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Tales from the Riverwake Tower (Clare Seven)

Tales from the Riverwake Tower by Clare Seven

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The Riverwake Tower is a wicked prison in the City of Irulan, where women are incarcerated and punished for their crimes, real or imagined, languishing in chains day after day, week after week, month after month.

Yet in that evil place there are both heroes and villains, among the guards as well as among the prisoners. There may be pleasure, even romance, although all too often the pleasure is one sided and sadistic.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Strict Publishing Intl.    Published: 9 / 2014

No. words: 35350

Style: Bondage/BDSM and Horror, Bondage/BDSM and Romance

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


“So, Master Rensor, have you ever worked for a woman before?” Despite her best efforts to control it, the slight catch in her voice gave away her nervousness. Facing down a strong man on the battlefield was easy in comparison with having to face the master of pain in his domain of torment. He bowed slightly in response, and she thought that she caught a slight movement in his eyes that might have meant that he was smiling.
“As a matter of fact I have, Milady,” he replied slowly. She could tell that there were memories there, and wondered if she should press for more information. She did not need to.
“I have worked for queens and princesses in my time.”
“But never a female warden?”
“No, Milady. Granted. This is a first.”
“I think you might find me more down to earth than your noblewomen,” she said, moving toward him and staring at his bare chest and arms. Biting her lip, she turned to look at the splitter.
“We are alone, tormentor, you and I,” she whispered. “And I have a request.” She told herself that she was insane even to speak thus far.
“A request?” he grated, his voice low and husky.
She strode back to the bench on which the agonising accoutrements of the splitter sat, torchlight glistening from the dull steel of the cone and the jade of the phallus. She could not help it, running long fingers over the steel, but her touch lingering on the long, ornate jade shape, her grip closing on the tip, running slowly along the arch and back and forth. Had the phallus been a man’s cock, the nature of her touch would have had him writhing and moaning, yearning for more. As it was, she could sense that Rensor stared at her hand as the fingers played with the hard piece of shaped and stylised jade.
“Do you…?” He hesitated. “You mean…?”
She smiled as she realised that he was perhaps beginning to grasp her request, yet he did not want to say it for fear of being wrong, especially in front of a woman who might then deny everything – made worse, of course, by the fact that this woman was his immediate superior.
She looked confidently at him.
“I’d like to feel this jade…”
She could see Rensor’s wide-eyed stare behind the mask.

