Satyra

Underworld of the Chevaan

Chapter 1

Devil's Bargain

Raising her head Satyra shook her head to clear it and flexed her fingers behind the wooden stocks. For the past two days she had tried to use her magic to free herself, without success. Now she tired again, focusing all her strength, her knowledge, her will, channeling them as she pinpointed her desire to sunder the metal bands holding her.

Nothing happened.

Satyra slumped back against the frame in defeat, but almost immediately she sensed a tingle in the air, a rising supernatural buzz that played over her skin like the flutter of a summer breeze. She lifted her head again, but she had no need to try to probe with her mystical senses – the source of the feeling was quickly obvious.

Without preamble a flickering blue flame sprang to life on the wooden floor before the trapped priestess. It burned only a few feet high, but quickly rose higher and higher until its ragged crest licked against the roof of the wagon. Satyra felt no heat form the gushing pillar of fire, and felt instinctively that the manifestation would not attract the notice of the guards outside as a common fire would have. This apparition was meant to be seen by Satyra alone.

With a sudden flurry the flame seemed to explode outwards, washing over the shackled woman without burning her, and from the middle of the cold fires, a figure emerged.

At first it seemed to a woman, but even the most cursory of inspections revealed it was a woman such as no mortal of the Roman Company escorting Satyra had ever seen.

Her hair was jet black, so black it almost seemed like a void gathered about her head, and fell in a long straight flow over her shoulders and halfway down her back, while the fringe was straight cut, as straight and sharp as a razor. Framed by that raven hair was a face of exotic beauty, with high prominent cheekbones, a long straight nose, full sensuous lips and large, hypnotic eyes. The lips, though, were black instead of red, and the eyes that settled on the captive woman were faintly glowing, lynx-like yellow. There was a mark of cruelty in those eyes that struck Satyra at once. On either side of her forehead parting the raven hair sprang two horns; but where Satyra's were ones of curling ivory hue and shaped like those of a ram, these were formed by two straight lines rising up at about 45 degrees for half a foot, before angling sharply back again for a slightly shorter length. They ended in two wicked points facing each other.

She was tall, fully as tall as the 5'10 priestess, with long tapering legs and slender body, Where the Chevaan's skin was a rich golden hue, the newcomers was crimson red that contrasted sharply with the barbaric golden jewelry adorning her arms, wrists, and slender ankles. She was naked from the waist up, her smooth belly bare to the world and her pert, full breasts open to all viewers, their blue peaks tipped with tight, hard nubbins that were so dark they were almost black. One of the nipples was pierced by a golden ring. Below the waist she was clad only in two shimmering purple silk clothes that were strung from a golden chain about her waist and fell down between her legs at the front and back, revealing a plentiful expanse of her smooth thighs and the dimples of her tightly molded derriere at the rear. The purple was not quite translucent, but it hinted at the beings intimate regions nestled betwixt those lovely legs.

The face below those midnight tresses regarded Satyra with a cold mirth. As the flames died away the newcomer padded over to the helplessly bound priestess, the exaggerated sway of her hip conveying a mocking tone to her demeanor.

"Well, they have got you in an interesting position," said the red woman, and her voice was deep and rich. She approached until she stood a few feet in front of Satyra, hands on her hips. The priestess's limbs were trembling continuously with the strain of having to take almost her full weight on her shoulders and the quadriceps in her legs. Her position forced her body to bend at the waist as her shoulders and knees were pulled behind her, and the effect was two fold. First, her large breasts were presented magnificently, thrust forward proudly I front of her. Second, her legs were spread wide enough to make her crotch a hard flat space below her belly, the lips under their adornment of ginger fluff hanging free in space over the floor. Her whole figure was covered in a soft film of sweat from the exertion. "I imagine that must be quite uncomfortable."

Satyra looked up into those yellow eyes, blanching slightly at the malevolence she saw in them. 'Whoever you are,' the priestess whispered, 'help me before the guards find us together.'

The red woman laughed, her head thrown back and her breasts quivering as she chuckled. 'Have no fear of that, my pretty one,' she said. No Roman will interrupt our conversation unless I will it so. As to my name?' She paused and smiled more widely as those golden eyes glittered. 'You may call me Sadiste.'

Satyra grimaced at the woman's humorless laughter; something about it felt like being leered at by the soldiers outside. Her manor became less desperate and more guarded. 'You're no Roman,' the priestess asserted. 'What are you doing here?'

Sadiste wandered over to the shackled woman, reaching out to run a hand over Satrya's painfully stretched arm. 'I'm here to see you, of course,' the red-skinned newcomer said, still smiling. 'After all, this entire episode has been largely due to interest in you.'

'What do you mean?' asked Satyra, but a cold realization was already forming in her mind.

'There are those I serve who are very interested in you, and your abilities,' Sadiste explained. Her long nailed fingers twined in the satyr-woman's copper hair. 'Our influence among the Roman's made it easy to prompt them to move against your tribes-people, and from there it was only a matter of time before you found your pretty self in such a…bind, shall we say?' Sadiste smiled again, looking the prisoner's naked torso up and down. Her eyes glowed ore brightly. 'I must confess, the last minute rescue in the forest by that black-haired trollip was unexpected, but I believe I improvised brilliantly – especially the bit where my magicks hid the approach of those Roman clods while you and Conine where having your little tryst in the lake.'

'You heartless bitch!' Satyra spat angrily, shaking her head to free her hair from her visitor's grasp. 'Everything that happened to our sisters, to Conine; it was all you!'

'Well, yes,' Sadiste answered with a shrug. Her hand whipped back, this time grasping Satyra's jaw and forcing her head up so she looked into those glowing yellow eyes. 'I have to confess, watching your black haired lover scream on the end of Gracus' prick was an unexpected bonus. I suppose I could have appeared much sooner, but she looked so pretty being raped. And there was no chance of you using your poor powers to help her – another little spell of mine saw to that.'

'Slut!' Satyra spat angrily.

'She moaned like one certainly, Sadiste chuckled, playing on the priestess' words. 'And now, my little one, we bring ourselves to your own fate.'

'You can't frighten me,' Satyra answered, staring back defiantly.

'You, don't think so? You may think that gang-fucking in the forest when you were captured was bad, but I assure you once you get to Rome they'll have your shrieking like a stuck pig for hours on end. They have tortures and degradations that even our folk find impressive.'

'And who are your people?' Satyra asked.

Sadiste leaned in closer. 'The dark powers have many servants. I work for one of them – a particularly voracious Demon Lord who prefers that your sisters' example of feminine dignity remains trampled beneath the boots of men sympathetic to his…appetites.' Sadiste moved so close her breath tickled the Chevaan's cheek. 'And he's very interested in making your personal acquaintance, my dear.'

Satyra struggled to control her anger as her tormentor's hand held her head back while she nuzzled against the red-haired woman's neck. 'Why me,' she asked in a choked voice.

'You power are unique,' Sadiste answered, stepping forward so her body pressed up against the prisoner's in the stocks. 'You heritage makes you a channel for the powers of the whore-goddess your sisters revere.' The demoness free hand reached up to cup Satyra's full breast, squeezing gently. The prisoner shuddered but could do nothing to prevent the touch. 'Your joining our ranks will greatly diminish her influence her among the mortals, and increase our own.'

'I'll never join you,' Satyra vowed icily.

Sadiste's grip on the captive's tit increased just enough to become painful, making Satyra wince. She kissed the red-head's smooth neck. 'We can be very persuasive,' she whispered.

Satyra fought to overcome her rage and think clearly as Sadiste continued to explore with her hands. They were hot on the prisoner's soft skin as they brushed over the peak of her breast and slid down her stomach in a mockery of tenderness. 'I know enough of your foul kind to know that you cannot take me from this place without my consent,' she said.

Sadiste chuckled as she moved her hand around to grasp Satyra's tight rump. She pulled back a little to again meet the satyr-woman's gaze. 'It would be fun to find out just how long that defiance lasts in the face of what Gracus has planned for this body,' she mused, 'but time presses, and my Lord is not well-known for his patience. Perhaps an alternative form of persuasion would be expedient.'

Moving around behind the bound girl while keeping one long red leg twined high about Satyra's waist, the demon-woman waved her hand in the air before the prisoner. Blue flame again rose from the wagon floor, but this time instead of a new arrival, an image took shape.

'Conine,' Satyra gasped, seeing her lover amidst the flames.

*****

Conine blinked and opened her eyes. She heard steps approaching from the side of the table. They were slow, measured step and somehow filled her with a sense of growing dread as they came closer.

A soldier appeared in the circle of light around the rack. He was dressed in tunic bottom and helm and carried a heavy iron ladle, so large he had to carry it with both hands, the bowl of which was filled with something that bubbled and steamed. As the Chevaan watched the man, he came to stand level with her up-thrust breasts, smiling like a fiend as he kept his eyes riveted to those two glistening orbs.

Conine's breath quickened again as she stared up from the wooden torture table at the ladle and its hidden contents. The heat emanating form the lower edge of the container could be felt clearly on her skin even though the metal was poised a good twelve inches above her. She struggled again against the pull of the chains holding her spread-eagled and was surprised to find the tension had eased slightly, though the ache of her brutally wrenched muscles and ligaments continued to torment her. Before she could wonder at this seeming mercy, however, a drop of the liquid contents of the ladle was spat over the side and landed on her right arm.

The pain was startling, a sudden burning shock that cut through the constant suffering of her joints like a knife. The ladle was filled to the brim with some kind of thin oil heated to boiling. The full horror of what was about to happen flooded through the proud beauty, her flashing blue eyes rimmed all round with white as the soldier tipped the ladle gently to one side and began to pour.

For a split second the yellowish liquid was suspended in the space between the metal holder and the soft curve of her bosom. Then the spatter of boiling oil splashed against the upward slope of her breast like lava.

'NNNNHHHHHhhhh!!!' A voice that had never given such an utterance on the rack now choked out a strangled cry of agony as the liquid bequeathed a searing kiss to her tender mammary. Compared to the heat of the oil the whipping had been a sweet caress. Conine's large eyes were no more than a scrunched line as her long lashes mashed tight, and her body shuddered awfully as the pain washed over her.

With terrible precision the man with the ladle moved the instrument carefully. The rain of scalding liquid shifted its target, cascading down directly onto the tit-globe's erect red nubbin.

'EEEEUUUUuuuuuNNNN…NNNN….NNNNRRRRRRRR!!!!!' The pain was unbelievable, as if the Roman fiends had planted a red-hot poker against her flesh. Conine's entire body spasmed mightily, lifting clear of the table in an upward curving arch of gorgeous femininity. Her mind was ablaze with the terrible agony of her scorched nipple as the oil continued to sizzle against the sensitive nerves clustered in her swelling chest mound.

From his chair Gracus leaned forward to enjoy every detail of the display with glee. The easing of the tension on the table's chains allowed the prisoner to writhe exquisitely, and this Chevaan slut was putting on a magnificent show. The tortured athletic frame on the rack heaved and shook so that the entire exquisite composition of lean muscles, shining smooth skin, long tapering legs, flat midriff and blessedly large firm tits performed a cock-stiffening dance macabre, accompanied by the strangled cries bubbling between those as-yet still clenched teeth. As the man with the ladle continued to move his tool the burning liquid showered down over the sensitive underside of that rigidly defined love-orb, causing the victim to crash back down onto the wooden table again as she thrashed and heaved, straining with muscles already wrenched with pain and multiplying her suffering threefold.

