sss Island

Chapter Three-3

Someone is doing something uncomfortable to them. Who or what that is I have no idea, nor do I care at first. My reluctance to leave peace and forgetfulness for the ordeals awaiting me is too great. But then the fumbling with my p***s culminates in a painful prickling all over it, and the pinching encirclement of the still wounded junction of my body and s*x organs. An ominous metallic ratcheting sound accompanies this tightening clutch, followed by the scrape and click of iron fastenings being fitted into place. At last I shake off my torpor to focus on the hulking form kneeling next to me. When I recognize my vengeful nemesis Nera engaged in some mischief with the member that so offended her, alarm finally rouses me fully. I look down and see that one part of me won’t be rousing fully (or even minimally) any time soon.

Nera has taken advantage not of my slumber but of my consequent flaccidity. She has just finished locking one of those insidious Spanish torture devices onto me. A small, close-fitting iron cage – extremely close-fitting thanks to the generosity of my endowment – has been fastened over my member, cramping it and trapping it down against my testicles. Any attempt to erect will now be both impossible and extremely painful.

I say extremely not merely because of my inability to rise or the utter lack of space to allow any engorgement – though these would surely be sufficient. No, in addition to this the insides of those imprisoning bars are lined everywhere with sharp little spikes. Now not only will the freshly-scabbed first inch of my shaft face agonizing impalement at the first hint of arousal, but the entirety of it as well. Even now those hundreds of steel points prick me all over in the tightness of my confinement. Yet they do so especially woefully all around the tender junction of the circumcised shaft and head – and all over the even more tender head itself. There the spikes are far more densely packed and numerous than anywhere else.

Even as I stare aghast at this, the inventive extremity of the cruelty I’ve been just subjected to stirs my perversity afresh. I begin to swell and twitch with the involuntary arousal that will soon be the death of me – only surely not before the excruciation of yesterday is as far surpassed as that ordeal exceeded my wife’s trifling yet monstrously consequential pleasures. Relishing my consternation, Nera sneers gloatingly at me.

“Yes damned sacrifice, now your offenses will be punished indeed! Come, sister! Let us position this criminal to take full account of what occurs before him this day.”

Another sss whom I don’t recognize moves forward to join her, while one of those praetorians stands guard at the door. The shackles are removed from limbs long benumbed from lack of movement and the chain is uncoupled from both collar and wall. Taking proper note of this for the first time, I see that from about a foot above the floor on up, alternating iron hooks and rings an inch or more in diameter have been embedded all over it in a diamond-patterned grid. Right away the women haul me upright, right onto my toes, and press me back against this. Those iron protrusions begin digging into my backside already. But of course, they serve a far more significant function than just creating discomfort.

Quickly my collar is locked directly to the wall. Next my arms are spread out high and wide and shackled by the wrists to it. When my legs are likewise lifted, spread and shackled by the ankles to the wall behind me, my helpless distress grows so great that the attempted growth of my erection instantly quickens.

Pinioned well off the floor, most of my weight hangs now from my neck and jaw – the latter about the only thing that keeps me from strangling. I’m stretched back so tightly spread-eagled that those hooks and rings pressing into my back and buttocks have gone from uncomfortable to a painfully gouging cruelty. My swelling member is already impaled everywhere, the excruciation of its cramping and piercing climbing by the moment. And as Nera tightens a strap across my brow, holding my head both up and immobile, her partner brings an already flaming brazier into the dungeon and positions it nearby.

Right away I expect branding and the tearing of red-hot pincers. But apparently this is only to provide warmth, or perhaps mere ambiance – at least for the time being. Soon it becomes clear the torture planned for this day is of a far more insidious sort. As Nera crams an iron ring upright between my teeth and fastens the attached straps to the wall, further immobilizing my face and springing my terribly dry mouth and jaws uncomfortably wide, two more Amazons push a small bed into the cell and position it right in front of me.

Breathtakingly naked, these are the most staggeringly attractive specimens of this incredibly appealing people I have seen yet. Beneath the striking domes of their skulls, their faces are at once earthily sensual and almost ethereally beautiful: high cheekbones, small noses, lush lips and large, dark, direct and expressive eyes. While still exquisitely fit they are slightly less brawny than usual, their lines sleek and at the same time curvaceous; athletic yet gratuitously feminine. Naturally both are as enormously endowed as any of these Amazons, and yet their perfectly symmetrical breasts boast an upswept tautness matched only by those of lovely young Rooni. Even their groins have been shaved completely bare and their smooth brown skin is without hair or blemish anywhere. The exotic novelty of this is immensely arousing, and as they each smile at me with the evil seductiveness of a succubus my trapped member seems to shriek in its excruciatingly stymied, multitudinously impaled need. Together they climb onto the bed and turn their attention to each other, and as Nera moves to give me an unobstructed view she hisses malevolently at me.

“I have insisted this will be futile, as has Moba. Yet the experts say it is necessary anyway. You must learn of the ridiculous incapacity and utter lack of appeal of that pathetic appendage you so insultingly flaunt! Therefore prepare to be belittled like never before!

