Underworld of the Chevaan

Part XII

Fine Points

Satyra woke slowly with the sounds of her own cries of agony lingering in her ears. Her dreams had been nothing but a patchwork of violation and pain, but she was in no hurry to awaken fully, knowing her waking world would be no better.

The Chevaan blinked and took stock of her surroundings. She was in a sealed room with no windows and one door. No surprises there. And she was bound. Again, no surprise.

What was unusual was the nature of the room. The walls, floor and roof were all of the same dark reddish brown stone she had seen throughout the Underworld, except in the corner where she was tied – here the surfaces were covered in sheets of flat, rusted metal, the seams dotted either side with large bolts. The metal surfaces formed an alcove about ten twelve feet wide and eight feet deep, with Satyra bound in the centre of the space and slightly towards the…

Satyra blinked with growing awareness. She had seen this room before, been in it. Like the foul things at the bottom of a crystal blue pond the memories of ultimate pain rose to the surface of her mind, making her close her eyes at the horror of the recollection. She took a breath to calm herself. When she opened her eyes, she was trembling with an ague of dread.

Would she have to suffer through that again? She became nauseous at the thought, bile stinging her throat. The feel of the merciless vices on her tits and nipples and her helpless clit, and the memory of her own inhuman screams, turned her blood to ice in her veins.

No, it had to be a trick, a deceit of Sadiste. They had said only six trials, and they already failed in their last stratagem, though by the breadth of a hair. Surely they would not have run out of atrocities to commit upon her body – but then would the next be even worse. Satyra could not believe it was possible, but if it was…she swallowed. How could she endure worse than the destruction of her love-bud between the iron jaws without surrendering body and soul? Even if this was the last trial, the priestess knew the limits of even her half-satyr strength, and she had already pushed well beyond them. Hanging in mid air with her crotch spread in lewd invitation the ram-horned beauty struggled against the rising tide of despair, knowing that no matter what was the case that it was not in her power to control. These creatures would use her in the foulest and most debased manner, and she was utterly at their non-existent mercy.

The realization of her helplessness fell upon the red-haired priestess like the weight of the granite blocks she had lain sandwiched between. Until this moment she had somehow blocked from her mind the thought that she was powerless to have any say in her fate, but the agonies she had already endured put the lie to that belief. For all her priestly enlightenment and Chevaan pride she was now no more than a victim. Sadiste, Vulgus, the demons – they could do anything to her. Her wishes meant nothing – her will meant nothing. She was their pain toy, and that was all.

Fresh tears seeped from her eyes. Despair rose around her heart like a dark choking fog.

But no – she still had one hope, however faint it's glimmer; the spell given her by Zaraeth. Satyra could only hope that it would not be too long before Sadiste again came to look in on her red-haired prisoner.

Abruptly, the metal door opened. More out of habit than pride Satyra blinked away the tears and tried to look calm.

Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as instead of the straight horned demoness, the cloaked creature who had crushed her breasts and womanhood shambled in through the door. The sight of those bandaged fingers that had tightened the vices on her nipples and her clitoris made her feel like screaming and finding a hole to hide in, but she controlled her fear and hung in the shackles without trembling.

And then, to Satyra's perverse relief, Sadiste herself also came through the door. The red skinned demoness strolled over to the alcove where her guest hung in captivity, yellow eyes glowing softly with pleasure. The gold ornaments on her nipples glimmered faintly in the dungeon light, as did the chain that held the silk strip between her statuesque legs in a mockery of modesty. Her heeled sandals clicked sharply on the stone floor as she moved over to stand looking down at Satyra while she twirled a lock of her straight black hair around her fingers.

Sadiste stood looking down at the priestess for some time, hips pushed out arrogantly. She could see that the priestess' spirit had suffered just as much as her splendid body, and smirked wickedly. ‘You look well, my dear,' she lied.

