Lilliphane groaned deep down in her throat, rolling her head in disbelief against the wooden framework.
The circulation was beginning to force its way back into her breast meat and the pain soon became blinding as the blood rushed in to banish the overall, aching numbness. She raged impotently as the gaoler dropped the height of the press with a crash, making her incandescent tits bounce as he lowered her position. He untied her ankles and kicked her feet apart, re-tying them to the bottom corners of the frame so that now her rump was pushed outward as she was forced to fold at the waist to accommodate the reduced standing height.
The princess shook her head in mute protest as she felt the grotesquely ugly gaoler's insistent fingers pry apart her sex lips from behind. The thick, rank smell of him smarted in her sinuses as she began to hyperventilate in her panic. She felt him lay his leather apron on top of her upturned hips as he positioned himself and then he was forcing his way in. His big hands encircled her waist, dragging her hips inexorably back on to him. The thick, ridged prick like an iron spike as he pushed through the well used labia, still somewhat gungy from her hours of masturbation.
Gorgo groaned his thick lips curled back form his big yellow teeth as he realised the dream of a lifetime. He leant back from the pelvis, placing all of the strain of his body weight on her wrists as he commenced to slam in and out with all of his might. He revelled in the internal warmth of her as he pistoned in and out of her expensive flesh, still unable to believe that he was actually fucking the king's baby sister – even if she was the palace whore.
Princess Lilliphane' tortured mind was reeling after more than an hour of flogging in the hellish dungeon and she felt herself in very real danger of plunging into deep, psychic shock.
The whole demonic episode just seemed to be going from bad to worse. Her life was being turned upside down and inside out. Only a few hours ago she had been sitting at the king's table celebrating at the most sumptuous banquet of the whole year. Nobles, squires, pages and footmen: all eagerly attentive to her every whim. Each vying to ensure that she was always entertained, her plate always full of the choicest delicacies and her goblet always brimming with the finest wine. Nothing was too good for the king's sister.
She had revelled in her licentious conduct at table with the young prince as she discreetly fondled him. Later, spending a delicious hour in her bedchamber in anticipation of his remarkable phallus and then he had come to her. His splendid cock had been all that she could have wished and his spunk, so thick and steaming with heat, just the way she had imagined it.
Then the unthinkable horror as he so casually raped her gullet. She had thought her last moments were upon her as her vision blacked out and she faded away with the blood pounding like all of Hell's hammers in her temples.
Then the whips! Lilliphane could not even begin to conceive how she had made it through the blistering pain, as the savage prince had excoriated the most delicate parts of her body. Even now, her skin seemed to sear and burn at every slight movement and it hurt to breathe.
And now, the foulest creature inhabiting the bowels of the keep, a rancid, ugly troglodyte of a man, was visiting the final ignominy upon her. A character so hideous, that he had been walled up in the dungeons years ago – along with all his mechanical horrors. Lilliphane shivered with revulsion as he was filled her up with his vile organ, huffing and puffing behind her as he sated himself. Groaning and shaking her hips as his shaft swelled and splashed his thick, hot jism into her.
Whilst Lilliphane was forced to endure the gaoler's seemingly endless orgasm, she was treated to the sight of the prince shooting his load into the treacherous countess as they writhed together on the racking table before her very nose.
The beautiful, flame haired Jessica, whom Lilliphane had always secretly envied for her boundless grace and vivacity, was wrapped around the satyr like a second skin. Her arms and legs encircled his massive trunk as he pounded her svelte body; her fingers crooked like talons, the gleaming red nails buried in his flesh, her feet locked around his back, the trim ankles crossed to imprison him.
Despite herself, Lilliphane felt a brief, unwelcome frisson of voyeuristic pleasure ripple through her vagina as the two sweating copulants flexed and panted before her. Between the satyr's spread thighs, the princess could see his organ plunging in and out of Jessica's fiery, red beaver, the blushing labia, swollen, fat and glistening, being stretched beyond belief by the inhuman tool. The countess' nether mouth leaking around the sides of the shaft as he bottomed himself in her, forcing out the cloying seed in thick, silver ribbons than ran slowly down to fill her anal cleft, the excess forming a large, spreading pool on the scarred oak beneath her.
The prince and the countess entered his chambers through the secret adit and dived straight into bed, where they remained, fornicating ardently until dawn. Only then did the exhausted Lady Jessica return to her own chambers; by which time the unfortunate footman had dragged himself off to his quarters, much puzzled and more than a trifle head-sore.
