“Welcome to Otherworlds ™” The professionally friendly guy behind the desk handed me a pamphlet, complete with full-color holograms advertising minotaurs and starships.
The franchise was in a strip mall, sandwiched in between a Chuck-E-Cheese and a Perfumania. It was tastefully decorated in a bland, new-agey sort of way.
“The rate is one-fifty an hour, but we’ve got a special going for first timers, so the first hour would only be a hundred bucks. What do you say?”
Claudia had recommended this place to me, and she had recommended it very highly. It wasn’t cheap, but what the hell, money’s for spending, right? A girl’s gotta treat herself now and then.
“Let’s do it!” I said.
“Okay,” the desk guy swiped my credit card, “I just need you to sign the liability waiver and you’re all set.” The waiver was the standard generic legalize that absolved them of responsibility for any heart attack, stroke, seizure, lingering neurosis or phobia and/or any recurring nightmares that were either a direct or indirect result of my virtual experience.
“Just step into the back room and have a seat. A technician will be with you shortly. Enjoy the ride!”
A fussy blonde Russian girl about my own age helped me into a sarcophagus. She read aloud from a memorized script as she buckled me in. “In a few moments you will be inserted into one of about 1600 of Otherworlds ™ ongoing storylines. Due to the complexity of our network, we cannot guarantee which world you will go to, or what character you will play there. What you experience while plugged-in may be frightening, unpleasant or even painful. These things are all out of our control. No permanent harm will come to you while you are plugged-in.” She applied saline paste to my temples and attached the electrodes. “Any questions?”
I had no questions, so she drew a little white curtain to separate my sarcophagus from the main room, and dimmed the lights. I lay back, closed my eyes, and waited.
I was just about ready to call the experience a dud, to decide that I was one of the two percent that according to the disclaimer the process didn’t work on, and I was getting ready to start negotiating my refund when there was a blinding flash behind my retinas, my inner ear reeled and spun, and the world stuttered, flickered, blinked once or twice and disappeared.
When I opened my eyes I was looking at a grey concrete slab.
I was shackled tightly to the floor in a huge, cavernous room. There was a heavy iron collar around my neck, and what felt like a concrete speed bump underneath my hips.
My position was uncomfortable to say the least. I felt like a frog on the dissecting table: spread-eagled and face-down with my ass thrust slightly up and the left side of my face pressed against the cold hard floor.
If I craned my neck, I could look around a little. There seemed to be hundreds of girls (and a few guys scattered in here and there) in the same predicament as me: rows and columns of helpless, chained naked bodies of every shape and color filled the cavernous space.
I realized that not everyone here could be a real person. Many, if not most, of my fellows had to be mere automations, computer-controlled scenery. I might well be the only conscious human being in the entire room.
In between the rows of prostrate females paced the overseers. They were all identical: huge dark-skinned men with the body of a heavyweight boxer and the head of a giant hawk, complete with feathers, round swiveling unblinking eyes, and curved sharp predatory beaks designed to rip and tear flesh. They wore leather sandals and loin cloths, and they carried long, cruel multi-thonged and barbed whips.
One of the overseers must have seen me looking around. With an angry cry like a bird of prey, he came swooping down at me, sandals slapping and echoing in the great chamber, whip raised up on high.
There was a swish and a smack as the horrible barbed thongs made contact with my bare flesh, and then my ass exploded in a blinding, fiery flash of unbearable pain that peaked quickly and lingered long, like red-hot nails being driven into my buttocks.
Now I like to think that I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but this was completely beyond. The pain was terrible, all-consuming, way more than I could bear. I heard myself screaming, hoarse and piteously. I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t real, that it was just computerized electrical pulses being pulsed into my cerebral cortex, but my mind wasn’t having any of that: this shit hurt! Just as the pain started to fade into the realm of tolerable, there was another swish-smack and again I was screaming, writhing, vainly struggling against my chains, trying to get away from that awful burning, clawing whip.
Three times the lash came down, scouring my vulnerable ass. I was left a quivering, sobbing, hyper-ventilating, hiccupping mess.
I felt my tender, wounded butt cheeks being pried apart, and the overseer’s erection was rudely thrust against my vulnerable private parts.
I could hear the breath hissing through his sharp beak as he squatted over my backside. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, torquing my neck painfully against my iron collar, and then with one wicked thrust, like a hunter spearing a boar, he jammed his cock up my asshole.
