sss Island

Chapter Two-3

Speaking of restraints, even gagged and with my limbs so utterly incapacitated, the ones being placed on me remain unfinished.

Together my legs are bent back at the knee. The bindings cutting into my wrists are tied to those doing likewise to my ankles. Besides rendering me even more ridiculously helpless, this bows my back most uncomfortably up and stresses my shoulders even worse than they already are. Then the last knot is secured, and the almost infinite scope of my perversity proves even more indisputable. Struggling wildly now that it’s more useless than ever, my heart rate and the growth of my hardness both respond to the exquisite futility of my most frantic efforts by increasing astronomically. Suffering bondage of such appalling severity (being tied to the bed for s*x can’t begin to compare with it) has me literally breathless with excitement and once again bizarrely unconcerned about where this madly compelling predicament is inevitably leading me. It hardly needs to be said that the condemned member nestled in the turf and squashed so evocatively underneath me is once again unprecedentedly tumescent in seconds. And yet an even more telling demonstration of my almost suicidal depravity is still to come.

Finally, the purpose of that pole is revealed. It is brought forward and inserted crosswise between my bound-together limbs and distressingly bent body. Perpendicular to my bowed backbone, it is seized at either end by two of the brawnier members of the patrol who kneel on either side of me. As one they lift that pole to their shoulders and rest it on the left ones. Then they rise smoothly to their feet.

The moment of elevation, when my body loses contact with the ground, is also one of revelation. For starters, it reveals that what I had considered a very painful (and insanely erotically exciting) restriction and strain on my limbs, shoulders and back had merely been an enticement: a teasing harbinger of the incredible experience ahead.

With simple plant matter and gravity now conspiring to make a near semicircle of my torso and upper legs, my spine suddenly screams shrilly with absolutely fantastic stress. The connection between each and every vertebra seems seconds from separation, as do those between my arms and upper body. The vines constricting my hands and feet must likewise be moments from slicing in to the bone – or so at least it feels. Choking on the stifled scream I involuntarily try to release, I come close to swooning at the sheer excruciation suddenly raving through me. Nearly every iota of my being protests this outrage even as I deliberately worsen it by renewing my wild struggles. And I require no epiphany to know this madness will only grow exponentially with the passage of time. No, what is revealed next is yet further evidence of my still astounding capacity for turning physical and emotional affliction into demented arousal – provided those afflicting it are women of surpassing power and appeal. Thus it is that those very women are treated to an unwelcome revelation of their own.

As my genitals come into view, the amount of perverted ecstasy my unprecedented agony (and consummate helplessness, and depthless subjugation) inspire in me is again unmistakably apparent. Perhaps five minutes from being nut-pummeled into extinction, my proudly insolent erection is taunting them even more emphatically than before. In fact, with the gravity cruelly torturing me pulling my blood down to its lowest point, that grossly engorged appendage now throbs more insistently than ever: a second heart whose vitality seems to exceed that of the first. Hard as carved bone and marbled with veins of its own, it curves adamantly upward despite that remorseless pull of the earth. It even seems to revel in the additional swelling imparted by its whipping. Among so much else, the fact that it could react so eagerly to the agony of angry bruises being increased by blackened bloat and the pulse-pounding urgency of my surging excitement is universally astonishing. Yet my own amazement is dwarfed by that of my captors. And while mine gives rise to a frenzy of demented gratification, that of the ladies immediately turns once again to appalled outrage. As expected, Nera of the knife is the first to express this.

“How dare it! This criminal is truly incorrigible! You heard it, it speaks our tongue! It knows its sinfulness, yet revels in this! It knows it’s destined for the sacrificial fire, yet it cares only for its need to spew its vile seed! How can this be? It is unnatural, I swear it!”

“That it is,” answers Moba grimly. “And it is this unnaturalness that makes for its unprecedented value. Gora would not have sent us such a challenge without reason. We dare not shirk it. Control your anger, sisters. We shall have a once in a lifetime celebration and sacrifice. Perhaps by consuming the astonishing potency of this specimen we will finally regain full fertility. Who among us would not want to bear progeny with regularity rather than rarity? This test of our worthiness is a priceless opportunity, I tell you!”

Only Nera looks unconvinced. Yet she inclines her head in deference.

“I bow to the wisdom of the leader. Yet I ask permission to be the one to banish the affront this time. Allow me to punish this scum and squeeze the insolent lust from it.”

“Very well. But have a care. We all saw it vomit before. It must not do so again, not with that coconut in its mouth. I will not have it perish through accident or carelessness. Restrain your outrage, and withhold your full strength.”

Nera’s glare of hate-filled, sadistic intent as she moves up beside me is chilling yet brings a paradoxical heat to my face and loins. Shivering with anticipation and uncontrollable arousal, I brace for a challenge of my own. Then she grips my already bruised and swollen balls in her fist.

Straightaway she begins to squeeze. Thick lips snarling back from gleaming white teeth, she focuses the most baleful regard imaginable on me. Assailed again by that crippling agony of which only men know, I immediately choke on another strangled scream. Still this pain is less than having the hard cap of a knee rammed into me. And in the exaltation of the moment I somehow manage to meld that sickeningly intimate distress into my more global excruciation.

