Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Judgement Day (4)
X-Wing, The Basement Cells at Hinseburg Prison, Frövi, Sweden
“Is that her?” Jan Bakker, CEO of Ranger-Everest the South African Car Assembly Company, spoke in a brusque manner to Pontus Sjöberg, overall Governor of Hinseburg Prison.
Sjöberg hated having to pander to this man, but he knew that the Government looking favourably at his increased funding requests depended upon it. That was why he had personally met Bakker and his invited group of misogynists, from their private jet when they landed at Örebro airport in the early hours of this morning.
“It is yes, and as you see she has been left alone in this condition overnight so that she looked ‘authentic’ when you arrived for today’s private crucifixion.”
The word filtered through the fog plaguing Lacey’s addled mind. ‘Authentic’? Was that the word he used? The captive girl dare not stir. She had lain unconscious in her cell for most of the night, but now that she was awake, the young stricken prisoner fought the urge to stretch and scream … until these bastards had moved on.
“She is, I must say, very delectable Governor,” Bakker said, then added, “… for a murdering bitch.”
“Indeed, Mister Bakker. Shall we take some breakfast before the day gets underway. Your group are waiting for you in the office of Anders Nordin, my Chief Warder for this part of my prison.
“That sounds like a good idea, I am actually very hungry. But before we go just one thing …”
“And what is that Mister Bakker?”
“The whipping that this bitch received yesterday was not very satisfactory.”
“Oh, and why was that?”
“Well, we can clearly see that she was well beaten, but the live stream feed was frequently interrupted by an annoying buffering process, clearly a problem with the internet connection … so, I would like to see the prisoner lashed again today, immediately before being nailed to the cross. More realistic too, I think …”
Lacey almost puked on the spot. They were going to whip her again, just so that this whole fucked up scene could be more realistic? It already felt very real to the poor, tortured girl.
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire, UK
Jason lay on the King-sized double bed, his bed, their bed … the marital bed. It was the place where two young people, married and in love, should be consummating their connubial at every possible opportunity. Except they weren’t.
Right now, at this very moment Major Jason Underwood was flicking through his phone gallery at pictures of CIA Agent Barbara Moore. He sighed and lightly skimmed his fingers over his growing erection.
“Oh Barb,” he sighed, “Why didn’t I listen to you,” he spoke quietly to himself, reflecting back to the night before the wedding when Barb had visited him here and they fucked for the very last time (see Havana Hell).
In the relative isolation of the bedroom, he couldn’t hear his wife, downstairs, talking with her former boss, Head of MI6, Roger Moore.
“Roger, Sir, please … what will it take?”
Moore sighed down the other end of the line.
“Grace, I’m not sure what you think I can do? This really is out of my hands, way above even me … the King himself has …”
“Send in a covert team, black ops, I’ll lead it …”
Moore was silent, and the desperate girl knew that it wasn’t because he was thinking her suggestion over.
“I’ll fuck you, Roger. Be your whore, your slut. You can tie me up and whip me, just like you want to do. Imagine my naked body marked and bloody, with your cock deep inside me …”
“Grace …”
“Roger?”
“Stop. Please. I cannot help you.”
“Then go fuck yourself Roger …” and, with tears welling in her eyes, she abruptly ended the call.
The Food Hall, X-Wing, at Hinseburg Prison, Frövi, Sweden
Lacey Anderson’s breasts are not over-large, but they are ample enough, and the way in which her hands are tied behind her back causes them to thrust prominently, her nipples poking out like bullets.
"Kneel." Her Master’s voice ... Erik Hansom.
After a second’s pause, she complies. The hard stage hurts her knees; the stiffness, cuts and lash marks from yesterday are more agonisingly painful.
Nobody cares: and gradually the chattering of the seated audience watching her breaks through into her consciousness. She is about to be crucified for no reason other than to entertain these monsters. As the young, hapless Agent looks out, her mouth falls open. In amongst the group of around 14 men there is a woman, and she looks as excited as the rest of them.
Bitch!
Lacey’s body hurts and she is so horribly terrified.
Eventually, her hands are untied causing her to scream out at the excruciating pain as blood refills her empty veins. Her tormented cries generate excited chatter amongst the watching spectators.
She feels nauseous and faint and a hand grips her to stop her from collapsing into a heap of tortured flesh … it is then that she becomes aware of light generated shadows falling across her prostrate body.
Shackles replace the rope and her hands are chained in front before she is guided back to the post where her torture had taken place the previous day.
The room is silent, totally … except for the sounds of the prisoner being shackled to the wooden upright.
The chains from Lacey’s wrist manacles are looped over a high hook and pulled tight, so that she is forced against the column, facing it. She stands ... waiting, watching the ungodly group ogling her chained nudity, feeling the hot tears streaming down her cheek.
The sound from the lust-fuelled flock becomes more excited, and more clear, as they sense the impending flogging that is about to begin.