The rain of scalding liquid shifted, and the oil splashed now over the lower quarter of the prisoners trembling bosom. Fresh half-choked cries of anguish echoed through the torture chamber as the heat washed over the sensitive underside of the tit. Gracus knew that a woman's breast flesh was often far more tender here, used as it was to being covered far more than the upper part of the mammary. His insight was rewarded by the Chevaan warrior twisting wonderfully in her restraints; lips pulled back form white teeth in a rictus of pain that only enhanced the beauty of her features in the general's eyes.

On the rack Conine continued to struggle hopelessly against her bondage while the terrible searing deluge snaked down over her boob and continued lower, washing her sternum and the flat plain of her abs with its fiery touch. Tears welled freely in her eyes, which were closed tight against the horrible pain. She gasped and tried to catch her breath but the torture was constant, the pain in her scorched tit-flesh as fresh and clear as the moment the oil had first found her budding nipple. As the ladle progressed further down her form her body became a canvas of torture on which the Romans painted a portrait of epic cruelty.

By the time the burning sludge pooled in the cavity of her navel she could no loner think clearly through the red haze stabbing through her mind, but understood instinctively the final destination of the molten flame. She managed to lift her head as her belly was added to the list of tormented flesh, willing herself to stare down as the ladle dipped and swayed and scattered burning drops amid the sweat shiny thatch adorning her pubis.

It was a moment of exquisite cruelty for Gracus, the proud warrior staring wide-eyed but still defiant at the ladle of hot liquid poised majestically over her most intimate region, the parted red lips offering no protection to the vulnerable quim meat within. For an instant she waited with her breasts quivering with the fight to control her breathing, to hold onto some shred of dignity in the face of her conquerors.

The ladle dipped again.

The oil fell through space.

Conine's clenched fist drew beads of blood form her palm.

The first drops of the fiery liquid spattered against her inner lips and trickled down into her cunt.

At that flaming touch on her womanhood, Conine lost the battle against the pain washing over her. Her mouth opened wide, her head arched back; her diaphragm flattened as the agony ripped free form her in a single, tearing sound.

'EEEEAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!! '

The watching soldiers were witness to a site such as they had never seen, the exquisite creature on the rack transformed into a goddess of suffering. Her lank back hair was cast back and her red lips stretched wide as the scream and its brethren erupted from her. Her body thrashed so violently it seemed even that muscular body must tear itself apart in the fury of her convulsions. She heaved, trembled, fell back, rose again, all the time screaming, choking, shrieking.

*****

'Stop this,' Satyra groaned. 'She's done nothing to harm you.'

'Nor I to her,' Sadiste purred. 'These images are of the past, things that have already occurred. Shall we see more?'

Amidst the flames, the image swirled and changed.

*****

One of the men came over carrying the bucket of nails and the large, well used wooden mallet. Conine struggled afresh and men strained to hold her in place. When he was standing over her, the men holding her arms moved suddenly, hauling Conine off her back just enough for another soldier to shove the wooden beam she had been lashed to back under her. Then the men slammed the Celtic woman back down hard, jarring her shoulder blades against the timber as they planted her arms along the length of the beam on either side. The men holding her legs grunted as she tried to use those long limbs to get leverage to push up with.

'Right,' said the centurion. 'There are only six of us, and it seems our guest is feeling uppity again.' He rubbed his chin. 'Hmmm.'

'We could rape her a bit, sir,' one of the men holding her arms offered. Conine stared heavenward and closed her eyes. 'That might take some of the fight out of her.'

'Good idea, Rufio; but we don't want her worn out when the real fun starts. I've another suggestion.'

'You, boy,' the centurion barked at the man holding the bucket and mallet. 'What's your name?'

'Quintus, sir,' said the young soldier, coming to attention fro his open mouthed appraisal of the woman on the ground. He was younger than any other in the detail, about twenty years old with a fresh, unscarred face with high cheekbones and a strong chin. Stripped to the waist his body was well muscled but leaner than the bulkier frames of his fellows. His hair beneath his helm showed curly black and his eyes were deep brown.

'Ever seen a woman like this up close, Quintus?' asked the centurion.

'Only in the pens in the keep, sir,' answered the boy. 'My family could not afford slaves back outside Capernaum – that's one reason I joined the legions, sir, to see the world outside Italy.'

'Well, you'll see some interesting parts of it today,' guffawed the centurion. 'Now see here, lad – we need to keep this murderess of Roman men pinned while we get her spiked down. Reckon you're up to it alone?'

'Alone?' said the youth. 'I'm not the strongest here, sir…but if you order it, of course.'

'Good lad!' said the older man, slapping his back. 'Put those down and kneel down over the prisoner, legs astride her hips.'

From below Conine looked up at the young troopers face staring down at her with a young man's frank lust, a sight she had seen many a time in the villages as she walked past in her armor but never before had experienced as a helpless victim. In her twenty six years she had often had to gently rebuke the young men of her kin for their unintended insult to her warrior pride, though some she had actually warmed to later and condescended to take into her bed, instructing them in the art of love and in return enjoying their youthful passion and fire. The helmeted stripling straddling her could have been any of those with his handsome looks, but instead of her deciding on his sexual fate she was the method of his education; not in love, but in rape and torture. She struggled afresh, trying to lever him off, but in vain, and the men chuckled anew. This was another aspect of her humiliation, she understood – she was to be used like a broken mare to give experience to this dry mouthed young Roman, his first taste in sexually violating a free woman. Conine could see the eagerness mixed with nervousness in his brown eyes and knew the soldier sitting on her would blanch form no order the centurion gave. He saw her with a little humanity as he would a deer in trap – a trophy to be had.

The centurion had Quintus take hold of Conine's arms just above the elbows, using the weight and strength of his upper body to keep her forced down against the wood, while still hovering outside her essence. The men on her arms eased their grips a little, and straight away the young man atop the prisoner had to exert more force to old her down.

'That's it Quintus, one called,' as his hands grasped the iron like swell of her biceps. Her back arched up a little to try and throw him off as both prisoner and soldier began to seat with their efforts.

'Now, young Quintus,' called the centurion hoarsely. 'Start to push into her.'

Quintus sough to obey with an awkward job that skewed off Conine's tight clenched entry. He cursed and repositioned himself, trying again.

On the ground Conine fought with increasing desperation to keep the young man outside of her body. With each attempt she could feel him pushing a little deeper and she closed her eyes as she concentrated on fighting with all her strength. The youth looming over her sickened her with his vulgar excitement, his handsome face and body yet another mockery of her as he proceeded to violate her, to use her against her will.

Conine glanced to her left and saw the man there had let go her forearm to position one of the steel spikes just at her wrist, the other hand raising the mallet into position. His knee had moved to help pin her arm at the elbow beside Quintus grasping fingers, now deeply embedded in her flesh despite the hardened muscle beneath. She could se him raising the mallet; fee the steel tip against her skin at the gap in the arm greave. With a sweep the mallet arced over the man's head and came down with a dull thud against the head of the spike.

Instantly the metal pierced the soft flesh, rupturing the skin in a small shower of crimson blood and pushing though to the far side of the arm limb, where it was stopped by the wood of the beam. Small bones splintered as it force its passage and stopped with a shock.

'NNNNNeeeaaaaarrrrrrhhhhh!' grunted Conine, a sound of pain beyond any she had uttered on the battle field. Her young body spasmed and she reared against the wood, fighting for freedom from the pain and finding none. Quintus gasped again as the force of her writhing pushed her against him, burying herself deeper on his own spike as she sought to twist free of the other.

'Great Jupiter!' exclaimed the lad, and the centurion laughed. He had never felt a woman's pussy wrapped about him with the same fire as that of the Celtic prisoner, and he could feel her breasts mashed against him as she struggled. He watched Polonius swing again and smiled.

THWAK!

'AAAAAARRRRRRHHH!' came Conine's scream, a loud, bestial explosion. The metal had pierced her wrist entire now and was pushing into the wood. The pain was beyond description – her whole body seemed to be drawn into the acid fire in her forearm, where her body was being mutilated by her captors. She thrashed about, the men having to wrestle with her strength now doubled by the extremity of her pain. Tears flowed freely. She fought for breath.

*****

Watching her beloved's torture and violation, Satyra shook with racking sobs. 'You fucking monster,' she cursed at the smiling demoness.

'Such language,' Sadiste said with a laugh, amber eyes shining. 'And you a priestess. Perhaps you'll be more grateful if we see what your brave defender is 'up to' now.'

Again the image shifted.

*****

The moon crested the sky in a silver haze. It painted its white glow on the tops of the mountains lying in the middle distance. It fired the tops of the clouds drifting across the horizon. The soldiers standing duty outside the border keep on the frontiers of the empire looked up at its heatless light and drew their cloaks against the night chill.

For the prisoner hanging on the cross, the moon signaled the beginning of another night of pain.

A day on the wooden frame had taken its toll on the tall warrior woman. After the humiliation of the soldiers rape of her they had dragged to the A frame, hoisting her up while the men had used their hammers to drive more nails through the tops of her booted feet, laughing as she tried to choke back her screams as the metal spikes punched through bones and flesh and pinned her to the hard wood crossbar. The men had cheered at the spectacle of that athletic body heaving as the nails ripped her flesh. But that had only been the beginning of the warrior woman's ordeal.

For Conine the passing of time was measured only by the repeated need to pull down on the bar, draw breath, let the bar rise. Over and over, and endless, terrible cycle. Sweat had formed on her body as she fought the terrible lingering execution of the cross.

After an hour her whole magnificent form had been covered with a sheen of sweat that highlighted every smooth surfaces and rounded curve. Every few minutes the Roman's were treated to the spectacle of watching the barbarian female flexing her well molded limbs, her face showing the signs of ever mounting agony as she hauled down on the bar. As her biceps swelled and the muscles of her shoulders stood out like cables beneath her bronzed skin her magnificent chest would swell, the majestic peaks of flesh expanding outwards as she sucked air into her lungs, wobbling gently as she gasped for air.

The latter half of the day had passed as a lingering nightmare for the warrior woman. Pain was her constant companion, mixed with humiliation and festering, impotent rage. Her body hurt more than any time in her life, more even than on the rack, and her thirst had become maddening. Flies had buzzed around her head, landing on her to feed off the salt in her sweat and sometimes the blood of the wounds on her arms. Her brain pounded unceasingly inside her skull.

By the time the sun had begun to set in a red and orange crescendo behind the western horizon the female on the cross was half dead, her body performing the actions that allowed her to continue breathing as mechanical repetition, barely enough to keep her alive. Any other woman in her position would have become exhausted and suffocated hours ago, but Conine was cursed now with the stamina and willfulness of her warrior heritage. She would not surrender to her inevitable fate before her body had failed her.

Now it was night. Pummeling heat had been replaced by a slight chill. The wind blew across the hilltop and ruffled Conine's now matted hair.

'Oh please,' Satyra sobbed, straining towards the flickering image of her lover's suffering. 'Pease let me help her.'

Sadiste smiled like a cat stalking its prey. 'But of course, my dear. There's no need for your darling to suffer further.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Just submit to our service and she will be instantly free.'

Satyra's voice caught in her throat. 'I…I can't do that. Anything else, name it an I'll…'

'There is nothing else of yours we want,' Sadiste cut her off. 'But don't worry, you'll have another few days to change your mind, while your lover bleeds and is fucked by the Romans.' She smiled again, hideous mirth in her words.

Satyra wavered, her lovely face a mask of anguish. Tears welled in her emerald eyes, but she turned away. 'I won't,' she whispered. 'Conine, forgive me, my love.'

Sadiste placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes skyward. Priests! She thought, disgustedly.

'Alright, my sweet one' she said at last. Reaching around she cupped Satyra's chin in her hand so she could raise her head to see her face framed by its two curling horns. 'I'll make a bargain with you.' Satyra stared up at the demoness through her tears. 'I'll give you the chance to save your lovely partner, but in return, you must give me the chance to change your mind about joining us.'