His dick felt like it was at least a yard long, and as big around as a large zucchini. He fucked me without mercy, dry and hard. I felt my asshole being torn and shredded by his violence. I was reduced to gurgling my misery, my throat raw from screaming. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tried to remember that this wasn’t really happening, that the terrible things being done to my anatomy weren’t real. My cunt was all juicy and wet and sloppy thought, and that was real for sure.
He only fucked me for a few thrusts before withdrawing with a grunt, leaving my poor tortured anus gaping and gasping and my body limp.
I had learned my lesson. I lay quiet and still as the overseers paced the aisles. From time to time, I heard the crack of the whip, and the piteous wailing of some other poor girl or boy being violated.
Time functioned differently in here somehow. In reality I knew that I had only rented the sarcophagus for an hour; plugged in, I spent long hours, possibly days chained to the floor in crushing, uncomfortable monotony.
After some interminable amount of time had passed, I realized that someone new had entered the room. A pair of shiny black boots entered my field of vision.
“Yes, this one will do nicely. We’ll take her.”
“Very good. She’s a real beauty, and a feisty one too. The price is sixty lira.”
“Sixty?!? For that used-up piece of horseflesh? I am the Sultan’s personal procurer, not some country whore-monger! I’ll give you twenty-five.”
They haggled back and forth in a relaxed, practiced, ritualized way for a while. In the end, I was sold to the wearer of the black boots for the sum of forty-five liras.
Strong, efficient hands unbolted me from the floor and hauled me to my feet.
My purchaser was a tall, muscular, dusky-skinned man with a shiny bald head and unreadable serene brown eyes that seemed to look straight through me. His clothes looked expensive: silk pantaloons and an embroidered tunic as well as his tall shiny black boots. There was a finely wrought gold chain around his neck, and he wore a scarlet cape.
He watched approvingly as I was re-chained for travel. The iron collar stayed around my neck. My wrists were tied behind my back, and my ankles joined by a short length of chain. I realized that, in this world, my nipples were pierced. The man in the red cape held a leash which was connected to two lightweight chains, which were clipped onto my nipple rings.
“Come!” he commanded with a swift yank on the leash, and I came!
He led me out onto the streets of a bustling, cosmopolitan city. The air was hot and thick with the smoke of wood fires and the smell of roasting meat and incense. The streets were crowded with people; there were plenty of pedestrians, a few riders on horseback, carts and carriages, rickshaws and the odd palanquin, but no cars. Everyone was dressed in a slightly antiquated sort of Mediterranean fashion: light clothing, t-shirts, tunics and robes, chiefly bright colors. A naked slave-woman being dragged through the streets was clearly not shocking to the inhabitants of this town, but more than one person did turn to stare as we passed by, and at least one adolescent-looking young man made a grab for my naked ass, still tender from my earlier beating.
I didn’t have much time to feel self-conscious about my naked predicament: my purchaser was hurrying along the busy cobblestone thoroughfare, forcing his way through the throngs. I had to keep up with him as best I could, which in my hobbled and tethered state was no easy task. Twice I tripped and went sprawling, earning me skinned knees and a bruised face, and vicious yanks on my leash that brought fresh tears to my eyes and threatened to rip my poor nipples in half. Each time I was encouraged back on my feet with savage kicks in the ribs from the man’s hard leather boots. The second time it happened we made a brief eye contact as I lay gasping in the street, and I saw a cruel glint of amusement deep in his brown irises. I knew then that he was in fact another player and not just some computer sub-routine.
I was brought at last to a palace. A confusion of towers, minarets, battlements, spires, and onion domes loomed behind high stone walls. Atop the imposing outer walls, emaciated corpses were impaled at regularly spaced intervals on tall steel poles. The corpses were all female: some blackened from the sun and some hideously mutilated, but all recognizably female. Then one of the corpses jerked, flailing her limbs weakly in a spasm of misery that sent a pair of crows flapping, and I realized that at least some of the impaled bodies were still alive. I shuddered.
A heavy black portcullis was raised creaking up at our arrival, and the red-caped man marched swiftly into the courtyard with me just behind him, struggling madly to keep up.
