Chapter One

 

Every time they went to such a place it sent a tingling feeling through Harriet's body, gave a tightening in her throat, made her eyes widen in anticipation. Frightening yet exciting, horrific and fascinating, loathsome and yet irresistible.

They could have argued that the pouring rain had driven them in, but that would not have been true and whilst the other exhibits at the waxworks were interesting, Harriet and George knew what they really wanted to see.

The entrance to this part of the building hung heavy with darkness and menace, its black walls oppressive. At the end of the entrance corridor a fierce light shone from the right hand wall. It was eerie and mystifying how its search-light brilliance failed to penetrate into the corridor where George and Harriet were. It drew them to itself, like an irresistible magnetic force. It drew them to its beam where a man and a woman were already entrapped by its power. It was as if it was eating them. Their faces were flattened and featureless, lacking any of the usual lines of human flesh. The only parts of their face that showed anything of their emotions were their wide-eyed stares and their brilliant white teeth exposed by mouths that must have been grimacing in horror.

The couple struggled to tear themselves from the terrible light and the image that it held so brilliantly. The effort eventually succeeded but only thrust them into another fierce light where their bulging eyes took hold of its embedded horror. They struggled and tussled to get free of the vision and, in an instant, disappeared without trace. Harriet wondered if they had escaped or been consumed.

The way was left clear for Harriet and George to discover the cause of their distress. Harriet felt her chest tighten but her steps took her on inexorably. Light began to enter her darkness.

"Are you all right?" enquired George.

"Oh yes. I'm fine. Can't wait ... got butterflies."

She spoke without real interest in his enquiry, her eyes drawn into the light, looking for the vision of suffering.

First she saw the brazier glowing with hot coals. Next, the man, already turned away from the fire, his arm stretching out with its gift of a small dish-shaped iron. Along the leading edge of the small dish, talons stood fiercely sharp, glowing brilliantly red from their recent visit to the brazier.

Harriet's heart pounded in her chest as her staring green eyes travelled from the imagined intense heat of the iron, over the short, sizzling distance to its round, soft and tender, pink-tipped goal.

A captive young girl awaited the unwanted gift. She was kneeling, her ankles secured behind her in harsh wooden stocks. Each slender arm extended upwards and backwards, held by tight metal bands at her wrists. The chains from these continued the line of ascent, whilst the rope attached to the collar compressing her throat descended in opposing tension to the top of the securing ankle stocks. Her delicate body arched gracefully, offering her exposed mounds up to the fiery instrument.

The figure was alive to Harriet. She could feel the young girl's wriggling and squirming as if it was herself who was desperately trying to get free. It was, however, futile struggling. The flesh and the iron were destined to meet. The proof was clear from a previous uniting of the two. The marks on her breast signified the touch of the iron and the talons' lurid penetrations into the undefended succulent flesh.

Those talons would seek satisfaction until the torturer tired of her screams, leaving the signs of his work etched deep and long lasting about her soft yielding breasts. His victim would continue in dreadful pain. That pain would only fade with the slow passage of her days in these dismal dungeons. It might be that further, as yet unsampled, torture lay in wait for her, to impart a new agony over the fading distress of the first. A search to gradually increase her toleration of the torturer's special talents.

There could be no chance of escape. She would be held to the whims and pleasures of her tormentor until he decided she was of no more use to his evil desires.

Harriet took on these certain truths then went on to imagine George's fingers kneading her ample breasts with vigorous passion. The vision before her took her to new heights of lust.

It began to change in her mind, evolving to her being the tortured soul and George the torturer. The red hot talons closing in on her sensitive flesh, nipples standing hard, a wetness oozing from her body. She must give herself up to the pain and take herself higher still. She closed her eyes for a moment with agony and ecstasy a second away, heat and passion wrestling within her panting body to reach that glorious climax.

"You're not going to faint, are you?"

George took her arm and Harriet was returned to the real world with a deep sigh. "Ohhh no. I'm just fine," she said softly.

"Mmmm. You're a one, you are."

George wore a wry smile on his face as they slowly drew their attention from the exquisite exhibit, leaving the bound girl to entertain new voyeurs.

It took some effort for Harriet to get control of her erotic thoughts, her legs hardly able to function. Eventually her eyes and attention were drawn to other testing images.

Some of the scenes were even more horrific and the inventive cruelty never ceased to amaze and excite her. A man buried to his neck, another awaiting execution by being boiled alive. Yet another, this time a young woman, stretched to breaking point on the rack, her almost naked body bearing slashing cuts across it, her torturer holding the long whip high above his head ready to impose its ripping kiss again.