'What do you mean?' the Chevaan woman asked, hope struggling with suspicion in her mind.

'Just this, brave Satyra; I will enable you to speak with dear Conine and help her to free herself – not to free her, mind you, but to give her strength enough to aid her in her own attempt.' Sadiste smiled and leaned so close her back horns brushed Satyra's red hair. 'In gratitude,' she said with a purring voice, 'you will consent to be my Lord's guest in the Underworld. If you can endure a number of…trials, without agreeing to serve him, you will be released.'

Satyra once again felt a cold dread settle around her heart. 'What sort of trials?'

'Oh, very painful ones, you may be sure,' Sadiste promised. One long nailed red hand came up and stroked the prisoner's cheek. 'We specialize in torture in the Underworld, and I'm sure I can think up some very imaginative ones for such a brave beauty. My brothers in hell would welcome the chance to play with this body.' She stared lasciviously at Satyra's narrow waist, athletic arms and legs, and her flat stomach below the round full breasts with their pink nipples. The horned red-head blanched. 'Come now,' Sadiste chided, 'such a headstrong, dedicated priestess as you can surely endure a little torture without breaking. Especially,' she added softly, 'if it's to save your beloved.'

Satyra's breathing quickened – hanging in the stocks she could see the cruelty mixed with lust shining in Sadiste's lovely, evil face. The smile on those full dark lips was one of pure malevolence, and she quailed at the thought of what fiendish torments this red-skinned devil-woman would inflict on her. But to save Conine… 'How many torments,' she asked.

Sadiste smiled wider. She had the mortal slut now. 'Six,' she said off-handedly. 'It's my favorite number.'

Satyra swallowed, thinking about what she had already endured, but more on what her warrior-lover had endured on her behalf. She knew that if Sadiste had her in her power that her agony would unspeakable, and that she would be risking not only her soul but her sister's sacred connection to the Goddess. But she had no choice.

'I agree,' she said finally. 'Let me help Conine, and then do with me as you will.'

'Oh, I shall,' Sadiste replied. 'But first,' she added, touching a finger to her sable lips, 'your promise.'

Satyra grimaced but leaned forward, straining against the wooden stocks until she was able to brush the demoness' lips with her own. Sadist smiled rapturously.

'Such a full, soft mouth,' she cooed, eyes closed. She opened them and looked at the prisoner. 'Its screams will be as delicious as its kisses.'

Satyra spat the brief taste of her tormentor out on the floor, and then looked at her defiantly. 'Now let me help her,' she growled.

'As you command,' agreed Sadiste, and promptly knelt down in front of the girl in the stocks, letting her hands slide down over her waist as she settled facing the prisoners soft pink crotch.

'What are you doing,' gasped Satyra, staring down her body at the smiling she-fiend.

'Helping you,' the red demoness replied. 'Your magic is weak thanks to my spell.' She ran the flat of her palm over Satyra's Venus Mons, massaging it. 'You need some woman-power.'

Satyra's horned head fell back as she felt Sadiste move her hand so her fingers brushed her labia, teasing the lips apart. She closed her eyes and scowled, forcing herself to think of helping Conine.

'Do you know the Roman's call this device you're in the 'fuck-cradle', 'Sadiste purred softly, glancing up at Satyra's face. The priestess' all-green eyes had a yearning look and her red lips were parted as she took short, shallow breaths. 'Alas I have no prick myself, but I'm sure you'll nonetheless find my attention adequate.'

The first brush of Sadiste's lips against her quim brought the priestess a sudden rush of warmth, suffusing her with energy. She gasped, letting the power emanate through her, building in potency as the she-devil nuzzled her pouting cleft and used her tongue to trace the outline of her inner lips. She could feel the tips of Sadiste's horns pricking the underside of her breasts as the hellion worked her tongue past her entrance, probing lustfully.

Satyra's heart was hammering inside her chest. The pain of her bondage did not ease, but the sensations radiating from between her legs superseded all other thoughts. 'She focused on that growing heat, using it's fire, reaching out with her thoughts. 'Conine,' she whispered, picturing the memory of the warrior-woman's own soft mouth lapping at her cleft, drawing courage from that happy thought. 'Hear me, my love.'

Suddenly Sadiste paused in her ministrations. 'Thinking of another woman while you're with me?' she asked sarcastically, looking up at the pinioned half-satyr. 'That's naughty, Satyra. I'm afraid I'm going to have to scold you.'

Satyra looked down between her breasts as Sadiste reached around to cup her backside with her taloned hands. The nails on those fingers scratched painfully, but the red-head quickly forgot that as Sadiste smiled again, revealing for the first time her pointed fangs.

Oh, Goddess, thought the helpless priestess.

Sadiste laughed, and then lunged for Satyra's red tufted pussy, canines flashing.

'AAAAARRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!'

Underworld of the Chevaan

Part II

Vision of Cruelty

'AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!'

Satyra's cry cut through the night as the demoness' fangs bit deep into the soft folds of her pubis. The mound between her legs was pinioned between the powerful jaws as the beautiful prisoner heaved in her bonds.

Sadiste smiled to herself as she felt the priestess' blood mingling with her feminine juices. Even as she continued to use her teeth on the young girl's woman-flesh she probed once more with her tongue, lapping diligently at Satyra's soft pussy lips.

After her initial scream Satyra kept her cries to muffled sobs, a task all the more difficult because of the perverse way her tormentor used her mouth to bring both pain and pleasure. The agony of feeling the hellion's fangs savaging her most intimate flesh was heightened by the humiliation caused by the feelings of arousal generated by Sadiste's flickering tongue as it delved past her labia and probed around the tight bud of her clitoris. Sadiste pursed her lips and quivered in the stocks as the red skinned woman's hands clasped her buttocks firmly, pulling her forward as she chewed and licked. She could feel the blood dripping down her thighs as the stocks kept her spread pubic region hanging helplessly.

'You taste delicious,' Sadiste murmured, pulling back a little to stare up at Satyra's lovely face between the rams horns that curled either side of the Chevaan's head. 'Now to send you to your brawny lover.' She dipped her head forward again, her pink tongue diving between the folds of Satyra's cunt.

Satyra gasped as her all-green eyes flew wide, waves of power erupting from between her legs. She felt the magic coursing through her, carried by a peak of wild sexual energy, and had to fight the urge to surrender herself to that surge. Instead she focused on the sight of Conine hanging agonizingly on the Roman cross, dying horribly, as the swelling eruption in her womanhood burst over her, making her arch in the stocks, trembling and groaning…

Abruptly Satyra fell forward, totally limp.

Sadiste sat back on her haunches and gazed at the lovely bronze body while she licked the blood from her lips. One hand strayed to her full, crimson breast as she inspected anew the prisoner's own full mammaries with their jutting peaks, and the moist cleft beneath Satyra's thatch of copper pubic hair, the inner lips still just peaking playfully beyond the bitten labia. She smiled and let her taloned hand float down beneath the purple gauze that was all that covered her own crotch.

Abruptly, the wagon door flew open. A young Roman soldier stood in the opening, gripping a pilum and staring in amazement at the horned, red skinned lovely kneeling in front of the orange-haired prisoner, playing with herself shamelessly.

Sadiste looked at the young soldier, her pupil-less yellow eyes glowing. She smiled wider.

***

Conine tried to wet her now cracking lips, but her tongue was dry and felt swollen. She trembled with the effort of pulling down the bar. She felt light-headed, and the firelight danced at the corner of her vision.

Suddenly the orange light seemed to expand, filling her gaze. The crucified woman lifted her head a little, half-closed eyes seeing a shape forming in the air before her. As she watched, wonder driving the constant pain momentarily from her mind, the shape took on the aspect of a woman. Soon, the priestess Satyra floated in front of Conine. She was nude, her splendid body swathed in soft orange glow, her hair falling in gorgeous foaming curls over her shoulders and back, the two curling rams horns either side of her head glinting like polished ivory. Her all green eyes shone with tears.

'Oh my love,' she said, her voice anguished, 'my poor, poor love.'

Conine smiled a little, blinking back her own tears. 'I hoped you would come for me, when it was time.'

'Yes my darling, I've come,' answered the vision, reaching out a hand and stroking the warriors strong, beautiful face, 'but not for the long journey, not yet. I've come to help you escape.'

As Satyra's ghostly hand touched her, Conine felt new strength and awareness flowing through, like the warmth of strong drink. The constant pain and struggle for breath seemed to have vanished. She opened her mouth to speak, but Satyr set two long finders against her lips.

'Listen, my love, I have little time. I cannot use my magic to free you, but I can give you a chance, your only chance. It will be hard, but you must take it. Listen.'

***

Sadiste waved her hand at the young Roman, a simple, elegant gesture. The yellow light in her eyes flared fractionally brighter. 'Come in and close the door,' she said softly.

The man blinked, then obeyed without question. He still held his weapon, but as he approached the demoness where she stood looking at him over her shoulder his stance was no longer one of surprise or suspicion; more that of a servant waiting idly for a command.

Sadiste smiled, closer she could see the soldier was in his mid-twenties, in stature no taller than herself and Satyra but with the physique of a fighting man. 'Leave your things and come stand behind me,' she ordered, and the man did as he was told, dropping his pilum and shield to the ground.

Once the Roman was standing up against her Sadiste reached around and drew his arms around her body, placing his hands on her belly and hips. She eased back a little, rubbing gently against him, one hand moving to touch a buckle on the shoulder of his armor. 'You won't need these either,' she whispered.

Instantly, impossibly, the man's armor and clothes fell away, as if he had donned them without tying any fastenings. He stood naked except for his leather arm braces, his sandals, and his helmet, the last which Sadiste now reached up and gently pulled free to reveal his thick curling black hair and well formed face. 'Lovely,' she purred, snuggling back against him and smiling as she felt the jab of his erect member against the curve of her backside. He had a healthy length to his manhood, and it stiffened even further at the feel of her red skinned body pressing against him.

Sadiste hands moved around behind her, running over his firm torso and the muscles of his sides and abdomen. She leaned back to look him in the eyes, his deep brown, hers glowing yellow. Her breathing was slow and deep, and without prompting the Roman's hands moved up to her full breasts, cupping them and kneading them gently. Her nipples were hard black nubs beneath his palms.

Tuning her head to look at her young bravo Sadiste indicated with a nod the Chevaan half-breed hanging unconscious in the stocks, arms and legs drawn up behind her so that her naked torso, with its fabulous bronzed skin, full breasts and flat stomach, and teasing sliver of copper red hair between the spread thighs was suspended in space, helpless and inviting. The priestess' head with its fiery man and exotic curling rams horns hung down upon her full chest. 'She's very beautiful, isn't she?' Sadiste asked.

'She's incredible,' replied the Roman honestly. Sadiste knew her magick prevented him doing anything else.

'Tell me,' she whispered, tickling his ear with her tongue, 'what would you like to do to her.'

'Fuck her,' said the man, his eyes now riveted on the prisoner.

Sadiste smiled. 'You mean rape her?'

'Yes,' said the soldier. His grip on her breast tightened a little, and she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling. 'Rape the bitch.'

'I'll bet you'd make sure it hurt her, wouldn't you?' Sadiste said.

'Yes,' he answered. His face was dark with passion. 'I'd make the little slut scream for mercy.'

'Mmmmmmm,' Sadiste purred appreciatively. One of her hands reached around behind her back and the tips of her fingers found the head of the soldier's up-thrust cock, teasing it. 'Tell me what you'd do to her.'

