Underworld of the Chevaan

Underworld of the Chevaan

Part II

Vision of Cruelty

'AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!'

Satyra's cry cut through the night as the demoness' fangs bit deep into the soft folds of her pubis. The mound between her legs was pinioned between the powerful jaws as the beautiful prisoner heaved in her bonds.

Sadiste smiled to herself as she felt the priestess' blood mingling with her feminine juices. Even as she continued to use her teeth on the young girl's woman-flesh she probed once more with her tongue, lapping diligently at Satyra's soft pussy lips.

After her initial scream Satyra kept her cries to muffled sobs, a task all the more difficult because of the perverse way her tormentor used her mouth to bring both pain and pleasure. The agony of feeling the hellion's fangs savaging her most intimate flesh was heightened by the humiliation caused by the feelings of arousal generated by Sadiste's flickering tongue as it delved past her labia and probed around the tight bud of her clitoris. Sadiste pursed her lips and quivered in the stocks as the red skinned woman's hands clasped her buttocks firmly, pulling her forward as she chewed and licked. She could feel the blood dripping down her thighs as the stocks kept her spread pubic region hanging helplessly.

'You taste delicious,' Sadiste murmured, pulling back a little to stare up at Satyra's lovely face between the rams horns that curled either side of the Chevaan's head. 'Now to send you to your brawny lover.' She dipped her head forward again, her pink tongue diving between the folds of Satyra's cunt.

Satyra gasped as her all-green eyes flew wide, waves of power erupting from between her legs. She felt the magic coursing through her, carried by a peak of wild sexual energy, and had to fight the urge to surrender herself to that surge. Instead she focused on the sight of Conine hanging agonizingly on the Roman cross, dying horribly, as the swelling eruption in her womanhood burst over her, making her arch in the stocks, trembling and groaning…

Abruptly Satyra fell forward, totally limp.

Sadiste sat back on her haunches and gazed at the lovely bronze body while she licked the blood from her lips. One hand strayed to her full, crimson breast as she inspected anew the prisoner's own full mammaries with their jutting peaks, and the moist cleft beneath Satyra's thatch of copper pubic hair, the inner lips still just peaking playfully beyond the bitten labia. She smiled and let her taloned hand float down beneath the purple gauze that was all that covered her own crotch.

Abruptly, the wagon door flew open. A young Roman soldier stood in the opening, gripping a pilum and staring in amazement at the horned, red skinned lovely kneeling in front of the orange-haired prisoner, playing with herself shamelessly.

Sadiste looked at the young soldier, her pupil-less yellow eyes glowing. She smiled wider.

***

Conine tried to wet her now cracking lips, but her tongue was dry and felt swollen. She trembled with the effort of pulling down the bar. She felt light-headed, and the firelight danced at the corner of her vision.

Suddenly the orange light seemed to expand, filling her gaze. The crucified woman lifted her head a little, half-closed eyes seeing a shape forming in the air before her. As she watched, wonder driving the constant pain momentarily from her mind, the shape took on the aspect of a woman. Soon, the priestess Satyra floated in front of Conine. She was nude, her splendid body swathed in soft orange glow, her hair falling in gorgeous foaming curls over her shoulders and back, the two curling rams horns either side of her head glinting like polished ivory. Her all green eyes shone with tears.

'Oh my love,' she said, her voice anguished, 'my poor, poor love.'

Conine smiled a little, blinking back her own tears. 'I hoped you would come for me, when it was time.'

'Yes my darling, I've come,' answered the vision, reaching out a hand and stroking the warriors strong, beautiful face, 'but not for the long journey, not yet. I've come to help you escape.'

As Satyra's ghostly hand touched her, Conine felt new strength and awareness flowing through, like the warmth of strong drink. The constant pain and struggle for breath seemed to have vanished. She opened her mouth to speak, but Satyr set two long finders against her lips.

'Listen, my love, I have little time. I cannot use my magic to free you, but I can give you a chance, your only chance. It will be hard, but you must take it. Listen.'

***

Sadiste waved her hand at the young Roman, a simple, elegant gesture. The yellow light in her eyes flared fractionally brighter. 'Come in and close the door,' she said softly.