Harriet found herself lingering at this exhibit, fascinated and aroused by the struggle of the woman's body to adapt to the intense stretching being applied. She found herself pulling her stomach in and expanding her chest as if the ropes were biting into her wrists, dragging them further above her head. Despite the awful stretching of her body, her own huge breasts would not, she believed, be totally flattened as was the case with the emaciated waxwork of ribs and flailed skin.

"Phew."

Harriet pulled her body as taut as she could and realised she was getting quite carried away. She looked round to see if anyone was watching, but there was only George, a pleasing smile on his face.

"Let me get you home for a bit of sport, eh?"

"Not yet. Let me see the rest of the chamber and then I really will be good and hot for it." Harriet ran her hand down George's erect penis and pressed it hard against his own body.

He whispered to her, "If we spend much longer in here, I won't be able to contain myself."

Harriet chuckled as she rubbed her compressing hand along his great shaft, then took a grip, leading him by his cock to the waiting exhibits.

George thought he would split his trousers if he did not get his hands on her soon. Perhaps they could do it in a dark corner of the chamber of horrors, between the boiling pot and the rack.

Harriet released her hold as her attention was captured by the next scene of torture. This particular one was of a man secured to a wheel. The wheel was clear of the ground and its shaft disappeared through a bearing on the wall behind it. Slowly the wheel turned and thus the man was rotated. Standing in front of the tortured was the torturer, his whip ready to strike another blow. The many lashes had already ripped the victim's clothes to shreds, the cuts radiating in all directions and landing on every part of his body.

Harriet was not so impressed with the fact that his clothes had been shredded. She had always thought that victims were stripped naked so that any whipping or beating or branding or squeezing could have its full effect upon the flesh, not reduced or softened by material and padding. She accepted the exhibition would need to strategically place a wisp of thin cloth so as not to offend public decency, but in reality it would surely be ripped away, exposing the most exciting and the most sensitive areas to the unbridled and limitless variety of instruments of pain.

"Surely it must lessen the effect with those shreds getting caught up on the whip?" she enquired.

George was quick to say what she really meant. "You just want to see his cock waggling around as his body rotates."

Harriet gave a long satisfied moan as her imagination was set free. She softly whispered, "And of course the odd blow of the whip making it leap even more."

George had to swallow hard at this before replying. "A naked woman on there would be more interesting to me, with her tits swinging round and her love slit exposed by having her legs splayed wide, red stripes attacking her in all directions ..."

"STOP! STOP!" Harriet pleaded with him to release her from her torment. "It's definitely time to go home," she panted.

Harriet was glad to be helped from the chamber. She was feeling weak and unsteady, her panties soaking up the escaping liquid, her whole body throbbing with desire. George took her by the arm, steering her out into the daylight and into the car.

The journey home was fraught and full of crashing gears. Harriet was not making it very easy for George with her hand down his trousers, teasing the end of his penis with her sharp nails. The kerbs he mounted only served to make her nails dig harder into him and it was with some relief that he roared up the drive and skidded to a halt.

Her attention to his cock finished abruptly as she leapt out and raced up to the house, leaving George to shut the car door she had left swinging. She had got into the house while he was making his awkward way behind her.

Harriet began stripping off her clothes the moment she was through the front door and made her way across the huge open plan lounge. Central to the room, an open tread, black metal staircase stood with a clear area around it. By the time Harriet had reached this, her lustful needs had already got rid of her dress, petticoat, bra and shoes, all lying in disarray behind her.

Her gaze was fixed on those stairs with their metal rails and banisters going up each side. She did not go onto the stairs, however, merely standing at their base with the sense and the image of a sacrifice before the altar.

Without needing to look, her suspenders were unclipped. Her white panties, now a darker colour from the collection of her seeping fluid, rolled down her thighs. Cool air bristled her thick succulent pubic thatch. She skipped from leg to leg before being able to toss the dripping underwear away.

George, meantime, had made his way to a large chest positioned near the huge patio windows. From the box came a neat pile of coiled ropes, with a leather strapped ball-gag and a thin, pliable riding crop. He closed the curtains and switched the spotlight on, its fierce light focused on the stairs. He then made his way towards Harriet with his gifts for her desiring body. Her beautiful hips were exaggerated by her bending in half to remove the last stocking. Her long breasts hung full and inviting.

As George approached, she stood up and turned to him. Those swinging bouncing breasts beckoned him to give them the attention they yearned for.

Harriet backed up, feeling behind herself for the rails. She lifted her small white feet in turn to go up two steps, breasts quivering in expectation, eyes now fixed on the eyes staring back at her. Slowly, she sat down on the stairs. Her legs opened, revealing her dripping slit. A shivering sigh spurted more liquid from her. She was more than ready.

George put down all but one rope.

"No bandages today. The ropes can chafe at your flesh while you writhe in agony."

