DUNGEON MEAT

By Llabmik

Chapter 1 – Highborn Bitch

Grand Duchess Isabella lifted her nose in utter contempt as she watched that despicable worm, Lord Escobar, toady to the Grand Inquisitor. The lickspittle courtier had a peculiarly fawning expression on his face as he talked to the ancient priest. She would never have invited either the Grand Inquisitor or Lord Escobar to one of her parties, but their hostess, the Queen of Spain, sadly had to cater to all factions.

Feeling immensely superior to such grubby riff-raff, the Grand Duchess chatted amiably with the Queen, admiring the expensive decorations and high-priced entertainment. As far as the Grand Duchess Isabella was concerned, the Grand Inquisitor was just a glorified garbage collector. His filthy, shabbily dressed victims babbling hysterically like retards in front of the crowd at an auto-da-fe were obvious rejects that had to be cleansed for the good of all. The minor garbage was strangled before being burned. The more disgusting garbage shrieked long and hard for the cheering crowd as they twisted and writhed on seats set on poles high above the flames, being slowly roasted for the edification of all.

Truth to tell, Grand Duchess Isabella rather enjoyed watching the lower orders being forced to scream and squirm. After all, they were barely human and only existed to serve and entertain people like her. It's not like they were real people.

As a member of the nobility, she had a balcony seat at each auto-da-fe and was closer to the agonized victims atop their poles than were the teeming masses below. She felt scant sympathy for such filth and avidly watched the grimy, horrified faces contorted in hideous agony as they slowly cooked over the long tongues of flame. It was a real turn-on. It was a shame her husband was dead, because she had really enjoyed fucking his brains out afterwards. Perhaps she could quietly arrange to have sex after the next auto-da-fe with some young stud who could make her eyes roll back like a shark. She looked around the room speculatively.

The Queen discretely raised her fan to cover her mouth, knowing the look of a cunt on the hunt. She nodded surreptitiously across the room at a young, black haired buck with the physique of a matador. She whispered urgently to Isabella.

"Try Ricardo. Fucks like a mink. Keeps his mouth shut."

Isabella nodded appreciatively.

Lord Escobar glanced over at her as he talked. Isabella arrogantly averted her face, affecting not to notice him. The slimy twerp had actually proposed to her, obviously in pursuit of her late husband's vast holdings. The Grand Duchess was certain that she could do much, much better and have fun with a few Ricardos along the way.

Face haughtily averted, Isabella failed to notice the Grand Inquisitor studying her speculatively while she in turn scoped out young Ricardo.

The Grand Inquisitor was ever on the prowl for easy pickings to further enrich the already overflowing coffers of the Holy Church. There was, of course, a finder's fee (a percentage of her estate), which Lord Escobar would collect if his allegations proved true.

The Grand Inquisitor inspected Isabella carefully. A full figured female, whose ramrod stature not only reflected one born to command the lower orders, it also presented her tits nicely. Isabella's creamy complexion was as flawless as fine porcelain. Her spoiled, pretty face reflected a lifetime of arrogance bossing obsequious servants and grovelling peasants.

Her coiffure was one of her many glories. Isabella's personal hairdresser, Carmen, had worked her magic with slim deft fingers. The buxom beauty's long black hair was fancifully woven around, and held in place by, a large, elaborately carved and beautifully lacquered wooden comb. Needless to say, Isabella's only acknowledgement of this skilful service had been a small condescending nod after inspecting Carmen's work critically in a mirror. Why should she do or say anything more? After all, Carmen was just doing her job.

Carmen's rival, Rosita, had beavered away industriously between Isabelita's legs in a bid to try and get Carmen's job after the Duke's death, but it really wasn't the same as a man. It took the edge off her sexual appetite, but the appetite for men remained, burning steadily in her loins. To Rosita's immense frustration, the Grand Duchess could tell the difference between a tongue whore and a hairdresser and thought more highly of the hairdresser.

Isabelita would hardly have drawn much solace if she had heard what young Ricardo was saying to that old roué, Father Carlos.

Father Carlos raised his eyebrows.

"Young Ricardo, how can you prefer older women?"

Ricardo smirked smugly.

"They don't yell. They don't tell. And they're grateful as hell!"

Ricardo winked across the room at the Grand Duchess, speaking to her on the sly with the language of the eyes. She batted her long eyelashes back at him. Her fan fluttered suggestively. Affecting not to notice, Father Carlos addressed young Ricardo quietly.

"You're not the only man ogling that prime piece of flirting fuckmeat. You had best bed her quickly, for I see the Grand Inquisitor and Lord Escobar eyeing the newly made widow like starving wolves circling a straying lamb."

Ricardo nodded. It was common knowledge amongst the courtiers that the Grand Inquisitor had found that widows were easy pickings, suddenly lacking the protection of a powerful husband.

If what the sagacious Lord Escobar had said about the unwillingness of the Grand Duchess to quickly form a protective alliance were true, the Inquisition would make short work of her. The highborn bitches often foolishly believed that the exalted positions of their late husbands still protected them. Having led pampered existences, reality was often a rude shock to them. The Grand Inquisitor always marked the haughtiest, snottiest ones for future reference. A spoiled, pampered beauty was always where the true money was and, after all, teaching her humility was his Christian duty.

Grand Duchess Isabella looked like she would be an interesting student.

Chapter 2 - Lowborn Bitch

Curiously, snobbery knows no boundaries of class. There are haughty, snotty bitches everywhere.

