7 comments/ 35356 views/ 14 favorites Lady Bildoe Torments the Barbarian Chieftain By: ClodiaP For amusement of the court, and to appall his foes, Prince Christian of Chrisylvania had required to be built a device of the devil that came to be called, "The Box." More aptly, it might have been called "The Coffin," for it took that shape, though standing on end and bolted to the floor. By opening a door at its back, the prisoner could be entered, and, when the door closed, almost immobile. At the box's front, at the level of man's fork, was a hole of just two inches diameter. The padding within the box was so arranged that the prisoner's body was held pressed forward, back arched, and hips thrusting. Out of hole jutted his private parts, the inner contours of the box being such that he was unable to withdraw those parts or move them to the slightest degree. The prisoner, putting panic aside, perhaps, breathed easily, there being a current of air rising from holes in the box's base and the floor below. The prisoner, however, stood in complete darkness, unseen, except for those parts energetically thrust into the room before him—his only representation to the world outside his prison. The privileged visitors to the inner palace room looked immediately to "see" the latest prisoner, although that was but his penis, testicles, and the hair surrounding them. It was a cruel device, withal, and of a psychological refinement, leaving the most sensitive and private parts of a prisoner entirely vulnerable and at the whim of those he could not see and scarcely hear. Deneen had come to appreciate this. In a wild mood, one evening. After carousing about the town with companions, he declared that he would put this notorious box to the test and so experience for himself, in some small way, what prisoners must feel. There was no denying wishes of the head of the prince's personal guard and so, dismissing the remonstrance and jokes of his companions, all—both gentlemen and ladies—set off for the room, with many a jest and jeering threat. Once there, his companions stripped him bare and inserted him into the box, so that, the door closing, he no longer heard the excited tittering of the ladies of the court or the ribald jokes of the gentlemen. Indeed, his sensations focused on the slight coolness of that one part of his body not enclosed in the box. Deneen, a man of the fiercest bravery and valor, reported later the most terrifying sensations (and this from a man securely among friends) as, with all else in darkness, his body immobile, his every attention became focused on the parts now beyond his reach and control. These parts felt at once enormous, in being singled out and exposed, losing all proportion to the rest of his body, but also supremely vulnerable as he could neither protect himself, even by look or word, nor brace for a blow that he could not anticipate. And yet, he stood in perfect physical comfort, his arched back supported at every point and even much of the weight taken off his feet as he stood in a frozen gesture of thrusting his hips forward. Deneen had warned his companions against taking advantage of his position, and with much good humor they had made their pledges; but he realized, now, that he could not know who might set aside that pledge and have their way with him. Many there were in court who envied him, not least the reputation of his manhood's size and virility; among many women there was a yearning, he knew, to experience that manhood. The strange apprehension, near panic, that he felt caused him, after a few moments, to call for his release. This he did, but heard no reply from the world outside The Box. He began to imagine he had been deserted—or could it be that his voice could not be heard? Perhaps his companions, thinking it a fine jest, had gone off to continue their reveling, intending to return after Deneen had gotten a good fright? He began to sweat all over his body and to call out more loudly. Did they not realize that other visitors to the room, finding the box, would think it but the latest enemy of the prince and have their will of him? Or the palace guard, on its rounds, thinking it but a prisoner, amuse themselves? With these imaginings, he felt his emotions escaping his legendary discipline. He thrashed his body to no avail, seeking to withdraw his dangling manhood into the box, when he heard, quite distinctly, the sound of people entering the room outside the box. In a moment, his body became rigid, braced for some unseen, unknown attack. His companions gone, had some band of revelers come to see what misery they could inflict on the latest prisoner in The Box? Deneen ached now in every limb from the bow-string tension of every muscle. He felt his penis and testicles a huge and provocative excrescence in the outside world, dominating the room outside and all attention. He groaned inwardly. He