The man blinked, then obeyed without question. He still held his weapon, but as he approached the demoness where she stood looking at him over her shoulder his stance was no longer one of surprise or suspicion; more that of a servant waiting idly for a command.

Sadiste smiled, closer she could see the soldier was in his mid-twenties, in stature no taller than herself and Satyra but with the physique of a fighting man. 'Leave your things and come stand behind me,' she ordered, and the man did as he was told, dropping his pilum and shield to the ground.

Once the Roman was standing up against her Sadiste reached around and drew his arms around her body, placing his hands on her belly and hips. She eased back a little, rubbing gently against him, one hand moving to touch a buckle on the shoulder of his armor. 'You won't need these either,' she whispered.

Instantly, impossibly, the man's armor and clothes fell away, as if he had donned them without tying any fastenings. He stood naked except for his leather arm braces, his sandals, and his helmet, the last which Sadiste now reached up and gently pulled free to reveal his thick curling black hair and well formed face. 'Lovely,' she purred, snuggling back against him and smiling as she felt the jab of his erect member against the curve of her backside. He had a healthy length to his manhood, and it stiffened even further at the feel of her red skinned body pressing against him.

Sadiste hands moved around behind her, running over his firm torso and the muscles of his sides and abdomen. She leaned back to look him in the eyes, his deep brown, hers glowing yellow. Her breathing was slow and deep, and without prompting the Roman's hands moved up to her full breasts, cupping them and kneading them gently. Her nipples were hard black nubs beneath his palms.

Tuning her head to look at her young bravo Sadiste indicated with a nod the Chevaan half-breed hanging unconscious in the stocks, arms and legs drawn up behind her so that her naked torso, with its fabulous bronzed skin, full breasts and flat stomach, and teasing sliver of copper red hair between the spread thighs was suspended in space, helpless and inviting. The priestess' head with its fiery man and exotic curling rams horns hung down upon her full chest. 'She's very beautiful, isn't she?' Sadiste asked.

'She's incredible,' replied the Roman honestly. Sadiste knew her magick prevented him doing anything else.

'Tell me,' she whispered, tickling his ear with her tongue, 'what would you like to do to her.'

'Fuck her,' said the man, his eyes now riveted on the prisoner.

Sadiste smiled. 'You mean rape her?'

'Yes,' said the soldier. His grip on her breast tightened a little, and she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling. 'Rape the bitch.'

'I'll bet you'd make sure it hurt her, wouldn't you?' Sadiste said.

'Yes,' he answered. His face was dark with passion. 'I'd make the little slut scream for mercy.'

'Mmmmmmm,' Sadiste purred appreciatively. One of her hands reached around behind her back and the tips of her fingers found the head of the soldier's up-thrust cock, teasing it. 'Tell me what you'd do to her.'

'Whip her,' the man said, while in front of him the view of the prisoner shimmered and changed. Now instead of hanging insensible in the stocks, Satyra appeared conscious and alert, her face fearful and her full bosom rising and falling dramatically as an exact double of the young Roman clasping Sadiste stepped forward, swinging a many thronged whip, each leather strand studded with pieces of sharp bone. The phantom soldier swung the whip in front of the prisoner, letting her see the terrible instrument and contemplate the awful damage it would do to her unprotected flesh. Sadiste's hand continued working the real soldier's phallus, tickling it. 'Go on,' she said, still rubbing herself lasciviously against him.

'Start with her legs,' he answered, and immediately his illusionary counterpart complied, arm going back and bringing the scourge flailing against the prisoner's unprotected quadriceps as they were tensed by her legs being hauled backwards through the stocks. There was no sound to the image, but straight away the picture of Satyra showed the young priest choking back a sob of pain.

'I use the whip on one leg at a time at first,' the man went on, and in the image playing out before himself and Sadiste his double copied his every instruction. 'I hit her start on the outside of her legs, where they just start to curve up into her ass. I like how she looks when I hit her there – like a little doe trapped by a hunter. I can hear her whimpering by the time I move to the tops of her legs, above the knees. I flick the scourge across the muscle there, teasing her with the pain.' In the image bloody scratches formed on the victims legs between her knees and hips, complimenting the heavier wounds he had already inflicted on the outside of the legs.

