Of Pain and Delight
never experienced such lascivious desires before. The feelings were overpowering. Damn Rapite, she thought, why didn’t he return to the black chamber and at least cane her again?
    She was desperate to come. She thought once more about the line of naked men, each carrying whips or vicious flails. She sensed that she could actually feel the pain as they lashed her poor bottom. Suddenly it was too much for her. A searing sensation of pure joy tore through her loins like a bolt of lightning as her orgasm took control of her very soul. She cried out involuntarily, the sound echoing around the grim stone walls of her prison. She shook violently as wave after wave of delicious sensations ripped through her body.
    There was a loud crack and one of the leather straps binding her wrists snapped. Immediately she clutched her pussy with her freed hand and dug all four fingers into her wet flesh. She eased her thumb inside and curled her fingers to form a fist within her luscious pulsating grip. She plunged her hand in and out of her silken honeypot as a second wave of orgasmic joy hit her. She cried out again, then bit her lower lip painfully in order to stifle the sounds of her pleasure. She tried to imagine two, or even three men thrusting their massive pricks into her at the same time while others continued to lash her bottom in perfect unison. Her mind reeled as the pain of perfect release overtook her, screaming uncontrollably as the final joyous sensation turned her loins to fire. Her juices burned as they slipped from her and the hard bud of her clitoris felt as if it would burst.
    At last, the feelings subsided and she eased her hand away. She gasped for breath, taking in the foul air gratefully. She put the tips of her fingers to her mouth and tasted the sweet nectar of her release. Prince Sarne had spoken the truth; she had become a slave to the lash. She knew that whatever happened, whatever they had in store for her, it would only serve to heighten her delight.
     
    It was some time before Sahria became relaxed enough to use her free hand to unfasten the remaining three straps that bound her to the frame. At last she was free, at least of the painful restraint. She moved cautiously in the darkness until she found what felt like a small cot in a corner of the dungeon. She sat down and rubbed her tender joints. As the blood began to once more course through her veins the pain returned to her wrists and ankles. She lay back on the cot, drew the single rough sheet over her exhausted body, closed her eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.
     
    Sahria awoke with a start. She had been dreaming; a meandering vision which had suddenly turned into a nightmare of startling reality. She opened her eyes and attempted to make sense of the strange shapes in the darkness of the room. Suddenly she realised that the nightmare had been true. She was a prisoner in her own dungeon, held at the mercy of the evil Prince Sarne and his foul cohorts.
    She made to sit up. The sudden ache in her bottom brought back vivid memories of her recent punishment, and she stood and stroked her buttocks carefully. Her fingertips traced the numerous welts left by the stinging rod, but she smiled to herself; it had been good.
    She sat down again on the cot with her hands clasped between her thighs like a small child. There was nothing she could do. She had to wait – wait until Rapite returned. He would surely thrash her when he saw that she had managed to release herself from the frame. She pondered as to whether she should shackle herself again in the hope that he wouldn’t notice one of the straps was broken, but thought better of it. What was the point? He would discover her deceit soon enough, and it would be all the worse for her.
    Sahria lay back on the cot and drew the sheet over her nakedness once more. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what forms the torture and humiliation that awaited her might take.
    Suddenly, she remembered Calema. How could

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