Agent in Distress Ch. 15

The noises were coming from the last cell on the right, and Lana sensed the prisoner inside. Wary that there might be people in there with her, she tip-toed the last few steps to the edge of the cell, and leaned her head in to peek inside. What she saw made her suck in a sharp breath. Lana recognized the prisoner from the other night, she looked as radiant as ever, yet what had they done to her?

The woman was alone, bound in ropes that criss-crossed around her breasts and torso, and kept her wrists bound behind her back, while her legs were bound such that she was straddling a sort of chair, with a kind of rod for a back, and rounded rather than flat. The prisoner's torso was bound to the rod, keeping her upright; even her neck was bound to the back of the chair with a leather collar. Lana noticed the woman was blindfolded, and her whole body seemed to be gently squirming and twitching, and every few seconds, her thighs would jerk, or her hips would shudder. Lana couldn't see between the poor woman's legs, but from the woman's behavior, she suspected there was something there, the source of her state of torment.

Desperate to get inside and help the enigmatic telepath, she looked at the door to the cell, but it was locked, and the key was likely in the guard's hand with the others. She didn't dare try to wake the guard again. She desperately stuck her finger into the keyhole, trying to feel around, but it was again too complicated for her mind to figure out, without being able to see the mechanism. Frustrated that she'd gotten so far, but was stymied only steps away, Lana thought, looking around. She'd have to try the guard again, convince him to unlock the prisoner's door. Lana thought of the prisoner. She couldn't get over how this telepath, clearly more powerful than she, had been reduced to such a mindless state. Then she had an idea. The woman was powerful; if she could get her out of that trance-like state, perhaps the woman could free herself!

Lana sat down on the floor to get comfortable, and then she closed her eyes, reaching her mind out to the prisoner. The woman's mind was so powerful, it lit up like a small sun, and Lana reached out to it, tentatively. As she neared the prisoner's powerful mind, she sensed something, another presence, lurking. Ever so slowly and carefully, Lana entered the mind of the prisoner, the skin on the back of her neck tingling, for she sensed two presences. One was clearly the prisoner, her mind shining like a beacon for starships. But the other, it was subtle, hidden, weaker. She moved deeper, entering the psyche of the bound prisoner.

Lana gasped, her back straightening in fear. She recognized the presence. It was Henri, the young man he'd known as a student at the Institute with whom she'd had a run-in until she'd inadvertently gotten him expelled. She'd also seen Henri three days before, now an older more devious man who'd interrogated the prisoner. She froze, not wanting to alert Henri to her own presence.

She looked closer, and realized that his mind wasn't actively there in the prisoner's thoughts, it was like . . . a footprint, left on the woman's mind. Lana scowled. Henri had been meddling in the prisoner's mind, carefully, subtly; she wasn't even sure the prisoner was aware. The prisoner's powerful telepathic mind was like a shell, strong in appearance, but dormant inside. Something had all but switched off the woman's telepathic mind. Henri? He was not powerful enough to do such a thing.

Lana moved deeper, into the woman's subconscious. Suddenly, she cried out softly, as she was struck by a wave of pure desire, which washed over her and left her trembling and aroused. The prisoner was filled with an overwhelming need, a burning crucible of desire, that the woman could neither satisfy nor resist. Lana could see this powerful need pressing down the woman's telepathic mind, overloading and shutting it down. She sensed Henri's mind as well, like a scent in the air. Lana shuddered. It was no surprise the prisoner was in such a state -- her mind was overwhelmed like a room with a fire that consumed all the air. The prisoner seemed to have some innate vulnerability that Lana didn't have. It made sense, Lana thought. It was nature's way to balance power with vulnerabilities.

This woman's telepathic abilities were far beyond her own, but she also had dangerous weaknesses. She remembered the demonstration Henri and Varga had performed on the prisoner. She'd been vulnerable to a couple of things -- ice water and that horrible electric vibrator they'd put inside her. Lana shuddered, for as unpleasant as those things seemed to her, they somehow disabled the prisoner's telepathic abilities.

Without a second thought, Lana reached out with her mind, to help somehow, like she had helped the blond slave in the training room, minutes before. She opened her mind to the prisoner's.