Sabila the Barmaid sniggered at the chubby priest as he almost fell flat on his face stumbling over the doorsill while entering The Pig and Firken (affectionately called the Firkin Pig by its regular patrons). She snorted like a draft horse (which in some sense she was).

"Look at the fat–faced frocked fuckhead!"

Father Carlos looked at her composedly over the gales of laughter as he regained his balance. He smiled beneficently at the rough tongued tart, marking her for future reference.

"Bless you, my child."

"I'm not your child. My mother has better taste!"

Father Carlos knew better. Reflecting inwardly that sluttiness obviously ran in the family, his protest was mild.

"We are all God's children. If you are Sabila, I do know your mother – a fine woman to have spawned such disrespectful offspring! Do you insult and harry all your customers in this fashion? If so, your tips must be small!"

The fair Sabila placed her hands on her seductive hips and faced him squarely, determined to put him firmly in his place.

"I only pick on those who have taken vows of poverty like yourself. They're no good to me!"

Sabila smirked mockingly at him. Like her mother, Sabila was a naughty super-vixen. She stretched elaborately, tauntingly, jiggling her big melons provocatively.

"Poverty and Chastity must be so boring. No opportunities, nothing to flaunt and squat to do!"

Father Carlos nodded amiably.

"You would be surprised to find how much joy and power is to be had within Mother Church!"

" Very surprised!"

Father Carlos was mildly indignant.

"You doubt God's power?"

"I don't doubt God's power. I doubt yours!"

Father Carlos laughed good-naturedly and ordered a mug of good strong draft ale. He raised his mug to Sabila.

"There is much forgiveness, too, even for an insolent young temptress like yourself. It's lucky for you that men learn, quite literally at their mother's knee, to accept abuse from a woman. They accept from a female that which would be fighting words from a man. Even so, I would guard my tongue if I were you!"

Derisively, she rolled her eyes skywards and gave him the finger. Continuing the motion upwards with that self-same finger, she curled her magnificent blond hair over her cute ears and went to deal firmly with a group of fragrant farmers who had burst in to the pub, loudly stamping the horseshit from their boots and coarsely bellowing for service from the serving wench. Sabila stared at the earnest sons of the soil and sighed theatrically in disappointment. She looked pointedly at the door, which they had signally failed to close behind them.

"Judging from your shabby clothes, your uncouth manners, and even more by your ripe odour, I guess you guys really were born in a barn."

Chapter 3 - Payback

Young Ricardo had laboured mightily between her eagerly parted thighs and then surreptitiously crept back to his father's castle. All fucked out, Grand Duchess Isabella was sleeping soundly on her fine down mattress when the Inquisitors burst in. She sat up in bed, her nightgown bunched around her waist. Safely hidden under the sheets, her bare rump accidentally slid onto the cold slimy wet spot. She rubbed her eyes groggily. A brief glance at the intruders snapped her fully awake.

"What is the meaning of this? Leave my bedroom at once!"

She raised her voice in outrage.

"Where are my guards?"

Her crystal clear, upper crust enunciation reflected the haughtiest disdain and scandalized indignity as she fastened her gimlet gaze on Lord Escobar.

"What is the meaning of this impudence, Lord Escobar?"

He deliberately avoided using any of her many titles when he addressed her.

"Isabella, your guards let us in because we are on God's business authorized by the King himself in full co-operation with the Holy Inquisition. You have been charged with witchcraft. Our deeply religious King is horrified. The Inquisitors are here to ascertain the truth of the matter."

She narrowed her eyes to slits, glaring coldly at Lord Escobar. She threw her head back and tossed her long black hair contemptuously. A cockroach in her soup would have received a more loving reception.

Curling her lip in utter loathing, she spoke very pointedly to her spurned suitor.

"And what are you doing here, Lord Escobar?"

Lord Escobar's cool reply jolted her.

"I have been appointed by His Majesty, the King, to make sure that, as a highborn member of the nobility, you are handled with the greatest respect until your guilt is ascertained."

Isabella looked at him, stunned. Her spurned suitor was now her only protector in a room of hard-eyed muscleheads? Their hoods only masked the top half of their faces. Their feral grins were deeply disturbing and touched an ominous chord of fear deep in her soul. Lord Escobar gestured indolently at the hooded beefcakes in black who surrounded him.

"I'll have to ask you to strip for the gentlemen."

Isabella's jet black eyes bored into Lord Escobar.

"What!!! This is your idea of handling me with the greatest respect?"

To degrade and humiliate a man, he is seized and forcibly stripped. To degrade and humiliate a woman, you force her to strip herself naked in front of everyone. A man who understood these fine nuances, Lord Escobar coughed delicately.

"Ordinarily, these men would grip you firmly and rip the clothes from your body. The King expects your full and complete co-operation in this unpleasant matter. If you choose to resist, the King has said that he will regard this as a sign of your guilt and has authorized these men to treat you as they would the lowliest peasant."

Isabella wasn't giving up.

"This is outrageous! Who is my accuser?"

Lord Escobar was enjoying himself hugely. Verbal fencing always delighted his courtier's heart. His alternately wheedling and acid tongue was a more formidable weapon than any sword.

"You must understand that your accuser's name cannot be revealed to you until your innocence is proven beyond doubt. If you are a witch, you could lay a curse on him or her."

Isabella huffed and puffed, seething with scandalized indignation.