Some are openly talking about her, commenting on her long hair and how it is taken and cast over one shoulder, exposing her back, or remarking on the welts from the previous whipping, but all seem to be admiring the nubile shape of her naked body.
She shudders when someone touches her left breast, and caresses the nipple. Then probing fingers stroke other parts of her body; her ass, between her legs, her ass, hair and face. She wriggles and writhes, though it is to no avail.
“Do you enjoy this attention?” It is the monster himself, Hansom, speaking … it was his touch, his fingers. She should ignore his taunting, his mocking words, but instead she finds herself whispering,
“Fuck you …”
He laughs and the talking and chatter subsides ...
“I am going to lash you even more viciously this time bitch!” That voice … It’s the same Master of the whip that abused her body the previous day.
Then suddenly, and without further warning, the first lash of the flogger strikes her back sending a searing pain throughour every inch of her tortured flesh. Her head jerks in response to the burning pain and she gasps.
“Fuckkkkkkkkkkk! Argghhhhhhhh!”
The audience cheers. The whipping has begun. Her much vaunted demise has commenced … “Oh God, help me please,” the poor girl pleads.
And then the sting of another stroke jerks Lacey back to the here and now. Her back and sides are raw from the lashes previously laid upon her flesh, making this round a lot more painful. She presses her head hard against the post, trying to deal with the depth of pain that radiates throughout her gloriously denuded body.
The whipping starts at her upper back, with the hard knotted ends of the lash licking her breasts all the way to the nipples. The Whipmaster methodically flogs her … shoulders, ass, thighs … Lacey knows that new blood is flowing, her blood, and she can feel it trickling down her body.
The whip falls time and again … always with the same precision and strength, stripping the skin from the poor girl’s body.
Then finally, it is over.
The audience is in raptures. Seeing such violence up close is exhilarating.
“Wait until we nail her to the cross,” Governor Sjöberg leans into Jan Bakker who is seated next to him. Both men are already sporting thick erections under the material of their suit pants.
Lacey is sagging against the post. Beaten again. Exhausted. Bloody. Sobbing ... She is drooling saliva, and tears are streaming down her cheeks.
The young Agent is unhooked from the whipping post and falls helplessly to the ground, her body broken beyond comprehension. There is no way she can stand, let alone walk, but yet she is pulled up by the roots of her hair and led forcefully over a short distance to where, once again, she hears the command ...
“Kneel!”
She obeys, and waits in situ, actually grateful for the time to rest. But then, as she looks up, Lacey sees the cross looming large before her, and she groans as the audience begin their enthusiastic applause.
To Be Continued …
X-Wing, The Basement Cells at Hinseburg Prison, Frövi, Sweden
“Is that her?” Jan Bakker, CEO of Ranger-Everest the South African Car Assembly Company, spoke in a brusque manner to Pontus Sjöberg, overall Governor of Hinseburg Prison.
Sjöberg hated having to pander to this man, but he knew that the Government looking favourably at his increased funding requests depended upon it. That was why he had personally met Bakker and his invited group of misogynists, from their private jet when they landed at Örebro airport in the early hours of this morning.
“It is yes, and as you see she has been left alone in this condition overnight so that she looked ‘authentic’ when you arrived for today’s private crucifixion.”
The word filtered through the fog plaguing Lacey’s addled mind. ‘Authentic’? Was that the word he used? The captive girl dare not stir. She had lain unconscious in her cell for most of the night, but now that she was awake, the young stricken prisoner fought the urge to stretch and scream … until these bastards had moved on.
“She is, I must say, very delectable Governor,” Bakker said, then added, “… for a murdering bitch.”
“Indeed, Mister Bakker. Shall we take some breakfast before the day gets underway. Your group are waiting for you in the office of Anders Nordin, my Chief Warder for this part of my prison.
“That sounds like a good idea, I am actually very hungry. But before we go just one thing …”
“And what is that Mister Bakker?”
“The whipping that this bitch received yesterday was not very satisfactory.”
“Oh, and why was that?”
“Well, we can clearly see that she was well beaten, but the live stream feed was frequently interrupted by an annoying buffering process, clearly a problem with the internet connection … so, I would like to see the prisoner lashed again today, immediately before being nailed to the cross. More realistic too, I think …”
Lacey almost puked on the spot. They were going to whip her again, just so that this whole fucked up scene could be more realistic? It already felt very real to the poor, tortured girl.
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire, UK
Jason lay on the King-sized double bed, his bed, their bed … the marital bed. It was the place where two young people, married and in love, should be consummating their connubial at every possible opportunity. Except they weren’t.
Right now, at this very moment Major Jason Underwood was flicking through his phone gallery at pictures of CIA Agent Barbara Moore. He sighed and lightly skimmed his fingers over his growing erection.
“Oh Barb,” he sighed, “Why didn’t I listen to you,” he spoke quietly to himself, reflecting back to the night before the wedding when Barb had visited him here and they fucked for the very last time (see Havana Hell).
In the relative isolation of the bedroom, he couldn’t hear his wife, downstairs, talking with her former boss, Head of MI6, Roger Moore.
