A STATE OF SERVITUDE 18, tied girls stories



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"Well, well. A fine blood mare indeed," the Chieftain remarked. "Let us see how she gallops. Put her over my bar."
She started to protest, crying out that she was a Roman Lady and he would be sorry if he did not treat her with respect, but he merely said, "And gag her while you`re about it, if she continues to make a fuss."
Choking with frustrated anger, she was roughly bundled towards the entrance to the yurt.
Inside it was furnished with some luxury for a nomadic raider. Fine carpets hung on walls and floor, many cushions were piled in various corners for sitting or sleeping. The roof was supported in the centre by twin poles, set about two paces apart. Joining them, at groin height, was a metal bar. The men who held her pushed her up against the bar, until it pressed into the tops of her thighs, then kicked her feet apart and secured her widely parted ankles to the base of the tent poles with leather thongs. Another wide leather belt around her waist forced her to stay pressed against the bar, waiting her fate.
It was some while coming. Apparently the Chief was not about to interrupt his business outside for the trivial rape of a captured woman, high born and appetising though she was. She must await his pleasure, until he had time to spare for her. Sometime in the long afternoon, a servant brought her a little wine, and held the bowl to her lips, and later he returned with part of a flat loaf and some mare`s milk cheese. She thought ruefully it was probably not out of kindness, but so that she might have her strength kept up to endure what was coming.
When he eventually appeared, he was not alone. A small man, obviously Roman, accompanied him.
"Well, slave," he asked, "do you recognise the lady? She`s been making some fine claims, and she`s a mare of high temper, but is she truly the wife of the Governor?"
The slave looked at the naked woman bent over the bar, then turned away as if embarrassed.
"She cannot bite," the Chief teased him. "Have you seen her before?"
"Yes Master," came the reply, "this is the Lady Lavinia, wife to the Governor."
"So she wasn`t lying! She`s too good a piece to pass up, so I would have had her anyway. All the better that I shall be riding the Governor`s own mare... you may leave us now, though I shall want you in the morning, to write to the Governor for me."
The tent flap closed behind the captured clerk, and Lavinia found herself the subject of an inspection such as men give to horses they are considering buying. He walked round her, examining her carefully from all angles, then went to her head and lifted her by the hair in one hand. He used his other hand to pull her jaws apart to inspect her fine white teeth. He pulled up her eyelids with his thumbs, inspecting the whites as she blinked back the tears, then cupped her breasts as if weighing them, giving the thumb-like nipples a hard squeeze.
She writhed silently, for she would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. She knew that any protest would be useless. This man was hard and cruel, and her only aim now was to try and maintain some shreds of dignity while she endured the inevitable abuse that was to come.
He moved behind her, transferring his grip to her buttocks, testing the muscles of her haunches between his palms, forcing his thumbs into the cleft between and spreading the cheeks to reveal the shrinking anus, prodding the wrinkled dimple with a bone-hard forefinger.
She squirmed in his grip, but still did not cry out.
Fastened as she was, with legs wide spread, and her belly pressed to the bar by her constraints, she could do nothing to stop him when he reached between her thighs from behind and took her genitals in his hands. He parted the swollen labia and ran practised fingers along the gleaming slit until he found the nub of the clitoris at the top. She jerked convulsively as he nipped the tender gland between thumbnail and forefinger, and he stood back and slapped her buttocks smartly with a horny hand.
"You`re prime meat," he told her. "No filly, but that`s to my taste, I`ve no use for simpering virgins. What was the Governor thinking of, letting you wander in these distant parts? Well, I hope he won`t begrudge me a ride in return for finding you."




He came round to her front again, bringing the same folding stool he had sat on outside to dispense justice and receive reports from his scouts. He planted himself in it, directly in front of her, his britches open, a thick pulsing staff sticking up before her face. His fingers gripped her hair again, forcing her to bend forward.
"Just a stirrup cup," he grinned. "Before the main event. Get your mouth to work on this."
"Never!" she spat at him. "Never! If you try and put that disgusting thing in my mouth I shall leave you only half a manhood."
"Perhaps I should send for the farrier to remove those pretty front pearls then," he mused. The threat was all the more menacing for the quietness of his tone. She didn`t reply, but still set her lips stubbornly, refusing to open them and take him in.
"Ah. You baulk. A touch of the spur is what you need, my girl!"
Suddenly she screamed, as much from shock as pain. He had raised his legs either side of her and brought the rowelled spurs on his boots stabbing into her flanks. She didn`t hesitate, but closed her warm wet mouth over the jutting ramshead between his legs and began to suck on it.
"Easy, easy," he said, pulling gently on her hair, as she sucked desperately at his weapon, "let`s not rush our fences. There`s the whole night before us, and I intend to put you over the jumps many times before it`s over."
Guided by his grip in her hair, she moderated her pace, varying her straightforward suction with tongue strokes along the throbbing shaft, and gentle nips of her lips on the purple helmet. She didn`t dare even think of using her teeth; he`d have them pulled from her gums if she so much as grazed the delicate covering of the pole of flesh she nuzzled. When the eruption finally came, he rammed deep into her throat, making her gag with the pressure and the pain, but forcing her to swallow every drop of his copious spend.
He rested only a moment, a cup of wine in his hand, then rose and walked round her again, inspecting his prize. Evidently he liked what he saw, for he was soon erect again, standing behind her, presenting the shaft to her shrinking buttocks.
"Get off me, you barbarian pig," she screamed. "Are you an animal, that you want to take me there?"
"Quiet, woman," he ordered, but she went on cursing him, and clenching her sphincter to keep him out.
"A bridle for a wilful mare, then!" he remarked. "At least I`ll be spared your yakking."
He seized her jaw, forcing it open, and thrust home a steel bit, a cruel device designed for a turbulent stallion, all rough iron and needle sharp spikes. It held down her tongue agonisingly. He fastened the straps that positioned it tight behind her head, then returned to his attack on her rear entrance.
Three times he pressed the swollen head against her dimpled anus, but the clenched sphincter would not admit him and, dry as he was, to force her would have caused him almost as much discomfort to himself.
"Open up," he ordered, smacking one buttock to emphasise his demand, but still she kept her door tight closed against him.
"A touch of the whip is what you need, my girl," he snapped, "loosen you up in no time."
A line of fire fell across her half bent buttocks, followed by another and another. When he finally stopped, she was gasping with the agony of the flaying whip. Sweat stood on her brow and trickled from her armpits. He returned to her anus and, this time, she made herself relax enough that he could gain an entrance, then pushed back inside her bowels to help him penetrate her fully.
She had always avoided buggery when she could, feeling degraded by the act, but the whipping had been awful, and she was not going to risk a repeat. Even the humiliation of being stuffed by this monstrous baton of flesh ramming into her rectum, was better than having her buttocks cut to ribbons by his vicious leather quirt. She felt the hot wads of his discharge in her gut, then he withdrew, but only to treat himself to a sip of wine and gloat over the distress of his victim. Her voluptuous form was made even more deeply erotic by its bonds and its total vulnerability, and the way it was trembling.




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