The prince lay in bed until early afternoon, well after the time that Lilliphane's mysterious disappearance should have been discovered. He enjoyed a leisurely bath and dressed in fresh linen before setting off in search of his bride-to-be, whom he found playing croquet with the queen and various ladies-in-waiting in the palace gardens.
Princess Flamia greeted her prospective husband somewhat coolly, but nonetheless allowed Vulkan to kiss her cheek as befitted his newly won status. As he bent close to brush his lips against her peerless young skin, Vulkan's senses were assaulted a rich, organic aroma that made the delicate membranes of his nose tingle and his mouth water – Flamia was menstruating!
The prince quickly considered and discounted a number of ploys to separate the princess from the group, so that he might strip her naked and feed upon the delicious essence flooding her sex. However, the situation was too exposed and so Vulkan was forced to fall back on the protection of autohypnosis to calm his suddenly buzzing appetite.
But being in such close proximity to so many gorgeous women soon took its inevitable toll and Vulkan began to find his eyes being drawn more and more down into the low cut bodices and over the thrusting rumps of the women as they stooped to swing their long handled mallets.
The Queen in particular, had a wonderfully soft, creamy looking cleavage that jiggled invitingly as she swung her shoulders with each stroke.
Once again, Vulkan was thankful for the knee length tabard he wore as his prick swelled and bulged within the murderously tight confines of his breeches.
In an effort to 'break the ice' between her stubbornly unwilling daughter and the saturnine, yet strangely magnetic prince, the queen dismissed Flamia's partner from the grass court and insisted that Vulkan pair with the princess to play out the rest of the match. And so it was that Vulkan spent a pleasant, but ultimately dissatisfying hour knocking the little, coloured wooden balls through the small metal hoops, whilst the queen did her exasperated best to fill the silences with all manner of innocuous small talk.
Fortunately, for Vulkan's slipping self-control, the game was ended prematurely by the approach of the seneschal who had come to report the apparent disappearance of Princess Lilliphane.
A hasty meeting of all available knights had been called by the king and a thorough, yet discreet search of the castle's many towers organised. For the sake of appearances, Vulkan volunteered to head up one of the search parties and soon found himself traipsing up and down the many flights of steps in one of the far most towers; a structure which seemed to be given over mostly to the storage of unwanted furniture and ancient artefacts.
In a small, flag draped hall at the base of the tower, Vulkan came upon a display of captured armour and weapons. He stopped in front of an imposing, if somewhat barbaric battle harness, running his fingers over the many stylised scales and plates.
"That suit was taken from the body of the foul Kragnar himself, war chief of the nomad raiders against whom the king led a great pogrom two summers ago," one of the accompanying squires proudly informed him, "note the primitive handiwork and the curious runes worked into the tooling – typical only to the raiders of the northern mountains."
Vulkan uttered a suitably impressed acknowledgement and as everyone moved away, he adroitly slipped a short bladed dagger from its cleverly concealed sheath beneath the armoured scales, that his sharp eyes had noticed as he had examined the piece.
Inevitably, the search of the keep yielded no sign of the princess, who was, at that very moment, lying belly down along the length of the flogging horse. Gargo had dragged her knees forward so as to expose her crotch and using strong ropes, firmly secured her wrists and ankles to iron rings set into the feet at each corner.
The gaoler assembled a few pieces of equipment on the floor behind her before going to look into her anguished face.
"Now then bitch," he announced nastily, "I'm going to clean you up a bit, ready for when Prince Vulkan gets back, not that I mind a bit of shit on the end of my cock mind you, but the prince now… well, he's a proper gentleman, so we're gonna flush you out with this." He dangled a length of tightly stitched leather tubing back-and-forth in front of Lilliphane's eyes,
Lilliphane gurgled wretchedly around the tongue clip, rolling her big green eyes and shaking her head in panic as Gargo bent to adjust the length of the horse's front legs. The princess vainly tried to pull herself free as the stocky gaoler adjusted the pegs to drop the front legs by six inches so that she found herself canted forward, her backside now above the level of her head. The gaoler disappeared behind her and planted a clutch of massive slaps on the fulsome buttock cheeks, cackling with delight as the princess reared up caterwauling at the unexpected pain.
Gargo selected a nine-inch length of curved, hollowed out antelope horn and screwed it narrow end first into Lilliphane's anus, only stopping when the horn was three quarters of the way in. As he worked, the princess let out another protesting gurgle, earning her a further round of ferocious slaps from the grinning torturer.
