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Princess In Torment (Bruce McLachlan)


Princess In Torment by Bruce McLachlan

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Khamsin, once a proud princess, is now the abject slave of a noblewoman in the strange world of the Hroth empire.

Her fate is uncertain but she soon learns that whatever it is to be: living furniture or chandelier, sex slave or pony, it comes with a considerable amount of suffering and torment.

Stringent bondage, and interminable service appears to be all that there is to look forward to and, as another unfortunate slave finds out, there is no chance of escape.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 2 / 2018

No. words: 34600

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt

Chapter 1

The armoured fists of the guards forced the slaves down. They were brought to their knees where they could only drearily watch the auction from the wings of a large stage.
Khamsin looked out across the stone floor of the stage to the warped auction block that awaited each of them at the centre. Curling flows of marble rose in organic waves to hold the lower regions of a large steel ring. The hoop stood vertical and was large enough to easily hold any spread-eagled human within its interior. As with all Hrothite engineering, the hoop flicked out curling thorns of steel and bore meandering veins upon its cruel surfaces. Not that any part of a slave would be in contact with these decorations because from four equal points a small aperture allowed chain to emerge that ended in a sturdy leather restraint.
Beside the auction hoop stood a wiry individual. The man wore a leather vest and billowing loose trousers tucked into his tall boots. A cloak spilled from his shoulders and the sheet of silk was fixed to the neck of his dark serpentine mask. The artificial face flung sets of horns back and bore numerous small fangs upon the sneering lips. His red gleaming eyes regarded the new arrivals with wicked intent and then he turned to the audience
‘The last of today’s lots have just arrived!’ he announced boldly. His voice carried well and it was clear that his skills as an orator were easily able to defeat the muffling embrace of the Hydra mask.
Arrayed before the stage were numerous rows of seats and the precise lines were partially filled with a few Hrothites. The men and women were all hidden from view by their customary masks and each of these were slightly stylised to personal taste. The faces represented the full array of the various Great Houses of the race - Hydra, Minotaur, Manticore, Chimera, Unicorn, Basilisk, and Griffon. Each lounged in their seats, waiting to see if any of the few remaining slaves met their fancy.
It was clear that most of those who had attended the sale had already departed with their purchases. Khamsin was in the dregs of the day where funds and choice were at their absolute lowest.
The high walls of the auction area bore draping tapestries. The material was etched with detailed lines of ornate runic script and several illustrations of a shadow-cloaked woman of great beauty. She had a piercing gaze and an array of nightmare fangs that soiled her radiant features.
The top of the walls had curls of wire tumbling along it. The steel coils were embellished with bristling arsenals of barbed needle teeth to dissuade passage and would grievously lacerate those who tried. Beyond the perimeter wall could be seen the peaks of the city as it reared up to thrust jagged spires into the heavens. Khamsin had never seen their equal in height or craftsmanship. The dark stalagmites dwarfed even the few remaining skyscratchers left over from the Lost Age. However, where those lingering towers of glass and steel inspired admiration and melancholy brooding on all that humanity had lost, these examples were malignant growths that chilled the soul to witness. Dark banners flapped in the high-altitude winds and, on pole and precipice, she could see human forms. She would have assumed that they were carcasses, but the subtlest writhing could be seen in their hopelessly bound bodies. Hanging like trophies, they decorated the evil blocks and each building displayed a huge flag at its summit that flaunted the image of the House mascot.
Beyond the monolithic heights of the city could be spied the upper reaches of the mountain range that ensconced this dreadful place of human slavery and rampant perversion.
Khamsin was brought from her observations when the auctioneer snapped his fingers and beckoned to one of the guards. The woman beside her whimpered meekly and gave small pulls of resistance as she was forced over to the hoop.
The manacles and fetters were buckled tightly to her extremities by the second guard and the mancatcher launched open its jaws. Without giving her a mere second to defy their will, the chains growled with life. The apertures in the hollow hoops gobbled up the steel links at a frightening rate and, with a whiplash snap, the woman was yanked into the air. Formidably spread-eagled, her body was stretched taut. Her muscles rippled as she howled aloud with the stress of the position. Hauled apart in the air for easy scrutiny, the woman sobbed and clawed at the unforgiving leather but her digits were unable to assist her.