longed from freedom of his hand to fly downward to cover himself. At that instant, he cried out as he had not since childhood. A firm hand, he could not say if a man's or a woman's, had closed over his testicles. He suppressed yet another scream. The anonymous hand pulled his testicles downward, causing the head of his penis to emerge from its cowl of flesh, for he was uncircumcised. The pressure slowly continued and increased, so that his testicles were drawn right down, which had the effect of lengthening his already admirably long penis and exposing the head outside of the foreskin. It was a gentle enough, but this manipulation of his privates by unknown hands caused Deneen's stomach and thighs to quiver as though with a will of their own. He could imagine, outside the box, the young royal roustabouts and their girls grinning at his poor exposed parts and deciding, among themselves, what must be done to cause the prisoner the most acute grief. Suddenly, though, the door at his back swung open, hands took his shoulders, and he was eased out of the box by laughing, chattering friends, who assured him he had been in the box for only several minutes, none had heard his cries, and certainly they had not left the room. But to his inquiry as to who had taken hold of his testicles, caused his moments of terror, his companions replied only with a knowing laughter. Nor did Deneen even discover whether the hand that "stripped" him of the very last garment over the private meat had been man or woman. Deneen had not forgotten this experience when, most of a year later, a rumor went round the palace that the expeditionary force to Feroe, returning from its engagements with the barbarian tribes, had brought as prisoner a huge wild man, a chieftain, black as the depths but brave and terrible in battle, who had caused many casualties before his tribe was defeated and their leader marched away in chains. In anger at this barbarian's successes against his legions, but also to amuse the court, the prince had ordered the prisoner stripped naked and inserted into The Box. To do so, it was said, had cost five strong soldiers bruises and left one in care of the bone-setter. For the prisoner, seeing what his fate was to be, had fought like a mountain bear, laying about him with maiming kicks and butting with his huge head. He had fought all naked, arms bound behind him, and the soldiers had summoned half a squadron to their aid before they laid him down, the captain's hands in a murderous grip on his great black testicles. They then had lifted him bodily, three hundred or more pounds of muscle, and thrust him into the box, taking care—but with no gentleness—that his pubis thrust neatly and tightly through the display hole. The bruised and battered soldiers would have taken a coward's revenge on him, then, but for the discipline imposed by the captain, who himself sported a badly discolored eye. The tale then swept about the palace of all the had occurred, gathering exaggerations as it went, till the lords and ladies in the entourage of the Prince clamored to see for themselves. Thus, after dining, that evening, more than a dozen ladies and gentlemen, all bedecked in finery, hastened to that private sector of the palace where The Box stood in a locked room. Deneen was not among them, being on duty that night, but later was regaled, and in much lascivious detail, with the tale of what occurred. They entered all as a group, talking excitedly, laughing, the women blushing and protesting lack of interest. Led by Count Darcy, they clustered round the box and at once fell silent. Several moments passed, thus, until one of the ladies gave a shrill giggle, tinged with hysteria, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. Above the hand, her face flushed the deepest red. For out of the box, like some weird growth, projected genitals of truly heroic size, black as ebony, set in a riotous garden of black hair in tight small curls. The ample hole scarcely could accommodate the huge member, which hung in a great arc, fully 12 inches long and thick around as an eel. Below was the crinkled black basket of the testicles, bulging, and much to be envied by the horses in the prince's stable. All casually, and with great aplomb, the young Count Darcy stepped to the box and took hold of the defenseless parts, hefting them. He turned with a grin at the flesh that far more than filled his hand. More than one lady of the court turned away, perhaps in modesty, perhaps to bear no longer an imagining of what this manhood must do to any female body ravished by the barbarian chieftain. From within The Box came a roar as of a beast awakened, so all the party recoiled; but the stout box did not move, for all the violent exertion within it, and the great penis and testicles remained placid, testifying to the helplessness of the occupant. Count Darcy stood aside