"It is not fair to be accused by a nameless coward! How can the King or the Church permit it?"

A touch of steel entered Lord Escobar's voice.

"I can say this much: your accuser must have credibility or the King would not permit it nor would the Holy Church sanction these proceedings. Furthermore, I do not think that taking on Satan's evil minions is coward's work. If you are a consort of the archfiend, a whore to the beast, Satan's Slut, you are a dangerous woman indeed!"

As Isabella sputtered indignantly, the sly courtier adopted a smoothly oleaginous tone of voice that made her skin crawl.

"As your representative in this matter, I suggest complete co-operation as the King has requested. The sooner you get out of bed, stand before us and strip naked so that you may be examined for the blemish that is the mark of the beast, the sooner it will all be over with."

Isabella blanched.

"I demand to see the King!"

Lord Escobar spoke sharply.

"The King, a Christian of deep piety, has no desire to associate with, or be near, any possible witches. He has selected me to run the risks in his stead and to assist these trained professionals in their dreaded task."

Isabella's eyes darted nervously, taking in the heavyset, hooded monsters that backed Lord Escobar. Her voice was starting to sound plaintive, more uncertain, music to Lord Escobar's ears.

"It is indecent, being naked before strangers! Surely it should be a woman who represents me and looks after both my and the King's interests."

Lord Escobar was arrogantly dismissive.

"The dangerous work is always men's work. This is a job that is totally unsuitable for a woman."

Having put her firmly in her place, he changed completely, speaking softly, a sweetly wheedling courtier, his face a mask of sincerity and reasonableness.

"Isabella, these men are trained professionals, blessed by the Holy Church. I am on your side, aghast at the accusations. I am not about to see a fellow member of the nobility abused and humiliated beyond what is strictly necessary. If the accusation is false, just get it over with and visit vengeance on your accuser afterwards. I will assist you in any vengeance when your innocence is proven. After all, I could well be the next victim of such a villain."

Lord Escobar was delighted to see her sulky, resentful acquiescence as the buxom beauty moved under the covers to the side of her large bed, surreptitiously wiping Ricardo's moist sperm from her bum in the process. She smoothed down her nightdress over her thighs, drew back the covers and put a shapely bare foot on the highly polished wooden floor. Nonchalantly she pulled the blankets to cover the telltale wet spot as she slipped from the bed. She stood before them, straight as a candle, big breasts tenting the front of her nightdress. She glared balefully around her, boldly defiant.

"My skin is blemishless!"

She daringly jerked off her nightdress and stood before them, stark naked.

There was a collective sigh from the assembled men. It was moments like this that made being an Inquisitor worthwhile. Lord Escobar coughed delicately.

"And now for the blindfold, to protect everyone from the evil eye."

Isabella snorted contemptuously at the proffered black leather blindfold dangling negligently from Lord Escobar's index finger.

"Ridiculous! Totally absurd!"

She glared witheringly at the assembled men.

"What cowardly ninnies!"

She boldly snatched the blindfold and defiantly buckled it in place.

"Anything else, Lord Escobar?"

With his usual impeccable timing, Father Carlos stepped into the room. The chubby priest slowly inspected the blindfolded beauty from her slavishly brushed and combed long black hair right down to her pretty little toes, lingering appreciatively on the points in between. Isabella's full ripe monster melons, jiggling delectably, her big pink teats, her tightly clenched buttocks, dimpling prettily, her taut flat belly and her long athletic legs, kept modestly together, were well worth lingering on. Her coal black tangle of richly curled pubic hair contrasted strongly with her indeed blemishless milky white skin.

Father Carlos winked jovially at Lord Escobar. Grinning openly now that the bitch was blindfolded, Escobar winked back at him and gleefully continued to prep the haughty beauty for some serious humbling.

"Two more things, Isabella. The first is to put your hands behind your back that they may be bound securely to prevent any mystic manual invocations."

The sniggering men nudged each other and exchanged gloating looks as Isabella obligingly put her wrists together behind her. Isabella grunted as her wrists and elbows were instantly bound tightly together with whipcord, lifting her tits magnificently as she panted indignantly.

"The whoreson who made this complaint against me shall pay dearly!"

Lord Escobar smirked.

"Which brings us neatly to point two. You must be gagged to prevent any curses being uttered. Open wide, Isabella."

"Outrageous!"

Nevertheless, Isabella opened wide. Lord Escobar cupped the back of her pretty head with one hand and, with the other, rammed the penis gag home, burying it deep in her throat. With a hand clamped firmly over her mouth, he held the gag in as she involuntarily deep-throated it. Strong hands buckled it firmly in place. Isabella gagged and choked, eyes watering under the blindfold.

"You would think that the Wicked One's wench would be an old hand at sword swallowing!"

Father Carlos addressed the hooded Scribe who was sitting at the Grand Duchess's desk with quill and parchment to record the proceedings.

"Let the record show that the witch's attempts to utter a curse were successfully thwarted."

Strong hands pulled Isabella's shapely legs apart as her squirming nakedness was sandwiched between Lord Escobar and Father Carlos. Father Carlos lifted his robes and Lord Escobar unbuttoned his pants. Isabella's widespread feet were twisted inwards, pigeon-toed, to prevent her from clenching her buns, thus opening the panting pink-faced beauty for nearly simultaneous vaginal and anal violations.