“Roger, Sir, please … what will it take?”
Moore sighed down the other end of the line.
“Grace, I’m not sure what you think I can do? This really is out of my hands, way above even me … the King himself has …”
“Send in a covert team, black ops, I’ll lead it …”
Moore was silent, and the desperate girl knew that it wasn’t because he was thinking her suggestion over.
“I’ll fuck you, Roger. Be your whore, your slut. You can tie me up and whip me, just like you want to do. Imagine my naked body marked and bloody, with your cock deep inside me …”
“Grace …”
“Roger?”
“Stop. Please. I cannot help you.”
“Then go fuck yourself Roger …” and, with tears welling in her eyes, she abruptly ended the call.
The Food Hall, X-Wing, at Hinseburg Prison, Frövi, Sweden
Lacey Anderson’s breasts are not over-large, but they are ample enough, and the way in which her hands are tied behind her back causes them to thrust prominently, her nipples poking out like bullets.
"Kneel." Her Master’s voice ... Erik Hansom.
After a second’s pause, she complies. The hard stage hurts her knees; the stiffness, cuts and lash marks from yesterday are more agonisingly painful.
Nobody cares: and gradually the chattering of the seated audience watching her breaks through into her consciousness. She is about to be crucified for no reason other than to entertain these monsters. As the young, hapless Agent looks out, her mouth falls open. In amongst the group of around 14 men there is a woman, and she looks as excited as the rest of them.
Bitch!
Lacey’s body hurts and she is so horribly terrified.
Eventually, her hands are untied causing her to scream out at the excruciating pain as blood refills her empty veins. Her tormented cries generate excited chatter amongst the watching spectators.
She feels nauseous and faint and a hand grips her to stop her from collapsing into a heap of tortured flesh … it is then that she becomes aware of light generated shadows falling across her prostrate body.
Shackles replace the rope and her hands are chained in front before she is guided back to the post where her torture had taken place the previous day.
The room is silent, totally … except for the sounds of the prisoner being shackled to the wooden upright.
The chains from Lacey’s wrist manacles are looped over a high hook and pulled tight, so that she is forced against the column, facing it. She stands ... waiting, watching the ungodly group ogling her chained nudity, feeling the hot tears streaming down her cheek.
The sound from the lust-fuelled flock becomes more excited, and more clear, as they sense the impending flogging that is about to begin.
Some are openly talking about her, commenting on her long hair and how it is taken and cast over one shoulder, exposing her back, or remarking on the welts from the previous whipping, but all seem to be admiring the nubile shape of her naked body.
She shudders when someone touches her left breast, and caresses the nipple. Then probing fingers stroke other parts of her body; her ass, between her legs, her ass, hair and face. She wriggles and writhes, though it is to no avail.
“Do you enjoy this attention?” It is the monster himself, Hansom, speaking … it was his touch, his fingers. She should ignore his taunting, his mocking words, but instead she finds herself whispering,
“Fuck you …”
He laughs and the talking and chatter subsides ...
“I am going to lash you even more viciously this time bitch!” That voice … It’s the same Master of the whip that abused her body the previous day.
Then suddenly, and without further warning, the first lash of the flogger strikes her back sending a searing pain throughour every inch of her tortured flesh. Her head jerks in response to the burning pain and she gasps.
“Fuckkkkkkkkkkk! Argghhhhhhhh!”
The audience cheers. The whipping has begun. Her much vaunted demise has commenced … “Oh God, help me please,” the poor girl pleads.
And then the sting of another stroke jerks Lacey back to the here and now. Her back and sides are raw from the lashes previously laid upon her flesh, making this round a lot more painful. She presses her head hard against the post, trying to deal with the depth of pain that radiates throughout her gloriously denuded body.
The whipping starts at her upper back, with the hard knotted ends of the lash licking her breasts all the way to the nipples. The Whipmaster methodically flogs her … shoulders, ass, thighs … Lacey knows that new blood is flowing, her blood, and she can feel it trickling down her body.
The whip falls time and again … always with the same precision and strength, stripping the skin from the poor girl’s body.
Then finally, it is over.
The audience is in raptures. Seeing such violence up close is exhilarating.
“Wait until we nail her to the cross,” Governor Sjöberg leans into Jan Bakker who is seated next to him. Both men are already sporting thick erections under the material of their suit pants.
Lacey is sagging against the post. Beaten again. Exhausted. Bloody. Sobbing ... She is drooling saliva, and tears are streaming down her cheeks.
The young Agent is unhooked from the whipping post and falls helplessly to the ground, her body broken beyond comprehension. There is no way she can stand, let alone walk, but yet she is pulled up by the roots of her hair and led forcefully over a short distance to where, once again, she hears the command ...
“Kneel!”
She obeys, and waits in situ, actually grateful for the time to rest. But then, as she looks up, Lacey sees the cross looming large before her, and she groans as the audience begin their enthusiastic applause.
To Be Continued …