'Whip her,' the man said, while in front of him the view of the prisoner shimmered and changed. Now instead of hanging insensible in the stocks, Satyra appeared conscious and alert, her face fearful and her full bosom rising and falling dramatically as an exact double of the young Roman clasping Sadiste stepped forward, swinging a many thronged whip, each leather strand studded with pieces of sharp bone. The phantom soldier swung the whip in front of the prisoner, letting her see the terrible instrument and contemplate the awful damage it would do to her unprotected flesh. Sadiste's hand continued working the real soldier's phallus, tickling it. 'Go on,' she said, still rubbing herself lasciviously against him.

'Start with her legs,' he answered, and immediately his illusionary counterpart complied, arm going back and bringing the scourge flailing against the prisoner's unprotected quadriceps as they were tensed by her legs being hauled backwards through the stocks. There was no sound to the image, but straight away the picture of Satyra showed the young priest choking back a sob of pain.

'I use the whip on one leg at a time at first,' the man went on, and in the image playing out before himself and Sadiste his double copied his every instruction. 'I hit her start on the outside of her legs, where they just start to curve up into her ass. I like how she looks when I hit her there – like a little doe trapped by a hunter. I can hear her whimpering by the time I move to the tops of her legs, above the knees. I flick the scourge across the muscle there, teasing her with the pain.' In the image bloody scratches formed on the victims legs between her knees and hips, complimenting the heavier wounds he had already inflicted on the outside of the legs.

'I use the whip and rub the insides of her thighs, where its sensitive. I don't whip her there yet – I'm saving that for later. I just want her to think about it, think about the pain when I do go there. I can see in her eyes that she's already terrified. She thinks I'm going to whip her pussy right now, but that would spoil the fun. '

Watching Sadiste leaned back and kissed the man lightly – he was proving delightfully inventive and she felt her juices flowing warmly within her own inner chambers. She reached up and took one of the Roman's hands from her breast and guided it down over her abdomen until his fingers were tracing the outline of her pouting crevice. His touch thrilled her as he went on with his description.

'I whip her belly next. It's flat and hard and the stocks make her pull her shoulders back and it looks even better; really tight and firm. I start gently at first, just getting her used to how it feels. A couple of light smacks warming her up. She closes her eyes and gasps a little, feeling the leather stinging her.'

'I start to swing harder. I can hear the slap of the leather as it smacks her torso. It makes a nice little crack, and it makes her jump as it hits her. Her boobs wobble a little. She's starting to feel the cords scratching her skin. With her belly pulled so tight by the stocks she can feel every sharp point as it marks her. I keep going until her skin starts to get red and you can see the thin red lines where her skins been broken.'

In the illusion, Satyra was now squirming in the stocks. With her arms pinioned behind her and her legs doubled back so that her ankles were level with her buttocks, her abdomen was drawn as tight as a piece of hide on a Nubian shield, and as described the skin was now a rosy red hue, streaked with fine stinging scratches. The lower part of her rib cage moved visibly beneath the skin as she worked to catch her breath.

'I step up close to her, and pull her head back so she's looking at me. I like the fear in her eyes and I let her see me smiling, thinking about how much I'll enjoy hurting her.'

'I step back again,' said the Roman, as under Sadiste's magical direction his image complied. 'I let her think about it, then I swing with force.'

Before the rutting demoness and her mesmerized partner the scourge crashed noiselessly against Satyra's unprotected midriff. The silent illusion gave a cry of pain as the leather cracked against her skin. Drawing back to reveal brighter welts against the red marked flesh and deeper cuts from the bone shards. The phantom soldier shifted his rip and brought the next stroke backhanded, so that the whip wrapped its coils around from the other side of the priestess young body, drawing another silent yelp of pain.

While the young Roman continued to narrate his fantasy, Sadiste moaned with pleasure. Her hand that had guided his down to her pubis now worked his strong fingers inside her, using his hand to masturbate herself while she watched the torture. The demoness knew full well that in reality the red-headed priestess would prove a much more resilient subject, and that such broken whimperings would come only after much pain; this was merely the vulgar imaginings of the man pressed up behind her with his hand squeezing her blood red tit while his other wriggled and probed inside the wet folds of her pussy. Nevertheless she still took pleasure in the show, as much from the revealing of the young man degraded yearnings as from his description of the beautiful prisoners suffering.

Soon the vision showed the priestess bronze body sagging in the stocks as her abdomen became more and more bloodied from the strikes of the whip. After a dozen strokes of the leather the torture paused. By now the real Roman was panting as he spoke, grinding his phallus against Sadiste's firm rump. So lifelike was the image being create before him that, combined with the feel of the incredible body pressed against him, he would surely have emptied his seed against the devil-woman back under normal circumstances. Sadiste's magic prevented that 'anti-climax' to her play, as easily as it drew the man's fantasy from his mind and enabled him to vocalize in such graphic detail, as well as preventing him from fully realizing the nature of the red-skinned, horned vixen in his arms.

'You're hurting her so badly,' cooed the demoness, undulating in his grasp. 'She's totally in your power. How are you going to hurt her now?'

The Roman paused for a heartbeat. 'Her tits,' he drawled.

'Mmmmmmmm,' agreed Sadiste with a smile. She reached up to where his hand cupped her own left boob and prompted him to squeeze gently. 'Tell me – tell me how your going to beat her nice big tits.'

'I grab them and squeeze them,' he answered, watching himself perform the deed. 'I can feel them in my hand, round and heavy. I squeeze hard.' The phantom Satyra gasped in pain at the man-handling of her fleshy bosom. The Roman's hands were large, but barely enough to contain one of those full domes of pliant womanliness. The finger dug cruelly into skin, shifting constantly, pulling and twisting. When the one boob was red and sore from the treatment he shifted to other and repeated the abuse. The image-Satyra sobbed pitifully, hanging weakened from the beating she had already received.

'Her nipples,' Sadiste reminded her puppet. 'You should hurt them too.'

And he did. While the demoness watched in rapture the Roman narrated his would-be torture of those perky round nubbins, pinking them between finger and thumb and twisting, sometime slow and deliberate, sometimes quick and brutal. Satyra groaned and shook her head from side to side, her curling red hair whipping about her gorgeous face as her sensitive tit-crests were ground like meat in the man's grasp. He pushed his finger deep into the rise of her mammary until he was applying pressure to the rib-cage beneath as her used his nails to dig into the harder pinkish bud, lighting up the nerve-ending within painfully.

Sadiste used her clawed hand resting atop his to make him squeeze her own tit with force, his pale pink finger sinking into her own blood-red tit-flesh. She groaned in pain and pleasure at the sensation – most other females would have cried out in protest at such treatment, but one did not abide in hell without developing an appreciation of a certain amount of pain. She was so wet between her legs now that her juices flowed out freely over the soldier's fingers as they quested beyond her hairless pubis.

When he had done with her nipples the Roman stepped back and used his open hand to slap the full tits forcefully. The heavy round boobs jiggled erotically as he hit them, while their owner continued to sob and moan. He hit them harder, making her yelp and shudder. He shifted hands so he struck the boobs in sequence, slapping the outside curve of the tit so it jumped across her chest, buffeting against its twin so they both wobbled delightfully. Slap. Slap. Slap! Slap!!

'When I can tell her tits are sore and swollen I show her the whip again. I rub the leather against her cheek and watch while she begs. I tell I'm going to whip her tits, and listen to her pleading like a little animal. She'll do anything, she says. She'll fuck me like a whore if I spare her. I tell her that I'm going to fuck her anyway, but first I want to hear her scream.'

'By the time I step back she's almost crazy with fear. It makes my cock hard as iron listening to her beg, looking at what I've already done to her. I bring the whip around and let it hit her left tit. She screams when it hits the sore skin, and when it pulls away I can see the red marks. There's already a little blood from the points. I backhand the other tit so she screams again. Her tits dance under the whip.'

'I keep hitting her. I hit her in different ways. Sometimes I go in from the side. Sometimes I use an overhand stroke so I hit the tops of her boobs. The cuts get deeper as I get more excited and hit her harder. Her tits are bleeding, and the blood smears across the skin when I flog her. She's crying all the time now, screaming and shaking so hard the whole stocks are vibrating.'

'I stop for a minute and step up to grab her boobs again. She cries out when I squeeze them, louder than before. Their cut and bruised and they hurt her when I touch them. I feel the blood on my hands and squeeze harder, so she screams out. I get one of the strands of the whip and find a sharp point, and then press it into one of her nipples. I stand close so I'm in her face when it digs in and I watch while she screams and screams. I'm so close I can feel her tits pressing against me chest, feel her blood on my skin, feel the tip of my cock brushing her belly. I cut her again and feel her heaving like a wild beast while her red mouth is wide with the screaming and the tears run down her face.'

'Aaaaaaaahhhhhh,' Sadiste exclaimed, and explosive cry as her body stiffened in the man's arms and she felt a white-hot surge of ecstasy erupt inside her vagina. She rode the feeling, keeping the man's hands working on her tits and cunt as the thought and vision of the howling red-haired priestess writhing in agony brought her to her climax.

In the vision the Roman stepped back from his victim, whose head slumped onto her bloodied chest. Sadiste reached around behind her again and once more found the man's young, erect cock, tugging it down and moving it between the cleft of her ass and up to the cleft between her legs. 'You want to fuck her now,' the demoness moaned, still thrilling form her orgasm.

The man did not answer this time, but moved his hips, twisting so that his phallus drilled against Sadiste's outer lips, penetrating a little. More moisture from her womanhood trickled out and her entered her easily, slipping inside her and pushing deep into her tunnel.

In front of the fornicating pair the vision Roman dropped hi whip and stepped up to the prisoner, grabbing one of the curling ram's horns either side of her head to force her face up while he stabbed at her copper-haired thatch with him member. He pushed into her gracelessly, making her shriek again as she shoved into her inch by inch, thrust by thrust.

The fucking continued, the vision and the reality in sync. Sadiste moaned like a whore as her Roman lover grasped her hips from behind and sexed her with hard, long strokes. She used one arm to coil around his shoulders, steadying herself while he plunged into her. Her other hand brought one of her full tits up to her mouth and she suckled her own nipple while she watched the man's rape fantasy play out in front of her. In his dream the man was reaming Satyra's pussy with gusto, arms reached around behind the frame of the stocks so he could bring all his strength into fucking into her helpless twat while he was sweating and grunting. The Chevaan's lovely face was turned towards Sadist and the two women looked at each other, yellow and green eyes meeting. The demoness was thinking about how soon it would not be any magic conjured vision before her, about the joy of seeing that broken looking the real Satyra's eyes as her half-satyr, half-human, but all woman body was tortured and degraded for Sadiste's evil pleasure.

The vision Roman pumped harder and faster, his grunts loud and forceful. The real man kept pace. Suddenly Satyra's mouth went wide and her horned head was flung back as her rapist lunged and paused, then lunged again, and again. Behind the gorgeous she-devil the real man suddenly grasped her hard around the waist and heaved forward, burying his cock inside her as Sadiste felt his seed rushing into her pussy and let her tit fall from her mouth as she cried out with her second climax.

The man inside her gasped with pleasure, his face glowing, but suddenly shuddered. In the midst of his rapture he suddenly felt a sudden irresistible force coursing through his body, as if every part of him were rushing down into his cock where it was spurting its juice into the woman in his arms. He trembled, his eyes growing wide as pleasure was replaced on his young face by a rictus of pain. He tried to cry out for help, but no words would come, and he was beyond anything his friends outside could have done. He shook violently as his phallus continued to pour into the demoness' all-consuming cunt, while she herself howled in pleasure, taking him into herself, emptying and devouring him as her full breasted body shone with a sheen of passion.