Lana cried out in shock, shuddering at the flood of sensations. She was bound, arms and legs, even her neck immobilized, and between her widespread thighs, something churned, and vibrated and thrust in and out. It had been going on for hours, and she'd long since surrendered to it. The pleasure was too much for her, and she strained on her bonds, not to escape, but to find some position that would give her blessed relief she craved. Her hips twitched and her burning pussy clenched involuntarily, as the device worked its magic relentlessly and mercilessly inside her. She'd been teased to near orgasm, countless times, but the device always backed off, sometimes holding her on the edge for minutes, other times letting her rest a bit, only to start the process over agin. Early on it had let her cum, an experience so intense she had nearly passed out.

Each time it brought her close after that, she'd hoped it would be another orgasm, but the cruel device knew just how to keep her frustratingly right at the edge. She realized it had let her cum just to make its subsequent denial more devastating. It was exhausting, and humbling, and she'd given up trying to escape it. Lana knew why she was being punished. She'd failed to do her duties as a pleasure slave. The details were fuzzy in her mind, she only knew that she would try doubly hard to please her masters, once free'd from her deserved punishment.

Her masters might seem cruel, but they had done her a great service, in teaching her to avoid mistakes, and to always be pleasing, no matter what humiliating things she might be called on to do. For there was no shame in being a pleasure slave, and she reveled in her own helpless need, her own desire to serve. There was no greater gift than to be allowed to serve her master, on her knees, using her mouth, her inviting pussy, even her other hole. Whatever her masters desired, it was her duty to serve them, fully, eagerly, lovingly.

Lana gasped for breath. She was drowning, struggling to stay above . . . not water . . . it was desire, a crippling need . . . her arms were bound . . . and her legs too . . . she couldn't escape, couldn't keep herself afloat, invisible hands all over her body, caressing, squeezing, delving deeply, possessing her body and soul. Finally she succumbed, going under, the burning need filling her every orifice. She was drowning in an ocean of pleasure and need.

Suddenly she could feel the cold stone floor on her legs, her side, her burning breasts, her face. Lana sat up quickly, and then she doubled over, her hands flew to between her legs, where she felt a burning wetness. Her breasts felt like bursting, her nipples swollen painfully such that one casual touch might send her into an explosive orgasm. Lana tried to push herself off the stone floor; she felt exhaustion in her body, but that was nothing compared to the powerful need that percolated between her thighs. Her breasts ached, and she put a hand to her chest, and then she moaned at the gush of heat from her own touch. The urge to pleasure herself was overwhelming, but it was forbidden of pleasure slaves.

Suddenly, she felt fingers in her hair, and her head was yanked backwards, turning her face up to look at a man's face. "Who are you, girl?" said the man, looking at her askance, "and how did you get in here?" She didn't know the man, but he was by nature, her master, and she his slave, so she quickly got to her knees, and place her hands behind her back, though she was unable to bow her head with his hand in her hair. So close to a male who could satisy her needs, Lana's arousal flamed even higher, and she moaned softly.

"I'm sorry, Master!" Lana pleaded. "Your humble slave begs forgiveness!"

The guard was still confused, but he let go of her hair and looked about the dark, humid corridor for threats. "Forget about that, how did you get in here? And who are you?"

Lana looked up at him in confusion. "I'm your slave, Master," she said. Then she heard a noise, and looked to her left. Behind the bars of a cell, she saw a stunningly beautiful brunette, tied to some sort of unfamiliar training chair. The woman did look familiar, however, her eyes covered in a blindfold, and soft moans coming from her lips, as if she were sleeping or in a daze. Who was that woman?

The guard was looking around, but all seemed normal except the appearance of an unchained slave girl in his locked dungeon. "You sure are a well curved slave," he said, suddenly, looking down at the dark haired slave who knelt obediently at his feet. "I'll allow you to serve me while we figure out where you came from." Then he reached out again, his hand taking a fistful of Lana's long lustrous hair. He smiled as she rose up off her knees to the height of his waist. Fumbling with his free hand, he tried to undo the ties of his pants as the slave girl waited patiently, licking her lips in anticipation. Finally he was able to extract his growing erection from his pants, and it flopped out in front of the girl's lovely wide-eyed visage.