'I use the whip and rub the insides of her thighs, where its sensitive. I don't whip her there yet – I'm saving that for later. I just want her to think about it, think about the pain when I do go there. I can see in her eyes that she's already terrified. She thinks I'm going to whip her pussy right now, but that would spoil the fun. '

Watching Sadiste leaned back and kissed the man lightly – he was proving delightfully inventive and she felt her juices flowing warmly within her own inner chambers. She reached up and took one of the Roman's hands from her breast and guided it down over her abdomen until his fingers were tracing the outline of her pouting crevice. His touch thrilled her as he went on with his description.

'I whip her belly next. It's flat and hard and the stocks make her pull her shoulders back and it looks even better; really tight and firm. I start gently at first, just getting her used to how it feels. A couple of light smacks warming her up. She closes her eyes and gasps a little, feeling the leather stinging her.'

'I start to swing harder. I can hear the slap of the leather as it smacks her torso. It makes a nice little crack, and it makes her jump as it hits her. Her boobs wobble a little. She's starting to feel the cords scratching her skin. With her belly pulled so tight by the stocks she can feel every sharp point as it marks her. I keep going until her skin starts to get red and you can see the thin red lines where her skins been broken.'

In the illusion, Satyra was now squirming in the stocks. With her arms pinioned behind her and her legs doubled back so that her ankles were level with her buttocks, her abdomen was drawn as tight as a piece of hide on a Nubian shield, and as described the skin was now a rosy red hue, streaked with fine stinging scratches. The lower part of her rib cage moved visibly beneath the skin as she worked to catch her breath.

'I step up close to her, and pull her head back so she's looking at me. I like the fear in her eyes and I let her see me smiling, thinking about how much I'll enjoy hurting her.'

'I step back again,' said the Roman, as under Sadiste's magical direction his image complied. 'I let her think about it, then I swing with force.'

Before the rutting demoness and her mesmerized partner the scourge crashed noiselessly against Satyra's unprotected midriff. The silent illusion gave a cry of pain as the leather cracked against her skin. Drawing back to reveal brighter welts against the red marked flesh and deeper cuts from the bone shards. The phantom soldier shifted his rip and brought the next stroke backhanded, so that the whip wrapped its coils around from the other side of the priestess young body, drawing another silent yelp of pain.

While the young Roman continued to narrate his fantasy, Sadiste moaned with pleasure. Her hand that had guided his down to her pubis now worked his strong fingers inside her, using his hand to masturbate herself while she watched the torture. The demoness knew full well that in reality the red-headed priestess would prove a much more resilient subject, and that such broken whimperings would come only after much pain; this was merely the vulgar imaginings of the man pressed up behind her with his hand squeezing her blood red tit while his other wriggled and probed inside the wet folds of her pussy. Nevertheless she still took pleasure in the show, as much from the revealing of the young man degraded yearnings as from his description of the beautiful prisoners suffering.

Soon the vision showed the priestess bronze body sagging in the stocks as her abdomen became more and more bloodied from the strikes of the whip. After a dozen strokes of the leather the torture paused. By now the real Roman was panting as he spoke, grinding his phallus against Sadiste's firm rump. So lifelike was the image being create before him that, combined with the feel of the incredible body pressed against him, he would surely have emptied his seed against the devil-woman back under normal circumstances. Sadiste's magic prevented that 'anti-climax' to her play, as easily as it drew the man's fantasy from his mind and enabled him to vocalize in such graphic detail, as well as preventing him from fully realizing the nature of the red-skinned, horned vixen in his arms.

'You're hurting her so badly,' cooed the demoness, undulating in his grasp. 'She's totally in your power. How are you going to hurt her now?'

The Roman paused for a heartbeat. 'Her tits,' he drawled.

'Mmmmmmmm,' agreed Sadiste with a smile. She reached up to where his hand cupped her own left boob and prompted him to squeeze gently. 'Tell me – tell me how your going to beat her nice big tits.'

'I grab them and squeeze them,' he answered, watching himself perform the deed. 'I can feel them in my hand, round and heavy. I squeeze hard.' The phantom Satyra gasped in pain at the man-handling of her fleshy bosom. The Roman's hands were large, but barely enough to contain one of those full domes of pliant womanliness. The finger dug cruelly into skin, shifting constantly, pulling and twisting. When the one boob was red and sore from the treatment he shifted to other and repeated the abuse. The image-Satyra sobbed pitifully, hanging weakened from the beating she had already received.