Abruptly the man drooped back, his body hitting the floor behind Sadiste with a muffled thud. She sighed, using her hand to adjust her ruffled hair around her sharp black horns and wiping some of her lingering juices from her pussy lips, licking it from her fingers with slow relish.

***

Conine leaned forward, straining against her captivity to reach Satyra's full lips, aching to feel them again. The satyr woman responded, their mouths coming together, covering each other, their tongues darting and flickering in the warm wet cavity as the kiss became passionate. Conine moaned as she felt new warmth and strength radiating through her, the supernatural vigor of the priestess flowing across the connection. The pain and fatigue did not vanish, but they faded as new energy coursed through the warrior woman's body.

At last, all too soon, Satyra pulled back, severing their joining. There were fresh tears in her emerald eyes as she brushed Conine's cheek with her own. 'I am with you always, my love,' she whispered. Conine said nothing, drinking in the feel of Satyra's body against her, her smell, her taste.

'What was she saying?'

Conine's eyes fluttered open. The vision of Satyra was gone, replaced once more by the mundane night time view. One of the soldiers had moved over to stand in front of her, looking curious.

***

The vision of the fallen Roman pumping his seed into the pinioned Chevaan wavered and was replaced by that of the real Satyra as she stirred and opened her glowing green eyes.

Satyra blinked groggily, weary from the energy she had expended to help Conine, tears forming in her eyes as she remembered the sight of her beautiful, proud warrior lover hanging grotesquely on the cross, bearing the marks of torture and gang-rape. She blinked, taking in the sight of Sadiste standing in front of her with a wicked smile still on her lovely evil face.

Then her eyes fell upon the form of the Roman. Only instead of the handsome youth that had entered the wagon, all that now remained was a wasted, almost mummified husk, like that of some long dead warrior. The skin was dry and sunken, withered and decrepit. The priestesses blinked again and lifted her head to look at the grinning demoness.

'What has happened here?' Satyra stammered.

'Oh just passing the time,' Sadiste replied, still glowing from her exertions. 'Shall we go?' She raised a long nailed hand and snapped her fingers.

***

Outside, the centurion of the company was just asking if any of the soldiers preparing for bed had seen the man who was supposed to be near the lead wagon, when the vehicle suddenly exploded in a ball of blue flame, knocking the awe-struck Roman's to the ground and scattering bits of burning debris across the camp.

Underworld of the Chevaan

Chapter III

Welcome

Satyra came to wakefulness slowly. She remembered vague and disjointed images of Conine and the red-skinned demoness with her beautiful but evil face, and her cruel but skillful hands on her body. There were broken flashes of a dead Roman, and then a terrible roar and a rush of flame.

With the memory of the wagon torn apart by the terrible explosion Satyra blinked and come fully awake. There was no sign of the wagon, or the forest, or the Romans, or even Sadiste. She was lying on a rough stone floor in a small cavern.

Satyra sat up, running her fingers through her long curling red hair. She was still nude, but that in itself held no discomfort for the Chevaan priestess. Her people were at ease with their bodies and not balked by going without clothing. Nor, like the Roman's, did they need to disguise their need to express their natural urges with formalized orgies and elaborate sexual rituals. To a Chevaan woman nakedness was not something either to be ashamed of or gloried in – it was simply another aspect of the fullness of their being. Only the perverse attention of the Roman invaders, who used the stripping of a woman's clothing to signify their domination of her freedom to choose, made nudity a kind of punishment.

Looking about Satyra could see no obvious signs of exit from the cavern. The light came from three flames that rose up from the stone walls in what seemed to be natural fissures in the rock. She supposed there must be ways for air to get in, for she knew well that fire would not burn long in a closed space, but she could see no sign of how. The air itself made her nose wrinkle – it was laced with a sulphurous stench that left her throat feeling dry as she breathed. There was a dull rumble that went on endlessly around her, throbbing in the air and making the stone beneath her feet and buttocks quiver gently.

The satyr woman stretched tentatively, extending her long legs and testing to see if her muscles had recovered from the cruel restraint of the Roman stocks. She felt a little stiff, but otherwise unharmed. She grasped her elbows with her opposite hands and pulled her arms across her full breasts, working the muscles in her upper limbs and her back and shoulders.

After a few moments she stood up. She ran her hands over the walls of her prison – the rock felt coarse, and warm. Her hands did not find any source of exit any easier than her eyes had done. She narrowed her emerald eyes in frustration, turning in a slow circle.
Sadiste's words in the wagon regarding her master were running through her mind.

"If you can endure a number of…trials, without agreeing to serve him, you will be released…very painful ones, you may be sure…we specialize in torture in the Underworld, and I'm sure I can think up some very imaginative ones for such a brave beauty."

Satyra drew a long breath and wrapped her hands around her naked body. She wondered how long she would have to wait before they began.

***

Not far away, Sadiste sat in front of a bubbling pool in the rock floor, in whose depths the image of Satyra in her cavern-cell could be seen. The lovely prisoner stared about her listlessly, her mind clearly playing over what her captors had in store for her.

'She is delicious,' a deep baritone voice rumbled in the shadows behind the demoness. Sadiste did not turn to face the speaker, but felt the familiar thrill of excitement and terror that came from him addressing her. Around her the rocks quivered at the sound of that voice, as if they too were afraid of it. 'But I hope her beauty is not all that you have to offer me.'

Sadiste continued to stare at the image of the horned woman in the pool. One of her hands dipped into the liquid and made the picture of those curling rams horns shimmer. 'Her connection to the goddess is as real as her beauty, Milord, I assure you.'

'Yes,' said the speaker. From the shadows two burning eyes became visible as their owner leaned toward the pool to more closely inspect the occupant of the cell. Sadiste could feel hot breath on her back and knew that her master was as excited by Satyra's physical loveliness as she was. 'But is her power sufficient to our needs.'

Sadiste turned and bowed her head, staring at the ground before her as she felt the great presence of her lord looming over her. 'What is thy bidding, my master,' she intoned formally.

The shadow moved slightly, giving the barest hind at the great size of the dweller within. When the speaker addressed her again, the red eyes never strayed from the naked woman shown in the pool. 'Test her with the slithering ones' he growled.

Sadiste did not lift her head, but she wet her lips with her tongue. 'Her mortal flesh has not yet been tempered,' she said. 'Such a test could be dangerous.'

The shadow-dweller growled again, and Sadiste felt a moment of intoxicating panic. She knew how carefully she must tread now. 'You are saying she may not survive?' the growling voice asked.

'No, milord – she will survive,' Sadiste said with confidence, but wondered herself if it were true. The mighty one was not renowned for his indulgence of timidity, but her reward now, having stated her case with such certainty, would be a truly terrifying thing. In hell, where every pleasure was underscored with some aspect of pain, true punishment was something that even the bravest trembled at.

In other words, there was pain, and then there was PAIN!

'Test her,' the voice commanded. The shadows retreated slightly and a hand the size of man's torso gestured at the image in the pool. 'Send the slithering ones.'

Sadiste bobbed her head deferentially and moved to do her masters will.

***

In the cavern Satyra had sat back once again moved to examine one of the stone walls when she heard a noise behind her a sound of stone grinding on stone. She whipped around to see a large fissure forming in the rock face opposite her, a crack that ran from the floor about halfway up the wall. Yellow vapor hissed from the crevice, warming the air.

As Satyra leaned forward to see better, a wedge shaped object appeared amid the fumes. It moves back and forth, the slid closer, penetrating the masking cloud as it entered the chamber.

The creature was like a serpent, but larger than any Satyra had ever seen. The head was a good six inches long, triangular, ridged above the glittering yellow eyes with small horns and bony protrusions. It struck Satyra as strange in appearance, since its head was longer than common in the serpent folk. Satyra had often employed the use of serpents in her spells and divinations, and so knew much of their ways, but this creature was wholly new to hear. Had she any experience with the crocodile of the Egypt far from her forest home she would have thought it more closely resembled those fearsome carnivores with its long nose and mouth, but the body that trailed behind the head was completely serpentine, as cable almost half a foot thick covered in shimmering green scales.

The reptile moved forward and hissed, tongue tasting the air. It fixed its unblinking eyes upon the naked woman and slid forward languidly, weaving from side to side as it approached.

Satyra backed up as far as the stone wall would permit, then turned suddenly as another fissure opened to her left with a sharp crack. More vapors rose out and began to coil about the roof as a second serpent dropped into the cavern. She could now see at least four feet of the bodied of each reptile and still no sign of a tail. Like its companion this creature immediately hissed at the red-headed priestess and began to inch forward.

Satyra fought to fight a rising panic as the beasts closed in. She feared no natural animal, but even one far less tutored than she would have sensed the un naturalness of these serpents. Where common snakes would act on instincts such a hunger or fear, Satyra felt these were driven solely by some terrible malevolence. She edged further around the wall, trying to keep an equal distance from the snakes as they approached from either side.

When the third fissure opened it did so with such suddenness that Satyra had no time to react before she felt the scorching yellow steam scalding her shoulder. She cried out in pain and staggered forward, but not fast enough to prevent a new snake darting our and coiling a loop around her forearm.

The creature raised its head to hiss at her, but Satyra did not flinch. Without hesitating she brought her right hand over and grabbed the reptile just below the head, where the throat of a mammal would be. With a ferocity that would have startled her lover Conine she squeezed, grinding her thumb deep into the beast's scaly skin as it thrashed furiously. Satyra's green eyes narrowed as her full mouth twisted into an angry snarl, her grip tightening and her fingers gouged into the flesh and dark blood ran down from her hand onto the stone floor.

Satyra snarled contemptuously as she flung the carcass from her, only to have one of the other two beasts lunge about one of her long legs. She seized it with both hands, wrestling it loose as she held it in a crushing grip. Her eyes flared with an angry green light as she fought and her man of red hair whipped about her face and curling ivory horns. Faced with this desperate struggle, weakened from her previous ordeals, and knowing that her assailants were not natural beings but creatures of darkness she no longer struggled to control her wilder nature as she had done in the forest at the hands of the Roman soldiers. She met savagery with savagery.

Against the two beasts that remained she might have triumphed, her hands dealing bloody death at a grasp, but even as she dispatched the second with a viscous wrench that shattered the monsters spine, a half dozen more creatures came hissing into the room by the still open fissures, darting towards the struggling girl.

***

In front of the pool Sadiste watched the serpentine horrors swarming about the embattled Chevaan beauty, coiling about her faster than she could slay them. Despite her futile struggle she continued to fight on.

'Strong indeed,' came the rumble of her master, and Sadiste smiled in pleasure at the small praise. 'A wild one, this, Sadiste.'

'Are you sure you can tame her,' asked another voice, a feminine one this time.

Sadiste looked up from the pool to see another woman approaching. She was naked but for a gold chain about her throat, and her body was slim and smooth, with generously rounded breasts and slender hips. Her hair, like Sadiste's, was shining black, but where the formers was straight, the newcomers was thickly curling as it fell down her back almost to her waist and settled on her shoulders. Her two horns sprouted from above her eyes and grew straight out to either side of her head, their ends curling up slightly level with her shoulders. While Sadiste's skin was crimson red, the other woman's was a pale, opalescent blue, except for her nipples, which were deep purple. Not a single hair adorned her below the brows of her yellow eyes, and the violet inner lips of her womanhood peaked delicately from her fleshy labia.

'Ah, Zaraeth,' rumbled the voice in the shadows. 'You know Sadiste, of course.'

Zaraeth nodded to the speaker and turned back to Sadiste. Her lips were a darker shade of blue and turned up in a slightly mocking smile. 'Sadiste, I see you still insist on visiting the mortal world, instead of attending more important duties for our master here.'