Satyra made no answer, just hung looking sideways, away from the devil woman confronting her, lest her rekindled hope at seeing the architect of her suffering become apparent to the female demon. Sadiste made a small gesture to the cloaked creature, who went to the wall and operated one of the devices hanging there. There was the sound of gears turning, and the manacles holding Satyra's hands moved up towards the ceiling, while the ones about her ankles did likewise, keeping the same position relative to the wrist cuffs. The effect was that the ram-horned beauty was raised up in her spread-legged position ‘til her head was level with Sadiste's.

‘I said you look well my dear,' Sadiste repeated. To emphasise her words she let her fingers travel softly over Satyra's arms, then down around the outside of her breasts and over her midriff where just a few shallow folds of skin were all the effect her suspension had on her tight muscles. ‘White becomes you,' Sadiste added as she traced a circle around the priestess' navel.

Satyra continued to say nothing, though she felt like screaming at the demoness touch. Visions of their positions being reversed while Satyra crushed Sadiste's throat to gurgling pink pulp danced behind the Chevaan's eyes.

Sadiste watched the subtle play of emotion on the prisoner's face and was satisfied. She stopped her caress and stepped back. ‘Forgive me,' she said, with mock courtesy, ‘I am forgetting my role as hostess.' She gestured to the little cloaked horror standing a few feet away. ‘Allow me to introduce one of our pre-eminent artists – Satyra, this is Krool.'

Satyra did not look over at the hooded being, but responded with a tight-lipped, ‘We've met.'

At this Sadiste's yellow eyes went wide. ‘Really? When?' she asked in surprised tones.

Satyra remained stony-faced, struggling with the freshness of the memory.

‘Because as far as I know, you and little Krool have never seen one another before; certainly not in relation to our business.'

Satyra blinked slowly and raised her head to look at Sadiste squarely. ‘Then it must have been his evil twin who was here with me a little while ago.'

Sadiste's face and tone were maddeningly innocent. ‘No, I'm afraid Krool here is one of a kind. Oh dear,' she went on with elaborate concern, ‘I hope you're not suggesting that Krool took any liberties with you?'

Satyra could feel her blood staring to warm. ‘I'm not interested in playing your sick game of pretend, Sadiste!' she spat. ‘One more trial, and then you and your master can go fuck yourselves.'

Sadiste stifled a smile at the priestess casual use of profanity. ‘I'm sorry dear; you must have lost track – its two trials to go.'

Satyra glared daggers at her enemy. ‘That little wretch had his chance with me,' she bit back, ‘and he failed.' Only the slightest quaver in her voice betrayed how close that failure had been to a success. ‘Our deal was six, trials. You have one left.'

Again Sadiste gave a maddeningly innocent look. ‘I'm sorry, Satyra, I don't understand you. Are you saying Krool here did something to you?'

Satyra looked daggers at the Underworld woman. ‘That piece of shit tortured me in this very room! Don't try to tell me you didn't know!'

‘Why, that's terrible,' Sadiste replied, still full of wide eyed surprise. ‘Certainly Krool was never given any instructions to take liberties with you.' The demoness paced closer, pressing her palms together under her chin. ‘We would have to investigate such an accusation of course. What proof do you offer of this act?'

Satyra's white face twisted in fury. ‘Proof?' she snarled.

‘Yes, of course. You say that Krool has acted in a way that would violate the terms of our agreement. Naturally we would require proof. Is there a witness to the alleged torture?'

The Chevaan jerked at her restraints, making them rattle. ‘You know that there isn't one!'

‘Oh dear,' Sadiste said in a disappointed tone. ‘Well, other evidence; physical marks from the abuse, perhaps?'

‘You damned red skinned bitch!' Satyra screamed, knowing that Sadiste knew better than anyone that the terrible marks and bruises had vanished completely, thanks to the magic fires that had infused her mortal flesh with the power to regenerate any injury, endure any suffering.

‘Now my dear, you should try and calm down. I'm trying to help you.'

‘Fuck your help!' the half satyr raged, breasts heaving as she shook in her bondage.

‘Such a temper. And my word, do your eyes look a bit darker?'