with a grin to display the prize he held in his hand, as though it were some perfect fruit in the marketplace. They crowded round, now, examining the hefty meat. "For once," said Count Darcy, "the soldiers do not exaggerate! The man is an ox. I hold full two pounds in my hand. I have never seen its like. Just then, the prisoner roared again his fury from within the box, some threat in an unknown tongue against his tormentors. So terrible was the cry, that Lady Errard stepped back and her face paled. "Secure in The Box," said Count Darcy easily. "But he does not take well to fingering," he grinned and raised his eyebrows, "his prick..." a wild giggle from ladies of the court, "or these gigantic balls." He went on, "The savages are possessed of every superstition and taboo as regards these matters. All of their intimacy is conducted in accordance with the most elaborate rules. You may not touch your lady but beneath the full moon..." The lords and ladies all laughed at this, and seemed more at ease. Having delivered himself of this wisdom, the Count let drop the prisoner's privates from his hand. The Lady Bildoe, with the group that evening, as she often was, stared with a more than natural intensity at what protruded from the box. By then almost 50, she had the reputation at court of an old jade. No man of the court, from 18 to 70, lacked acquaintance with her arts. Most respected them; some had tired of them; but at almost 50 Lady Bildoe was handsome. Too many sins were recorded on her face, too many years of powders and waxes, but nothing could conceal the bones that lent the face its unequaled beauty and power. And, though marked with every excess, her large and pure blue eyes had not dimmed. She had taken care to grow more slender with each year, so that now her body seemed too thin, like the figure of a girl at 17, but her big bosom, strapped in place with the greatest finesse, yet stood forth with too much prominence. Lady Bildoe had the sad reputation of hating every man who had made love to her and few ladies of the court could claim she did not share with them a knowledge of their husband. Thus, although her wealth and rank assured her a high place at court, she spent her days among those who had scant affection for her. This she knew, and grew bitter. On this evening, she boldly approached The Box and, as she did, unclasped from her neck a string of exquisite pearls, as dazzlingly bright as the poor captive parts were dusky. With cocked head and frown of appraisal, as though judging an arrangement of spring posies, Lady Bildoe carefully wrapped the pearls around the whole affair that protruded from The Box, making several tight loops, her long fingers traveling through the thicket of curled black hair. The prisoner's whole penis and testicles were grotesquely adorned in the pearl choker like the slender neck of a lady. At the same time, the bands caused the ample sac, squeezed at its base, to bulge and the skin stretch smooth. This made the great prick itself bulge and thrust off at a jaunty angle. Thus satisfied, Lady Bildoe retreated a few steps to view her handiwork. The lords and ladies all clapped their approval. But Count Darcy nodded only slightly, gazing at the bejeweled flesh. At last he said, with a tone of approbation, that Lady Bildoe was clever indeed, and now that she had dressed her "little man" must make love to him. "My Lady Bildoe," he said, with a cordial smile, but no warmth, "I will make you a wager." The others glanced at Lady Bildoe with smiles that mingled apprehension but also gloating. For no one, for any reason, declined the sporting wagers of Count Darcy and remained at court. Nor was there one among them who would not risk life itself to avoid such exclusion. Smiling broadly, with a glance at the gathered lords and ladies, Count Darcy said, "You will employ all your wonderful...arts," and with this, he paused and grinned at the others, "to keep this manly engine in a state of the greatest tumescence for a full hour." Now wild giggles, quickly suppressed, arose from the ladies, who glanced not at all kindly at Lady Bildoe, who had begun to scowl in indignation. She would return not their glances nor the suddenly intense glances of the men, for it was deemed base indeed for a lady of the court to consort with a man of the barbarian races—though many a man of the court quite freely enjoyed the women prisoners of those same races. "But," said the count, holding up a forefinger, "on no account shall you cause us all to be showered with an eruption of..." he waved at the giant penis..."this engine. You will employ your arts to walk this line between the greatest arousal and...actual relief. If you succeed, for one hour, your reward will be munificent. If you fail, your punishment will be...suitable. What say you?" Lady Bildoe had been an intimate of the court, and Count Darcy, too long to