'Your efforts as chief whore for his lordships' thralls are appreciated by us all,' Sadiste replied. 'It allows those of us with skills beyond our crotch to work unhindered.'

Zaraeth's smile became dangerous, but the laughter of the one behind them prevented the blue demoness from replying. 'Your hatred never ceases to amuse me,' he said to both she-devils. 'Rest assured, Zaraeth, if Sadiste fails in this attempt you shall help lift my spirits by planning some particularly vile experience for her.' Zaraeth smiled and bowed appreciatively. 'On the other hand,' continued the speaker, 'if she is successful I may reward her by making you her personal slave. I am sure she would make excellent use of your delectable form.'

Zaraeth paled a little at that, and Sadiste lifted her head proudly. The red demoness knew that her rivals scheming rarely went beyond her next fuck, and looked forward to the chance to show her what a truly devious mind could come up with for an enemy.

'In the meantime,' the speaker went on, 'you may come and sit by me and watch the testing of the half-satyr pussy. I can think of a better use for that pretty mouth than trading barbs with Sadiste.'

Zaraeth shot a look at Sadiste to say how valued her services were, then stepped with swaying into the shadows surrounding their Lord, wetting her full lips as she raised one hand to cup her breast. Sadiste watched her disappear into the darkness then turned back to the pool as the blue demoness gave a throaty moan that was echoed in the shadows by a growl of pleasure.

***

In the cavern, the sheer numbers of her assailants had finally subdued the ram-horned Chevaan spitfire.

Satyra lay pinned under a squirming mound of serpents. At least a dozen of the vile creatures helped restrain her as she struggled, the black blood from the four she had killed with her bare hands staining her arms and body.

Satyra glared furiously at the beasts pinning her, straining for freedom with every ounce of her prodigious strength. The sheer weight of the monsters coiled about her arms, legs and torso would have been enough to pin an ordinary woman, but the small victory of her being able to shift the mass of reptilian bodies even fractionally was of no comfort to the subdued red-head.

The snakes hissed triumphantly, and slowly Satyra's struggling ebbed. She did not surrender herself to the inevitable, but rather fought to calm herself to conserve her strength. It was clear she would not win this fight. Better to save her energy for when she could make a difference.

If such a time came, a thought ran through her head. As the snakes bodies slithered around to encompass her in their muscular grip Satyra knew that there was a chance no opportunity would come – that the beasts would kill and devour her like any captured prey. The thought almost overwhelmed with fear, but she resisted the urge to yield to panic. Sadiste had brought her hear for a reason. If it was to die, even to die in pain, she could have left Satyra with the Roman's. The Chevaan clung desperately to the thought that Sadiste and her master needed her alive.

Goddess grant me strength to endure this trial, she prayed fervently.

Satyra drew a shuddering breath, made difficult by the creatures coiled around her chest. The mass of cable-like bodies criss-crossed her form, leaving only patches of her bronze skin visible beneath the differing shades of green scales. Four beasts held her arms and legs askew as the serpents protruded from the fissures that had opened, the wedge shaped heads level with her shoulders and thighs. Two more had cast themselves about her upper body, crossing over between her shoulder and neck and constricting around her full breasts, making the fleshy mounds bulge where the serpentine bodies were squashing her ample chest.

Satyra felt something between her legs and glanced down. Another snake was just sliding between around from behind her between her splayed legs, its vile body sliding over the ridge of her pubic mound and though the coppery hair above. The creatures tongue flicked out to taste the sweat forming on the plain of her abdomen. As it traveled up her body, its jaws opened wide and within its gaping maw the Chevaan saw lines of sharp teeth protruding form the creatures jaw at mismatched angles. From the wicked curving points oozed a viscous, purplish liquid.

Some of the venom dripped from the beast's mouth onto Satyra's flat belly. Instantly the spot where it landed flared with stinging pain, as if she had been stung by not one but a dozen angry wasps. Satyra gasped and again tried to squirm free, but the multitude of serpents wrapped tight around her held her fast. Then another snake slithered around her throat and drew its coiled tight, so that her head was forced up and back and she could no longer see what the monsters were doing with her helpless young body.

***

Watching from the pool Sadiste screened out the low growls and the sounds of diligent slurping behind her as Satyra ay helpless among the slithering ones.

Their prey immobilized, the serpents took their time and inspected the curvaceous meat trapped before them. The woman's warm body made them more active as its heat rose through the thin soft flesh of the woman and was absorbed by their own reptilian forms. They pulled their loops tighter, biting into her flesh a little with their abrasive scales and enjoying, in their primordial way, the feel of the she-creature wriggling in their clutches. Unlike common animals they were not merely motivated by hunger. Creatures of the Underworld, like all their kind they consumed, not on meat or drink, but the anguish, fear and suffering of their victims.

Sadiste smiled and let her own hand travel around the curve of her breast as Zaraeth had done. She flicked her nipple, teasing it to hardness. The demoness knew well the true nature of the creatures binding Satyra, and was very much looking forward to the lovely Chevaan learning of it to.

***

Satyra struggled for breath as the snake around her throat tightened its hold. She could feel the reptile's muscles undulating across her smooth skin as they held her in their grip.

Abruptly, one of the creature's heads loomed up before her, only inches form her own face. The cold eyes stared into her own, showing not the least sign of compassions; only a greedy hunger. The snake opened its mouth and hissed at her, its breath foul in her face. The long pallid tongue flicked out and caressed her cheek as she tried to pull back from the monsters.

The snake dipped its head again, and Satyra fought with all her strength to follow its progress at is moved down her body. It hovered near her breast and she fought to keep form crying out in frustration. Then in moved lower, past the hissing heads of its counterparts, until it was level with her thighs where they were being held apart.

Satyra drew in a shuddering breath. The creature paused, venom dripping from its jaws.

The woman closed her eyes.

With a lightning move the serpent lunged forward, mouth agape sink its fangs into the flesh on either side of the woman's leg.

Satyra gave a gurgling scream as the serpent's teeth punctured her skin, the powerful jaws of the beast driving them deep into her thigh it enclosed her leg in a vice like grip. The sting of the sharp teeth was almost instantly replaced by the hot burning anguish of the monster's venom being pumped into the wound. She screamed again, louder this time, and her body stiffened in the grip of the other snakes. The acid touch on her belly earlier had been as nothing compared to the feel of having the toxic liquid injected into her veins, filling her whole leg with a terrible, searing agony. She bucked in the serpents' grip, pain lending her fresh strength, while the beasts hissed as if in appreciation of her renewed efforts to resist them.

Satyra closed her eyes tight and clenched her teeth a pain in her leg grew and grew. It felt as if molten iron had been poured inside her, setting a fire in her flesh that left her twisting helplessly in the grasp of the serpents. The pain ran down past her knee, through her calf and down to her toes, making the muscles cramp and seize. It flowed up to her hip and suffused the joints with its terrible heat. It spread beyond her hips, through her pelvis…

Suddenly Satrya's eyes flew wide again, a look of sudden awareness and terrible fear on her lovely face. Where the venom touched the intimate regions between her legs, the pain became even more agonizing. But worse, the awful heat that seemed to suddenly erupt between her legs filled the nerves of that most sensitive flesh with such stimulation that she felt her vagina clench tight, spasming as the muscles in her legs had done, but much more terribly. For the anguish of this contraction was mixed by some vile means with a kind of horrible pleasure. The hot tense excitement that the priestess had known since the first nights when she lay in her bed touching her changing teenage body, discovering its areas of arousal and blooming sexuality, was now amplified horrifically by the pain of the serpents venom entering her from within, boiling the blood in her labia, her cleft, her cervix.

Her clit.

As the disgusting liquid brushed the nerve centre of her sex with its awful kiss Satyra gave a terrible moaning scream, her whole beautiful body heaving in the snakes folds as she was carried away on a wave of pleasure that was pain. She convulsed powerfully, her red mouth open wide and stars exploding behind the long lashes of eyes as the energy of her torturous climax released itself.

As her back arched and her limbs quivered and stiffened, the serpents about her reacted as well, hissing loudly and fighting to tighten their grip. To the fiery explosion within her sex Satyra felt added the bone grinding grip of the reptiles as they coiled more closely around her, so tightly that she it felt as if she were being squeezed to death in bands of living steel. The pressure on her chest and ribs became a crushing force, her innards feeling as if they were being slowly squashed. The muscles of her arms and legs were ground mercilessly against the harder bone beneath. Her tender breasts were twisted and mauled by the snake's bodies across them pulling tighter, dragging the fleshy mounds with them as they simultaneously wrenched and crushed them. The demonic beast wrapped about her loins increased the pressure of its hold until it seemed her pelvis would shatter.

Abruptly, like a candle being doused, the orgasm wracking her body stopped. Satyra went limp in the snakes' coils, eyes fluttering and feeling utterly spent. She panted softly, trying to suck air into her lungs.

But though she no longer writhed in the throes of agony and delight, the serpents about her showed no inclination to loosen their grip. Their scaled bodies did not close any further about her, but neither did they relax back to their former position. As Satyra slowly fought to regain her senses after her ordeal she became aware of the awful, crushing force of the creatures, and how much harder it was now just to breath. The pressure on her abdomen made her feel sick, nauseous, and her ribs felt as if some might have been cracked during her struggles. The blood seemed to thunder in the vessels of the twisted fleshy peaks of her breasts.

Satyra let her head fall back, red hair sweeping the stone floor as she slowly became aware of the full terror of her hostess' plan.

***

'She understands,' said Sadiste, to no one in particular. The frantic sounds in the shadow behind her and the increased temp of the gurgling growls told her that the sight of Satyra's first pain filled climax had left the other watchers temporarily distracted.

Sadiste fondled her own breasts as she paid close attention to Satyra's bosom being mauled by the snakes. She knew by now that the clever young priestess was figuring out the full nature of her serpentine tormentors. The snakes venom brought terrible, poisonous agony, it was true, but also stimulated the sensual areas of their victims to the point of explosive sexual release; a pain-gasm, as it were. But the movements of the victim during such a release would cause the snakes to tighten their grip. Every time Satyra was made to cum, the snakes would crush her harder within their coils. The death of these creatures' victims would be as lingering and agonizing as it was humiliating.

Sadiste continued to watch the unfolding drama in the cavern and allowed herself the pleasure of letting her hand stray down beneath her loin-cloth, rubbing herself softly. She knew the rubbing against Satyra's copper haired pussy would be much less pleasant.

***

Amid the coils of the serpents Satyra fought to maintain her composure as she felt one of the reptile's heads moving again, the icy tongue flicking across her skin as it moved about her body. She knew that matter what happened, she must not allow herself to move and increase the snakes' constriction any further.

Another woman might have reasoned that it would be better, or least less painful, to move and encourage the monsters to end her suffering quickly. But Satyra was a Chevaan. While she might not have been a warrior of that sisterhood, as Conine was, she lacked none of their proud spirit or courage. Even in the face of certain death she would not easily give in to despair. Like all her sisters she would resist with every ounce of her strength and willpower.

The creature moved languidly down around her thigh, nuzzling the angry red punctures where its companion's fangs had bitten deep. It did not linger there, however, as if keen to inflict pain on some new and un-tasted part of its gorgeous victim. It circled around, hissing softly, coming up behind the bronze skinned priestess.

Satyra felt the evil tongue dancing across the sensitive cleft in her buttocks and closed her eyes in dreadful anticipation.

The strike was quick and brutal, as before, the shifting of the demonic reptile's weight providing only a split second warning. Then the jaws were clamped about the curve of ass cheek as the beasts teeth were driven powerfully into her rump.