'Her nipples,' Sadiste reminded her puppet. 'You should hurt them too.'

And he did. While the demoness watched in rapture the Roman narrated his would-be torture of those perky round nubbins, pinking them between finger and thumb and twisting, sometime slow and deliberate, sometimes quick and brutal. Satyra groaned and shook her head from side to side, her curling red hair whipping about her gorgeous face as her sensitive tit-crests were ground like meat in the man's grasp. He pushed his finger deep into the rise of her mammary until he was applying pressure to the rib-cage beneath as her used his nails to dig into the harder pinkish bud, lighting up the nerve-ending within painfully.

Sadiste used her clawed hand resting atop his to make him squeeze her own tit with force, his pale pink finger sinking into her own blood-red tit-flesh. She groaned in pain and pleasure at the sensation – most other females would have cried out in protest at such treatment, but one did not abide in hell without developing an appreciation of a certain amount of pain. She was so wet between her legs now that her juices flowed out freely over the soldier's fingers as they quested beyond her hairless pubis.

When he had done with her nipples the Roman stepped back and used his open hand to slap the full tits forcefully. The heavy round boobs jiggled erotically as he hit them, while their owner continued to sob and moan. He hit them harder, making her yelp and shudder. He shifted hands so he struck the boobs in sequence, slapping the outside curve of the tit so it jumped across her chest, buffeting against its twin so they both wobbled delightfully. Slap. Slap. Slap! Slap!!

'When I can tell her tits are sore and swollen I show her the whip again. I rub the leather against her cheek and watch while she begs. I tell I'm going to whip her tits, and listen to her pleading like a little animal. She'll do anything, she says. She'll fuck me like a whore if I spare her. I tell her that I'm going to fuck her anyway, but first I want to hear her scream.'

'By the time I step back she's almost crazy with fear. It makes my cock hard as iron listening to her beg, looking at what I've already done to her. I bring the whip around and let it hit her left tit. She screams when it hits the sore skin, and when it pulls away I can see the red marks. There's already a little blood from the points. I backhand the other tit so she screams again. Her tits dance under the whip.'

'I keep hitting her. I hit her in different ways. Sometimes I go in from the side. Sometimes I use an overhand stroke so I hit the tops of her boobs. The cuts get deeper as I get more excited and hit her harder. Her tits are bleeding, and the blood smears across the skin when I flog her. She's crying all the time now, screaming and shaking so hard the whole stocks are vibrating.'

'I stop for a minute and step up to grab her boobs again. She cries out when I squeeze them, louder than before. Their cut and bruised and they hurt her when I touch them. I feel the blood on my hands and squeeze harder, so she screams out. I get one of the strands of the whip and find a sharp point, and then press it into one of her nipples. I stand close so I'm in her face when it digs in and I watch while she screams and screams. I'm so close I can feel her tits pressing against me chest, feel her blood on my skin, feel the tip of my cock brushing her belly. I cut her again and feel her heaving like a wild beast while her red mouth is wide with the screaming and the tears run down her face.'

'Aaaaaaaahhhhhh,' Sadiste exclaimed, and explosive cry as her body stiffened in the man's arms and she felt a white-hot surge of ecstasy erupt inside her vagina. She rode the feeling, keeping the man's hands working on her tits and cunt as the thought and vision of the howling red-haired priestess writhing in agony brought her to her climax.

In the vision the Roman stepped back from his victim, whose head slumped onto her bloodied chest. Sadiste reached around behind her again and once more found the man's young, erect cock, tugging it down and moving it between the cleft of her ass and up to the cleft between her legs. 'You want to fuck her now,' the demoness moaned, still thrilling form her orgasm.

The man did not answer this time, but moved his hips, twisting so that his phallus drilled against Sadiste's outer lips, penetrating a little. More moisture from her womanhood trickled out and her entered her easily, slipping inside her and pushing deep into her tunnel.

In front of the fornicating pair the vision Roman dropped hi whip and stepped up to the prisoner, grabbing one of the curling ram's horns either side of her head to force her face up while he stabbed at her copper-haired thatch with him member. He pushed into her gracelessly, making her shriek again as she shoved into her inch by inch, thrust by thrust.

