“Vea usted como desisten los extranjeros debilos? No tienen ganas!”
“See how easily these foreigners fold. No stamina,” crooned her enslaver.
The measured tread of a guard approaching resounded through the air, lifting Lydia’s spirits. Looking up, she stared through the bars, waiting to see the officer walking past before making her imploring request for succor.
The stark countenance of the woman entered into view, her baton in hand, slapping the tip into her gloved palm as she glared ferociously into each cell, quelling sedition with her glower. The sight of Lydia beneath the woman did not even draw a flicker of acknowledgment, prompting a desperate recourse.
“Help me, please,” Lydia whimpered, only to have the guard ignore her and continue the strolling pace until out of sight.
“Wait! Help me, get me out of here, I—”
The words vanished as a hand clamped across her mouth. Manic with rage she bit the flesh, making the impious woman squeak and leap back, clutching the wound as Lydia ran to the bars and screamed for assistance. How could the guards just leave her here? Had they no care for their charges?
A deep thud filled her ears as a punch slammed into her side, crippling her with a debilitating pain. Her knees turned to jelly and she began to sag, clutching at the bars, her eyes filling with tears as she croaked for the impassive guard, praying to eke some sort of pity and aid.
Another vicious jab struck the opposite side and her collar was snatched. Spun around in the strong hold she was slammed to the wall, her front bursting with pain at the stern impact upon her many welts.
Hauled back, she hung loose in her attacker’s grasp, her head lolling as the bitten female regarded her with boiling hatred, rubbing the mild injury with tenderness.
“You think that was funny?” she spat, every syllable dripping with rage “Well I hope you find this just as amusing!”
The woman’s hand whipped out to skim knuckles across her features, the hand returning as a backhand slap before continuing, raining ten oscillating slaps into the drooping captive. The world was left spinning about Lydia and her body remained unable to answer any calls for movement as incarnadine drool slipped from her swollen lips.
Massaging her rosy tinted hand, the woman ducked in and grabbed Lydia’s breast, squeezing tight and then ducking in to sink her teeth into the whip contused flesh.
As teeth tore into her skin, threatening to bite free a great chunk from her bosom, Lydia wailed and struggled in her captor’s arms, her opposition increasing with the continuation of the attack, making the containment of her throes too difficult in an upright position and forcing a change. Casting her violently to the floor, they repositioned themselves to hold her more effectively before she could muster enough coherent action to resist. The slender woman sat upon her legs, facing the cleavage she was intending to chew upon as her comrade knelt on Lydia’s arms while they lay by her side. The bony knees crushed her biceps while Lydia gazed up through her watery vision at the naked rear hovering directly over her face.
The woman grabbed the wriggling wrists as they flapped from having their upper arms squashed, then the naked loins descended slowly, graphically illustrating the robust woman’s intentions, giving Lydia a generous duration in which to let her angst bloat.
Fighting with increasing verve, her arms and legs beginning to tickle internally from impeded circulation, she could do nothing as the looming rump floated down. In her last moments of freedom she screamed for help and denial of this action, the high pitched wail being dropped into a muffled murmur as her face was smothered with her captor’s rear. Lydia strained to draw breath through the suffocating flesh, succeeding in squeezing in only the most meager influx.
The fight to respire was made infinitely more strenuous as teeth ripped into her nipple, chewing and grinding upon the soft teat as she bucked and writhed, her screams echoing into the stifling cushion of flesh pressing down.
The eager jaws clamped to her flesh again and again, squeezing and gnawing to tenderize the mamilla, while the virulent harridan also began to deploy her nails across the bare torso, the deep scratches leaving a rosy trail, one pock-marked with crimson where they had successfully slit the skin.
Riven with excruciating duress, Lydia could only buck and writhe, her foolish notion of gaining aid in this nightmare domain having brought her the most vindictive reprisals. When the biting stopped, it was so the clawing nails might rip at her sex, scratching at the sensitive tracts and flesh, the woman demonstrating her implacable capacity for whimsical torture. The violation of the nails brought levels of havoc she could barely tolerate, the plunging stabs and exits making her spasm and yowl into the cushioning rear.