She squealed frantically as their combined thrusts neatly opened her holes for business and lifted her to the tips of her pretty little toes. Her toes were allowed to turn outwards so that she could clamp down tightly on the anal invader.

"Let the record further show that, once stripped, the widow showed clear evidence of very recent sexual congress both vaginal and anal!"

The hooded men guffawed as the Scribe dipped his quill in the inkwell and dutifully recorded this shameful truth for the King. They impatiently waited their turn at the naked nookie. There was nothing like a good gangbang to loosen up a stuck-up bitch. No sooner had Lord Escobar withdrawn his dripping member than another rigid manrod took its place, spreading her cuntlips wide and probing deeply. Behind her, Father Carlos unplugged and Isabella squealed frantically as another greased dick took his place, stretching her rectum painfully. Each inquisitor had barely unplugged before the next had rammed his rock-hard erection home. Isabella was the squealing squirming white meat in a continuous, hard-humping, team cream sandwich.

Lord Escobar was indulgent as he chatted amiably with the fat priest.

"Give her time. She's definitely not an Anal Annie now, but she has enthusiastic teachers. By the end of the night, she'll be thoroughly tutored in the Art of the Butt Clench."

Father Carlos nodded.

"On the other hand, I like the way her large soft breasts crush up against the chest of the man in front to give it a good scrubbing with those big nipples. I started by a sneak attack from the rear. Perhaps I should try a full frontal assault next."

As he fisted his penis erect, pumping vigorously to prepare it for round two, he addressed the Scribe.

"Scribe! Make a note that her recent sexual congress obviously involved multiple demonic partners, judging from the quantity of spew scandalously dripping down her thighs from both orifices. The witch must be subjected to a rigorous regime of regular vaginal and anal inspections to keep a lookout for any possible signs that she is gravid with the Spawn of Satan."

One of the hooded monsters chewed hard on her nipples, using his large yellow teeth and rasping tongue vigorously. When they were red, erect and throbbing, he rammed his large, rock-hard member into her dripping, quivering quim.

"Scribe! It should be further noted that her teats showed signs of recent suckling. The fecund succubus may have already pupped at least one demonic brood. She's a bitch of a witch! You are to be commended for having spotted her, Lord Escobar."

Despite the brutally invasive distractions, Grand Duchess Isabella heard this revelation of Lord Escobar's perfidiousness. She shrieked her rage futilely into her penis gag, a long ululating wail. She bounced helplessly up and down, holes opened wide by deep delving dicks, crushed nude between hard-humping, but all-too-human demons.

Her throat was sore. Her nipples stung. Her cunt ached. Her rectum burned. Isabella squirmed and writhed, sobbing and snuffling, trapped in her own fiery hell, thinking stupidly that it couldn't get any worse.

Chapter 4 – Cellar Dweller

The torches flickered, casting tenebrous shadows on the stone walls of the dank subterranean chamber. The raw screams, broken sobs and hysterical pleadings of the damned echoed off the cold walls of the inquisition dungeon with bone-chilling clarity.

A rich musk of piss, shit, blood, sweat and sex infused the nostrils of the fat priest as he inhaled deeply. He smiled benignly at the upturned face staring up at him from behind the grating set in the floor. The tiny oubliette was only two feet deep, four feet long and three feet wide covered by a heavy iron grating locked down on its hapless inhabitant.

"Bless you, child, for you have sinned badly in the eyes of the Lord."

From the oubliette, a scared female voice answered contritely.

"Forgive me, father."

The fair Sabila was lying naked on her back with her legs spread, her parted knees pressed tightly against the rough iron grating, framing her cunt and tits beautifully, a pinned butterfly on display. Sabila, the barmaid who had mocked him the night before, was a mightily shaken bitch. Queen of the bar-room putdown, her remark about the fat-faced frocked fuckhead had been carefully noted by the Inquisitor who had been travelling in a normal monk's robes with none of the insignia of the Inquisition upon him.

He lifted his robes and peed into her flinching smirky-bitch face, directing a long hard beer piss that he had been saving up just for her. She gasped and squirmed as, his thick dick in hand, he played the dark yellow stream over her features. A heavy drinker with a large bladder capacity, he gave her tits a quick spray, directing his strong-smelling urine back and forth over her big pink nipples. Sabila opened her mouth to suck in air and he instantly squirted some over her tongue to give her a taste before it splattered down her open throat.

Her big breasts quivered liquidly as Sabila choked and sputtered.

The sound of her mother's shrill shrieks heard earlier still echoed in her ears. Horrified at what she had brought down on her family with her big fat mouth, Sabila was deep in the throes of a monstrous mental meltdown. Not that the tart-tongued trollop was currently on speaking terms with her mother, but there was a world of difference between an on-going family squabble and being responsible for putting your own mother in soul-searing agony, screaming her lungs out in a torture chamber.

The portly priest smiled down at her. Squatting, he wormed a chubby finger into Sabila's lewdly exposed fuckhole.

"There's no rush for you to confess, Sabila. This 'fat-faced frocked fuckhead' has to get your mother's confession before I get around to you."

Sabila was panic-stricken. After being seized by hooded men in the night, forced to strip naked, stuffed in a tiny cage, finger-raped, pissed on and having heard her mother scream, her storm-tossed mind was churning wildly.

"I confess! My mother has nothing to do with it! I swear! We aren't even on speaking terms!"

Deceptively, the wily priest showed only the mildest interest.

"What exactly are you confessing to, my dear?"