Satyra trembled with indignation, but she forced her rage down to an ice cold ball in her belly. When she spoke again, her voice was low and dangerous. ‘No, no marks' she growled.

‘Hm,' pondered the demoness. ‘Well, without witnesses or other proof it will be difficult to investigate your claim.' A small smile began to turn the corners of her mouth. ‘It could take quite some time.' The smile got more obvious. ‘Would you like to wait? I'm sure that we can make you very comfortable, however long it might take.'

And then Satyra saw that everything that Zaraeth had said about Sadiste keeping her here was true; the red demon-girl would never let Satyra leave the Underworld, no matter what their bargain. She would find an endless number of ways to make the copper-haired priestess suffer beyond what they had bargained. There was in short no escape, except the one she made for herself.

Satyra swallowed, fighting down the last of her anger. ‘No,' she said, and she let her voice sound soft and broken. It was disturbingly easy. ‘That won't be necessary.'

Sadiste smile was as hateful as its owner was beautiful. ‘Well, if you say so,' she shrugged. She put her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts towards Satyra's face as she leaned closer. ‘Since that's settled, there's no reason we can't proceed with the business at hand.'

A little gibbering slobber came from Krool, and he began rummaging around among the bits and pieces hanging from the walls. Sadiste smiled as she looked over at the eager little creature, then back at the Chevaan. After a moment the hooded dwarf came over holding two objects, one in each hand.

Satyra looked at the pieces of metal. They were similar in shape to the small vices that Sadiste denied her vile slave had used to torture her nipples and clitoris, but not quite exactly the same. These implements were of a rounder shape, like a crescent moon with two flat discs from which the horns of the crescent protruded. There was a screw built into the middle of the object on one side, and on the outer rim of the crescent there was a small ring of steel.

Satyra stared at the metal objects in Krool's hands as it held them up for her to inspect. Then she watched as the two crescents moved towards her breasts as the Underworlder gave a small, breathy sigh.

Sadiste watched her prisoner watching the metal curves. ‘Krool has some very special jewellery he wants you to try. I think you'll look gorgeous in it.'

Krool palmed one of the metal vices and reached out with the other. Satyra watched it approaching the peak of her breast and tried to pull away. The other bandaged hand moved and caught the globe of white flesh in a firm grip. He attached the crescent around her aureole, the horns pressing either side of the circular nubbin.

Satyra watched in awful remembrance of the last time the creature Krool had held her breast like that. Echoes of her own agonized screams filled her mind, but she saw Sadiste observing her closely and fought to be brave.

Krool turned the screw on the side of the vice. Instantly the sharp horn-points began to pinch. In a few seconds their grip had gone from uncomfortable to painful, then increased beyond. Tears in the Chevaan's eyes betrayed how much she was hurting.

Krool kept tightening. The horns punctured the pliant skin and drops of blood rand down, then slowed as Satyra's flesh healed. But the vice kept tightening.

As the jaws closed, the discs around the horns began to squeeze the nipples jutting bud. It gripped them tight, kept going. The tight little nerve cluster crushed slowly between the metal plates. Another turn, and another. Satyra threw her head back and hissed, fighting the pain, fighting with everything she had.

The tightening stopped.

Satyra had no opportunity to give thanks. Though the vice did not crush her teat further, the horrible pressure did not disappear. She felt as if her suckling-button were being torn slowly free from her mammary. She wanted to gag.

Krool moved to the other nipple.

Satyra felt the touch on her boob and panicked, trying to yank herself away, sobbing slightly. Sadiste reached out herself and captured the Satyr-woman's quivering tit, massaging it gently as the vice was moved into position.

‘Stop it, stop stop stop,' panted Satyra. Her control was slipping as the extreme horror of her previous torture in this dungeon became awful reality.

‘No, my dear,' Sadiste said patiently. ‘You'll look lovely in these, very sexy.' She used the back of her hand to stroke the fullness of the white boob and nodded to Krool. The vice moved into position. It started to pinch.