The woman straddling her face arose with her partner’s instructions, elevating the pressure on Lydia’s pinned arms which had suffered the stifling of blood flow for so long that her free forearms could do nothing now save twitch, all feeling in them gone. Gasping for breath, Lydia tried to apologize, her eyes shut tight as she felt her body pounding with the after effects of the torture.
But they were in no frame of mind to end their entertainment just yet, and her words went without answer.
“She sounds out of breath, and she looks hot. Maybe a cool drink of water will soothe her nerves,” crooned the woman.
Snapping her eyes open, Lydia saw the water bucket before her eyes, cradled by the lithe criminal. The prospect of this episode of mock drowning drew disturbing parallels to the suffocation of her interrogation, and that had been harrowing enough to prompt her into evading a repeat at any cost.
“Please, no, I’m fine. Honestly, I’m not—”
The manacling hands deserted their charges, their task pointless when all effective use had been destroyed by the robbery of her circulation. Her words were canceled by a palm clamping to her chin, the fingers and thumb opposing each other and digging into a cheek as the other hand applied extra aid, sinking digits onto their brethren and then hauling apart with brute force.
“Stop! Please! I’m begging of you! I’ll do anything you want!” she whimpered, her words distorted massively by the grasp of her oppressors.
Unable to even delay the breaching of her jaws, Lydia’s mouth was drawn wide open and held immobile. Aiming the lip of the bucket above the opening the container tilted and Lydia closed her eyes, wailing in abject despair as she tried to pull her head aside, battling the iron grip without success. As the first trickle splashed into her maw, she gurgled and retched, her howls having left a vent open to her lungs, the intrusion crippling her. Fighting her bonds all the more fervently, the prying fingers came away and established a pinch to seal her lips, leaving her with a reservoir in her maw that she could only expel as a slim drool from the corners of her mouth. A second pinch sealed her nostrils, cutting of her air, demanding that she swallow.
Gulping down, they refilled the bucket from the tap and opened her mouth once more and applied a steady stream, the flow filling the volume of her maw, spilling over the edges, denying her any access to air as she frantically gulped down the sparkling cascade. Coughing and spluttering she tried to whimper for mercy, but the women simply held her tightly and continued to force-feed her the reservoir.
The heat that started to well in her face and lungs as she strained to draw breath grew in intensity with every second, as did her nausea, the waters engorging her belly growing with pressure. The constant influx prevented her from ejecting it, the struggling force welling until she felt she might burst.
“This is all too much effort. Let’s just push her head in, let her drown or finish it,” declared the bearer of the bucket, setting it aside as Lydia was flipped over, her efforts to scamper away blocked as her arms were pinned behind her back and twisted up into a painful lock.
Bare flesh squatted upon her shins and her hair was used as a reign to steer her face into the cold depths.
The wail of complete appalled aversion ended when she was submerged, her face churning the cool waters as she was kept beneath them, the burbling cry rising up as a faint and pitiful sound to be ignored until she had obeyed and fulfilled her quest.
Unable to defeat the strength trapping her within, she parted her lips just a little and with her dignity held back by the pure instinct for survival, she yielded to their wicked authority and began to drain the level in frantic gulps. Her speed was maintained by her ebbing consciousness, her only objective being to once more access air.
With a gasp she devoured a deep lungful, breaking into retching coughs and revolted hacks as small flecks intruded in her lungs. The holds came away and she dropped to the floor, curling into a ball, grizzling in her misery, venting the occasional jerk of shock.
“You forgot to thank me for the drink,” chuckled her oppressor, nudging the vilified prisoner with a conceited smugness.
Mentally shattered from her ordeal, Lydia could not find the words, all she could think on was the powerful, restless presence bloating her stomach and the awful lingering throb prevailing in her mind.
“Thank me unless you want us to force a bucket down you every hour on a permanent basis.”
The menace in the voice hauled her from her apathy, and with all her composure splintered, her mind and sanity in blackened ruins, Lydia responded without thought.
“Thank you for the drink, Divine Supreme Goddess.”