hope for reprieve. A ready and sporting assent, without demurrer, to any proposition, however appalling, was reckoned to one's great credit with the count. So, with a face masked in utter indifference, and avoiding the curious stares of the others, Lady Bildoe nodded once to the count, saying, "It is a most amusing wager." She curtseyed once, to the count, and stepped forward, never more admirable in her self control. "But wait," added the count, "we must ready ourselves." Chairs quickly were arranged in a semi-circle close around The Box. The lords and ladies then seated themselves, the count at their center, and servants brought drinks and delicacies to be set close at hand. Lady Bildoe stood impassively, just to the side the box. She was erect, chin lifted, hands clasped behind her, gazing neither at the audience nor the subject that soon would require all her attention. She might have been a saint at the stake. "Lady Bildoe," said the count, now, "you should set about your work with no sense of impropriety. I am familiar with the conception that the barbarian male is beneath a woman of birth, but I hold that to be a superstition without merit. It is without foundation. The pursuit of sensual pleasure by civilized persons should be hedged about with no prejudices. It should be guided only by their untrammeled desires. Nowhere in reason is written a rule that we must deny ourselves pleasure. For what evidence could be adduced for such a rule? What but fears or the narrowest bias? Where is it written that to ply this magnificent cock is base, and yet..." he smiled broadly, "to ply mine is noble?" I reject such a distinction as unworthy of a people guided by reason. With this, he scowled quite terribly around the room as though accusing his listeners of the offense of which he spoke. Not a head failed to nod assent to his argument. The count finished with "I shall hear no more of it at this court." The court settled himself in his chair and said, as though to brush away the topic, "and so begin, loveliest Lady Bildoe." With the grace of her years at court, Lady Bildoe took a cushion from one of the chairs and set it at the base of the box. With her slender hands, she swept back her magnificent red hair, taking from her purse a pin or two to fasten it back. For one moment, she stood, head flung back, wonderful hair pulled cleanly from her face, so every man present recalled why he had longed to take her to his bed and every woman recalled her jealousy of Lady Bildoe in her prime. Sensing their lust, their envy, and their pleasure at her humiliation, Lady Bildoe smiled around the circle, but most particularly at the men, whose eyes fastened upon her in mockery. With the most graceful turn, she settled her knees on the pillow, as though a devotee at the foot of an idol. Unhurriedly, as though moved only by curiosity, she took the huge penis in her long, pale fingers. A great roar of anger came from within The Box, more the sound of a lion than a man. Lady Bildoe seemed not to notice. She went on inspecting the great cock, lifting it, turning it. It was indeed a full 12 inches long. In girth it was almost too large to enclose within her hand, her little fist squeezing it. Its color it was a glistening black, with a scroll of dark veins on its surface. Below hung a sac large as a purse, all crinkled and gently conforming to the shape of the two massive testicles. With the gingerly fingering of Lady Bildoe, performed with seeming detachment, the dangling cock swelled and rose. The barking threats within the box continued, but with less vehemence. The savage races do no circumcise, so a thick cowl of skin covered the huge head. With two slim fingers, Lady Bildoe now drew back this cowl as far as it would go, revealing a berry of satiny flesh, which formed a knob still larger than its stock. Lady Bildoe turned to her audience with a smile, displaying this great fleshy prize. The men nodded, although an eyebrow or two lifted, and it was not difficult to guess that each made a quick comparison, which did not cheer him. The women took in the display without changing expression, nor could one guess their feelings at that moment. Now, taking a good grip at the base of the shaft, Lady Bildoe shook it gently, as though she were waving at the attentive circle. As she did so, the growls from The Box subsided still further. In her hand, as she caused it to bow and rise, the penis swelled and grew. Indeed, it seemed to lengthen with each nod and the great black head seemed to glisten. Lady Bildoe watched the captive penis attentively; the profile of her face, as she did, had the purity of a girl, an impression enhanced by the long, luxurious red ponytail down her back. Slowly, as though a miracle of levitation, the defenseless penis rose and grew rigid till it pointed upward from its nest of ebony hair. Lady Bildoe's exquisite long fingers