‘Aaah,' gasped Satyra, tears starting to run down her cheeks. ‘Wait – just…aahhh…wait, wait!'

The demoness and her slave ignored Satyra's frantic pleas. The vice tightened. It pierced the skin. More blood spilled down over her curving plunge of breast.

‘Arrrrgghhhh! Stop!'

The nipple was sandwiched between the metal discs. The crushed in. Harder. Harder!

‘Noooo…ah ah…stop it….fuck…eeeeaaarrrghhhh….'

Sadiste watched Satyra squirm in the shackles as if in the throes of passion. Her mouth was open wide, eyes tight shut, body shining with a dew of pain.

At a nod from Sadiste the little homunculus stopped his tightening. Satyra hung in her shackles and tired to suck air into her lungs. Her breasts rose and fell in spasms as she sucked in air. The shaking of her eye-catching breasts made the clamps hurt her more.

Krool moved back, taking in the view of the shuddering boobs with a delighted slobber. Shuffling quickly across to the left side of the alcove he fiddled with some more machinery while Sadiste walked slowly around behind the red-haired prisoner, letting her hand run up and down her Satyra's lithe arms while the Chevaan panted and tried to steady her breathing.

In less than a minute Krool had reappeared in front of the gorgeous victim. Sensing his return Satyra opened her eyes.

In one hand the filthy rag-covered creature held a thin silver strand – like a piece of fine twine, but made by some devils art not of rope or even leather but shining metal. The slavering homunculus took some tentative steps forward, and again reached out for the clamp on Satyra's left breast. She tried to pull back, but Sadiste settled her arms on her shoulders, holding her firmly. ‘Now, now,' said the demoness in soothing tones, ‘let Krool finish what he started.'

Reaching out once more Krool found the pinioned nipple and pulled it towards him, dragging the rest of the tit behind it. Satyra sobbed in pain as her boob flesh was stretched by the squashed nub.

Holding the tit out from her suspended white body, the little demon threaded the metal strand through the ring in the outside edge, tying it securely. Then while Satyra whimpered and Sadiste watched he repeated the process with the right nip-pincer.

‘You're doing very well,' Sadiste purred in the Chevaan's ear as Krool moved away again. ‘Don't you feel sexy with that lovely jewellery on?'

‘You…damn…slut,' was all Satyra gasped out in reply. She closed her eyes, her suspended body shaking slightly with the strain on her arms.

‘Mmmmm, you have a naughty little mouth,' Sadiste teased the prisoner. ‘Let's see it opened a bit wider.' She glanced off to the side and nodded.

At the wall, Krool began working a metal wheel with a single handle. He wound the wheel around and around with a broken ratcheting sound. At first Satyra had no idea what the creature was doing. Then suddenly she felt the wires hanging down from her tortured breasts quiver, moving slightly over her concave abdomen.

Sucking in air she looked down. The wires were moving, rising off the floor as their nether ends were drawn back towards their point of origin. They lifted off the floor, rising higher. Satyra began to feel them tugging gently on the pincer, even that tiny pressure adding to her considerable pain.

Satyra squirmed futilely in her restraints, her pelvis rising and falling as she tried to gain some leverage by which to free herself. By now the wires were level with her waist, and still they rose; higher and higher. Soon they were hanging almost horizontal, and the Chevaan was grunting in pain as they pulled at her entrapped titty-points. She watched in mesmerized despair as they kept going, lifting above the horizontal as they fought to return to their home in the shadows above.

‘Ah, ah, ah, ahhhhh….' Satyra's cries became more high-pitched as the wheel turned. The metal strands tied to the nip-clamps were standing out rigidly form her breasts now, angling up into the shadows of the roof, and still the tension increased. The faint tug had now become a unyielding pull on her crush-sensitized passion peaks, the grip of the vices meaning that the two full Chevaan breasts were being hauled up and apart by their most delicate aspect. Satyra struggled to lift herself even a few inches to help ease the pain that made her feel like her nipples were being torn from her breasts by a pair of sharp toothed pliers. Her head was buried in her arm as she ground her teeth in frustration, torment, and agonizing helplessness.