“Good, now let’s prepare you for the night,” announced the woman.
Pulled to her feet, Lydia was laid face down on the bottom bunk, her features placed just over half way towards the top. The ripping of cloth preceded the application of long strips torn from a blanket, the ribbons used to tie her elbows and her wrists together behind her back. Her wrists were snared and lifted, making her describe her pain with a cry as they were misused to drag her torso into the air. Hovering a few inches from the bed, the bonds where quickly knotted to the planks above and her legs splayed, her knees being tied to the posts, trapping her in this depreciating format.
The malevolent female slipped into the bunk, sliding her loins beneath the suspended face.
“You know what to do, so get on with it, Puta!” she declared, and locked her thighs about the prisoner’s head, crushing the snared and suspended features into her sex. Lydia was petrified with alarm and bewilderment, her mind unable to process this level of depravity.
Gurgling and striving only to get free, the woman maintained her trapping embrace, restricting Lydia’s breath to a few meek hisses through the splayed lips.
The lack of action was not tolerated for long and while Lydia spasmed and fought to pull away, the woman reached forward and forced her face deeper, entirely cutting of her prisoner’s air with one hand. Snagging Lydia’s fingers with the other the woman bent them back and made her wail into the smothering pillow of femininity.
Goaded into activity, she began to perform the desired and perfunctory cunnilingus with a sloth borne of inexperience and unwillingness. With her wishes finally being undertaken the woman threw herself back, writhing upon the probing tongue and drinking deeply of the pleasures she had commanded. Afraid of what consequences would befall her should she cease, Lydia continued for what seemed like hours, for no matter how much or how wildly the woman performed beneath her flitting tongue, she did not permit an end, her appetite for such devotion seemingly insatiable.
Only once the instrument of intimate devotion was strained and aching, her body raw from its cruel confinement, did the woman slip out from beneath Lydia’s face.
With a weary sigh Lydia’s head lolled forward, only to have fingers clench within her hair and raise her lethargic features to accept the other woman as a new customer. With a groan of despair she was drawn back down and her complicity demanded.
Again she strove to perform, mentally detaching herself from her body, trying to let it run on automatic while she slipped into a distanced dream-like haze, escaping from the reality of her predicament, her psyche defending itself in the only viable way it had. There was to be no defeating this harrowing battle of degradation, so retreat was the only option and thus she fled into the shadowy recesses of her mind at a full gallop.
The burly female quaffed her fill of attention and then shoved Lydia’s head away, leaving her to hang slack, dejected and diminished, her spirit ragged and torn from her ordeal. Her only desire was to escape this terrible event, to awake and find herself at home, asleep on the plane, anything, anywhere but here.
Exhausted, her body ignored the tangled confines in which she was cocooned and drifted into a hesitant sleep of recuperation, the slumber rising to occasionally brush awareness, reminding her of her position and infecting her dreams with the contagion of nightmares. This was an easy enough feat for it merely projected a slice of the real world, such straits being more than adequate fare to serve as a terror for her dreams.
The gentle jingling titter of the keys in the lock roused her slightly and she looked up to see a guard forging access, the jailer looking idly over both shoulders in a most suspicious fashion.
The cell door swung open and the tall woman entered, moving over to the bunk and prodding the top occupant with her baton. The onerous prisoner awoke with a groggy haze and as though sleepwalking slid down and shuffled from the room. The guard followed and shut the cell door behind her, locking it and then departing with the woman. What had happened? Was she being transferred? Singled out for participation in something nefarious? Lydia’s mind whirled with possibilities, the dwelling on the villain’s fate proving a ready distraction from the rigors of her bondage.
Within the hour the pair returned, save that now the girl was staggering slightly, her legs stiff, while the guard bore a wide satisfied grin, suggesting that this midnight rendezvous had been a carnal affair and not a gentle one.
The girl was escorted in and left to haul herself back into her bunk before the guard locked a hand about the drained woman’s neck and dragged her forward for a deep kiss. The passion on the prisoner’s behalf was forced and given to defuse anger rather than any affection wrought by their acts.