now traveled in long strokes from its thick base in the undergrowth of hair to its glistening head, all along the shaft, and down across the dangling great testicles. Her fingers then would repeat the caress, now on one side, now on the other, smoothing and shaping the shaft as though it were clay subject that she molded by her artistry. Her audience gazed with astonishment that it made no attempt to conceal. The lips of more than one lady parted unconsciously and were idly traveled by the tip of her tongue. But none noticed, for all eyes were on the spectacle that Lady Bildoe created. The rod stood so stiffly that it arched back toward the box, standing at attention with rigidity of any soldier at inspection. Lady Bildoe Torments the Barbarian Chieftain Now, Lady Bildoe rose higher on her knees. The count and all the lords and ladies leaned forward. The ladies seemed to scrutinize Lady Bildoe's face for some clue to her feelings and the lords gazed on the incredible member with what feelings of envy who can tell? With an easy showmanship, Lady Bildoe turned to smile at them, for just a moment, and then leaned forward, her face approaching the shining ebony rod that waited at attention. At the final instant, her lips parted, her eyes half closed, the tip of her tongue emerged, glistening pink. It touched the very base of the fierce rod, then rose from the dark bed of hair, and traveled the whole long length. So far did her tongue travel, that Lady Bildoe had to rise still higher from her cushion before the tip of her tongue reached the underside of the proud head. There, it paused a moment and wiggled on the little drop of exquisitely soft black flesh at the base of head's underside. Now, from The Box, came the sound of steady sighs and muttering, half indignation, half surprise, but in no language that any of the company understood. They roared with laughter, nonetheless, imagining—or so they thought—what must the experience of the man enclosed in darkness. Again, Lady Bildoe's tongue made the long trip. Again, she rose slightly on her knees, arriving again at the base of the great, blunt black triangle of glistening flesh. Eyes half closed, her lips pouted to kiss that spot, to nuzzle it, her head moving dreamily back and forth, drawing her wet lips across it. The cock seemed now to jerk backward, more than straight, in an agonizing stretch, so that its head almost touched The Box. Still Lady Bildoe's tongue chased it, teasing, dallying, until the whole penis glistened with her kisses and, at each touch, jerked stiffer still. Lady Bildoe's gaze, through half-closed eyes, never wavered from the mighty idol. The game had begun in earnest. Her old arts knew every sign of approaching explosion. Yet, who could know for certain with this unknown creature, so cruelly caged and tormented? Now Lady Bildoe's slender hand, so pale against the dark, evil-looking idol, pulled it gently forward and down. She rose on her knees until she looked down on it. Her soft lips formed an "O" as to whistle one clear note and she lowered her face, feeding the immense stout cock into her mouth. Lowering her head inch by inch, eyes shut, her face now austere, her full lips puckered around the huge intruder. The lords and ladies watch, mesmerized. Fully half the rod had disappeared, although that seemed impossible. Not but a man, then, rediscovered his lust for Lady Bildoe. At last, Lady Bildoe's pure, pale face was motionless, her cheeks hollowed, eyes closed. On her face now was an expression of severity, almost suffering, like the bowed head of a penitent. Lady Bildoe was indeed a most beautiful woman. Now, she raised her head slowly, drawing her lips up the glistening length of the shaft. Then down again, consuming it. In long, slow nods she caressed it, until it shone like oiled ebony. She paused, her head to one side, studying it. A clear drop appeared in the slit at its tip. Leaning forward, Lady Bildoe's tongue took it and applied it around the swollen head. She paused again. Another drop appeared. She carefully took it with her tongue. The cock bucked a little, as though surprised, and Lady Bildoe stopped entirely. Another drop appeared, but she let it ooze from the slit undisturbed. The glistening, back-arched, swollen rod seemed caught, poised as though on the edge of a knife. Below, the big testicles swelled as if with a mighty sigh. Lady Bildoe's hand now reached up to stroke the long shaft, as if touching the cheek of a child down which tears now ran, but she avoided by swollen head. In a few seconds, the subtlest diminishment of the head's bulging shine set her back to work. Her tongue wagged gingerly across the tender tab of flesh at the heart of the great head's underside. The penis quivered. She licked it again. A drop glistened at the black slit, like a diamond. The top of Lady Bildoe's finger took it and patted it onto the