I was led upstairs to a comfortable little apartment with beautifully tiled walls and high windows looking out over the rooftops of the city. I was for the first time unchained (all but the iron collar around my neck which I realized when I examined it in the mirror, was welded into place). I bathed in an ornate copper bathtub, and as I lay in the exquisitely hot, scented water, my bruises, welts, sores and abrasions seemed to melt away, as if by magic. Surveying my body, I realized that I was slimmer here than in real life; I’d already discovered that my nipples were pierced; my breasts were slightly larger and definitely more perky too, and in this world my pubes were shaved bare. Interesting.
Refreshed, I stood by the window and sipped a cool glass of sparkling water while I watched a spectacular sunset behind the towers and spires of the city. The only thing that spoiled the view were a pair of bodies impaled on poles on top of the outer wall far below my window.
After dark had fallen completely, the apartment door swung suddenly open. It was the man in the red cape again. He was dressed all in black now, fine silks with gold buttons, but still the red cape. He was flanked by a pair of palace guards, big stony-faced men in tall helms and shiny breastplates who carried long spears with wicked-looking barbed steel tips.
“You are summoned.” the red-caped man said simply. He turned on his heel and strode off, and I hurried after him, followed closely by the grim, spear-toting guards. Even unchained, I had difficulty keeping up. We traced a winding route through the palace: down winding corridors, up steep stairways, through ornate arches and guarded doors, along narrow catwalks, always up and up. Finally, after an exceptionally steep and long spiral staircase that was only wide enough for single file, we stopped in front of a small unprepossessing red wooden door with a pointy arch and another pair of helmeted guards, these with pole-axes and visors that hid their faces and extravagant scarlet plumes that protruded from their helms like erupting volcanoes.
I was out of breath from all the running and climbing. I stood and rested for a minute, breathing heavily, while the red-caped man and the armed guards stood watching me impartially. They weren’t even winded. Interesting, I thought to myself, that I was no longer in any way fazed by being stark naked and surrounded by fully-clothed men.
Before my heart rate had settled down to a resting pulse, the little red door swung silently outward. The red-caped man nodded at me and smiled grimly. “Good Luck.” he said.
Full of trepidation at what new horrors were waiting for me behind that door, I walked hesitantly into the room. The door shut quietly behind me. It was dark in there, and it took my eyes a few moments to adjust.
The only light came from a few guttering candles. The air was thick and stifling, heavily scented with the aromas of perfume, incense, sex, tobacco and marijuana smoke, sweat, and some other pervasive smell that I didn’t recognize. It was sickly sweet, and I suspected that it might be opium.
The floor was covered with rugs, deep rich lush intricately woven rugs piled one on top of another. Pillows and cushions and bean bags were strewn throughout. On the walls, erotic and downright pornographic tapestries and paintings were hung; on a pedestal was a small and highly-detailed bronze sculpture of a buxom young maiden entertaining a pair of randy satyrs. The only window was covered with heavy curtains that allowed only the meagerest suggestion of light through. On a low couch, next to an incredibly large and ornate hookah, lounged the man I assumed must be the Sultan.
He was a skinny, slight little man with an incongruous pot belly and a tuft of dark hair on his hollow chest. He had a high, balding forehead that was ringed with short cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Rimless glasses balanced on a cruel hooked nose. Below a tangled triangle of pubes, his cock and balls hung, thick and heavy but flaccid.
Impenetrable dark eyes regarded me placidly from behind the rimless spectacles. He half-smiled and licked his lips with a pale tongue.
“Hmmm, you’re a tasty little morsel.” he sat up very slightly and spread his hairy thighs, letting his penis and balls flop obscenely down. “You may begin.”
He gestured, and I knelt on the carpet in front of him. Opening my mouth, I dragged my tongue all the way from his ankle, up his calf, past his knee, along his thigh, up his belly, past his navel and up along his sternum. Once up at chest level, I playfully kissed the two Hershey Kisses that were his nipples. He sighed softly and his eyes narrowed into two barely-open slits, like a sleepy cat. I then proceeded to kiss my way back down his body toward his crotch.
His flesh was cool and smooth and salty with just a hint of spice. I took his cock in my mouth and sucked, lavishing my tongue around him like an eggbeater. The taste was strong and stale, smoky and musky and male with just a hint of urine.