Poor brain-fried Sabila looked confused.

"Witchcraft, what else?"

"You confess to being a witch then?"

"Yes! Yes! It's only me that's a witch. Just leave my mother alone!"

The fat priest looked smug. He was always amazed and delighted at what sweating, frantic females would say and do.

"Actually, you and your mother were only brought here for disrespecting the Holy Inquisition. A bit of detention and a few Hail Mary's would have served to teach you both some much-needed respect. Now we have to examine each of you much more closely. We'll have to bring in your aunt Maria as well."

Sabila was horrified. The fat priest looked thoughtful.

"Witches, eh?"

"No! No! I only said it to free my mother!"

The chubby priest looked at her cunningly, withdrew his questing digits from her cunt and wormed a fat fuck finger into her rectum.

"I wonder what your mother has to say about this new development? We must question her with painstaking thoroughness!"

"No! No! It's all a stupid mistake! It's me you want! I'm the one with the big, fat, stupid mouth!"

The fat priest looked at her earnestly as he pulled his finger out of her nether regions. He stroked her cuntlips and patted her bare buttocks reassuringly.

"Don't worry, my dear. We'll get around to you, but your mother was about to leave. I must hurry to make sure that this evil witch doesn't escape!"

As the fat priest hurried off, he heard Sabila's despairing cries fade behind him.

"NOOOO! NOOOooo! noooooo…!"

He caught up with Sabila's mother just before she left.

"Belinda! Could I ask one more little favour?"

Big busty Belinda gave him a knowing smirk.

"What would ye like, Father Carlos? More of ye olde in-and-out?"

Father Carlos smiled at her winningly.

"I'd like that a lot! Nobody does it like you do!"

"You rogue! I bet you say that to all the damsels!"

"Only to the fairest ones!"

Belinda gave a lusty chortle. She hoisted her skirts and the priest hoisted his robe revealing his rock-hard boner. Belinda grasped it in her strong fingers and milked it skilfully. She grunted in lewd satisfaction as she wrapped her legs around his hips and guided his pocket rocket into her socket.

"Sweating the bitches sure makes you a horny devil!"

Thinking excitedly of her naked helpless daughter, he pumped lustily as he stood, carrying her full weight, his hips thrusting mightily into the winsome wench's warm wet willy warmer. As he emptied his seed into her, he sighed in satisfaction.

"I have one more teensy-weensy favour!"

She looked at him in wonder.

"Again? So soon!"

He chuckled crudely.

"No! No! I'm not that much of a stallion! I want you to exercise your vocal skills."

Belinda smirked slyly.

"You have some new witches to sweat?"

He smiled.

"Exactly! Just stand at the doorway to the dungeon and curdle their blood! Your screams during our previous carnal exercise were most inspirational. One of the bitches confessed to witchcraft right afterwards just on the basis of that alone!"

Belinda was scathingly contemptuous.

"Stupid cunt! Make her scream extra long and hard to teach her a lesson."

Father Carlos chuckled warmly.

"Excellent suggestion!"

They both giggled. Father Carlos was encouraging.

"Let's see how many more you can get to confess with your next effort!"

Belinda, blissfully ignorant of her daughter's plight, sniggered.

"My pleasure!"

They went down the stone steps to the bowels of the castle. They stopped by the heavy studded door, the gateway to a smoky, torchlit hell of groaning, sobbing victims, Belinda gave him a coy wink and emitted an ear-piercing shriek directed down to horrified ears in the dark dank depths. The background groaning and sobbing stopped abruptly, giving way to a terrified silence as busty Belinda inflated her ample torso and began a virtuoso vocal performance.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She took a deep breath.

"NO! NO! ANYTHING BUT THAT!!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!"

"PLEASE, NOT THERE!!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"GOD! GOD! I CAN'T STAND THE PAIN!!!!!!!!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

She shrieked and pleaded hoarsely on and on, her cries, sobs and pleadings echoing eerily off the cavernous stone walls.

"NOT THE BREASTS!!!! PLEEEEEAAAAASE NOOOOO!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A skilful actress, she added a whole new depth of horror to her voice.

"NOT BETWEEN THE LEGS!!!!!!!! NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

She shrieked ever more piercingly, skilfully milking the dying echoes.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

"AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…"

They listened to the last of her hideous screeches echo into nothingness in the deep, dark, dread-filled bowels of the castle's dungeon. Belinda loved hanging out with the bad boys. She smirked smugly at the priest.

"There! That should give the stupid sluts something to think about!"

Father Carlos nodded as he escorted her back up from the depths of the castle.

"You do superb work!"

"Tell that to my daughter if you see her. Snotty little minx won't even talk to me! Ran off to stay with my sister, Maria. She's a stuck-up, hoity-toity snotnose, too. They deserve each other!"

"I'll do that very thing!"

He held the door open for her politely, aping the manners of a gentleman.

"A shame you have to go on such a long trip. I'll miss you."

She snorted cynically.

"You have a whole dungeon full of hot cunts to keep you warm while I'm away."

The big priest looked at her like a love-struck puppy.

"But while I'm humping them, I'll be thinking of you!"

Delighted, she gave him a playful shove.

"Get off with ye, ye olde rogue!"

"I bet you say that to all ye olde rogues!"

Chapter 5 – Sobbing Sluts

Father Carlos and the anonymous hooded guards hustled Sabila's Aunt Maria into the depths of the inquisitor's dungeon.

