Between The Trees


He reached underneath her, cupping her sex with his left hand as he held the evil device with his right. Slowly, he rubbed her pussy with his open palm, feeling the warmth of her cunt. Then, he slid two fingers into her, drawing a gasp from her as he probed along her walls. She exhaled, shivered, and tugged at the ropes. God, she was so fucking wet. He'd have no trouble getting the torture device into her body.

His fingers withdrew from her tunnel, only to be replaced by the hard, unyielding metal fruit. He slid the bulbous end along the length of her slit, then, fighting the resistance of her vagina, pushed the device into her. She squirmed at the pressure of the intrusion, twisting her hips as she sought to accommodate the girth of the pear's base. He continued to push the evil tool into her, letting it slide deeper into her cunt until only the stem of the crank protruded from her pussy.

He waited patiently until she had calmed. He wanted her to feel every turn of the screw. He wanted to watch her struggle with each successive increase in size. He wanted her to feel her body slowly being destroyed.

Finally, she settled back onto the earthen floor of the forest, her bare feet, captured by the bonds around her ankles, resting on the ground.

He reached underneath her and turned the screw.

The effect was immediate. She inhaled deeply and pulled on the ropes around her wrists, trying to pull herself away from the pressure. The man, encouraged by her reaction, reached underneath and turned the screw again, imagining the petals of the device spreading and pressing against the walls of her pussy. She moaned and began to wiggle her hips, trying to push the instrument out of her vagina. But, with the petals extended, it was locked firmly in place.

The man reached between her legs and turned the crank again.

She moaned with pain, sharper this time. He smiled. He was getting the reaction he wanted.

Now it was time to use the whip again.

He'd used the Captain's Daughter on her before. Short-handled, it wouldn't generate much velocity, but nine tails felt like an explosion of pain when it struck the skin. With each blow she had cried out beautifully the last time he'd used it, and he looked forward to bringing her to tears again. He reached into the bag and pulled it out.

Walking casually back to his victim, he let the leather straps dangle from his hand, sorting themselves out as he stepped behind the outstretched woman.

Without any warning, he suddenly brought the short whip forward, letting it land with a smack against her back as the black cat-o'-nine-tails splayed across her skin. The blow lifted her up and forward, her body stretching tightly against the tension of the ropes around her wrists and ankles. She cried out with pain and surprise, just as he knew she would.

Before she could recover, he brought the whip forward again, the leather straps exploding across her back. Again she was pushed forward, and again she cried out.

He settled into a rhythm, landing blow after blow against the girl's back. With each strike she cried out, tugging at the bonds holding her body fast. How many could she take? He'd counted almost fifty the last time.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty... she was crying, but she hadn't broken yet. He kept striking her, blow after blow, pushing her towards her pain threshold. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight...

She began to undulate her hips, trying to squeeze the pear out from its wet hiding hole. Even as the whip clawed at her back, she was focused on the small metal orb lodged in her pussy. God, what that must feel like, being torn from inside as the whip raked her back. Still, he kept whipping her. No mercy.

Forty-nine, fifty... he paused, studying his victim. Her skin glowed with perspiration and strands of her dark hair clung to her back and shoulders. She was crying, choking, but still she hadn't broken. He shook out the tails of the whip and resumed her beating.

Fifty-one, fifty-two... she was crying, screaming, begging for it to end.

He slowed his tempo, letting each blow reverberate throughout her body before striking her again. He wanted her to feel the full impact of her whipping. Eventually she would break. And when she had, the real fun would begin.

She was crying loudly now, hanging from the ropes around her arms more than she was standing, her toes clawing at the ruts she had dug into the earthen floor of the forest as her body swayed from the beating she was enduring. She was suffering terribly, struggling to absorb the pain of the evil lash.

The man's arm began to grow weary with fatigue. Christ! How long could she last? She'd never gone this long before.

Finally a long, pitiful wail came from the woman's throat. She was crying, sobbing, and her head hung loosely between her outstretched arms. She hadn't broken, she hadn't surrendered yet, but she was close.

Close enough.

Time for a new toy.

