Great Old One Pt. 06

Annika lay alone in the room, tied to the table, her legs in stirrups. Her skin still burned from the incredible sex with the mysterious man named Nicholas who claimed to be over one thousand years old. Her bare exposed pussy was swollen, hot. She could still taste his salty cum. She called his name again, listening to her voice echo off the bluestone walls back at her. She reflected on the odd information he had given her and tried to make sense of it.

The door opened and Annika turned her head to see three women walk into the room. They were dour, heavyset and overweight, serious in grey maid uniforms. One held a galvanised steel bucket, Annika saw the next one hang a white lace dress up on the door and the final one stood at the door. She had a blunderbuss. Annika stared at the women and the weapon, her aching mind struggling with the odd puzzle. "Help me, please untie me!" she begged them and hated the pleading whine in her voice. "A man just raped me! Please, before he returns!"

The women did not speak to her. The woman with the bucket walked over and as if she was washing an inanimate object, took a square orange sponge from the soapy water and started to scrub Annika's sprawled legs. Annika asked her what was happening. She looked appealingly at the women, who ignored her, regarding her, and her fate, with indifference. It was this uncaring that stung and Annika - the woman who washed her wore bright yellow industrial rubber gloves, as if she were infectious or somehow sub-human - and she felt tears of desperation prick her eyes. "I think this Nicholas, or this old one, this tall priest or whoever, they are planning to kill me," she said as evenly as she could. The woman kept scrubbing up her leg methodically. "Please, you are women too...please help me here..."

Annika winced as the woman started sponging and douching her pussy, her touch was too firm and she was sore after Nicholas' large cock thrusting in hard repeatedly. This was humiliating and she saw the other women standing still, watching impassively. She closed her eyes tight, tears rolling down her cheeks. She bit back to urge to beg again. These women did not care. What did Nicholas say? He 'prepared' women for whoever The Great Old One was? Was this a part of the preparation?

The sponging moved to her ass and she whispered, "No, stop, no," but the wet rough round object kept loofahing into her ass cheeks, getting into her anus. It spread her rosebud, forcing in and twisting, thrusting up into her ass. Annika cried out a little, said no again. Tears spilled over again and then the sponge went away, she heard a splash of water and the soaked sponge was back, rubbing between her legs, the outside of her pussy and ass now. She opened her eyes, imploring the doughy faced older woman. Perhaps she did not know English? "El alto," she tried. "La pausa."

The women still did not react. "I beg your mercy," she whispered, defeated and the sponge came up her torso, ripping at her nipples and making her large breasts bounce. The woman attacked them as if they were an item of particular offence - or dirtiness - scrubbing hard and Annika squirmed, whimpering. Her pale breasts were turning a deep crimson as the large heavyset arm and hand kept rubbing. The rope under them pushed them upwards, making them look like they welcomed this punishment and they were bucking for more. "Hurting me," she gasped. "Please, no..."

Then the hand went to her shoulders, almost gently flipping her long platinum hair out of the way. Bewildered, Annika looked over to the dress, the women at the door, the blunderbuss. She wondered what was coming as the washer woman finished scrubbing her arms and flopped the sponge into the bucket. She dropped it on the floor and then looked meaningfully at the woman with the blunderbuss, who walked closer. The washer woman unbuckled the stirrups and said, "Still." Her voice was authoritative and commanding. Annika watched the gun, deciding to cooperate. The third woman walked over and used a large blade to cut a part of the rope. Annika said, "Thank-you," as it unravelled, releasing her torso. Angry red welts from the rope imprinted her pale skin where she had been bound.

The woman with the blunderbuss pointed the weapon at her and said, her face expressionless, "Stand."

Annika slowly sat up, aware of her nudity and how her body ached. The dampness from the sponge had dried and it left an unpleasant residue on her skin. It smelled like old fashioned soap flakes - harsh, nasty, fake clean smell. She stood up, her bare feet finding the concrete floor and planting down. Her legs shook as she stood and she was painfully aware of her pussy, her bare jiggling breasts. One of the women passed her the white lace dress and she did not need to hear the command to dress.

Annika thought it seemed like an antique wedding dress, with its high-neck and long lace arms. The skirts were ruffled, waving down from her hips. It had a zipper up the back and she attempted to reach it, surprised when one of the women drove it up for her. Without a bra, her large 8G breasts were free to move and she felt embarrassed again, standing before these sharp-eyed dour women wearing an odd wedding dress, her platinum hair in long gnarled tangles, chipped black nail polish and no underwear. Tears filled her eyes again and she gulped, maintaining her composure.

"Walk," the woman with the blunderbuss commanded and another woman opened the door. Annika felt nervous and hopeful as she was led into the dank small hallway. It had concrete floors and the same bluestone walls, round fluorescent lights running straight down the roof, lighting the way. She squinted, her temples throbbing and she could discern a lift - an old-style one with a cast-iron cage. Suddenly, a desire to see sunshine and breathe fresh air hit her. She had been afraid she would die in the claustrophobic room, restrained on the steel table, nude with her legs held open.

"Where is Nicholas?" she asked as they walked towards the lift. "Mr Bloodstone?"

The women looked sharply at her and one said, in fractured accented English, "You will call the Lord by his title, Lord Bloodstone."

Annika licked her lips, nervous. She averted her eyes as their eyes penetrated her hotly. "I am sorry," she said and they stopped at the elevator entrance. A woman slid open the door and they ushered her inside.

"Am I being taken to the Lord?" Annika asked. The three women ignored her. One woman pressed a button and the old elevator jolted to life. She stumbled and a strong hand grabbed her arm, steadying her - but also holding her still. "The Great Old One, am I correct? You prepared me?"

Two women glanced at each other. Imperceptible irritation passed through them in the dim elevator. Annika realised she was talking too much and the blunderbuss was shoved into her ribs. She took the hint, subdued and looking at her bare feet. She assessed her options. She had a small frame and was shorter than all three women. Even without the gun they could physically dominate her - but she might be quicker. She held this idea, demurely raising her face as the elevator churned to a stop and one of the women pushed open the cage door.

The woman with the blunderbuss pushed her in the small of the back and she walked, out of the elevator, and gasped. Nothing had quite prepared her for this...