"Curtsey to the Grand Duchess, wench."

With a thrill of horror, Maria looked into an alcove that they were passing and recognised Grand Duchess Isabella.

Isabella's grimy, well-pawed naked body was hanging from her slender aristocratic wrists, which were clamped in a set of stocks mounted vertically, high on the wall. Her delicate ankles were indelicately clamped in another pair of stocks mounted lower on the wall. This not only ensured that her dainty little toes never touched the ground but also spread her superb legs wide, exposing the highbred beauty's most intimate charms to the small group of cruel perverts clustered around her. Her soft breasts were clamped at their base between two rollers, causing them to bulge like two balloons about to burst, her nipples swollen to gargantuan size. From her cunt poked the shaft of the dreaded Pear. As its name implied, this was an unlubricated pear-shaped metal object that had been jammed deeply into her cunt in a wave of searing agony. The bulbous end of the Pear abraded and stretched her cuntskin lining achingly wide.

Even unopened, the Pear felt cold and heavy inside her. The force of it pressing against her cervix was deeply distressing. The hooded torturer, his massive bare chest gleaming with sweat in the torchlight, wiggled the Pear suggestively.

Grand Duchess Isabella flushed beet-red and moaned. Her pale white skin showed her blushes, bruises and whip-marks beautifully. The inquisitor pinched and flicked her clit with his strong fingers to convert the moans into sobs of anguish.

Her eyes opened wide as he began to open the Pear inside her.

Each turn of the shaft, protruding like an obscene wind-up key from between her cuntlips, opened the sections of the Pear inside her tool tunnel. It blossomed, an obscene cold metal flower burrowing ever deeper into her warm moist cavity, stretching the pink painfully. As the spiked metal petals of the Pear pushed out, it forced itself in further, pressing hard against her cervix.

The Torturer tapped and jiggled the shaft of the Pear. The cold metal instrument transmitted it all to the very core of her being. Thus, even the tiniest movement of the brutally invasive implement elicited fresh squeals and ever more hysterical pleadings.

Isabella's bare bod was shaking continuously; making the locks on the stocks that clamped her wrists and ankles rattle and clink. The Scribe's pen scratched noisily on parchment as he copied down the unbelievable depravities Her Ladyship was confessing to. Not too surprisingly, they sounded like the ravings of a madwoman deep in the grip of severe dementia.

Father Carlos smiled indulgently as Grand Duchess Isabella babbled desperately about fornicating with the Devil who had, apparently, stood on his cloven hooves behind her during a Witches Sabbath conducted in the nude. The Devil was a backdoor boy, it turned out. She described how his long tongue had reached around to lick her nipples while his enormous hairy member had mightily parted her fundament to squirt his seed deep into her bowels.

A tiny twist of the key brought fresh shrieks, as the Pear opened Her Ladyship's cunt so wide that small trickles of bright red arterial blood dribbled down the insides of her quaking lily-white thighs. This drew even more shocking revelations from the highborn beauty about how, after anal fornication with Satan, she had borne the Devil's Shit Children, squatting down and squeezing them out like turds to run around on the floor, scampering out into the night to infect the villagers with plague. Delighted by this inspired bit of whimsy, the Scribe's pen flew.

Father Carlos clucked and shook his head as an Inquisitor pressed Her Ladyship's belly, manipulating it with the skill of much obscene practise, forcing her ovaries against the hard metal petals of the pear blossoming lewdly inside her cunt. The spittle foamed on Grand Duchess Isabella's shrieking lips as she screamed higher and rawer than anyone Maria had ever heard. The Inquisitors were familiar with the effects of stomach massage on a victim of the Pear. They all stepped back just before Grand Duchess Isabella yorked up her morning gruel over her ballooning breasts.

As the Pear blossomed inside her, it pressed firmly against her bowels and bladder. Isabella's panicky voice quavered like an old woman's as she pleaded hysterically.

"Madre Dios! Mother of God! Have mercy! I'm going to piss myself! I'm going to shit myself!"

The Inquisitors chuckled genially. Her quivering, lily-white buttocks were fondled affectionately.

"If you fornicate so freely with the Devil and his fiends, will you fornicate with us? Freely performing any obscene, depraved acts we require of you?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Anything you want! I will fornicate with goats and bulls! Dogs and sheep! Anybody! Anything!"

Completely broken, her shaking voice radiated the most complete sincerity. The Scribe dipped his quill in the inkwell and documented both this damning admission and her attempts to bribe the Inquisitors with offers of perverted sex. Father Carlos smiled happily. He shoved Maria roughly along the torchlit tunnel.

"We, of course, will have to confiscate her Castle and all her worldly goods in the light of these shocking revelations."

Poor horrified Maria stumbled ever deeper into the depths of the dungeon. A serving wench, naked save for a small white towel knotted around her waist, was walking up the passageway bearing a silver salver with a flagon of wine and some crystal goblets on it. She knelt subserviently on one knee, holding the tray high with her head bowed humbly, offering Father Carlos and the hooded brutes around him a drink. Father Carlos paused to enjoy a sip, playing the genial host as he introduced the kneeling near-naked nookie.

"Have you ever met Magdelene? Her mother used to own this very castle."

He placed a patronising hand atop Magdalene's bowed head, miming a King granting knighthood.

"Arise, Lady Magdalene!"