The wheel stopped turning, and Sadiste moved around in front of Satyra to stare at her new lesson in suffering. To the awful crushing of her boob-buds, in itself a terrible pain for a woman to endure, had now been added a new dimension – having those hardened nerve clusters stretched practically to the point of ripping free of their luscious home. Sadiste knew that for the priestess bound in front of her the tension in then wires had increased her pain threefold, the constant strain lifting her curving tits high and making their whole soft roundedness a transmitter for pain to their sweating, squirming mistress. The demoness long nailed hands travelled to her own eye-catching breasts, her fingers squeezing gently as she thought about the intense sensations running feverishly from her prisoners tortured mammals and into her brain. She felt herself growing warm, arousal building in her sex-charged crimson form as she channelled some of Satyra's sensual torment.

Satyra glance up to see the red whore-demon fondling her large boobs as she leered at the satyr woman's own tormented flesh. The look of growing ecstasy on that beautifully evil face filled her with loathing and contempt, and she tired to endure the torture more bravely.

Krool came up behind her, reaching past her shoulder and using one bandaged finger to test the tension on the right wire, tweaking it softly. The minor physical contact made Satyra's whole breast explode with pain, but she kept her response to a tight lipped grunt and a twisting of her full red lips.

Sadiste noticed her unwilling companion's stoicism and stepped closer, reaching out so that her fingertips brushed the Priestess scrunched midriff. ‘Don't try to deny these sensations,' she purred, eyes dancing over the length of the sexy Chevaan's body, dusted with small diamonds of sweat. ‘There's so much I can teach you if you just let yourself experience them fully.'

‘You,' Satyra gasped out, ‘are…a sick…twisted bitch!'

‘Let me show you just how true that is,' Sadiste purred. She moved casually to one side as Krool stepped forward again. The sight of the little demon made Satyra flinch without thinking. In his hands the robbed deviant held what appeared to be a pair of small metal fastenings, no longer than his little finger, except they were not full circles and seemed to barbed at one end. With a start Satyra recognized the objects.

Hooks!

Krool shuffled forward until he had positioned himself directly between Satyra's wide spread thighs her delicately furred mound cracked open just in front of his slobbering hooded face. Wordless sounds of excitement bubbled from within the shadows of the hood as the creature stared at the thin reveal of pink only inches away. Satyra could only watch in utter horror as the demented little creature held up the wickedly barbed hooks and dangled them before her most intimate flesh.

Sadiste watched the terror in the prisoner's eyes and felt a warm glow spreading through her own loins. She moved one of her hands down to rub herself lightly through the gossamer purple loincloth. ‘Aren't they wonderful,' she said in a purr as Satyra's wide green eyes just stared at the barbs. ‘Imagine what they're going to feel like when Krool pushes them in, the points digging into your pussy lips, tearing out the other side. And then, when he pulls on the strands, and the barbs dig into you from within and you start to open like a flower…' The demoness voice trailed off as she slipped her hand under the loin cloth and played with her self shamelessly, thinking of Satyra's future nightmare.

‘Oh Goddess,' whispered Satyra, her white face even more ashen as the terrible image filled her mind. ‘Oh Goddess, please deliver me from this evil.'

‘Sorry,' Sadiste said, darting forward so than he face was only inches from Satrya's. Her smile was like a shark circling its prey. ‘No divine intervention allowed – though if you want to try a bit further south, I'm all ears.'

Satyra was actually trembling a little as she met Sadiste's yellow stare. The defiance seemed to be draining out of her like water from a leaking bucket. ‘Please don't do this,' she whispered. ‘Don't let him, please. I can't…I can't bear…' her voice trailed off into a half sob.

‘Its' alright, my pretty one,' Sadiste said, ‘you don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just say the word, and we can leave here right away.'