He went back to the bag and pulled out the bull whip. No need to mess with the other floggers. This one would do the job nicely.

Like a long, black snake, he coiled it around his wrist, gathering the length in his hand to keep it from dragging behind him as he moved to the woman's backside. He always wondered if she could see through the edges of the blindfold. At least by moving behind his victim, he was certain she'd never see the blows coming.

He paused, studying her, noting the way her body formed a near-perfect X as she hung between the trees, the tiny silver knob of the pear barely visible between her wide-forked thighs. Her back glowed red from the kiss of the Captain's Daughter, but he hadn't broken her skin. Alexi had warned him about that. Break a rule and the game is over, and she was too good to lose to stupidity. He'd just have to exercise a little self-discipline. That's all.

He relaxed his grip on the bull whip, letting the long, dark leather uncoil. The tail landed with a dull thump against the ground as he positioned himself behind her. She turned her head slightly, as if trying to see what was going on just beyond her range of vision.

There was a whoosh and a loud crack as the long length of black leather wrapped itself around her hip, forming a belt just above her tightening ass-cheeks.

She let out a cry and kicked at the ground, her muscles twisting deliciously, drawing her ass up and away from the pain. The whip clung to her damp skin for a moment, then gently fell away, its energy spent. As the leather parted from her skin, he could see the angry red line already beginning to form.

He drew the whip back and there was another whoosh, then a loud crack as the whip landed just a little bit higher on her body, wrapping itself tightly around the rim of her lean tummy. The tail of the whip caught itself around the woven leather strands, loosely tying itself around her body. The man tugged on the handle, encouraging the whip to unravel, pulling the woman towards him as her feet struggled to maintain contact with the ground.

Another whoosh and another loud crack, the whip wrapping around her torso, leaving an angry red welt across the lattice-work of her ribs. She jumped and screamed, but she did not surrender. He'd have to keep working on her.

The whip flew through the air again, impacting across the lower curve of her breasts, causing them to tremble and shake from the blow. She threw her head back and screamed, an ear-piercing cry of pain as the whip's tail fell limply to the ground.

Again the man drew the whip back, and again there was a whoosh and a crack. This time the leather found fresh skin, higher across her breasts, directly over her nipples. She let out an anguished cry and tugged at the ropes around her wrists, trying to lift herself up as the ropes around her ankles held her firmly in place.

He repeated her whipping ten more times, and each time she cried out in agony and tugged furtively at the ropes. But she did not surrender. Her will was too strong.

He'd have to use the pear again.

He stepped closer to her and drew a line with his fingertip along the inside of her left thigh, starting just above her knee. She shivered at the sensation and instinctively tried to press her legs together, but the bonds held her fast. She was helpless to resist his touch.

His finger travelled upward, tickling the opening to her snatch before coming to rest on the silver turnscrew of the devilish device buried inside her body. He gave it a solid crank, spinning the small dial a full rotation, and as the petals expanded inside her she inhaled deeply, struggling to absorb the pain. He patted the nether region of her ass-cheeks gently as the twin globes of muscle tightened with exertion. As she settled back onto the ground, he gave the screw another full turn.

She howled in agony, the pain becoming too much. She shook her head and screamed, begging, pleading with him for mercy. But still, she did not surrender.

The bull whip would finish the job.

He stepped away from her even as she continued to pant and choke and gasp and cry. The long leather strips, woven into a single tail, slid along the ground as he prepared to deliver another stroke. She shook her head and cried. She knew what was coming.

There was a whoosh and a crack and her whole body seemed to explode in pain and agony. A frightened yell tore from her throat and fresh sweat matted her hair. The twisted strands of leather fell to the ground as she screamed again.

She coughed and panted and begged for mercy.

Then he heard the words he had longed to hear.

"Ich kapitulieren!" she cried out. "Ich kapitulieren!"

The man chuckled as the woman hung sobbing, her sweat-slicked body glistening before him, suspended between the trees, open and helpless and defeated.

He dropped the whip on the ground and approached his prize. Broken, she was now his to do with as he pleased.