The Inquisitors sniggered as Magdalene stood and smiled winningly while Father Carlos gave each of her breasts a good hard squeeze. The plastic grin stayed frozen on her sweet face as he pinched and twisted her dark brown nipples until they were swollen erect. Her servile smile took on an even more strained quality as he lifted her towel and crudely penetrated her with his thumb.

Since her arrival, Magdalene had been taking a crash course in Advanced Bum-Sucking at Lickspittle U under the stern tutelage of the Father Carlos and his fiendish brethren. She had proved an apt pupil once she learned that her younger sister was made to scream high and hard whenever Magdalene, a buxom beauty, failed to please. At age 21, Magdelene was prime pussy and the pick of the litter. Her sister, Esmerelda, had the great good fortune to return from visiting relatives abroad shortly after the inquisition had taken charge of her family. A slim, delicate, fair-haired beauty of 18, she had caved in instantly to all demands, spending her days on her knees in the confession booth, servicing the priests as they listened to the mind-numbingly boring confessions of the hard-working peasants ("I have coveted my neighbour's outhouse, Father.").

The male taste of the age preferred the full-figured good looks of Magdalene to the delicate wispy beauty of Esmerelda so Esmerelda put in a brief, shaky appearance at the dungeon each morning, naked and spread-eagled in mid-air, while lovely Magdalene's behaviour on the previous day was examined for flaws.

On bad days, the leather strap would crack down hard and Esmerelda would plead hysterically with a deeply guilt-ridden Magdalene to put in a better performance. Then she was hustled off to the dark confessional booth to suck down more holy sperm and Magdalena went back to exhibiting herself shamelessly, smiling prettily while her naked beauty was pawed and groped crudely, opening her holes for the boys, licking genitals and giving handjobs and humjobs to all the deeply pious priests who laboured mightily at God's work, fighting Satan and his evil minions. As long as Magdalene kept all her customers cumming copiously, Esmerelda just got stripped and spread-eagled each morning for all to see. If the ever-popular, heartbreakingly beautiful Magdalene failed to satisfy every single jaded pervert that came (or worse, failed to cum) her way, Esmerelda got to scream out her shrill pleadings while the strap licked between her parted thighs, kissing her quivering quim with loud smacks.

Father Carlos pulled his thumb out of Magdalene's tight warm fuck hole.

"Magdalene's a very naughty girl, aren't you, my sweet?"

Magdalene produced her most shit-eating grin as she simpered, batting her long eyelashes coyly. The professors at Lickspittle U. had taught her to be a good actress. Her little girl voice was pure bimbo.

"Yes, Father, I'm a naughty little trollop! All I can think about is sex, sex, sex! Can you grant me absolution?"

Father Carlos was generous.

"Certainly, my child. Just hum ten Hail Mary's while you're giving your next knob job and all will be forgiven!"

An ear-splitting scream drew their attention and they all listened to Grand Duchess Isabella's hoarse frantic confessions. Her strained, cracking voice carried loud and clear as she told everyone within earshot about swallowing the Devil's sperm and, after oral sex with the Archfiend, spewing out his Vomit Children spawn, who promptly scampered out to the fields, making the cattle sicken and die. Since this Vomit Children story seemed suspiciously similar to the Shit Children story, her inquisitors were rightly sceptical, demanding a more interesting fabrication to entertain themselves and the masses with.

They listened to her plead with increasing intensity as the Master Inquisitor picked carefully with long handled iron tongs amongst a brazier filled with glowing coals, selecting just the right one for his purpose. They listened to her gasp and offer a veritable cornucopia of obscene delights as brawny hands prised apart her smoothly rounded, creamy white ass globes, presenting her rectum. Her hysteria increased exponentially as the glowing coal was slowly raised between her legs. The pitch and speed of her babbling rose dramatically as her thighs and buttocks felt the heat of the glowing coal, her frantic voice making less and less sense. Her shriek of raw pain echoed hauntingly down the long stone tunnels under the castle, causing all the prisoners to quake in deep dread, as the coal was touched to her rectum briefly. This was going to turn the gang-bang party that Her Ladyship was hosting later into a truly agonising experience, not to mention the Royal Excreting Ceremony.

She sobbed in broken gratitude as the pear was screwed shut and pulled out of her. Father Carlos guided Maria further into the bowels of the Castle as the Torturers swarmed eagerly around Isabella's nude sweating form, glistening in the torchlight, and undid the stocks from Isabella's slim ankles so that she could take on all cummers in her bruised, burning holes.

Maria was pushed into a small stone alcove recessed into the wall of the passageway. Shackles hung from iron chains bolted to the stone wall.

"Remove your clothes!"

Maria licked her lips nervously as she gave a frightened look around the circle of cruel, lustful male faces surrounding her. Father Carlos was stern. Like Lord Escobar, he understood the importance of forcing a female to strip for action, co-operating fully in her own humiliation and degradation.

"Do you wish to defy the Holy Inquisition and incur our wrath? You've seen a small sample of what we can do to an uncooperative female."

Maria hurriedly began to strip. She handed her fine dress to Father Carlos and removed her petticoats. She stepped out of her beautiful, hand tooled leather shoes. She hesitated when it came to removing her fine linen underwear.

Father Carlos tapped his foot impatiently. The hooded monsters surrounding her moved a threatening step forward and Maria's fingers flew.