Krool gave a piteous whine at those words, but Satyra hung in abject misery. ‘Please, please I'll do anything else. Anything.'

Sadiste moved closer still, so their breasts were rubbing gently as each woman breathed. ‘There is only one think I want, dear girl,' she said. Her voice had become low and husky. ‘Give up your foolish defiance and yield to me, Satyra. Yield up your soul, and I will show you pleasures such as you never imagined in your wettest teenage dream.'

Satyra's lips quivered in anguish. ‘I can't,' she said again, but her voice was less certain than in previous refusals. She drew a shuddering breath and her tits wobbled gently against the red demon mounds of her enemy.

‘I can be very skilful,' Sadiste moaned, stepping even closer. Krool had to scurry aside as the tall devil woman stepped up between the prisoner's legs, their bodies nestling against each other. Sadiste's arms circled Satyra's waist, pulling her gently against the demoness while the red woman nuzzled her smooth neck. ‘Do you remember my tongue, Satyra, how it felt to have it moving over you, over your skin, over your sex.' She paused and bit one pointed white ear gently, pausing her read curls aside with her horns. ‘Would you rather feel my mouth on your sweetest lips?' She ground her groin softly and slowly against Satyra's naked mons. ‘Or would you rather feel Krool's little toys?'

Satyra's sexy body was trembling against the demon woman's with each shuddering breath, but she shook her head, tears running down her face. ‘Goddess help me, I can't,' she wept.

Sadiste pulled back, lifting the satyr woman's head by the chin. ‘That's a shame,' she said, and Satyra was stunned by the sincerity in her voice. ‘Krool,' Sadiste snapped out, as she turned away and moved back from the alcove.

Krool raced forward, almost stumbling over his robes in his haste. Without preamble one raggedy hand clutched roughly at Satrya's womanhood, pinching the soft outer lips in a cruel grip. He jabbed his thumb inside her, prying the folds apart.

‘No, NO!' Satyra shouted, fear making her voice louder and higher. She desperately tried to twist fee of the filthy grip as the hooks moved closer to her pussy. ‘Get him away from me. !'

Krool laughed like a bubbling cess pit and pulled back Satyra's right vulva, holding the fold of skin between finger and thumb. With a cruel move he jabbed the first hook against the inner flesh, pressing with his thumb so that the bard pressed against the skin, making the priestess cry out. The demon applied more pressure, getting another scream, and then the pointed metal surpassed the elasticity of the woman's pussy cover and pierced her, driving through the flesh.

‘Aaaaaaarrrrrr!' Satyra's scream as the barb spitted through her pussy lip filled the room, and she shook violently in her restraints, making her breasts dance as drops of sweat fell from them in small torrents. She took a long breath and screamed again as the demon continued to push the point into her, until at last with a squirt of blood it emerged though the other side of the undulating quim-cover.

Sadiste watched the lovely red-head shaking in pain, the red blood showing starkly against her white skin. She reached under her kirtle and pinched her own vulva hard enough to feel the pain, thrilled at what the bound victim was going through.

Satyra's eyes were clenched so tightly her head throbbed. She could hear the demon moving, sense him close to her. She tired to ignore the sounds, tried to tell herself that if she didn't look, didn't see him getting the hook ready then it wasn't real. She felt the finger touching her gates again and the fear took her, made her gasp for air and twitch. By the time she felt the cold metal point against her flesh she was already crying out. A moment later she was screaming, sobbing hysterically as he pierced her other side, repeating the procedure as she howled and wept helplessly.

Having finished with the hooks Krool moved off to the wall. Again Satyra heard the sound of wheels and gears. The metal crescents impaling her began to quiver, then the satyr woman felt the hooks tighten, tin at her bloodied lips. The tightness grew as the sound continued, Satyra knowing without opening her eyes that the wires tied to the hooks were rising even as their companions on the nipple rings had done. As they reached the limit of their extension they continued to tug at her flesh, pulling the vulva slowly apart, the crack of female flesh widening to reveal her pink inner being more fully even as her barb-pierced flesh sent messages of pain racing up her spine to make her cry fresh tears.