He reached between her legs and spun the silver knob, closing the evil petals of the pear. She let out a long sigh as the pressure decreased in her pussy. Her whole body seemed to relax, knowing that her ordeal was over.

Or was it?

The man pulled the pear out of her body, the orb making a wet, slurping sound as it slid out of her pussy. The man studied it briefly, noting how it shined in the dimming sunlight and marveling how something so small and innocent-looking could be so sinister. It had certainly served its purpose.

He glanced up at the woman who hung panting from the ropes around her wrists. Sweat coated her body, and her head hung with defeat.

It was time.

He reached for his belt and loosened his pants, the buckle clinking loudly as the fabric fell away.

His cock sprung forth with eager anticipation.

Released from its bondage, the head throbbed with arousal, impatiently waiting to do its job. The man leaned closer to her and pressed himself against her well-prepared hole. She gasped slightly as he entered her, but that was all she did. She could not resist him.

He gave a long slow pump, driving his cock deep into her belly. She winced with discomfort, the walls of her pussy ravaged by the evil pear. Her reaction made him smile. The device had certainly served its purpose, causing her intense pain, and he imagined how her genitals must look after those teeth had dug into them. But her pain was not his concern. He slid back slightly, then drove himself forcefully into her.

She inhaled deeply, then let her breath go in short, quick gasps as he pulled back and prepared to drive into her again.

She followed him.

He pumped his cock into her pussy, and now she was moving her hips with him still inside her. She squeezed his cock encouragingly, as if trying to draw out his seed on her own. The man smiled. God, she was fantastic.

Together, they began to fall into a rhythm. Her body had been ravaged, her spirit broken, but still she had the strength to fuck him. Too weak to stand on her own, she seemed as if impaled on his body, her weight supported by the strength of his blood-infused tissue that pulsed with energy inside her. She gasped in raspy, choking, breaths, her lips slightly parted to reveal the clean white teeth beyond.

He was building to his climax, his balls tightening as they prepared to shoot their load into the girl's body. With a mighty thrust, he drove himself into her, wrapping his arms around her back to hold her as his cock blew his wad against the puckered bulls-eye of her cervix.

She let out a cry and a small squeal as she, too, exploded in an orgasmic supernova. They stayed there, perched on the edge of eternity as their primitive instincts took over, as his cum filled her belly. Then, his energy spent, he exhaled and withdrew his softening penis as the woman hung wet and naked from the ropes, her hair damp with sweat.

He looked down to examine his manhood, to congratulate it on a job well done.

Specks of blood dotted the rim of the softening head, the skin already beginning to wrinkle. He cradled his cock in his hands to check the mighty sword for damage. But the blood wasn't his. It was hers.

Cut, bleeding, whipped, and finally broken, she had still managed to fuck his brains out. God, what he could do with a woman like her.

He stepped back and tucked his manhood into his pants, fastened the zipper and buckled the belt. Gathering the pear and the whip, he then strode over to the bag and placed the collection of torture instruments back inside. He wouldn't release her. That was Alexi's job.

Giving her a final glance, he turned and walked back down the small path.


"She was good?" Alexi asked as the customer handed him the bag.

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah," he replied. "That was the best yet. I wish I could take her with me."

The fat man chuckled. "Is too bad you cannot."

Then Alexi raised his hand to cup his chin. "But perhaps we can make new deal..."


The man examined the signs, looking for a particular room number. Alexi had called him that morning, after the man's funds transfer had cleared. Go to Room 366 and await further instructions. The man had blanched at the message, complaining that Alexi was going to have him going all over town on a wild goose chase while Alexi escaped with his money. But Alexi had given assurances and, finally, the man had agreed. What other choice did he have?

His heels clicked loudly down the deserted hall. This time of year, the university would be empty except for a few maintenance workers. He turned a corner. The room would be at the end of the hall, secluded in a remote section of the building. He fleetingly wondered if Alexi had set him up to be murdered.

No, not likely. If Alexi had wanted him dead he could've done it in a deserted parking garage or an abandoned building. There were plenty of them around. No, a university building would make a clumsy crime scene for a murder.