Satyra stiffened instinctively and clamped her teeth around a scream, but held herself rock steady as she felt the scorching venom fill her ass with fire. She groaned as the heat raced within her mortal flesh, making it feel as though her firm behind had been scourge with metal barbs and doused with salt. The pain spread through her lower body, and she let out a whimpering sob as she felt it reach the sensitive spot between her anus and the lower extremity of her vagina. She trembled with the effort of staying unmoving as the flames in her flesh reached that most vulnerable area again, this time circulating up from below, first through her outer lips, then penetrating within. She bit her lip and held her breath as once more the hellish fire ignited within her tenderness, suffusing her with yet another pain-filled climax. For over a minute she groaned and sobbed through the awful pleasure that tortured her body, every muscle rigid as she held her sweaty form immobile.

Then the pain/pleasure was gone, leaving her again drained. She made herself breath and relaxed slowly. The venom had spent its fury, but the serpents had not tightened their clutch.

About her she felt the snakes shifting their grip, and hissing to one another. She opened her eyes and saw several of the beasts had moved their heads to inspect her lovely face. She met their evil gaze levelly and without fear.

Her defiance seemed to goad the monsters, and they made sounds of anger and frustration. One darted forward and she pulled back instinctively as it stopped within an inch of her face, jaws wide and threatening.

The snake hovered there, staring into her eyes, then slowly moved back. It stared at her a moment longer, then raised itself up. Satyra could feel the muscles of its body flexing and undulating against her back and stomach to support its shifting weight.

The creature reared back further still and plunged forward, sinking its teeth into her shoulder.

***

Watching in the pool Sadiste felt the breath tighten in her chest as the serpent pumped its venom into Satyra's helpless body. She could see the pain in the lovely red-heads face and in the way her body trembled with the exertion on holding herself steady during the anguish of the poison flooding into her.

Satyra's mouth opened in another moan of pain, and the demoness quickened the movements of her fingers inside her pussy. She did not have the handsome Roman stud to fuck her now [she did not even permit herself to consider the idea of sharing the massive organ in the shadows behind her with that little slut Zaraeth] but the fact that she was watching the real violation of the busty young satyr-woman, and not some little man's fantasy, more than compensated for the lack of a cock to ride. Sadiste knew her body with millennia of experience and her fingers moved with deft surety within her quim, tickling and teasing.

With a wave of her free hand the demoness directed the pool to reveal to her the sobbing victims beautiful face. The look of pain etched on those lovely features between the two curling ivory horns made Sadiste pant with lust. She moved her fingers more quickly as that look transformed from agony to suppressed pleasure as the flaming liquid of the poison again made its way down into the priestesses own vagina, burrowing its way into her womanhood like lava melting though rock.

Sadiste's own pussy hummed with joy as she watched the play emotions across the priestess face. Pain, of course, and it had to be said that Satyra's natural exotic beauty became transcendent as she suffered, her large luminous eyes and full lips made brighter and more exquisite as they communicated the woman's anguish. But also mixed with the pain was the anger of her violation, the frustration laced with despair at her helplessness. The look of shame as the pain turned to unwanted sexual stimulation, the further anguish and growing desperation as she fought to deny the urges boiling in the depths of her femininity, radiating through her in waves. Watching the snakes twined about her, biting her, crushing her; these would show Sadiste the abuse of Satyra's legs, her full body, her round heavy breasts, her tender young slit. Watching her face allowed the demoness to pleasure herself with the rape of the girl soul.

In the pool Satyra's face showed the explosive moment of her climax, mouth open in a soundless cry as the agony washed through her. Sadiste's finger found her own clit and pinched it, rolling and bobbing gently on her haunches while feeling the blaze of her own orgasm. She kept her eyes glued to the image of Satyra's face staring out of the pool, eyelids fluttering as she came back to full awareness.

More growls and moans behind her told the demoness she was not alone in enjoying the captive Chevaan's latest cumming. She rode her own climax out and then smiled in satisfaction as she watched the spectacle in the pool continue; she knew that for both her and Satyra the next sexual crescendo would not be long in arriving.

***

Satyra felt the explosion in her loins fade and took a long sobbing breath. She hung almost completely exhausted in the twisting reptilian mass, feeling bruised and sticky with sweat. She wondered how long she would be able to hold out against the acid torture of the snake's venom. She felt at the end of her strength, barely able to open her eyes.

The creatures holding her had no intention of giving her time to recover. No sooner had the animal biting her shoulder disengage than another whose body wrapped around her midriff bit savagely at her side, the teeth gouging the abdominal oblique muscle that ran between her hips and lower rib-cage. Straight away the young woman was awash with the fiery sensation of the venom being injected, and her body tensed, trying to express its torment in movement while her will desperately sought to hold her body unmoving, knowing the crushing death that awaited her if she failed. Once again the poison made its way to her nether regions, filling her with excruciating heat, making her cum.

'Aaaahhh….goddess, no….no.' the words bubbled from her lips as she was ravaged by the climax, her mind ablaze with the sweet torture in her sex. She cried out again, a long wail of hopelessness as her strength ebbed further still, her resole cracking under the onslaught.

The snakes must have sensed her tiring too, for they squirmed in anticipation, not crushing her further but twisting her body as they held her in their knotted mass. Their movement stretched her limbs wide akimbo and bent her back at the waist so that her belly and innards were stretched taught while her squashed tit-flesh was thrust upward.

Satyra sobbed in defeat, opening her eyes to stare at the demon reptile glaring down at her. One of the snakes enfolding her chest moved so that her left tit was exposed, the pink nubbin made firm by the pressure around the boob. The snake's tongue lapped at that tender button as it took aim.

'Oh, no, please,' sobbed the red haired priestess. Her green eyes were wide with horror. 'No.'

The snakes hiss was like a cruel laugh as it plunged down, biting into her full tit savagely.

'AAAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEE!' The scream burst form her lips as her breast was filled with molten agony. Her young tit was aflame, the firm flesh ripped apart by the toxin pumping into it. The pain slammed into her mind like a ball of white fire, burning away everything except the need to scream.

Satyra howled until she was hoarse with pain, struggling futilely to hold herself still. It was useless. The acid inside her mauled boob-crest left her bucking and heaving. She felt the serpents tightening about her but there was nothing she could do. The pain was overwhelming in that sensitive woman-flesh as the animals long jaws crushed the breast like a steel vice.

Even as she gibbered and screamed the venom flowed down inside her body and found her centre as before, the fire spreading to her pelvis and then the space between her legs.

Satyra's shriek became a mindless thing as the venom raced into her copper-crested pussy and set off a sexplosion inside her. She twisted violently in the snakes grasp as they made their grip ever tighter, the bones of her ribs feeling like they would implode at any moment. Her back was arched so far by pain and snakes that it seemed the vertebrae must shatter.

Satyra shook her head so that her red mane flew about her like a leaping fire and sobbed brokenly. The snake on her tit bit harder, pumping more poison into the abused flesh. 'No, damn you. DAMN YOU!!! ARRRGGGHHHH!!!!' The pain raced through her again, and again she came hard, reduced to unthinking thing of sex and suffering. Her pelvis pumped hard against the snakes' coils between her legs, seeking any means to express the fuck-fire burning in her quim. She hauled against the grip of the serpents, succeeding only in wrenching one shoulder loose form its socket. She howled again and again while the coiling devils pulled her limbs into unnatural shaped, twisting the bones and ligaments to breaking point.

Satyra felt the hot blood flowing down the curve of her tit as the monster ripped at the flesh with its teeth. Others were doing likewise now, mauling her wrist and legs, pushing more venom into her. Her heart was like a wild bull thundering inside her chest and her head felt like it would burst from the pressure behind her eyes, and Satyra knew that at any moment she would die. Die in pain, and in disgrace, fucking herself to death while the demons holding her ripped her apart, eating her alive. Tears flowed in rivers from her wide staring eyes as she screamed over and over, praying for death to claim her.

Her body was suddenly twisted violently forward so she doubled at the waist, staring down at her lap. The largest reptile was poised in front of her crotch where her legs had been haled back past 90 degrees, leaving her pink pussy splayed and open.

***

In the pool the Chevaan's eyes flew wide as the serpent darted forward, biting her cunt.

Sadiste screamed out loud herself as Satyra screeched inhumanely, the snake's teeth mauling her labia. The reptile flicked the punctured meat apart and delved deeper, using its fangs of that long mouth on the inner lips while its tongue raced into the girl's fuck-channel.

Satyra's muffled screams mingled with those of her audience as Sadiste fucked herself frantically, her hand a blur of movement in around her red pussy. She kneeled over the pool supporting herself with one arm while she watched the bestial rape of the gorgeous prisoner. In the image, Satyra was writhing in sexual abandon as the venom made her reveal her pain in the most erotic and dehumanizing way possible, climaxing over and over while she was brutally violated and tortured. For two minutes the image of the gorgeous Chevaan showed her exquisite body contorting in the grasp of the reptiles as they squeezed and stretched and tore at her with their fangs. Her body bucked up and down like that of wild mare being broken by its captors, and her bloodied tits danced on either side of the coils grinding them into meat. The snakes' fangs pierced her arms, long legs, ass and feet. The venom flowing through her made the woman scream until her mind could no longer endure the pain and sex-energy ripping though it.

Then she collapsed, motionless. The snakes let her fall from their coils, her lovely body covered in bruises and blood from the hideous bite marks covering her from the neck down.

Sadiste allowed her won hand to slow, trembling and opening her eyes slowly. She saw Zaraeth stepping around from behind her and falling to her knees a short way off, her face and lower body slick with a thick, noisome fluid. The blue demoness looked almost as physically spent as the prisoner in the imaging pool.

'Does she live,' came the rumbling question from the shadows. If the speaker was in any way spent by his exertions while watching the testing, it didn't revel itself in his voice.

Sadiste blinked nervously as she caused the pool to draw closer to the face of the Chevaan prisoner. The snakes hovered about her, but knew to let the woman be until their masters decided whether or not they would truly feed.

For an anxious moment Sadiste studied the priestess intently. Finally she smiled triumphantly and announced, 'She lives.'

Zaraeth raised her head to stare at Sadiste in disbelief, and even the red demoness had to admit she was surprised. The testing had been particularly brutal, and Sadiste knew no ordinary mortal woman, not even a physical paragon like the warrior Conine, could have survived such treatment. The look in Zaraeth's eyes told Sadiste all she needed to know about the source of the serpents' savagery, and she swore she would have her revenge for the threat to her plans soon. Outwardly though, she merely smiled smugly and stood to turn towards her master, eyes downcast.

'What is thy bidding, my master,' she asked as she had before, but her voice now carried a note of victory.

'See to her injuries and have her properly prepared,' came the reply. In the void-black shadows, the two red eyes blazed suddenly. 'Then bring her to me.'

Part IV

Formal Reception

Satyra writhed in agony as the flames lapped over her naked body, running in searing sheets over the exposed flesh of her legs and buttocks, up over her midriff, around the puckered cleft of her womanhood, over the full swell of her breasts that expanded mightily as she sucked in air to give another animal scream of pain.

Positioned thigh deep in the burning liquid of the great golden bowl the priestess stood with her arms pinioned behind her, her legs spaced generously by the shackled about her feet that were anchored to the base of the cauldron. The fiery liquid within bubbled and hissed as flames ran over its molten surface, questing around her legs and then sorcerously climbing like serpents of fire, causing patches of her smooth sun bronzed skin to burst into flames like the flesh of some beast being roasted on a spit above the cooking fire.