thick shaft. Her attentive gaze never left the yearning shaft as though only it existed in the world. She gazed upon it as fixedly as a mother on a fevered child. But it was obvious to all that her every ministration was fiendishly calculated. She continued for fully an hour, her audience transfixed. Men and woman alike breathed in long sighs. Many squirmed in their seats, now, openly, sitting up, leaning back, twisting, as though no position was comfortable. Their eyes had become glazed, heavy with lust, with frustration, at this exquisite torment. But not one, any longer, perceived Lady Bildoe as an old jade. And so she went on, the wager won, as though for love of torment, stopping at any subtle sign that her victim might escape torment. She would wait, gently stroking the testicles, caressing the shaft, sustaining the tumescence, but leaving untended the triggers of the final explosion. Suddenly a roar of unearthly anger, as from hell's pit, came from within The Box. After so long, they had forgotten that a man, a living, sensing, proud barbaric chieftain, was within it. The miraculous, complex thing that had commanded their attention now seemed to have a life of its own. Indeed, Lady Bildoe kept up a copious flow of clear fluid from the trembling cock, as though it wept tears of rage and frustration. As the wild cries came from within The Box, Lady Bildoe turned to the count with a broad smile, shaking her head as though in mockery of regret. Then, she returned to her task with renewed intensity, attacking the majestically proud cock with jabs, kisses, licks—even rubbing her soft cheeks back and forth across it, as though an impassioned lover until her cheeks, her chin, and even her eyelids glistened wetly. Now she breathed in long, heaving sighs, as though beyond any attempt to deny to those who watched what she felt. But long ago they had forgotten their interest in her humiliation. Lords and ladies both turned burning gazes upon her and on the living, throbbing, maddened object of her love. It seemed as though they could sit still no longer, but none dared move or speak until the count made known his wishes. At last, the count, who seemed overcome as were the rest, slipped from his chair and knelt behind Lady Bildoe. Intent upon her task, she discovered his presence only when he reached around her, seized the bow of the belt that held her gown, and pulled it open. As he did, Lady Bildoe gave a slight start, but, realizing what was happening, did not resist. None resisted the count; she was helpless. She merely continued her clever, remorseless torment of the penis. The count then gently disengaged her belt. His fingers quickly unbuttoned her gown and slipped it off her shoulders so it fell around her waist. All this he did carefully, not interrupting Lady Bildoe's task. The lords and ladies watched, appalled, as the handsome young count, every woman in the realm at his command, disrobed Lady Bildoe. But each one understood, at that moment, what moved his hands. From Lady Bildoe's pale, slender shoulders, the count released the catch of the halter that held her breasts. He slipped it off and Lady Bildoe's full pendulous breasts hung free. Disciplined to her task, Lady Bildoe seemed not to notice this assault. The count, eyes glittering with lust, reached around her slim body, seizing her breasts that seemed too full, too outrageously heavy, for her slim torso. Now the audience could not miss the state of Lady Bidoe's own excitement, for her big, spreading nipples had gathered into the tightest, tough pink buds. It was there the count's finger's began to play, flicking the little thumbs, tickling, pulling, tracing round them with his finger tips. He continued to goad the pink nipples until they protruded hard as wood. To this assault, Lady Bildoe made no acknowledgment, except that her eyes closed for a moment, and her hips could not remain entirely still. Thus the cruel titillation continued in tandem, with Lady Bildoe making impassioned, wet love to the helpless cock—poised forever on the edge of relief, never reaching it—while her own big breasts were helpless before the count's attack. The prisoner now babbled and called out steadily in his strange tongue, all savagery gone, so the sounds from within the box seemed the pleas of a mere boy. Lady Bildoe's eyes shone, her face glistening wetly with her own saliva and the flow of lubricant from the prisoner's penis. She breathed in long, fierce sighs as the count brought every tantalizing art to her the yearning nipples that pressed out from her dangling breasts. Who knows how long she might have continued her single-minded, cruel attack? Perhaps the count grew angry to see Lady's Bildoe's lust transformed into cruelty, a revenge upon men—upon the male organ itself—for a life that had been dominated by it? But suddenly the count rose and commanded, "Stop!" Lady Bildoe