The fucking continued, the vision and the reality in sync. Sadiste moaned like a whore as her Roman lover grasped her hips from behind and sexed her with hard, long strokes. She used one arm to coil around his shoulders, steadying herself while he plunged into her. Her other hand brought one of her full tits up to her mouth and she suckled her own nipple while she watched the man's rape fantasy play out in front of her. In his dream the man was reaming Satyra's pussy with gusto, arms reached around behind the frame of the stocks so he could bring all his strength into fucking into her helpless twat while he was sweating and grunting. The Chevaan's lovely face was turned towards Sadist and the two women looked at each other, yellow and green eyes meeting. The demoness was thinking about how soon it would not be any magic conjured vision before her, about the joy of seeing that broken looking the real Satyra's eyes as her half-satyr, half-human, but all woman body was tortured and degraded for Sadiste's evil pleasure.

The vision Roman pumped harder and faster, his grunts loud and forceful. The real man kept pace. Suddenly Satyra's mouth went wide and her horned head was flung back as her rapist lunged and paused, then lunged again, and again. Behind the gorgeous she-devil the real man suddenly grasped her hard around the waist and heaved forward, burying his cock inside her as Sadiste felt his seed rushing into her pussy and let her tit fall from her mouth as she cried out with her second climax.

The man inside her gasped with pleasure, his face glowing, but suddenly shuddered. In the midst of his rapture he suddenly felt a sudden irresistible force coursing through his body, as if every part of him were rushing down into his cock where it was spurting its juice into the woman in his arms. He trembled, his eyes growing wide as pleasure was replaced on his young face by a rictus of pain. He tried to cry out for help, but no words would come, and he was beyond anything his friends outside could have done. He shook violently as his phallus continued to pour into the demoness' all-consuming cunt, while she herself howled in pleasure, taking him into herself, emptying and devouring him as her full breasted body shone with a sheen of passion.

Abruptly the man drooped back, his body hitting the floor behind Sadiste with a muffled thud. She sighed, using her hand to adjust her ruffled hair around her sharp black horns and wiping some of her lingering juices from her pussy lips, licking it from her fingers with slow relish.

***

Conine leaned forward, straining against her captivity to reach Satyra's full lips, aching to feel them again. The satyr woman responded, their mouths coming together, covering each other, their tongues darting and flickering in the warm wet cavity as the kiss became passionate. Conine moaned as she felt new warmth and strength radiating through her, the supernatural vigor of the priestess flowing across the connection. The pain and fatigue did not vanish, but they faded as new energy coursed through the warrior woman's body.

At last, all too soon, Satyra pulled back, severing their joining. There were fresh tears in her emerald eyes as she brushed Conine's cheek with her own. 'I am with you always, my love,' she whispered. Conine said nothing, drinking in the feel of Satyra's body against her, her smell, her taste.

'What was she saying?'

Conine's eyes fluttered open. The vision of Satyra was gone, replaced once more by the mundane night time view. One of the soldiers had moved over to stand in front of her, looking curious.

***

The vision of the fallen Roman pumping his seed into the pinioned Chevaan wavered and was replaced by that of the real Satyra as she stirred and opened her glowing green eyes.

Satyra blinked groggily, weary from the energy she had expended to help Conine, tears forming in her eyes as she remembered the sight of her beautiful, proud warrior lover hanging grotesquely on the cross, bearing the marks of torture and gang-rape. She blinked, taking in the sight of Sadiste standing in front of her with a wicked smile still on her lovely evil face.

Then her eyes fell upon the form of the Roman. Only instead of the handsome youth that had entered the wagon, all that now remained was a wasted, almost mummified husk, like that of some long dead warrior. The skin was dry and sunken, withered and decrepit. The priestesses blinked again and lifted her head to look at the grinning demoness.

'What has happened here?' Satyra stammered.

'Oh just passing the time,' Sadiste replied, still glowing from her exertions. 'Shall we go?' She raised a long nailed hand and snapped her fingers.

***

Outside, the centurion of the company was just asking if any of the soldiers preparing for bed had seen the man who was supposed to be near the lead wagon, when the vehicle suddenly exploded in a ball of blue flame, knocking the awe-struck Roman's to the ground and scattering bits of burning debris across the camp.