Wider and wider the wicked barbs hauled the soft white slit, Sadiste watching the process like the unfolding a beautiful flower as the feminine petals were pulled back. At the top and bottom of the cleft Satyra could feel the flesh straining until it was almost at the point of tearing, her crack so wide that the inner lips of her pussy were fully exposed and parted in sympathy with their outer siblings. The air of the dungeon wafted over her naked quim as she wiggled her heaps to try and take some of the tearing pressure off her tortured woman-flesh. Sadiste watched the display with her finger deep inside her own vagina, eyes glowing with lust, while at the controls on the wall Krool's wet gibbering was clearly audible, growing more frantic as the lips of Satyra's femaleness were peeled back like the skin of a ripe fruit, revealing the juicy wetness beneath.

Krool stooped and locked off the mechanism. Satyra now hung in her bondage with her vulva wrenched a good five inches apart, while the rest of her sweated and squirmed and shook with weeping. And the diminutive creature wasn't finished with her yet.

While the priestess let her head fall back and sounds of incoherent horror came from her lips, the demon readied another piece of apparatus near the wall. He trundled it forward, the whole thing rolling noisily on metal castors so that Satyra's head snapped up to see what new atrocity her captors had in store for her.

The device was a metal pole five feet high fixed to a round base that rolled across the alcove flooring. At the top the pole hung over, and a short chain was attached to it, hanging down to a thumb sized hook. Swinging gently on the end of the hook was a glass container filled with some greenish liquid – at the top it had a metal cap with a ring that sat on the hooked chain, while at the bottom was another metal cap that tapered down to a cone-shaped funnel, sitting open a hall-inch wide at the base and with some sort of small wheel attached. The whole arrangement reminded the beautiful horned prisoner of ale kegs she had seen tapped with a wooden bung in her village, but she doubted that the purpose was anything so benign, especially when the funnel opening was positioned by the raggedy figure so that it hung directly over her forcibly exposed womanhood.

Krool tittered maliciously and moved around behind her again. Satyra wiggled her hips to try and keep as much distance as possible between her vaginal opening and the metal spout as Sadiste came forward again.

The demoness pulled her finger out from under her kirtle, the red skin glistening with the moisture of her sex. She held it up and pressed it against the puckered lips of Satyra's own entrance, mingling their juices. Satyra trembled in shame and fear and closed her eyes as the crimson bitch diddled her hole.

‘It's almost time for your next lesson, dear Satyra,' Sadiste said in patient tones. ‘I have tried to educate you in the ways of the world, my dear, for your own benefit. Unfortunately, despite having a great deal of potential,' and here she paused and sniffed the finger she had worked up inside Satyra's love tunnel, before sliding it back inside the pink crevice and continuing, ‘you remain a poor student.'

‘Then I realised,' the demoness went on, still finger raping her audience, ‘that the reason for you recalcitrance is to do with your upbringing. You have been brain-washed with the teachings of your Chevaan sisters about the nature of good and evil, love and desire. Your experiences in our realm have helped you to shed some of these inhibitions to your true nature.'

Satyra's breathing came in tight quick bursts as she felt the demoness' finger stimulating her feminine regions in ways she found equally repellent and intoxicating. ‘Get your finger out of me and release these chains, and I'll show you some of my true nature,' she growled.

‘You see,' Sadiste smiled, ‘you can learn. Even now, thanks to you encounter with the slithering ones, you understand that your body can react to pleasure in ways you never dreamed of.' Sadiste gave a sudden extra forceful push, grinding her knuckle against the prisoner's love-nub and making Satyra's eyelids flutter as warm feelings of excitement arced out from her moist centre. ‘Yes, you learned that lesson very well.'

‘Bitch!' Satyra gasped. Even the little movements of Sadiste's hand caused jolts of pain from the hooks in her stretched vulva.