* * * * *

Sania watched as Rensor, with apparently practiced skill, positioned the jade phallus by the smoothed and darkened lip of the wide bench – at the point where she imagined that so many victims had fallen, their thighs and buttocks stretched and drenched with sweat, onto the vile instrument, after resisting for so long. Rensor was correct, of course. The irony of the torment, at least where the iron cone was concerned, was that the longer the poor wretch delayed, the hotter and more agonising the piece that would be thrust inside them would become.
“Will you… do you wish to be chained and tied in position, Milady?” Rensor said slowly, still unsure as to whether the whole thing was some kind of trick.
“No, I…” she paused. “Yes. Perhaps the ropes around my ankles,” she said. “Though you understand I do not wish to be… tortured.”
“No. Of course, Milady. May I ask what it is you seek?”
“Satisfaction,” she said slowly. She glanced down, watching the large erection that was slowly stirring now in Rensor’s leather trews. He paused a moment, as if wanting to say something to assure her that there were other ways to provide that, ways that would pleasure both of them, but he still harboured doubts over her motives.
“I have never had a volunteer for… the splitter, Milady,” he said quietly.
She bit her lower lip as she began to pull her halter away from her body, a thin sheen of sweat reflecting the torchlight as Rensor felt his erection push against the restrictions of his trews. As her breasts fell forward, she hooked thumbs into her loincloth, pulling it down over her long legs and stepping out of it, advancing now toward the bench, watching the jade phallus that Rensor had now secured to the floor.
“Do you wish to keep your boots on, Milady?” he said, matter of factly, trying to concentrate on what he was about to be asked to do without causing the pain that he was so used to delivering. Sania paused, reaching down for one boot and pulling it off, her naked buttocks close to Rensor’s hand. He made a fist and moved it away from the heat that he could feel radiating from her smooth, lithe body. She repeated the action with the other boot. Barefoot now, she walked across the cold cobbles.
“I am as naked as a prisoner, eh?”
“Yes, Milady, though as Warden, I can not treat you as one.”
She turned slowly to him. “You will do as ordered, Rensor, though of course, I wish to… feel the phallus without having my hips broken… you understand?”
“Yes, Milady. If you would sit upon the bench please.”
She padded across the cobbles and sat on the rounded wood, spreading her legs slightly, gasping as she realised how hot she was, how excited she was. The tip of the jade cock sat just beneath the bench – close, so close to her sex. She wanted to lower herself onto it but held back, knowing that her anticipation was part of the rush of excitement that she was feeling, reminding herself how much she wanted to feel it penetrate her.
She gasped as Rensor gripped one of her ankles, wrenching it slightly to the side. Clearly, he was more used to forcing women onto the device than dealing with those who wanted to sample its apparent ‘delights’. Instead of filling her with fear, however, the rough rope, hardened by what she imagined must be dried blood, sweat, or both, seemed to excite her, even as Rensor pulled her other bare ankle to one side and secured the noose of the opposing rope around it.
She placed her hands on the bench, staring at her legs which were spread in a shallow vee shape, the ropes at her ankles stretching away to the posts and around them, leading behind her to the vertical windlass, which would be turned in order to agonisingly stretch the legs of the splitter’s victim, and thus topple and propel them toward the waiting embrace of the jade phallus or steel cone. But she was not a victim, she reminded herself. She had wanted this, wanted to feel the embrace of the contraption and the touch of the massive jade cock that sat poised just beneath her now moist pussy.
“GNNN... aahhhh!”
She had not expected the sudden wrench as the ropes pulled around the post, stretching her legs further apart and widening the vee. She had scarcely noticed that Rensor had moved behind her and turned the windlass, held in place by a thick wooden ratchet to prevent the ropes sliding back should the victim decided to resist the horrific motion that would stretch and open her.
She gripped the edge of the bench, pulling her naked torso back onto it, as her legs were pulled apart.
“My apologies, Milady. I did not ask before starting the motion. Do you wish to be pushed onto the phallus, or to lower yourself as I engage the splitter?”
She gasped, pulling herself back, realising now how difficult it must be to stay on the bench if the hands were manacled behind the body – without being able to thus grip the bench and prevent the fall.
“Thank… gnnn… you for the warning, Rensor.”
She stared out at her long legs, could feel the pressure in her knees even as she saw how fruitless any attempt at trying to pull back on the thick ropes would be. Even in the relatively free predicament in which she now found herself, she realised how horrible the torture would become as the legs were pulled apart, edging the victim closer to the fall.
“I… one more turn, Rensor.”
She could scarcely believe that she had uttered the words, but something inside her, somewhere deep and dark, wanted to experience the terror, or at least something similar to the fear, that a real victim might feel. It was horrible, yet she knew that she wanted it, before she could let her sex touch the inviting tip of the jade cock.
She seemed to feel the jolt in her ankles and knees, and even in her hips, even before she heard the creak of the mechanism behind her. Whether through actual discomfort or the fact that it had been a little unexpected, she cried out, pushing herself further back onto the bench.
“Are you all right, Milady? I do not want to torture you.”
His words were soft, almost kind, as she struggled to pull herself off. Her legs had been stretched wider, almost within half an arm’s length of being pulled straight, yet it was painful even now.
“S… so… you stretch them until their legs are… parallel with the bench, Rensor?”
“Yes, Milady. Some are more flexible than others. I once had to put a noblewoman to the torment. She was forty-five summers or more. She confessed before her legs even had broken the vee.”
“I… think I can understand that,” Sania gasped.
“The legs are spread wide until they are straight and the hips creak, Milady – hence it is called the splitter,” he said matter of factly. “The fall onto the phallus is merely for those who think they can resist.”
