Syracuse is Waiting

As she came down from on high she seemed to take delight in slowly smearing the product of her orgasm all over my face but, in so doing, she started to build the tension once more. It was not long before she started the slow, inexorable, climb towards a second climax.

This one, building on the dying tremors of the first, came more quickly helped by the fact that she was working her hips like a steam piston. She showed remarkable agility for someone of her size and, at the finish, she was pushing herself back and forth across my face once a second almost as though she feared to lose it should she not keep up.

Beneath her, my whole head ached. My nose was being repeatedly crushed and even my eye sockets felt as though they were being punished. This, combined with the heat and the fact that I had not been able to breathe properly for some minutes, set up a dull but insistent throbbing that grew within my skull.

She did not slow down at the trigger point, if anything she moved faster, but, mercifully, it was over quickly. Even before it had run its course she lifted herself from me. It was as though she did not trust herself not to go for a third.

She remained poised above me and I could feel the heat radiating from her. It was like being too close to a fire and not being able to turn away. With every heavy breath her buttocks quivered and I lay there fearing the avalanche that might bring them down upon me.

Finally, with an obvious effort and a degree of reluctance, she got up from the bed and, without another word, she went to the door which was unlocked for her by one of the ever present guards.

In the weeks that followed I prayed for Katrina's return.

In that time Winslett grew more and more demanding. She would turn up unannounced at any time of night and day. Simply going down on her became a blessing. More often than not she wanted my tongue deep in her arse but her favourite pastime was to ride my face.

She had read what Katrina had inflicted upon me and she seemed determined to outdo her.

One evening she arrived with a package and when I saw what it was my rage overcame me. I hurled a stream of invective at her and I had my hands around her throat for some seconds before I was overcome by the collar.

For a second time I found myself strapped down in the gym and I could not resist as she closed the helmet around my head.

It was formed of heavy rubber and a Velcro fastening at the back ensured a snug fit. It had small eye holes but she closed these off by the simple expedient of a little gaffer tape. I was left in a close darkness unable even to hear what was going on around me.

My mouth was filled with a bulb of rubber, about the size of a small orange, attached to a rubber phallus which protruded eight inches from my face.

It must have had tiny air holes because I found that, with an effort, I could draw air through it which was just as well because the opening for my nose was so tight that my nostrils were almost pinched closed.

I had been trained to overcome claustrophobia but the silence and blackness coupled with the uncertainty was putting a severe strain on my sanity. Fortunately, I was not kept waiting for long. I felt the bench give as her bulk loomed over me and then, in a single easy movement, she impaled herself.

She slid down the shaft slowly and I had to bite down on the bulb to stop it being driven to the back of my throat. As she came to rest on my face the rubber of the helmet was stretched so tightly against my skin that I could feel it tugging at my eyebrows threatening to pull them out.

I could no longer breathe through my mouth and I barely had time to breathe through my nose before her pubis, with its nest of curls pressed suffocatingly against the nasal opening.

She rested there for a moment, making sure that I fully understood the implications, and then she began a slow rise and fall. She was a big woman but in my fevered imagination she had become a giantess. Each time she reached the bottom of a downstroke she paused for a couple of seconds, letting me bear her weight, and I thought I would loose my teeth.

I timed my breathing so that I took shallow draughts of air through my nose each time she rose but I was simply not getting enough oxygen. In a panic I tried to suck through the bulb but all I got now was a rancid distillation of her juices.

I lost track of time in what, for me, had become a fight for survival but it was not too long before she picked up the pace and the increased volume of moisture dripping into my mouth suggested she was close.

When it came she was resting fully on my face and, in a final act of sadism, she used her fingers to pinch my nose closed. I was caught in an earthquake as her bodyweight rocked on me and then quivered in a series of violent aftershocks.

Eventually, she found the strength to lift herself from me but I close to fainting. It was unnaturally hot inside the helmet and I recognized some of the symptoms of heat exhaustion. I tried to calm myself and took measured breaths through my nose, the shaft itself still yielding nothing but moisture.

I must have lain there for a quarter of an hour when I sensed someone close by and I could not help myself from trying to yell. I felt fingers at the back of the helmet and I gave a silent sigh of relief but then I felt the thing drawn tighter. Seconds later she was back on my face and this time I knew she was facing down my body. Her buttocks now dictating my air supply and I tried to cry out in despair.

And so the pattern was set. Sometimes the sessions could last for hours as she rode out orgasm after orgasm. She even insisted that I shaved twice a day and threatened me with permanent depilation.

She rarely used the controller, knowing that the threat of the guards was enough in itself, but on two occasions she did use a strap on to humiliate me. Fortunately, I do not think she took any physical please from acting the man but my discomfort obviously amused her.

It was five weeks to the day since Katrina left when Winslett entered the cell with a beaming smile and a companion. The new arrival wore a sergeant's uniform but it must have been tailored especially for her. She was tall, an inch or two over six foot, and, whilst an army uniform is not the most flattering form of attire, it hinted at a shapely but athletic body.

She was very dark skinned and I guessed that she might be Ethiopian. Her face had the natural beauty of that race and when she smiled she had almost impossibly perfect teeth. Her head was shaved to a short frizz, that went further than regulations dictated, and if I had seen her in the street I probably would have pegged her as a lesbian.

I was still wondering what her visit entailed when Winslett took pleasure in enlightening me.

"Katrina won't be coming back. She has accepted a permanent position but you'll be pleased to know that I will remain in charge here for the foreseeable future and Sergeant Lielit

will be taking over as head of the guard detail."

I could feel my psychological foundations slipping. The news that Katrina would not be back was a body blow. She was the reason for my being there and, even now, I hoped that I might appeal to her. I thought that I might even get her to hypnotize me again, regardless of the dangers. I would risk death if it meant that I could regain my freedom.

"I've told Sergeant Lielit all about you and she can't wait to try you out..."

This document came to light on the internet following the recent well publicized fire. The government has denied that the military facility was ever used as a "prison within a prison" and strenuously refutes the allegation that unsentenced inmates have now been moved elsewhere.

It is believed that the original manuscript was recovered and made public by a fire crew. The version given here has only been altered slightly to give a narrative thread but all other details remain unchanged.

The official death toll from the fire is put at four persons who, at this time, still remain unnamed.