Of Pain and Delight by Heidi Stone Page A

wonder if, one day, she might allow a lover to penetrate her in that most intimate place.
    And then, once more she realised that she would probably have no choice in the matter.
     
     
Chapter 3
     
    Sahria hung motionless in the silent darkness of her prison, her limbs aching and the tortured skin of her bottom feeling as though it was on fire. How long she had been there she couldn’t guess. Time had ceased to have any meaning.
    Rapite had extinguished the two torches and left her alone without a word. She seethed with hatred for the man. How dare he beat her? How dare he penetrate her body with his fat, ugly stalk? Once again, Sahria vowed revenge on him and on Prince Sarne. She silently swore to herself that one day they would bitterly regret their impudence!
    She tugged weakly at one of the leather straps binding her wrists. The result of her action was a sharp stab of pain as the iron buckle bit into her flesh. She wondered fearfully how long she would be left to dangle like a piece of meat, naked and totally helpless. Perhaps it would be forever.
    She shivered with the cold, and she was hungry.
    Inextricably her thoughts turned full circle and she pictured herself lying prone on the cold stone floor as a dozen faceless men stood around her, openly masturbating until they sated themselves over her naked body. She imagined their pricks to be huge, jutting ghost-like within eerie clouds of translucent mist.
    She began to sob quietly as her anger built once more within her cold body. How could she, a royal princess, find herself in such a vulnerable position? What was to become of her? Would she be left to die? Sahria felt utterly hopeless and wretched.
    Her bottom began to sting again and her thoughts returned to the beating she had recently endured. The cane had cut deep, seeming in her imagination to tear the very flesh from her body. The sweat of terror had trickled down the backs of her thighs, but after the shock of the first three or four strokes the pain had become strangely pleasurable. The memory of her orgasm ripping through her loins like fire made her realise that she was beginning to crave for more.
    She thought of the whip with which Rapite had initially teased her. She imagined the vicious strips of leather lashing her stiffened buttocks. Just the thought of it made her juices flow as her sex lips opened as if in readiness for some unseen lover. She wondered, more in hope than expectation, whether Rapite would return soon and this time take up the whip. She longed to hear the sounds of the door being unbolted and yearned to sense his squat form moving menacingly towards her as she hung helplessly at his mercy.
    She tried to understand why she felt this way, although she knew in her heart that she quite simply craved the kiss of the lash. Thoughts of a queue of strong men waiting in line to thrash her filled her hungry imagination. She felt she could see their naked, oiled bodies and their rippling muscles. She imagined their faces covered with sweat as they whipped her mercilessly, and pictured their erections waving rhythmically as they laboured.
    Her pussy ached for release and she clenched her inner thigh muscles to heighten the sensation. She tugged at the leather straps around her wrists and took pleasure in their unyielding restraint. They could do anything they wished to her. They could lash her, they could cut her with the cane, and they could slap her buttocks with their rough hands. When they tired of this, they could ram their stiff pricks into her soaked cunt. She would take them all, as many as wished to use and abuse her. Perhaps they would take her final virginity and fuck her bottom. The more she considered this ultimate penetration the more she found she quite liked the idea.
    The queue would be endless. She would spend the rest of her life tied and trussed to be fucked and beaten. She began to shake with lust. Her clitoris ached to be touched by a finger, a tongue, or anything. She had