Lana saw the guard's cock flop out in front of her, and its appearance reminded her of something, and someone. She'd done this before, but not for this man. She'd done it for someone special, someone she'd loved. It's your duty, said a voice in her head, pleasure him. She focused on the voice, it seemed familiar. A man . . . a bad man . . . his name was . . . Henri. Lana gasped suddenly, her memories trickling back.

Henri was in her head! No . . . he was in the head of . . . the prisoner, and Lana had been deep in the prisoner's mind. Lana's hands went to the sides of her head, and her mind filled with first pain, and then realization. These thoughts weren't her own, they were the prisoner's, and somehow Henri was involved. Henri from the Institute. All her thoughts and memories flashed back to her in an instance, and she sucked in a deep gasp of air, as if rescucitated back to life.

"Get on with it, slut! I thought you wanted to serve me?" The guard pulled Lana's head toward his cock. Anger flashing in her eyes, Lana's hand shot up and grabbed the guard by his two dangling balls. He gasped, his whole body going rigid, except his cock, which was rapidly deflating. His hand and left Lana's hair to grab for his balls, which only made Lana pull them downward. Every time he reached for her hands, she gave him a hard tug and squeeze.

"You bitch—aarrgh!" screamed the guard, as the pressure on his genitals increased. "D-don't, that hurts!" pleaded the man, his face contorted in pain.

"Hand me the keys," said Lana, gesturing at the key ring on his belt. The guard reached with one hand and handed it to her, moaning in pain when she gave him another hard squeeze. "Now get to your knees," she ordered. The guard quickly got to his knees, and she followed him down, still holding tight to his balls. "Look that way," she ordered. When he did so, she struck him hard with an elbow strike to the back of his head. The guard fell forward, stopping himself with his arms; he looked stunned but not unconcious.

"Damn!" said Lana, rushing forward and pulling his dagger from the scabbard on his belt, and she hit him on the head with the flat edge. He shook his head in pain, and she hit him again, this time with the hilt, then a third time. Finally the guard slumped to the stone floor, unconscious. Lana shook her head, looking down at him. She'd never tried to knock a man unconscious, she realized, and it wasn't as easy as it was in training classes. She carefully put the dagger back in his scabbard. With any luck he might think he'd dreamed the whole thing.

Lana fumbled around trying keys on the key ring, until she found the one for the gate to the prisoner's cell. She carefully opened the door, wincing as it made a metallic groaning sound that echoed through the stone halls of the dungeon. She walked past various torture stations, dangling chains and ropes, pommel horses, even a large bed, trying not to think about the ways these stations would be used on her if she were caught. Finally she reached the bound woman. Lana paused for a moment, in awe of the prisoner's radiant skin, and angelic face. Her naked body was magnificantly toned, yet voluptuous - she was a warrior like Lana, that was evident from her body, and from Henri's statement in the courtyard, that the prisoner had killed many guards before being captured.

Lana quickly removed the woman's blindfold, but found her eyes closed beneath them, still in some sort of trance, but one where she appeared to be in a state of near sexual orgasm, twitching and softly moaning. Lana looked down, and she gasped, seeing what was between the woman's legs. The platform she straddled had a hole in the seat, and from that hole protruded a black . . . thing . . . that disappeared into her quivering, slick opening. It even appeared to be vibrating and moving, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. It was clearly modern in origin.

Henri and Varga, or Nikolai had constructed this thing. Lana shuddered, to think the woman might have been tormented all night by that infernal device. She looked for a switch of some sort, and found it at the base of the vibrator, and she switched it off. The woman moaned softly, almost a whine of disappointment, and began gently thrusting her hips, as if trying to get it to turn back on. Lana shook her head, raising her hand to gingerly stroke the woman's sweat-soaked hair. She burned in resentment at the state of the prisoner -- this was Henri's doing, she was sure of it.

Lana quickly moved behind the woman, looking at her bindings. It was just rope, but elaborate, and as she found when she tried to undo it, very tight. Dashing back out to the storage room, she pulled out the man's dagger and ran back, using it to carefully slice through the woman's bindings, first on her wrists, then the ones on her ankles and thighs. She was extra careful sawing through the ropes around her thighs, and it took precious time, during which she became more fearful of discovery.