“We will show you the kind of endlessly sustained and infinitely rewarding glories women can enjoy once males have been eliminated from the equation! Your arousal will be as compulsory as it is torturous; you will suffer exceedingly for your evil lubricity both physically and emotionally until you have no choice but to renounce it. Let the shame of your inadequacy equal your agony until your lust for womanhood is turned forever to aversion! Gora will tolerate no arousal in you at the time of orgy and sacrifice.”

With that begins a marathon demonstration of such inconceivable deviance that I hesitate to relate it. Though I doubt not that similar (if far more timid) experimentation takes place in certain hidden bastions of Amsterdam, the strictures of Church and State would surely call for burning if it ever came to light even in our radically tolerant climate. I don’t personally hold much with scriptural proscriptions of course. But sometimes the ancients are right; some acts are just too unnatural to be permitted. And at first I am appropriately scandalized, and even try to be repelled at what I am forced to observe. This quickly proves impossible however. And though the perversion on display is indeed extreme, from whence comes my fitness for judgment, given the admitted extremity of my own perversity? Alas Nera’s words prove truer by the moment. Though I’ve been socialized against even the contemplation of such things, the same-s*x congress that ensues proves so surpassingly erotic to witness that my torturous arousal swells incessantly – as does my humiliated recognition that the male is indeed ludicrously superfluous to the needs of these and perhaps all females.

Right before my restrained face the two unbelievably lovely women start to kiss. Beginning with gentle nibbles they are soon locked passionately at the lips, these opening as one to allow their tongues to begin to penetrate and probe. Unable to even fractionally turn my head away and mortified at seeing something so indecent I try to close my eyes. Instantly Nera squeezes my testicles brutally however.

“You will watch!”

Obeying that vicious clench my eyes spring wide. Already the ladies’ hands are rising to caress each other: slipping along curves and planes, gently squeezing here and there and finally seeking out taut and glossy breasts to heft. Though I squirm against the projections digging into me in acute moral discomfort, the agony in my futilely straining p***s is climbing wildly. Heart pounding in unwilling arousal, feeling my face flush with burning blood, I pulse ever more urgently against the pitiless steel restricting and impaling every littlest bit of me. My stretched torso bellows with the heaviness of my breath and my toes curl and fingers clench as the beauties before me grow ever bolder in their shameless enjoyment of each other.

I’m sorry; I can no longer describe every detail. Suffice it to say that fingers travel to, trail over, and ever more urgently explore every convexity and crevice that I would kill to do likewise to. And where hands go, mouths soon follow. From touching and tweaking and rubbing these ladies go to kissing and licking and suckling and tonguing. Murmurs and moans give way to keening and cries and finally climactic screams and shudders, while I in turn pant and writhe and bleed and throb, suffering exactly the kind of relentless humiliation and excruciation foretold for me. Yet despite this my terrible arousal and subjugated pain never come close to creating any kind of aversion in me. Indeed the longer I watch, the more forgotten are my moral qualms and the more imperative my perverse excitement. The day has barely begun, but I’m sure Nera is right again: this kind of ordeal will never break me of my lubricity.

After at least an hour and more evidence than can be credited that women can be as capable of orgasm as men (indeed far more capable; they seem able to indulge in them without any rest or limit), the demonstration and torments I’m subjected to are elevated to a new extreme. Soon I’m faced with maddening displays and deeply intimate terrors I can barely cope with.

One of these lovelies finally rises to her knees. She’s been crouched forward with her face between the spread legs of the other, who lies still on her back, gasping and moaning in aftermath. From a fold of the bedding she withdraws a large phallus similar to that worn by the High Priestess, though this is smaller and carved of some soft and finished wood. With the swiftness of long familiarity she harnesses it about her hips and crotch, the wood and leather as brown as her skin and nearly indistinguishable from it. Once it’s secured she drops forward, propped above her partner. In moments they are linked: flexing and thrusting in fevered copulation and crying out more passionately than ever.

This is the use of the Japanese harigata that Lady Abigail had begun to muse upon – and terrorize me with the prospect of. Somehow she had heard of or conceived for herself the idea that a woman could use one to lay with a man as a man does a woman – or another man or boy, if given to such degeneracy. As I have related, so appalling did I find this prospect that I faced our separation with some relief despite the deprivations involved and certainty of cuckoldry. Now as I watch astonished (and aroused to an insanity of excruciation) as these women so vigorously and ecstatically use this one to make love, I find that dread rekindled in far more horrific and immediate fashion.

I can only pray these savages haven’t conceived intentions similar to those of my wife. If anything seems certain to break me it would be that. Fortunately these Amazons betray no such inclination. For the entirety of this day I hang from my chin and pinioned limbs, horribly tortured physically by my posture alone; terribly, frustratingly, yet thrillingly afflicted further by the caging of my p***s and the endless display of depravity before me, and constantly humiliated as Nera intended by the unmistakable inadequacy of the male anatomy compared to the inexhaustible resilience of these women and the tool they swap endlessly back and forth.