The man counted down the room numbers, each door bearing the marks of discarded tape and tacks where jokes, reports, and once-important notices had been posted. He laughed at the thought of the political propaganda that must've once been put there, espousing the virtues of a new economy. That hadn't worked out quite the way the illustrious leaders had promised.

Then he found it. Room 366. Dr. Alina von Wolfsburg, Associate Professor of Germanic Studies.

The man stood frozen in the hall, trying to wrap his brain around that little tidbit of information.

A professor?

He had been torturing and fucking a professor?

And she had liked it!

He started to turn away, to walk away from the woman behind that door. He regretted even knowing her name. Even if he hired Alexi again, he could never work with Number Twenty-nine again. Ever. That fantasy had been interrupted by reality. She wasn't just another girl. Now she was Dr. Alina von Wolfsburg, who had probably delivered her doctoral dissertation on sexual torture and had used him as an example.


He took a few hurried steps, trying to make good his escape. Then he paused.

A professor. He had been paying for a woman who was a college professor. Why would a college professor sell herself like that? And not just once, but at least a half-dozen times. Why?

Was it the money? Was it for the adventure of doing something dangerous? Or was the sex just that good?

There was only one way to find out.

He hesitantly knocked on the door.

"Jah?" a female voice called out.

Go get'em, sport.

The man turned the handle on the door and slowly opened it.


He sat in the guest chair of Dr. von Wolfsburg's office, taking in the information that the woman was giving him.

Her grant had expired with the change of government. On a whim, she had answered an advertisement in the local Classifieds. "WANTED: FEMALE MODELS AND ACTRESSES. MUST BE WILLING TO DO NUDITY. HIGH PAY. SAFE. SECURE. DISCREET. TRAINING PROVIDED." That was all it took. She'd responded with a made-up name and a photograph of her in a bikini. They wanted her real name, personal information, and full-body profile shots of her nude – front, back, and sides – for casting purposes. That was her first big hurdle, getting over her self-image.

She hadn't liked any of the shots she'd taken so she'd spoken with a fine arts professor about photographing her. A bargain had been made, her picture in exchange for her posing as a nude model in a figure studies class. That had been her second hurdle, getting over her fear of being nude in front of strangers. But she had done it. And she had found the challenge exciting.

She had sent in the photos and three days later "Sergei" had called her.

"Sergei?" the man asked.

Yes, that was the name he had given her.

The man laughed. Of course the fat bastard would use two identities, depending on who was contacting him.

She'd come in for a personal interview. There were other girls there, most of them younger than her and obviously recruited from the sex shops judging by their dress, tattoos, and piercings. That was her third hurdle, accepting that she was now in the sex industry. It made her feel cheap. She didn't belong there. She wasn't one of them, and she almost left.

Then a woman came in with everyone's papers. She called out some names and dismissed a few of the gaudier ones, and a few girls, either very heavy or very thin or with obvious addiction issues, were directed into another room still. The rest were told to wait to be called, that they would be given individual interviews with Sergei.

A few of the girls knew each other and chatted quietly, but most kept to themselves. The girls that she was with looked pretty and could pass for normal students with a change of clothes. But of course they wouldn't be wearing clothes in this job. She laughed.

Then Sergei had come and had taken her into a room where he had asked her some questions, asking her to describe herself and her sexual history. She'd had boyfriends and had done a little self-bondage, but nothing serious. Why did she want to do this job? Her own Sturm und Drang perhaps. She was studying the influence of the German Inquisition on 17th-century literature for her doctorate dissertation and had been fascinated by the accounts. How could she expect herself to accurately describe what the poor victims had gone through emotionally if she herself had never felt that same fear and helplessness?

Sergei had liked her answer.

She had filled out a form listing various things: whipping, choking, urination, and a few others. That was another hurdle, imaging those things being done to her. The more she checked the more she could earn, so she had checked as many as she thought she could handle.

After that, she'd been asked to select what instruments could be used on her. She'd never been whipped before, so she'd chosen the smaller ones, assuming that the shorter handle would generate less velocity, and with less velocity less damage.

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