A click came from within the stage and the apparatus began to revolve slowly, turning to offer her physique from every angle.
‘It’s getting late, we’re almost out of stock, so I’m going to let this little specimen go for the initial sum of just ten tokens. A bargain, my friends! Do I hear ten?’ broadcast the man, marching passed her and indicating her suspended form.
‘No takers? Come on! Ten tokens for a brand-new human? I can’t believe I’d be insane enough to offer her for such a price and yet still there are no bids? Can this be true? Come on, ten tokens.’
A few of the crowd shuffled idly and shook their heads. They were not interested in the woman.
‘I’ll drop it to five. Any bids for a paltry five tokens? Five tokens! Why, that’s less than a decent lunch!’ he continued, trying to galvanize some interest but finding nothing save indifference.
‘Okay. A token. One measly token for a fresh human straight from the world and in need of training,’ he continued, but still there were no takers.
‘Very well. Set her aside for Reactor installation,’ he commented.
Two Minotaur guards emerged from the opposite side of the stage. One of the men lifted an overlong pistol-like device that had a large muzzle. After twiddling a few of its settings, the man placed the contraption to the girl’s left shoulder blade. A hiss of osmotic pressure stained her with dark pigments. She shuddered and released pained murmurs of reply to its effects before it was taken away.
The image of a lightning bolt and a six-digit series of letters and numbers were now set upon her and the two guards started to take her down.
Brought to the rear of the stage, Khamsin could just make out a cage door in the wall. Fingers were curled around a few of the bars as the occupants looked meekly out but they made no sound. The reason for the silence of the rejects was revealed when an egg-shaped black orb was forced into the girl’s mouth. The device gave a click and expanded outward. It cracked open into four segments that pressed to her teeth and spread her jaws painfully wide before locking into position. Unable to regurgitate the gag, she broke into convulsive fits as a hiss of pressure emanated from her maw and thick rubber bladders flung themselves to the inside of her cheeks to puff them out and choke her words with their influence. Defeated by the influence of the gag, the girl was too busy trying to get used to its horrible muting effects to resist her escort. She was hurled into the cage and the door locked behind her.
The auctioneer beckoned again and this time Khamsin was pulled upright and marched over. The leather bands were clamped to her wrists and ankles and as soon as the mancatcher released her, the machine snatched at her with bilious might.
With a jerk of motion, she leapt into the air and was brought into the centre of the hoop. The chains pulled tighter to make her arms and legs reverberate with a struggling pressure as she was racked. Clenching her teeth to endure the horrible suspension, Khamsin started to turn and her body was casually offered for viewing. She felt embarrassed but also a little excited at this public display of her form because she had the safety of knowing for certain that she was to be purchased. Through her sly placement in the dregs, she was more valuable than all those who had gone before her this day. An eerie pride swelled in her heart.
‘Okay, this one I’ll start with for five tokens,’ he snapped casually. Her weary and battered appearance was being coupled with a lacklustre sales pitch to ensure apathy.
Silence reigned as an answer. Had her prospective owner changed his mind? Had Morkith failed to turn up?
‘Any offers at all?’ asked the auctioneer while panning his hidden stare across the assembled.
Khamsin wondered if she was going to be sentenced to the Reactor. It had to be some sort of foul fate, the worst of all lots that was in all likelihood a fatal one.
‘A token,’ half-heartedly declared a familiar male voice.
Khamsin gave a minor sigh of relief that she knew would not be detected. Her back was currently to the audience and her body was turning round to face them again. Despite the recognition, she hoped she was not mistaken, and it was an infuriating length of time until she could finally see for certain who it was who had purchased her.
‘Come on, sir. How about a serious bid? A token? That’s hardly a fair price,’ tried to encourage the salesman, switching his charisma back on to make it appear as though he were genuine in trying to get someone else to buy her.
‘Take it or leave it. A token. That’s my only offer unless you want her for the Reactor,’ huffed Morkith.
He was sitting towards the back with his arms folded across his chest. A woman in a rubber leotard stood beside him. Her face was lost beneath a featureless hood that snaked beneath a tall steel collar. The metal band held her wrists and her arms were folded viciously up behind her to make her thrust her chest forward as she tottered on the absurd heels of her rubber thigh boots. A leash from the front of the collar connected to Morkith and he held his pet and a short crop with equal indifference.