Despite the torment of that crushing grip, despite the tears that stream ceaselessly from my eyes, I writhe and bleat and excitingly fight my bondage and yet all the while timidly maintain my horridly compelling eye contact with this contemptuous sss. And by some unfathomable excess of depravity, I not only retain my amazing tumescence but actually feel it begin to twitch spastically upward with renewed insistence. Sweat pours off of me, I strain mightily at those fantastically tight vines, and still the utter futility of this thrills me beyond all understanding. That grip tightens pitilessly, my struggles grow ever more frantic and a panicked desperation drives me ever further into a simply delicious madness. But then I unavoidably begin to retch against the huge foreign object filling my mouth. Just as the extreme peak of my exaltation threatens to recede, blessed Moba steps in.

“Enough, sister. You must not slay him!”

Glaring defeat and hatred that should slay me with its mere intensity, Nera desists at last.

My breath whistling through my nose, I pant raggedly up at her and feel a bizarre, suicidal swelling of pride that my ever-growing perversity proved a match for her fury. Then I commit a sin more surely suicidal than any, as involuntary as it is. In frustration Nera turns her abuse on my monstrously impertinent (and monstrously urgent) erection.

Furiously she slaps this, again and again and again. And the searing pain in and energetic waggling of that burning, pounding, exquisitely sensitive spike of grossly engorged flesh goad me on into ever more transcendent realms of subjugated agony and ecstasy, until these two become truly indistinguishable. Still incensed Nera beats my turgid meat, incandescent with contempt, and as I plummet-soar ever more exalted toward some indescribable abyss-pinnacle she at last seizes it in her cruelly strong grip and yanks viciously on it, as though determined to rip it off, fling it down and grind it underfoot.

Alas (oh yes!), this vice-like clench and wrench is just too much. With a spastic throe that shakes me from crown to toes and from innermost recess to sweat-slicked integument, with an ecstasy unmatched in any heaven, I suddenly erupt in the most powerful climax imaginable. All the carnal deprivation of months at sea; all the relentlessly building eroticism of this exceedingly painful, degrading and terrifying ordeal finally explode from me in a convulsive pumping that has me gasping and flexing and flopping in my wonderfully unforgiving bondage like the final paroxysm of an asphyxiated felon dangling from the gibbet. And in the midst of this irresistibly addictive orgasmic calamity I’m gifted with epiphany once again.

Willing or unwilling, it is irrelevant. Whether through some innate predisposition or the unknowing agency of the Lady Abigail, I have just proved complicit in my own doom. Indulging to the apocalyptic end my compulsion for subjugation at the hands of dominant women is far more imperative for me than even living. The evidence is glistening on the bruised turf beneath me, and even stippling the feet of my most implacable enemy – or most necessary nemesis. Whatever these goddess-like Amazons choose to do to me now, I can have no complaint.

Epiphanies All Around

An apoplectic silence greets my unthinkable crime. In it, I emerge from cataclysmic ecstasy and life-changing, death-embracing epiphany to the expectation that that death will almost certainly be delivered forthwith.

Surely no words of glories deferred will be able to restrain Nera now. And with this realization comes yet another astounding epiphany, similar to but far more momentous than the one I achieved during my plunge toward the sea.

The dismay and regret I feel is not over my imminent extinction. It is over unavoidably cheating myself of all the surely far more intense experiences promised me. The alluded-to ceremonies, the unexplained ‘hunt’ and ritual unmanning, all culminating in my no doubt horrifically drawn out sacrifice: how much more excruciatingly exalting they would have surely proved to be! And how tragic to maybe miss out on them!

Undoubtedly this is the ultimate insanity. And likely I will recognize it as such under less compelling circumstances. But for the moment at least the emotion is undeniable. Cringing in suicidal chagrin, I await the certain outraged riot, praying that Moba’s foresight and authority will suffice to preserve me for the heavenly extremities ahead.

With a shriek of disbelief and incendiary fury worthy of a Goddess indeed, Nera whips out her knife. Others are immediately drawn all around. Amid a cacophony of competing screams I’m flung agonizingly to the ground. Nearly the entire patrol is a split second from falling upon me in a stabbing, hacking orgy of mad butchery when a piercing whistle cuts through the mayhem. Only blessed Moba has retained any sense of herself. And though the others display enough well-trained discipline to heed this unmistakable signal to order, they can’t refrain from releasing overlapping screams of protest before the leader can even speak.

“NO!”

“This cannot be countenanced!”

“The people will understand!”

“Slay it!”

“I have its seed on me!”

Nera’s shriek of limitless repugnance and soul-searing outrage almost breaks their collective discipline again. Even Moba is clearly struggling against a fury almost autonomic in origin. Yet still she displays the command of self, situation and her charges that elevated her to her present authority. Her own shout cracks across the strand like the cutting of a whip.

“I forbid it!”

Once the communal frenzy is tamped down to seething fury she elaborates.

“Can you not see the significance of this? Yes, it is a loathsome and hideous crime beyond all bearing or understanding. But understand it we must before taking precipitous action. Do nothing that cannot be undone. Yes, the people would understand and condone. But what of Gora? This would be the true failure of the test she sets us!”

Over continued sullen grumbling and fury now leavened with perplexity she continues.