I gave it my very best: sucking, licking and kissing his cock, swirling my tongue around the head, massaging it with my fingers, jabbing my tongue at his pee-hole, fondling and licking his hairy ball-sac, even taking the whole package in my mouth and sloshing it around with my tongue.
Nothing. Not so much as a twitch.
I tried dancing for him, rubbing my tits and ass all over his body, spreading my pussy lips for him, fingering myself for his pleasure while he languidly watching. I sucked two of his fingers into my mouth and then inserted them into my cunt, penetrating myself deeply with his digits before I withdrew them and seductively licked them clean.
I resumed licking his penis, flicking it with my tongue like a kitten lapping milk, while I fucked myself with a convenient dildo (it was made of ivory and was carved in the image of a voluptuous woman masturbating). I was getting seriously turned on, but his penis insisted on staying resolutely soft. Once or twice I detected a promising twitch, but beyond that, nothing. I was starting to feel a little desperate, and he was starting to look a little bored.
The Sultan yawned and stretched and rolled away from me, over onto his stomach. Somewhat reluctantly, I let the ivory dildo fall onto the carpet. I climbed on top of him. Dragging my breasts down his back, I traced my tongue lightly along his spine, from the nape of his neck down to the tailbone, and on into the dark cleft below. He grunted softly, shifting his position slightly to allow me better access and spreading his cheeks apart for me.
He was quite hairy back there, and the musky male scent was much stronger, but at least he was clean. I ran the tip of my tongue the whole length of his crack, from the base of his spine to the underside of his scrotum, and back again. Whenever my tongue brushed against his anus, he jerked slightly. I thought I could detect a certain change in his breathing.
So I dove in in earnest, eating out his ass while I continued to fondle his cock and balls. Slowly, slowly, I felt his penis thicken and swell as I rimmed him. I pressed the flat of my tongue up against his butt hole, I teasingly circled it, I made my tongue rigid and pressed it up inside. At last his cock was hard enough to be called erect, and I stroked him purposefully with one hand while my tongue was crammed as far as humanly possible up his ass. Finally his erection reached it’s full, which was no inconsiderable size.
At long last the Sultan disengaged from me, rolling over onto his back on the couch and pointing his royal prick straight up in the air. With an eloquent gesture of his hand, he indicated that I should climb aboard.
Facing him, I straddled his pelvis, grabbed his dick confidently with one hand, spread my own labia with the other and lowered myself onto him. It felt so good to have his cock inside my cunt! I rode up and down on his lap, savoring the sensations, enjoying the ride more than I had enjoyed anything in a long time.
“Harder,” he whispered in my ear, “Faster.”
I worked my hips up and down, back and forth, riding him like a cowgirl atop a raging bull. My hair was all over the place, my unaccustomedly large tits were bouncing, and I was rapidly approaching orgasm.
I bore down on him, enveloping his length and girth inside my juicy folds. I ground myself against his pubic bone, stimulating my clitoris, giving myself over entirely to my own pleasure. My breath was coming in ragged gasps. I could hear myself yowling and mewing like a cat in heat, I could feel the Sultan’s hands on my ass, separating, squeezing, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of my cheeks.
Bouncing violently, uncontrollably up and down on his large cock, furiously rubbing my clit, I came. The sex may have been virtual, but the orgasm was the real thing, for sure!
When my body stopped shaking, when I opened my eyes again and reveled in the blissful post-orgasmic endorphin rush, I looked down and saw a pained look of concentration on the Sultan’s face. His brow was furrowed and sweaty and he was biting down hard on his lower lip.
I continued riding him, concentrating on using my body to pleasure him. I bent over him, kissing his lips, pinching and tugging on his nipples and working my pussy up and down his cock, now harder and faster, now slow and sensual, now lifting my hips up so that only the head remained inside me, only to plunge back down again, enveloping him completely.
Nothing seemed to work, nothing seemed to come even close to pushing him over the edge, or to even nudge him remotely near the edge. It was exhausting work, and my poor pussy was starting to get tender and raw. Worse yet, the sultan was starting to look bored again.
I decided to try another tack. I lifted myself up, extracting his rigid erection from my tired but happy pussy. It was all red and hot and absolutely covered in my own slick juice.
Taking his cock in hand again, I carefully guided him between my cheeks, until the head was nosing up against my anus. I exhaled, lowering myself down onto him, savoring the sensation of his cock penetrating my ass, filling me up.
