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.