did not stop; perhaps she could not stop. She panted in her hot, quick breaths as she rubbed the huge, slick cock across her face, her lips, even lifted her face high so she could rub the organ across her long, pale, slender neck. Nor did she once lose awareness of the rhythm of her attacks, so that she could prevent nature's escape from her diabolical purpose. The count watch for a moment more, and then, his frown terrible, cried, "Enough! She has won the wager and will have her reward, and more. She shall forever have my summer palace at Lake..." The lords and ladies gasped at this incredible gift. "And," cried the count, "she shall satisfy her lust upon him!" With an imperious wave, he swept the lords and ladies to their feet. Two men seized Lady Bildoe, dragging her to her feet. She stood gasping, bare bosom heaving, the nipples wickedly erect. She did not struggle. She seemed almost to have forgotten where she was. "Strip her!" cried the count, waving at two of the ladies who stood by uncertainly. Both ladies, far younger than Lady Bildoe, knelt instantly beside her, tearing off her girdle and under garments, so that her thin body stood entirely naked. Although she gazed down in some consternation to see herself stripped naked, she did not resist. Instead, her gaze returned to the back-thrust, yearning, giant prick. "Mount her upon him!" ordered the count. Lady Bildoe's slender legs were seized, and her arms, so that her body was lifted entirely. Held almost upright in the air by six, eight pairs of eager hands, she was carried to the box. Lustful hands on her knees, her ankles, spread her legs to their greatest extent. She pushed almost against the side of The Box and suspended now above her tormented idol, standing as though of iron. Two of the ladies, forgetting themselves and all appearances, knelt now and reached up into Lady's Bildoe's violently parted fork and gently pushed aside the flesh that protected her slit. Opened thus utterly, the hands lowered her. Another young lady, forgetting all modesty, seized the stiffened shaft, gently bending it down, away from The Box, where its enormous fat head could make its marriage with Lady Bildoe's most private and undefended place. The swollen cock seemed for a moment to resist entry, so large it was, but Lady Bildoe's own flow was copious, even running down her slender thighs, and her captors forced her body downward, impaling her. They did not stop until the whole incredible length had disappeared within Lady Bildoe's belly. Indeed, the light red hair at the base of her belly was pressed into the crisp black hair that flared form the display hole. To all, at last, came the welcome sound of Lady Bildoe crying out against the pain of this grotesque penetration. Gleefully, the count ordered, "Now, fuck her upon him!" The implacable, excited hands of men and women alike lifted and dropped her little body rhythmically, again and again, so that the unyielding thing first buried itself in her belly to red fur—Lady Bildoe crying out, but never begging for mercy—and then, as she was lifted, revealing its whole, glistening black length. It stabbed and stabbed her pale belly. To all who saw, Lady Bildoe's face, the color almost of her lips, was beautiful. The wonderful tail of red hair flapped at her back as they pistoned her body up and down. Only her big breasts seemed to jounce quite wildly, side to side, as they rammed her home, again and again, onto her martyrdom. All in that company seemed to lose restraint, men and women alike. Young women reached out to seize her defenseless breasts, kneading them, dragging cruelly at her nipples, rolling the flesh in every direction. Count Darcy seized her red hair, dragging back her head, and pressed his lips lasciviously to hers, which still were smeared with juices of the thing to which she had made love. The count, true to his words, seemed not to care. Pulled in every direction by maddened hands, her body a mere toy for the lords and ladies, and with the unceasing, rhythmic rape of the black sword, Lady Bildoe began to cry out in pleasure. Her body arched as though spasmodically and she thrust up her belly in ecstasy. Then the little body seemed to stiffen and cramp in unbearable pleasure, so that she desperately twisted away from the hands that would not leave her alone. From The Box, now, came a sustained, high-pitched cry, a yell, which Lady Bildoe understood, who had so long denied him, and hearing that cry she screamed, not once, but again and again. The battering she endured had smeared her long, thin thighs with red, all mixed with semen and her own juices, but she seemed not to notice. But now, the lords and ladies, their need too long denied, brought her to the floor and there, quite pitilessly, made her satisfy them all, man and woman alike. The women abandoned any pretense at propriety and rocked themselves upon