Sadiste ignored the outburst. ‘The flames hardened your mortal flesh, and the Yukhoth helped you understand the true nature of the humans you would dwell among – selfish, cruel and treacherous.'

‘Like others…I could mention,' Satyra said in a fight to keep her tone even. The evil slut was making her soft pinkness quiver as her finger created ever greater feelings of arousal. She knew if she moved even slightly to try and escape the vile digit the piercings would reward her with terrible pain.

‘Yes, but I make no pretence of being anything other than I am,' Sadiste smirked back. ‘The stones helped you to understand the nature of futility, struggling against the crushing forces that trap as all. Satyra closed her eyes as Sadiste mentioned the stones, fearing that the demon-girl would see some spark there as she remembered the other lesson she had learned there from Zaraeth. She felt Sadiste's finger frigging her with slow, deliberate movements and heard her sigh. ‘Despite some progress, however, you remain mired in narrow minded Chevaan philosophy. Why, I asked myself.'

‘Maybe because you've…spent…all this time…torturing me, you sick freak,' Satyra blurted out angrily.

‘Discovery is often painful,' Sadiste said. ‘At any rate, that does not explain you stubborn refusal to embrace a new and better way of seeing the world.'

‘I serve the…the goddess,' Satyra whispered. The finger rubbing the channel of her sexuality was nearly driving her mad now, teasing her at the edge of release but expertly keeping her from achieving it. She felt herself quivering with unspent energy.

‘But that is not the reason,' Sadiste said forcefully, twisting her wrist and drawing a soft moan from her victim. ‘However powerful that loyalty is, it is ultimately an abstract. You have never seen the goddess, never known the warmth of her embrace. Only something tangible could provoke you to endure such suffering when escape is only a sweet surrender away.'

Even in the midst of her rising sexual fever, Satyra felt her heart grow chill at these words.

The red-tressed woman felt her head jerked back and saw Krool standing directly behind her. The violent action sent messages of pain from the hooks in her tits and pussy as the rag covered hands jammed a metal rod like a horses bit into her mouth, securing it with a strap that passed around the back of her head. The demon pulled the fastenings brutally tight, digging the round metal deep into the corners of the woman's red mouth, then pushed her head forward to look down at Sadiste still casually fingering her captive slit.

‘Thank you Krool,' Sadiste said. ‘We want to be sure our lovely student can't interrupt proceedings.' She looked up at Satyra, meeting the stare of those wide all green eyes. ‘You cling to hope, my lovely priestess – hope that you will somehow triumph and see her again – that she will take you in her arms thank you with her heart and body and tongue for all you have done for her.' Satyra's eyes grew wider as the full truth of what was to happen dawned terribly. ‘Well, be careful what you wish for, my dear.'

Krool's hand moved around like a serpent and touched the faucet attached to bottle over her quim. Instantly a drop of green liquid appeared at the opening – it hung for a moment at the edge, then fell through space and splashed lightly against Satyra's wide-peeled womanhood.

‘Gaaaarrrrrhhh!' came the gorgeous prisoner's muffled cry. Where the emerald potion had landed, waves of caustic fire seared through her, the nerves burning in acid torment. The pain overwhelmed her control and her body shook so that fresh needles of suffering stabbed in her nipples and impaled pussy lips and brought further gagged sobs.

‘Very good Krool,' Sadiste nodded. ‘But stop now – we must wait for the arrival of the last player in this scene.'

Satyra shook her head to try and clear the green burning haze as Sadiste stepped down from the metal platform and into the middle of the chamber. Lifting her arms the demoness began to chant softly, muttering words long forgotten by all but a few in the mortal lands above.

A shudder ran through the cavern. Sadiste intoned more loudly, eyes glowing, and with a sound of shattering stone a crack burst open in the roof above. Soft solver light flowed down from the cleft, washing in shining ribbons around the chanting demoness as Satyra opened her eyes and watched in numb horror as a figure took form, lying helpless on the floor in front of the beautiful minion of evil.

Sprawled out before Sadiste's sandled feet, completely at her mercy…lay Conine!