‘Okay, sold to Morkith of House Chimera, First Neophyte to Lady Xhithris,’ announced the auctioneer and his words brought forth the two guards.
Her details were set and the weapon touched her shoulder blade. She braced for the clear distress this branding would cause and it was not a wasted effort. A wriggling pressure was forced into her skin as the flesh was assailed by an internal presence that pushed out with increasing potency. Khamsin whimpered and tried to fight her bonds, but stretched as she was she could not even twitch. The device came away and left her tattooed with a Chimera silhouette that showed a goat-headed lion with a rear fanged serpent for a tail and spread its eagle wings from its back. Below the symbol of her ownership was her code that she managed to spy when she was brought down from the hoop ‘936A26’.
The guards drew her from the stage and down a set of stairs on the other side. A short hallway led onto the street beyond where Khamsin was aghast to see humans being used as the primary means of locomotion. Ponygirls scampered proudly, their tight encasing uniforms accentuating their forms as they pulled sulkies, gigs, carts, and other vehicles. Hrothites lay in the opulent comfort of the eldritch vehicles, the slender wiry construction and elaborate design making the vehicles seem like giant living skeletal insects rather than sane modes of transport. The crack of whips upon bare skin created soft and steady drum rolls on the air as the humans were steered by their owners. The sight was as strange as it was magnificent.
A woman sat at a desk was entering data into a ledger with two Minotaur guards, armed with serrated halberds, standing to attention beside her. The opposite wall bore lines of rings and several of them were occupied by purchased slaves still awaiting collection. Their bodies were held up and face first to the wall by the automated collars, thereby allowing their personal data to be easily viewed on their exposed backs.
The guards pushed Khamsin to the wall and she was clamped into place and left staring at the stone. Without further word the guards marched back to continue processing the last few specimens on offer and culminating the day’s sale of human merchandise.
The sound of scribbling was the only other sound in the hall as her details were taken down and her ownership recorded.
Footsteps entered the hall and hands were upon her once more. They swiftly steered her anatomy into a new plexus of restraints. Leather bags were tightened onto her hands. The plain mittens screwed her hands into fists and then kept them there. Thick leather bands were buckled to her wrists and just above her elbows, the foot-long bar between each keeping her limbs parallel and trapped behind her. Rough movements forced her feet into knee high boots. The tall heels made her extremely unsteady as zips were hauled up and then lost beneath a padlocked band. A hand emerged before her and forced one of the egg-shaped devices into her mouth. Her lips were parted and then it was shoved it into place.
The creation replied with its designed response and immediately broke open and levied its strength against her jaws. Khamsin tried to stop it, biting down onto it as hard as she could but it was an ultimately vain effort. The construct spread her jaws steadily and made her squeak in dismay as she feared it would shatter them with its blind devotion to creating as great a rictus as humanly possible. The implement stopped, leaving her huffing through her nostrils, the corners of her maw resonating with mayhem. With a sibilant howl of air the interior bags started to well and shove into her cheeks, clogging her maw with dense rubber pillows. Her cheeks started to ache as they were stretched and her eyes watered as she snorted through her nose, trying to come to terms with the anguish of this most cruel of gags.
Khamsin’s tongue had been squashed into the base of her mouth and her face was burning from the distortion. She felt the collar open and it was quickly replaced by another version.
The leather posture collar applied sharp leather serrates into her jaw line and these forced her to attention lest she lean onto the painful spires. The collar was buckled into place and a pair of leashes was applied to her nipple rings.
A soft tug turned her around. The inside of her teats tingled with stress as the metal pulled at the tender tunnels.
Morkith stood before her, holding her reigns in one hand and his crop in the other. He reached up with the tip of the weapon and stroked her distended cheeks. The smooth leather traced the suffering swollen skin and a victorious chuckle tickled his throat before he turned to lead her out.
‘Come on, slave,’ he uttered.


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Aliens, strange worlds, fetish based writing.

 

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