her gasping face. The men took her first as she lay on her back, battering her body as though their thrusts alone could slide it along the floor, and then pounded on the cushions of her buttocks—and what was between--as she lay on her stomach. They seemed not to notice that her cries, first of ecstasy, then of pleading, then of wild denial, grew ever fainter. Those waiting a turn did not spare her, twisting and pulling her nipples or biting and suckling them. For nearly an hour, they took turns roughly riding her slight body—a man busy at her belly, a woman astride her face, others attacking her pale big breasts, until her body no longer stirred. At the she lay motionless, breathing in long, even sighs, eyes closed, from her mouth, her slit, and her plump buttocks copious fluids oozed. On her breasts, which lay widely parted on her bony chest, nipples now calm, was a share of ejaculate, too. It was Count Darcy, at the end, who draped his cloak over the motionless body as the lords and ladies dressed, talking among themselves, not glancing at the what lay on the floor. They looked up, and fell silent, only as Count Darcy again approached the box. The long, thick penis dangled almost flat against the box now, except for lift given to it by the mound of the testicles. With a glance at his audience, his eyebrows lifted, the count picked up the flaccid, dripping thing, pulling it up straight. Now the extraordinary balls, discernible within their sac, could be seen. They seemed to swell slightly, stirring, as though uneasily. The count then drew his sword, and, as he did, glanced again at the lords and ladies, this time with a cruel smile. There were gasps of disbelief, men frowning and women turning their faces half away. But the count, as though preparing to perform a feat of magic, turned the sword's wide blade to its flat side, and, swinging it back full two feet, delivered a mighty slap against the defenseless mound, flattening it with loud thud that made every man in the room jump and the women cry out. For a moment, all was silence, the count watching with a frown of curiosity if the mashed sac would reassert its shape. And then, from The Box, they heard a cry truly inhuman in its utter surprise and its agony. Who could fail to imagine the body within, instinctively seeking to bend, to double over to protect itself, but unable to move? And the hands, urged to fly down to nurse the excruciating center from which fiery pain radiated to the belly, the legs, the back—but helpless to do so? From within the cries, so shrill, at a pitch not heard before, came clearly to the lords and ladies, shrieks that matched the rhythm of gasping breath and seemed to go on and on. A terrible tension seized the room, as the count stood, head cocked to one side, observing the lords and ladies, a slight smile on his face. Then some courtier, quicker than the others, began to clap loudly and quickly was joined by the others. The count bowed. True to his word, Count Darcy deeded to Lady Bildoe his magnificent estate at Lake Bikal, which gift carried with it, for generations to come, the tale of how Lady Bildoe had won it. It remains only to report that the unfortunate prisoner, for some months, did duty each evening in The Box for the pleasure of the court or visitors—pleasure alternately found in titillating the great cock almost to madness or in devising ways to extract from poor parts the utmost agony, as though to punish the insolence of their magnificent size. This sport was ended only that evening a very drunken young royal was forced by his companions to strip naked and stand against the box so that his pale prick, which a lady was obliged to stiffen, might be compared with the incredible black protuberance from the box, stiffened for the competition by ministrations of another quite drunken lady. And then the onlookers began to laugh and mock in the most heartless way, pointing first at the young man's very modest tool, then at the veritable engine of war beside it. In a fury, and worse for drink, the young man bent to this garments, snatching his sword, and, before the others could do more than cry out in alarm, brought the blade slashing down along the face of The Box. The great black rod, after all but human flesh, for all its size, was neatly severed, dropping to the floor. Blood shot now, in gouts, from the round stump and one brief scream from The Box sent the panicked revelers rushing for the door, the slayer of the monster stumbling after them, dragging on his garments as he went. None returned that evening, for the guilty party goers crept from the palace and never confessed who had been in attendance at the shameful deed. Only in the morning did soldiers charged with returning the prisoner to his cell enter the room too see what had been done. Opening the box, they found that the barbarian chieftain, so far from home, was dead.