Finally the woman was free, and she hung limply, held up by the collar on her neck that bound her to the chair. Lana put an arm under the woman and undid the collar, allowing the prisoner to slide out of the chair, the black vibrator making a wet sucking sound as she was pulled off it. She half dragged, half carried the limp woman to the bed, and got her half on the bed, then lifted her legs up and rolled her over, so she was in the center of the bed on her back. Again she paused to stare at the prisoner's stunning figure, her toned muscles and skin that felt so soft to the touch. She reached up to touch the woman's quite modern hairstyle, and she smiled at the silky feel of her shiny brown hair. Her fingers lingered in the luxurious strands until Lana blinked suddenly, wondering how she was getting distracted when she and the woman were in such a precarious situation.

Quickly, she reached out with her mind, looking into the woman's still troubled consciousness. Sure enough, she could sense that bastard Henri . . . and Varga! She saw the other man's presence as well. They'd both been meddling in her mind, though what they were up to she couldn't tell. But the prisoner still seemed to think she was a pleasure slave, in fact, her entire mind seemed clouded over by sexual thoughts, and just looking around inside her mind was making Lana feel aroused to a shocking degree. She could see that the prisoner's mind had overloaded from sexual stimulations, both physical and mental. It was likely the combination of the two that had short circuited the poor woman's conscious.

Lana knew what she had to do, and she gently placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, then opened her mind to the prisoner's tortured psyche.

Lana gasped, as she awoke with a start.

She immediately sensed something was wrong, for she tasted something wooden in her mouth, a gag, she realized with a jolt of fear. She was nearly upside down, her arms bound tightly behind her back, and she looked to her right, to see that she was suspended face down from a wooden frame, her ass up in the air, and her head hanging down near the ground. Her legs were spread wide by ropes on her thighs and ankles, and her breasts felt tight and swollen. She looked down at her torso, and she gasped into her gag, for she could see that her breasts were bound tightly in a kind of rope harness. Suddenly she felt a sharp sting on her ass cheek, accompanied by the sound of a fleshy snap.

"Spread your legs wider, slave," barked a male voice from directly behind her. She glared in the direction of the voice. She was Aurelia, famed assassin and telepath. She wasn't going to obey some excuse for a man. Slap! Her hips jerked as he struck her other ass cheek. Slap! Slap! Aurelia mewled into her gag, annoyed at the humiliating sound of her flesh and the sharp sting of each spanking. How dare he strike her like that! She cried into her gag, telling the man what she'd do to him when she got free, but he only chuckled at her garbled protest. Not wanting to see his smug expression, she looked down and then moaned in disgust, for she could see her own drool dripping on the stone floor.

The man chuckled. "What a mess you're making, slut. In time, you'll be as subservient as you are pleasing to the eye. You two, give our new slave the attention she craves, will you?"

Suddenly Aurelia could see two pairs of legs approaching her from the side, and she tensed in concern. Strong hands came to the ropes that bound her upper arms to her chest. She heard a wheel being cranked, and then the ropes began to pull her upright until she was vertical. Though now upright, she was too low to the floor, her legs tied into a spread kneeling position with her thighs perpendicular to the stone tiles. She saw that her thighs were bound to her calves by rope, and she closed her thighs, only to gasp when the two men used their hands to pull her knees wide apart, stretching her naked pussy and making her redden with anger at their audacity.

Each man then straddled one of her knees, and leaned in, gently cupping her breast to begin kissing around her nipple, carefully avoiding it. Aurelia's normally had quite sensitive skin, but they'd managed to greatly amplify her nerves, such that each kiss sent little jolts of pleasure into her breasts, and down between her legs. She growled into her gag, but the two men ignored her, continuing their careful exploration of her breasts, her shoulders, even her sensitive neck.

As the minutes passed, Aurelia's breathing grew labored, and her protests changed subtly in tone. The men grinned when they noticed, but said nothing, only continuing their patient tasks. Aurelia was anything but patient however, her body craving far more than their teasing touches. Suddenly she stiffened, for each man in unison moved a hand to caress her bare thigh, slowly sliding up just short of her heated center, before moving about to explore the curves of her hip. That touch combined with the kisses on her breasts made a soft feminine cry slip past her gagged mouth, and she cursed her own body for betraying her, but still the men continued to avoid her intimate places.