Next Gargo pushed one end of the tubing down through the centre of the horn and forced the other end over a small spigot in the bottom of a bucket, which placed on a stool beside him.
Lilliphane began to whimper in fear as she spied the bandy legged Tommy come up the steps from the sub-levels with a giant steaming kettle clutched in his knotty hands.
"Ah ha," shouted Gargo, "just in time Tommy – the princess was getting impatient for her toilet."
The gaoler took the kettle from the grull and poured the steaming contents into the bucket, adding a big dollop of foul smelling pepper oil from an old, chipped flagon and stirred the mixture around with a stick. Next, he lifted the bucket and hung it on a hook above the shaking woman's upturned arse.
The gaoler rummaged under his leather apron with his hand, pumping his rapidly hardening cock as he reached up and opened the spigot a crack. The hot infusion trickled slowly down into Lilliphane's open bowel, beginning to sear the tender tissues as the loosening mixture bubbled and roiled inside her.
The pain was indescribable and far worse even that the tit flogging Lilliphane had previously had to endure. With her tongue securely clamped, all she could do was vent her pain in a kind of hissing gargle as the sides of her belly pumped in and out in response to the monstrous agony.
Gargo stood transfixed as the woman's body flexed and shivered, her pelvis seeming to hump the flogging horse as if she were atop one of her many lovers. Her head came slowly back in an agonised arch, the taught, curving column of her neck flushed scarlet with strain as she gasped around the gag.
The gaoler shuffled up to her face, flipping the foul smelling apron over her head as he pumped his fist up and down his rock hard shaft until he ejaculated into her face in a great, heaving splash of hot seed. Lilliphane was powerless to prevent some of the stinking dollops from shooting into her mouth and could only lie there as the thick yield dripped from her bottom lip.
When he adjudged the right amount of liquid had found its way into her guts, Gargo yanked out the tube and stuffed a fat old cork into the end of the horn so that she was fully watertight. Then he untied her and dragged her down from the horse, slapping and cuffing her until she rested on her hands and knees. He plonked the bandy legged grull down on her back and had the unspeakable horror ride her around and around the dungeon chamber, the vile creature beating her sweating haunches with a switch whenever she seemed to be slowing down.
After half an hour of this unspeakable torture her knees and the tops of her feet had been scraped raw by the abrasive granite flags and the small of her back ached intolerably from the weight of the solid little gargoyle.
Lilliphane sighed with relief when Gargo called a halt and pushed a bucket under her arse – telling her to sit. The princess closed her eyes in shame as he reached down between her thighs, his thick fingers forcing apart her buttocks as he felt for the bung.
"Let's hope all that galloping about got most of last night's banquet," giggled Gargo unpleasantly, "or else its back on the horse and another hot infusion for Your Highness."
The cork came out with a 'pop' and to Lilliphane it felt as if the whole of her guts fell out into the bucket. Her breath caught in her throat as the foul smelling miasma rose up to envelope her. Desperately she fought to keep her gorge down for fear of choking on the vomitus, her mouth already partially blocked by the bulky tongue clamp.
Lilliphane gave a huge sob of relief when the hateful gaoler professed himself satisfied with the results of the enema. She even held herself still while he wrenched out the horn and replaced it with a fat wooden plug, before spread-eagling her against the wall and binding her to heavy black iron rings cemented into the ancient stone.
As she stood there, finally able to find some modicum of rest, she began to feel increasingly faint and feverish as the venereal ichors contained in the satyr's semen she had swallowed hours before began to do its dreadful work.
Prince Vulkan stood in the inky blackness of the void where it passed by Queen Amariza's sprawling apartments, his eye to the peephole as he watched the chambermaids undress their precious charge. Vulkan was once again naked save for his harness and his huge prick quickly grew to stand straight up against his belly muscle as he ogled Amariza's delightfully pear shaped arse and the long, pale sweep of her back and as she raised her hands above her head to let fall the long night gown.
Vulkan grinned cynically as he listened to Amariza confiding her anguish over the disappearance of her sister-in-law to her maids – she would be reunited with the royal whore soon enough, he promised her silently. The satyr waited impatiently until the departing maids had doused the candles and Amariza had been in bed a few minutes. His cock quivered with delicious anticipation as he carefully pushed open the tall bookcase trap and entered the bedchamber.
On softly padding feet, he moved to the door and turned the key in the lock with a metallic 'snick'. Then he took a big stride and leapt on to the bed, landing on top of Amariza and driving the wind out of her body as his better than eighteen stones in weight hit her solidly.