He slipped in easily, all the way up my ass. I groaned and he sighed as his big slick cock stretched my asshole.
It felt amazing. There was the surprising sensation of invasion, the pleasant feeling of fullness, and then the fireworks. I savored the feeling, reveling in it, riding him while I played with my clit, and soon I was crying out and shuddering all over again on top of his Highness while delirious waves of pleasure coursed through my body making my empty cunt spasm as I came again.
We fucked like that for a while and he genuinely tried, squeezing his eyes tight shut and pounding my ass hard, bucking his hips and thrusting in time with my bouncing. All for nothing. Finally, with an exhausted wave of his hand, he bade me desist.
After I had extricated his long-suffering penis from my asshole, he rolled over onto his side and took matters into his own hands. I lay down on the rugs by the couch so as to allow him to easily come on my face or my tits, whichever he preferred.
He squeezed his poor cock until it was purple, pumping himself so fast that his fist became a blur. Every muscle was tensed, the veins stood out on his forehead, beads of sweat formed on his bald dome and ran down his face. As he furiously masturbated, his glasses steamed up and threatened to fall off. I tried playing with his balls and even penetrating his asshole with my index finger, but to no avail. His cock stayed stubbornly erect, his need unsatisfied.
“It is no use, Child,” he sighed at last, slumping down on his couch. His penis bobbed and wiggled as he moved, an angry shade of red. “Here, take this, for your trouble.” He tossed a silver coin my way. It was a silver fifty kurus piece, emblazoned with an idealized portrait of the sultan on one side.
He lay back down on the couch, no longer paying me any attention, reaching over for one of the mouthpieces of his enormous hookah. He inhaled deeply and breathed out a cloud of hot, sickly-sweet smoke. His eyes slowly closed and his erection flagged. I was dismissed.
The red-caped man and the guards were waiting for me outside. He took the silver coin out of my hand and pocketed it with a humorless little smile. Then, without a word, I was marched down the long, meandering way back to my apartment.
I was shown in, and the door closed behind me. I heard a *click* as it was locked from the outside. As if I would try to escape! I was exhausted. I barely had the strength to bathe. At last I lay down on top of the silk sheets on the bed and closed my eyes. I considered masturbating, but before my fingers could do the walking, I was asleep.
It seemed like I had only closed my eyes for an instant, but bright morning sunlight was streaming in through my window, and I felt refreshed and pleasantly hungry. ‘Do they have virtual coffee in this world?’ I wondered idly to myself.
Before I could find out, the door flew open with a crash, and a brace of guards stormed into the room. There were six of them, in green livery and plumage, and these guards were female; every bit as big, muscular, and stony-faced as their male counterparts, but with long flowing hair, hourglass figures, and form-fitting bronze breast plates that exaggerated their already busty chests. They wore bracers on their wrists, chainmail on their shapely legs, and a spray of green feathers erupted from the top of the top of each of their helmets.
They carried wicked-looking scimitars, but when it became clear that I meant to put up no resistance, these were sheathed. I was rousted out of bed and marched down the hall to a small sliding double door that I belatedly realized must be an elevator.
We crowded into the tiny car. I was surrounded by the silent, steely amazons. One of them, the captain I supposed (she was taller than the rest, with long blonde hair and a golden chain around her neck) pushed a button and the doors slid closed and the car lurched into motion, making it’s rattley, shaky way down, down, down, deep into the subterranean bowels of the palace. For long minutes, the elevator car descended.
My guards may have been stony-faced, but at least one of them was feeling frisky. I felt a hand surreptitiously touching my naked buttock, stroking, caressing, squeezing. As discretely as I could, I pressed back in the direction of the touch, and the roaming fingers at once became bolder, prying in between my ass cheeks, probing, petting, feeling, exploring, touching my asshole and the sensitive skin below that, making my cunt swell and drool and my clit come straight to buzzing attention.
Her wandering fingers finally found my pussy, which was already soaking wet. She parted my fat lips and stroked me tantalizingly, spreading my wetness around, one finger lingering impertinently at my asshole, other fingers working their inexorable way up inside my pussy. I bit down on my lip to stifle a cry, and wiggled back against her exploring hand.
Just then the elevator car lurched to a stop and the doors slid open. The devilish fingers were hastily removed, and I was left with a wet, excited, frustrated pussy and a swollen clitoris that was absolutely quivering with lust.