His words of menace brought no pleading from Harriet. Her legs spread wider to open her soft, wet inviting vagina.

George took one ankle and knotted the rope about it. The ankle was pulled the short distance to the rail, the rope being secured to one of the uprights. Another rope and the other ankle was soon secured to the opposite rail.

Harriet moved herself up one more step to extend her captured legs, her ankles twisting in their biting ropes. George walked along the side of the stairs, with Harriet leaning back to match his movements, watching him through her prison bars. Her slender arm extended up above her head, reaching out to the rail and her captor.

George soon had a tight loop on her wrist. Being a tall, strong man he did not have to reach up or use much strength to pull her arm to its securing point, stretching the muscles and sinews.

Harriet watched his progress, about her to secure the other wrist and, once done, looked down over her breasts, still full enough to offer her only a view between them to her expanded chest, flattened stomach, proud mound of pubic hair and wide-spread legs. She looked up at George, his hard cock bulging, wanting to escape his trousers and plunge into her.

And above his pulsing shaft, the crop was in his hand, ready to begin.

The swish ended with a loud slap as the crop end landed squarely on her hairy mound. Harriet let the moans drift into each other as the whip bit into her thighs with the slow yet powerful blows being delivered.

George watched the effect reddening the soft, bouncing flesh. Each one landed closer to the centre of his pleasure. A slash caught the edge of her sex lips, bringing the first yelp from Harriet and a look of fear. She gasped at the sharp sting of pain, but within a second was looking down to her glowing thighs, urging the whip to land again.

George brought the torture weapon down with only slightly less venom. The yell took a sharper tone before tailing back into her pleasured moans. Her body wriggled against the uncomfortable steps as much as it was able. The ropes creaked with her desperate wrenching, ankles and wrists supplying her need for stimulation now the whip was not landing.

George ripped his clothes off and plunged his great cock into her with urgent haste. The sudden weight of his body landed on Harriet, crushing her back into the sharp stair edges. The agony of this was overpowered by the thrust of his cock as it stretched the very limit of her vagina. His thrusts came fast and deep, pounding her body against the stair edges, stretching at her chafed wrists and ankles.

His final push exploded with a flood of hot fluid. Harriet's own orgasm was ready to come to its crescendo, but George hauled his great tool from her too quickly, leaving her to wriggle and writhe in frustration. She needed him to be inside her. She needed to get her hands free to bring herself off if he did not stay. She looked at him in desperation for more pounding of her body.

George stood up and began to walk up the stairs, his legs wide apart, treading each side of her inclined, tethered frame. His still solid cock waved excitingly before her. Harriet opened her mouth wide as the swinging weapon neared, its dripping tip bulging and needing the attention of her tongue.

The ball-gag was thrust into her gaping mouth and was met with a surprised and frustrated glare. George pulled her head up and secured the strap about it. Harriet's grunts continued as he withdrew down the stairs, taking his hard flesh away from her.

"I'm a bit hungry, so I'll see you later."

George wandered off to the kitchen, out of Harriet's sight. She wheezed and cried. So close to a climax and yet a million miles away. The edges of the stairs gave little help to stimulate her. She could not move enough to do anything except give out gargled calls for George to come back.

As for George, he was desperate to get back to her, but would wait until her calls for him had ceased. Her garbled words created in his mind the image of her as he had left her. He needed to come again, and soon. She just needed to come.

Harriet could find little calm for herself, rolling her head from side to side. Suddenly she sensed he was back and looked to see him standing wide legged, his cock rock hard and pointing at her. It reminded her of the mighty two-handed swords used for decapitation. It swayed ready to slice its way clean through her. She wished it would.

Before George could thrust into her again, he had to warm up those vast globes of hers. Moving up to stand between her legs, he began the slow rhythmical assault. The huge soft mounds yielded to the slashing blows of the riding crop, her moans joining with its loud slap as erotic feelings grew.

The thrashing continued until he was ready to enter her again and her breasts were glowing with the fire inside her. The rhythm was slower than his first intrusion. They would come together this time, in a blaze of emotion and deep satisfaction. The peak for Harriet following such harsh treatment was always far more explosive and dynamic than straight sex. The experience for George was second to none by a trip to the moon.

The dazed Harriet was released from her ankle and wrist restraints. Her supplier of ecstasy carried her easily up to their bed where he laid her gently down. She liked to keep the ball-gag stuffed into her mouth where she could maintain a sense of her recent treatment. She softly caressed her reddened, tenderised breasts, getting her nipples to rise. Fingers led down to her pubic hair and reached beyond to the wet sticky opening. She began to moan again.

George looked on, as he always did, remembering the excitement of whipping her responsive body. They would both enjoy less explosive intimate involvement during the night until sleep overtook them.