Her wrists were chained high over her head high to the wall of the alcove. Her shapely legs were spread and shackled in position so that her nude body and exposed genitals were available to the groping hands, questing fingers and dripping members of anyone passing in the corridor. A sharp spike projecting out from the stone wall towards the small of her back encouraged her to arch her hips forward, lewdly presenting herself to any passing pervert.

The Satanic fiends of the Inquisition welcomed her to their dark domain, running their hard hands over her sensitive skin, feeling her up all over, stroking her cuntlips, parting them and finger-fucking her.

They sniffed at her crotch like dogs, smelling her terror.

They licked her sweaty face and chewed on her nipples, tasting her fear.

They whispered crudities in her ears, opening her hitherto innocent mind to depraved possibilities and the ghastly consequences of a failure to please.

Her breasts were pawed roughly, squeezed and twisted, her blood red nipples tweaked and pinched.

Hands ran over her smooth bare belly and fondled her bum. Fingers pressed insistently against her rectum and wormed their way in.

By the time the first rapist entered her, pretty Maria was trembling like a leaf.

It was shortly afterwards that Lord Escobar arrived to guide Isabella through the derisively named Royal Excreting Ceremony. This was a daily humiliation forced on her at the instigation of Lord Escobar, eager to strip this spurning, scorning female of every last vestige of dignity and self-respect. She was red-faced and dripping with sweat as every day he forced her through this degrading little exercise in front of a crowd of mocking men.

Lord Escobar timed it so that the pink-faced beauty reluctantly performed the Royal Excreting Ceremony at the changing of the guard to maximize the audience for her shaming.

Having been coaxed through this repeatedly, Isabella understood what was required of her. She bent over and gripped her ankles, pleading despairingly for mercy in light of her scorched rectum. None was shown.

She grunted, scarlet faced, as Lord Escobar rammed in the enema probe. She sobbed, sweat dripping from her nipples, as he flooded her bowels to near bursting.

He trotted her over to the chamber pot where she squatted with pathetic eagerness. In the past, she had tried several methods of coping with this ignominious exercise in mortification. At first, she had resisted the inevitable while the guards sniggered and jeered. That had merely prolonged the moment, so this time she suddenly changed to straining mightily to get it over with as quickly as possible, spraying the liquid feculence so hard that it slopped out of the chamber pot.

Lord Escobar intervened with his horsewhip. He roared at the squatting Duchess.

"I will not tolerate this insolence! You will lick up what you have so carelessly soiled the floor with!"

His whip snapped angrily across both her nipples. Isabella yelped and covered her burning whip-kissed breasts with both hands. She rolled naked on the floor, huddling into a foetal position, trying futilely to protect herself as the whip licked wickedly between her legs. Lord Escobar's whip snaked around her, viciously slicing into the most sensitive parts of the female anatomy. Thin red lines of blood criss-crossed her pale skin. Sobbing hysterically, each snap of the whip producing incandescent agony, Isabella pleaded desperately to be allowed to lick up her mess.

At last granting her wish, Lord Escobar proved to be a demanding supervisor, acting as Quality Control, pointing out small bits that she had missed, her pretty pink tongue licking the cold stone floor while his horsewhip cracking threateningly. Powerfully motivated to perform, Isabella quaked with each fierce crack of the whip, starting violently.

The floor tasted of shit, piss, gritty dirt, blood and vomit, but licking it up sure beat having her genitals sliced open by a horsewhip.

After that, Lord Escobar briskly instituted a new regime. He flooded Isabella's bowels once more, filling her intestines almost to bursting. Then he coached her through a slow, carefully controlled evacuation. As instructed, the Grand Duchess squatted with her hands clasped behind her head.

"Elbows back. Legs spread wide."

Frantic to please, she pulled back her elbows to lift her breasts and spread her thighs wide, exposing herself fully to the roomful of sniggering, sneering guards. She struggled to open and shut her rectum at Lord Escobar's command like a trained animal.

"Excrete, bitch!"

Gratefully, Isabella opened the floodgates, straining to mitigate the flow so that it would all go in the pot. Almost instantly the next command was barked out.

"Stop!"

Desperation showed on her pretty face as she tried frantically to staunch the flow. The exhausted, beaten babe struggled hard to stop it as the roomful of guards laughed derisively. Lord Escobar cracked his whip. The flow stopped instantly.

"You'll have to do better than that, bitch."

"Yes, milord! I'm sorry, milord!"

He once more loaded her bowels to near bursting, repeating the process over and over until the Duchess had the concept of the butt clench down perfectly, although the exhausted beauty's execution of it was found to be sadly lacking. After repeated failures, Lord Escobar indulgently patted the thoroughly humiliated woman on the head.

"That's enough for today. We'll give you another chance to do the shit squat in front of everyone tomorrow."

Isabella blubbered brokenly as she was led off, foolishly believing that all she had to do was accept it and agree to everything.

Sadly for Isabella, a bitch's work is never done. A complete confession takes time and the most painstaking attention to detail. The once-haughty beauty would be ground hard and grilled thoroughly by shift after shift of pitiless inquisitors. Each, in his own charming way, would encourage her to admit to the most disgusting and utterly depraved acts, all to be dutifully relayed to the deeply horrified King.

Some coaching would be required, because Her Ladyship had never imagined such things possible. However, education is a wonderful thing and the Grand Duchess would be a frantic-to-please pupil as she screamed her way hysterically through her lessons.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Isabella has much to look forward to, but in the meantime, there is the small matter of her court and servants…