I was marched down a long, dingy corridor, dimly lit by flickering fluorescents, and I was thrown bodily into a small dark damp cell with bare concrete walls and floor and a heavy iron door. It was a really cramped space: the walls couldn’t have been much more than six foot on a side. There wasn’t much in the room: a metal stool, a drain in the center of the floor, a heavy chain with a hook at the end descended from a small hole in the ceiling, and a push button controller, like a garage door opener, that was mounted to the wall by the door.
My hands were manacled behind my back, the hook at the end of the chain was clipped onto my iron slave collar, and the captain of the guard pressed the ‘UP’ button. With a rattling, grinding noise, the chain ascended into ceiling. Much to the amusement of the guards, I was soon dancing on my tip-toes to avoid strangulation. Finally the chain stopped, and the guards filed out of the room snickering and giggling. Somebody copped a feel on her way out. The door clanged shut behind them, and I heard multiple locks being engaged. I was left in total darkness, straining to stand tall enough to keep from choking. My calves were soon screaming from the effort.
It was a painful, awkward, precarious position I was stuck in. Almost immediately my leg muscles started to seize up. If I relaxed at all, my iron collar cut painfully into my larynx, choking me. Shifting my weight from foot to foot wasn’t much better; with my hands cuffed behind my back, it was decidedly difficult to balance on one foot on tip-toe, as I soon found out to my immediate woe.
I don’t know how long I danced like that, all alone in the darkness. It felt like hours and hours.
When the door to my cell was finally flung open, the dim fluorescent light from the hallway dazzled me. Two bodies in silhouette stood in the doorway.
Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I could get a look at my visitors. The first was an outrageously obese woman — she must have weighed five or six hundred pounds — with a wild mop of scarlet hair, a huge bosom, and a beautiful green dress that could have served as a tent for a Bedouin princess. Her companion was one of the green-plumed guards who had escorted me downstairs.
The fat lady stalked malignantly up to me. Her looming bulk seemed to fill every corner of the cell. She got right up in my face.
“Slut! Tramp! Whore! Adulteress!” she slapped me so hard across the face my jaw rang. My legs collapsed under me and I was left hanging by my neck, choking like a dog.
The Countess nodded to the guard, who pushed the DOWN button, and I sank gratefully to my knees, gasping for air. My jaw didn’t seem to be broken, but the entire left side of my face felt swollen and puffy.
“Fuck my husband, will you?” I think you overreach yourself, my little friend.” The Countess’ eyes were small and deep set, hard as diamonds, and completely devoid of life. By contrast, the guards’ eyes sparkled with mischief and delight. “If you think you can sleep with MY husband in MY palace and not suffer the consequences, you are sadly mistaken.”
The fat Countess went on, “This is the way it will be. Give me an orgasm in the next five minutes and I’ll merely have you whipped. Fail in this and I’ll have you poled. Do you know what that means?”
The guard tried not to smirk too obviously. “We insert one end of a ten-foot steel pole into your anus. Then we stand you up on it on the outer wall. Gravity takes care of the rest. Perhaps you have seen some of my ornaments up on the battlements? Sometimes they manage to linger two or three days before expiring. Mind you, the crows don’t always wait for them to be dead before pecking out their eyeballs.”
I winced. The guard grinned openly. The Countess settled her bulk on the metal stool and hiked up her green dress. A flame-red bush stared me in the face. She was excited. I could smell her sex.
She spread her legs and I crawled on in. Her thighs were like two great gelatinous tree trunks. She was soaking wet.
“You may encourage her,” she told the guard, “Use the flat of your sword.”
The command was almost instantly followed with a resounding *crack* across my buttocks. The blade made a nice loud noise when it smacked my butt, and it was plenty hard enough to sting, but not so hard as to actually be called painful: exactly the kind of spanking I find highly erotic. I dove right in to the task at hand.
I nosed my way through a thicket of curly, sodden hair, through great mounds and folds of slippery flesh. Her scent was pungent, pervasive, almost overwhelming though fortunately clean. Finally my probing tongue found her surprisingly small and delicate pussy and clit.
I started licking with gusto, determined to avoid being impaled and left for the crows. The smacks across my ass continued with pleasant regularity.