Her breasts wobbled as she held herself up. She slipped slightly, the folds of her sex brushing against the jade as she moaned. She was so wet, she could scarcely believe it. She did not want to resist now, not any more. Her thigh and arm muscles bulged as she started to lower herself onto the bulbous tip of the jade cock. It appeared to have been pinned or bolted to the floor. It did not move as she began to writhe upon it. Her experience with war and the sword granted her the upper body and leg strength to gyrate, using arm push-ups on the bench to move slowly and rhythmically on the end of the jade. Her thigh and arm muscles bulged with the effort as she groaned, each descent onto the massive cock plunging it deeper and deeper inside her.
“By the gods!” she gasped as the effort began to tell on her and sweat dripped from her chin onto her large breasts.
“Rensor, I… let me close my legs a little please…”
Rensor stepped over the bench to stand in front of her instead.
“Rensor…” she croaked hoarsely, still moving rhythmically up and down on the phallus, as if her need for sexual release controlled her now.
She stared as he moved into view, the massive bulging cock threatening to burst the laces of the trews that held it back, as his thick fingers began to loosen them. She looked up at him once, licked her lips, and slowly nodded her assent.
He fumbled like a nervous virgin as he loosened the cords and let the wild cock free from its bonds. As he pulled it out, Sania slid further down the jade phallus that had now inserted a quarter of its length into her. She moaned, as her partially split legs tensed, and her tiring, sweating arms pulled her up once more. She stared once at the pinkish end of Rensor’s manhood, licked it tantalisingly as he moaned, then covered it with her mouth and began to gently suck, combining the motion with the writhing rhythmic balancing motion on the phallus.
Her rhythmic movement became perfectly timed now, her powerful arms controlling her motion up and down on the jade phallus, moaning and gasping as, with each descent onto its shaft, it penetrated her a little deeper, a little harder, widening her sex and threatening to make her lose control. With each descent onto the cruel shaft of pleasure, she moved her mouth, bit by bit, along the thick, fleshy cock that filled her mouth, then pulled back, listening to her own sucking sounds, even as she heard Rensor moan and pant above her.
Sania had already become wet and excited as she had thought about what she had wanted, about what she might do on this instrument of vile torture. Rensor’s cock had not been part of her thought process, and yet it seemed so right that she should satisfy the torturer, even as she fucked herself on the jade.
Rensor moaned again, gritting his teeth and avoiding the temptation to fuck her mouth. The movement of her powerful arms on the bench, bearing her weight and making her breasts jiggle as she moved, excited him still further, as her muscled body moved up and down, even as her legs were spread wide and tied. She was strong, but he also had to be mindful of the fact that she was the new Warden. He had done as she had asked, had tied her in place, but he hoped that he was pleasing her, as she was pleasing him with her mouth. He gasped as she teased his cock with her tongue. She was still able to do that while moving further down the jade, her head moving along the shaft once more. This woman was a marvel, he considered – strong, fit and wild, and clearly used to the manner in which men liked to be pleasured. His dark mind wandered as it was filled with desire. She was naked and sweating, spread wide and slowly being fucked. She did not, however, have the fear, that terrifying presence which made victims of the splitter scream and plead, once they realised what would ultimately happen to them. He marvelled at it, and wondered idly whether this woman would break if put to torment on the splitter. Of course she would, he reasoned. They all did.
Sania found it more difficult to brace herself now. Her arms were tiring and the act of sucking Rensor was beginning to feel forced rather than intimate. But, she sensed, he was close to coming. She pushed up once more, licking the cock before beginning again, and lowering herself. Something flashed in her mind, her loins wanted to move faster. By the gods, she was going to cum. The shape of the phallus had been designed such that the ridge played with her clitoris, even as the tip remorselessly fucked her. The ridge had done its job, even if she had not fully realised that the stimulation provided by the instrument had been slowly driving her toward an explosion of pleasure. She licked Rensor’s cock and pulled her lips away, throwing her head back and moaning, writhing uncontrollably, as he gripped the member himself, in a frantic effort to finish himself off.
“By the gods… oh… by the gods!” she screamed now, pushing and falling as, predictably, she screamed and twisted as the phallus did its pleasurable yet cruel work. How could anyone be placed on this machine with their arms tied behind them, unable to control their descent? It truly was a horrific instrument of torment. She screamed madly as the throes of orgasm took hold, feeling the shower of hot liquid in her face as Rensor moaned and pumped his organ’s contents across her. She scarcely it on her face and breasts as she was lost in pleasure, scarcely felt the growing pain in her spread thighs as she was devoured by her body’s need to climax. She pushed once more, bringing her up on the phallus, breasts and body arched and pushed forward as she did so, moaning loudly and shouting… “Yes!’

* * * * *

Rensor had watched as Sania panicked after the orgasm, called his name for help as, her arms weakened from her efforts and bathed in sweat, she had felt herself fall even more onto the widening phallus. For a brief moment, he had watched and done nothing, looking for that aspect of fear that had so far been absent from this brave woman’s face. He had seen it, just a flicker of panic, as she started to slowly slip down along the agonising phallus’s widening diameter.
He had paused a moment, as if needing to see that, as if anyone who mounted the splitter and felt its embrace, even if not under torment, could not be allowed to leave until they had seen the full possibility of its agonising touch. He had watched her face and heard her words.
“Please… Rensor… enough! I don’t have the strength to pull myself up.”

Author Information

Clare Seven comes from one of the remoter parts of the United Kingdom. She writes erotic fiction, often involving dark, dank dungeons and exploring the relationship between pain and pleasure. Her scenarios are often wicked and, at times, downright terrifying, although she claims that many of her ideas come from the twisted fantasies of her ex-boyfriends rather than from her own imagination or experiences.

When she is not writing or dreaming up new and ever more devious plots for her novels, Clare is a management account and spends her spare time training and taking part in triathlon events.


Publisher Information

Publishers of erotic and mainstream literature.

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