved.

The helpless girl breathed out in gasps, about to say something, some futile plea for mercy, or even for release, when she remembered her captor's words, and fell silent.

"I had intended to hurt you further," Becky said. "A whip across your bare breasts, or belly. Needles, perhaps, into your soft skin. Burning wax cascading down onto your helpless body. But I find myself..." she paused, thinking. "I find I want some pleasure of my own. There will be plenty of time for your suffering to continue later. All the time there is."

This time the girl really was going to speak, although for what purpose even she would be unaware until the words left her mouth.

"No words," Becky said, interrupting her. "I freed your mouth for one purpose only, and it was not to speak."

She spread her legs wide and stood directly above the face of the stricken girl. She then understood what that purpose was. Shame filled her, that she be used in such a way, that she be forced to act in such a way.

And yet... and yet... No one need ever know. She had no hopes of ever leaving this dungeon alive, and if such hope did exist, then it would be dependant on the goodwill of this cruel woman.

Either she would not leave this room, or she would. In either event, no one would know what she had been forced to do here. It was not her fault. She had been tortured, whipped, tightly bound, plagued with spiders and suffering of various kinds.

And another thought came to her, one she dare not admit even to herself. Perhaps if she did this for this cruel woman...

Perhaps...

Perhaps she would be allowed release herself.

Swallowing, and running her tongue over her dry lips, she raised her head as much as she could, which was not far. It was far enough, however, to reach the nether lips of her cruel tormentor, and to lick and kiss her there.

Her shame was rewarded when she felt the woman lean over her body, and touch her own innermost self. This time, the woman's fingers remained there, touching and caressing her with far more skill than she showed with her tongue.

So enraptured was she by this sudden pleasure that the girl forgot her own duties for a moment. Her head dropped, her tongue retreated into her mouth and a low moan left her, a sound of rising ecstacy.

The woman slapped the inside of her leg hard and straightened her body, her legs still in place over the poor girl's head, but her fingers no longer inside her.

"You are here to serve my pleasure. It is not the other way around. To see you remember this..."

The thighs closed tighter around the girl's head, squeezing. The helpless prisoner then felt the chain on her nipples pulled. This was not a light and gentle tug such as before. This was a savage and brutal display of force, as if intending to tear the poor girl's dark nipples from her lovely breasts and mar her beauty forever.

Weeping, her screams lost between her tormentor's long and muscular legs, the girl returned to her work with vigour, licking and kissing and caressing. Her task was marred by her inexperience and pain and the feeling of blood rushing to her head and the agony rising from her nipples, but she continued.

The pressure on her nipples lessened, but the pain was always there, the chain held ready, a single sharp tug enough to bring cacades of agony once again into the helpless girl's body.

The taste of her tormentor's arousal filled her, intoxicating her, causing a terrible sense of shame to rise within her. This, she knew, was just another part of the torture. She had been bound and whipped and covered with spiders and now she was forced to debase herself, to act and serve as a sex slave to this irredeemably cruel woman.

But she continued. Later, she would try to tell herself this was because she knew she would be tortured if she stopped, but that was not it. She could not think at this time, she could not know anything. This was what she had to do, and that was all.

Her interrogator knew this, and smiled. From this point on, everything would be easy.

The muscular thighs tightened hard as the woman came, her oil dripping onto the shamed girl's face. In the small spasms of ecstacy that filled her, she pulled on the chain, perhaps inadvertently, perhaps not. It was a sharp and hard pull, and the naked girl wanted to scream in utter agony, the tears in her eyes mingling with the juice of arousal that stained her pretty face.

For a moment she paused, but then the woman smacked her hard, on the inside of her thigh with her free hand.

"Did I tell you to stop?" she said, huskily.

The girl could not speak, for her mouth was covered, but her actions were answer enough.

It was easier the second time, and easier still the third. Quicker, too. The girl had some idea of what to do, of where to touch, to lick, to nibble. The woman was more aroused, too, and easier to bring to release... the same release that was denied the prisoner herself.

But then she was a prisoner, a victim, helpless before the whims of her captor. That was what it meant to be a prisoner, even...

a slave.

The terrible thought hat for the rest of her life she would be dependent on the whims of others came to her, and she trembled. But there soon followed another thought, of how exciting and thrilling that would be. Of how any moment now, her Mistress could reach for her and bring to her the same pleasure she was experiencing, of how...

The free woman came again, for the fourth time, and only them did she step back. For a long moment, she paused, regarding the pleading, dripping face of her helpless, young captive, as if silently debating an issue.

Then, she had clearly decided, and reached forward....

-----------

Holly dropped her head, her cries fading. She had cum quickly, almost instantaneously. After so long waiting for Becky to come home, writing, lying her bound and helpless...

Becky sat down beside her, legs crossed, a wide smile on her face.

"You sure know how to welcome me home from work," she said, chuckling. Holly smiled weakly, too exhausted to say anything.

"Do you want me to untie you? That can't me comfortable."

"No... Not yet."

"What about the clamps? Not even them?"

"No... no..."

Becky shrugged. "Whatever you say, sweetie. You're the boss. Well, I'm the boss obviously, but... you know what I mean.

"I really liked the story, by the way. I could tell you were soaking when writing bits of it."

Despite herself, despite all they had just done, Holly blushed.

"Are you going to finish it?"

"Yes, but not... not yet..."

"You do know the Inquisitor would never let Raven come, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Okay, just my opinion. You're lucky I'm nicer than she is. So, if you don't want me to untie you, that must mean..."

She stood up. Holly smiled weakly, and in no time, she was screaming again. Good screams.

----------

Her screams were muted by the gag returned to her mouth. Crying and sobbing piteously, her face and lips stained with the signs of what she had done, Raven Iwasaki trembled in her bonds. Her body was still taut, still wracked with unsated desire, still yearning for a release that would never come.

She had done as the Inquisitor had ordered. Everything. and yet, still she lay here, weeping and helpless and yearning...

The Inquisitor had gone now, leaving Raven to the darkness of the cell. She had nothing to do now but wait. The young and beautiful girl was helpless to do anything else.

With each passing heartbeat, she listened for the footsteps, for the opening of the door, for the terrible and cruel voice, for the coming of more torture and torment and pain...

but also for the coming of her release from her own private torture, and for that she prayed.