I licked and sucked and slurped, spreading her labia and diving in between them, tickling her tiny clit with the tip of my tongue. Her juices flowed like a river, and she grabbed a handful of my hair, directing my efforts, grinding my face into her sopping wet cunt. I licked enthusiastically, dragging the flat of my tongue up and down her sex. Her enormous thighs held my head tightly in place. My only problem was getting enough air to keep from passing out.
At some point the spanking stopped and the flat of the sword was replaced with soft, gentle fingers; stroking, exploring, caressing my ass cheeks and the backs of my thighs. The fingers found their way between my legs, prying open my already wet pussy and pressing boldly inside. I grunted as the guard-chick’s long fingers entered me. Up above, I could hear the Countess huffing and puffing like a steam locomotive in response to the ministrations of my tongue.
The guard started finger-fucking me in earnest, which made it kind of difficult to concentrate on the job at hand, but judging by the noises the Countess was making and the way she was mashing my face into her cunt, I was still doing ok.
My own pussy was really enjoying the attention it was receiving. It felt like the guard had multiple fingers up inside me, and with every movement of her hand, my clit got a jolt of pleasure. Another finger –or maybe it was her thumb– pressed up against my asshole.
I finally surrendered to the orgasm that had been building up in my body. Letting go of control, massive waves of pleasure racked through me over and over; my toes curled, my ass shook, my pussy trembled and my clit quivered as I screamed into the Countess’ fiery red crotch.
The Countess didn’t appear to notice, because she herself was also reaching her climax. Her cries had been steadily rising in volume and pitch, and now they reached a rasping shrill apex. Both hands grabbed my head, mashing my face hard into her pussy, and her big thighs squeezed my head tight. For a long time I couldn’t breath at all. Somewhere far away, I could hear the Countess screaming. Then, with a sigh, she released me, and I collapsed onto the concrete floor.
My face was completely soaked in her juices. Her wetness had gotten all over my neck, and even down onto my breasts; my hair was sodden.
The Countess stood up, smoothing down her dress which had ridden up onto her lap while I’d been eating her. The guard pressed one finger to her lips and winked seductively.
“Not bad,” the Countess said, “Not bad at all. But still… the punishment stands. One hundred lashes in the public square with a horsewhip, and then pole her. Place her where I can see from my chamber window. I want to see this one suffering on the battlements before sundown.”
“It shall be done.” the guard said. My heart sank when my sentence was pronounced. I mean, I enjoy a little pain and suffering as much as the next girl, but the idea of having my guts slowly ripped apart from the bottom up in the hot sun while crows pecked at my eyeballs sounded totally out of bounds, even if it was only virtual.
The Countess sidled over to my prone body, straddled me, squatted down and let go. A stream of hot piss caught me full in the face, stinging my eyes, running into my nose and mouth, making me choke and gag.
When she was finished, the Countess stood back up. “Leave her,” she said to the guard, “Let us go. She can think about the consequences of her actions for a little while.”
They took their leave, slamming and locking the iron door behind them, leaving me alone in the darkness once again. I was too despondent to even get up, though the chain attached to my neck was now slack. I lay where I was on the hard concrete floor in a puddle of cold urine, and wept bitter tears of self-pity.
A dazzling light suddenly blinded me. The door had been thrown open again, and the red-caped man and the green-plumed guard who had attended the Countess were standing over me.
“Unbind her!” the red-caped man told the guard. His face looked grim. “Hurry, we haven’t got much time!”
The chain was unhooked from my slave collar, and my hands were released from behind my back. Strong arms helped me to my feet and led me out into the corridor.
The guard clasped her hand in mine and flashed me a smile. Under her helm she was young, blonde, and extremely pretty.
“We haven’t much time,” the red-caped man repeated, “Follow me, quick!”
The three of us ran together down the hall, the red-caped man in the lead, his cape billowing out behind him.
And then my vision blurred and went black, I suddenly felt like I was falling from a great height, and then I was back in the sarcophagus in the Otherworlds ™ franchise in the strip mall, lying on my back, hooked up to a couple dozen electrodes.
The Russian technician was leaning over me. “Your session went a little long. Your vitals were absolutely through the roof just now, so we let you run over. I trust you enjoyed yourself?” she smirked. “You may wish to take a shower before you leave.” It was true. I was a sticky, sweaty, juicy mess. “Please, do come again soon.”
Oh, I would.