Satyra struggled with all the strength of her half-satyr heritage, strength that would have shamed many a mortal warrior, but her shackles held her firm. Escape was impossible; all she could do was somehow hope to endure the awful pain.

The flames died for a moment and she cast her tear-glazed eyes down over her body. Between her legs she could see the vile contents of the bowl simmering less than a foot from her exposed labia. The pain from her legs where they were fully immersed in the molten broth was such that it seemed the flesh must be dissolving off her bones, peeling away in great chunks and joining the noxious contents. It was not of course; that was the whole point of this sadistic initiation to the Underworld.

Behind her Satyra sensed the looming presence of her would-be master, eyes devouring the torment of her tender body. She trembled and struggled anew, feeling a new surge in the activity of the boiling mass she was confined in. Large bubbles rose to the surface and burst volcanically, showering her with liquid fire. Some landed on her cheek, some amid her flaming red hair near the rams-horns of her forest–spirit heritage. A huge glob of the stuff spattered against the top of her right breast, sitting on the curving flesh and burning, filling the fleshy orb with new torment as Satyra screamed in pain and in horror and in prayer to the goddess that this torture would end.

It didn't.

Some time earlier…

The red haired priestess woke in another cavern, larger than the one with the serpents and darker. Consciousness came painfully, and she groaned as she opened her eyes. Every part of her body felt as if it had been pummeled and wrenched. She lay on her back and breathed in long slow breaths that did not cause too much pain to her tortured ribs.

After a time Satyra rose, clambering slowly and carefully to a sitting position. Her naked body bore the bruises and bites of her encounter with the serpents, the former dark purple mixed with patches of yellow, the latter angry red wounds crusted with dried blood. Her breasts were swollen beyond even their normal impressive size, and felt heavy and sore; their curved surface a patchwork of dark splotches where the coils had brutally squeezed the tender flesh. The space between her long legs was a constant throbbing ache where the wicked coils had ground the soft mound of her pubis against the pelvic bone beneath.

Sitting with her head on her knees and fighting exhaustion and nausea, Satyra closed her eyes and summoned her strength. Her tumbling mane of red hair hid her face, but every aspect of her posture spoke of a woman who had been tested to the limits of her physical endurance.

And she had barely even arrived.

With a groan the Chevaan moved to get to her feet. She put out one arm to steady herself against the wall, and no sooner had put weight on the limb than she screamed and fell back to the floor, clutching at her still dislocated shoulder. She struck the twisted joint again as she fell and was straight away blind with pain. She rolled slowly to her other side, face twisted in anguish, the nausea overcoming her as she dry-retched on the stone floor.

When her gagging coughs had subsided she rolled back onto her back and lay with her eyes closed again. Her whole body assaulted her with its messages of pain.

Noises of someone approaching brought her back to awareness. She opened her emerald eyes and stared over at the wall as part of it swung back and away, admitting two new arrivals' to her prisons.

The creatures were vaguely humanoid, walking upright on two think legs, but they had long feet with curving claws, and padded forward on their toes, so that their heels never touched the ground. Their legs, like their whole body, were covered in leathery skin that glistened wetly in the red light of the cavern. They leaned forward from the hips, their weight balanced by long reptilian tails that stood out behind them, hovering above the floor and moving back and forth as they shifted from one foot to the other as they walked. Above the waist they were man-like, with powerful torsos and chests to which were attached at their broad shoulders arms rippling with muscles like knots of cables beneath the dark flesh. Their faces were bestial to look upon, one with narrow features and evil slanting eyes, the other like a type of human toad, with sagging cheeks and a wide flat nose. Their ears were wickedly pointed, and each had a set of short dirty ivory horns protruding from their foreheads. They had neither hair nor clothes, and between their legs swung their prodigious male organs, six inches long as they hung flaccid, bobbing gently as the creatures moved forward.

Demons.

Satyra watched the pair pad across the floor, the talons on their feet clicking against the stone. As they came to stand over her she pulled herself painfully back against the wall, staring up at them as they leered at her nude form. Each carried a crude spear in one hand that seemed to be made from a single piece of some dark mettle, heavily corroded and barbed at one end, and these weapons moved ominously in her direction as she lay before them.

'Hello meat,' said the narrow faced creature. His voice was thin and rasping. He smiled, showing a mouth full of teeth like small scimitars. 'Ready for some more fun?'

Satyra said nothing but tried to meet the demon's leering gaze as defiantly as she could. The demons chuckled and looked over at his toad faced companion. 'She's supposed to be a real choice morsel, this one.' He looked back at Satyra and used his free hand to stroke his male organ, teasing it to semi-hardness. 'I've waited a long time to dig out some mortal pussy with this shovel,' he went on, indicating his stiffening phallus; he gave a laugh like the sound of breaking glass and kept his eyes fixed meaningfully on the space below Satyra's belly as she kept her legs held tightly together.

'And you'll wait longer yet, Vhyl' came a feminine voice in reply. The demons turned as Sadiste entered the chamber. Despite herself Satyra felt a surge of relief at the she-devil's words. The demon called Vhyl had coached his organ to a prodigious size, at least nine inches long and of significant girth, and the ram-horned Chevaan had no illusions about the abuse that jutting member would inflict on her womanhood.

'Sadiste,' snarled the thin demon, turning to face her. He made the name sound like a curse. 'Still strutting about thinking you can command your betters? When will you realize your place, little whore – on your back with you legs around your ears?' The toad demon guffawed in support of his companion.

Sadiste never lost her smile, but stepped forward there was less than a foot separating her from Vhyl. One of the red skinned woman's hands curled around the back of the tall male devil's neck, while the other reached out and stroked the length of his still hard shaft. 'Poor Vhyl,' she cooed, running her fingers along the length of his cock so that it quivered with excitement as its owner growled low and deep. 'Such a big hard dick, and no chance of a fuck.' She giggled coquettishly. 'No wonder you're so surly.'

Vhyl stared down at the gorgeous she devil and moved his spear so that it prodded her gently between her firm bare breasts. 'One day, my pretty slut, I'll use this cock to rape your arrogant cunt until it bleeds,' he whispered with a smile.

'I look forward to it,' replied Sadiste with a like grin, then stepped past him with a last taunting flick of her fingers against his rampant penis.

Sadiste moved to stand in front of the exhausted Chevaan priestess, between Satyra and the demons. 'Well, my dear,' the red-skinned she devil said softly. She leaned over to inspect Satyra's injuries, framing her breasts between her arms while she teased the creatures behind her by thrusting her peach-shaped ass towards them. 'You've been keeping busy, I see.'

Satyra said nothing but glared up at the demoness.

'No welcome for your hostess,' said Sadiste in mock disappointment. 'Never mind. You'll find that we at least know how to provide a proper welcome.' She stood and turned quickly, holding out her hand. There was a small flash of flame and a set of crude iron manacles appeared in her hand. Sadiste tossed them to the toad faced demon. 'Put these on her, and bring her with us.'

The toad face creature scowled and his tail whipped from side to side. 'Why Fylth do what you say,' he growled.

Sadiste smiled even more beautifully and stepped over to stand in front of the squat demon warrior. 'Because,' she said in a voice like honey,' I'm asking so nicely.' She took a long slow breath and Fylth watched her breasts rise and fall hypnotically.

Suddenly while the demon stood entranced by her gorgeous tits Sadiste's hand flashed out, seizing his balls in her taloned grip. Fylth grunted and his eyes went wide. 'And,' hissed Sadiste, 'because if you don't our master will gouge out your putrefying testicles with a spoon and let me wear them as earrings.' She gave Fylth's balls a final brutal twist and then released him so that her stumbled back, grasping his bleeding scrotum.

Vhyl chuckled as Sadiste stepped out of the chamber. Slowly Fylth rose and staggered over to the prostrate Satyra. She tried to move, but in her weakened state she was no match for the demons speed and strength, even with him still using one hand to clutch his wounded genitals. He flipped her onto her belly and yanked her arms behind her, pulling her elbows together and making her cry out in pain. One of his feet held her down against the rough stone floor while they manacled her arms, then hauled her roughly to her feet. Satyra screamed again as her weight was lifted by her dislocated shoulder, and this time both demons laughed out loud.

Following Sadiste the demonic pair led the wincing Satyra out of the cave and into a winding tunnel. Heat and a sulphurous stench assailed the prisoner, and the air throbbed in her ears. A dull, unending rumble permeated the underground labyrinth through which the red-head Chevaan was led, a sound so powerful that it was not heard so much as felt. If Satyra had possessed knowledge of the great smithying houses in which the arms and armor of Rome were turned out she would have thought is similar to that, but magnified beyond any mortal effort.

As she was dragged stumbling by her shackled hands through the orange lit tunnel Satyra watched the hips of Sadiste swaying insolently in front of her and remembered the demoness' promise that she would join the ranks of the Underworld willingly. Already her body was a cacophony of tormented bone, muscle and sinew, and her time in this pit of despair had barely begun. Satyra knew her stamina exceeded that of any of her sisters, but now for the first time she prayed that her more than human abilities would be insufficient for the trials ahead. Not because she wished to surrender to the hellion strutting along ahead of her, but because she hoped that if all else failed, death would claim her before she succumbed to the torments of the damned.

As she staggered forward she felt a clawed hand on her backside propelling her forward, but also closing about the firm round muscle of hr ass cheek. Glancing up she saw the stout creature Fylth leering down at her and licking his lips as his hand squeezed her ass painfully. His gaze strayed up to her full breasts bouncing provocatively as she was hauled along and a thick line of drool dripped from the corner of his wide mouth. Satyra made a face of disgust and looked forward again.

Sadiste turned a corner and abruptly stepped out into an open space. A heartbeat later Satyra followed flanked by her escort and then stopped, her eyes and mouth wide at the sight before her.

The cavern she was in was immense, its existence a mockery of physical engineering principles that limited the scope of human construction. The walls roe up to an unguessable height, merging at some point with the stone roof but so far distant from the chambers floor that Satyra's eyes could make no gauge of the actual distance. Vertigo assailed her as she stared upwards, and she forced her eyes lower to fight off the sick dizziness. About her the stone base of the space stretched out, it's further limits masked by shadows. The dark patches danced in the flickering red light of hundreds of fires rising from the broken ground, some no bigger than candle flames, others emanating from fissures or craters a dozen feet across. In the illumination of those flames the cave was bathed in shifting hues of yellow, orange, or blood red.

But it was not the sights that were most disturbing; it was the sounds. From al around Sadiste came the pitiful, tortured screams of people in unspeakable pain. The echo of their wailing cries rose and fell like the tune of some demented orchestra but it never ceased. In the nearer walls Satyra could make out alcoves masked by more shadows, within which could just be made out the shifting shapes of men and women and other beings twisted and bestial who gibbered and laughed as the humans in their midst howled like animals and twisted themselves into shapes the human body had never evolved to mimic.

Satyra stood dumbstruck taking in the spectacle of suffering about her. Sadiste turned and observed the mute horror on her prisoners face, and smiled sadistically. 'Come my dear,' she purred, 'I can see you are eager to begin your initiation.'

A rough yank by Vhyl on her dislocated shoulder brought Satyra back to her surroundings with a shriek of her own, and the trio of Underworlders led her forward across the chamber. Not far away stood a huge pillar bracing an overhang from the cavern wall, its base concealed by more shadowy gloom.

The demons marched Satyra t within twenty feet of the pillar and halted, Sadiste in front, the others just behind the Chevaan to either side. The pillar was about forty feet across at the base, and the darkness seemed to cling to it like a poisonous growth. Vhyl and Fylth pushed Satyra to her knees before a small flaming pool in the floor. The priestess could sense a presence in the murk in front of her, and found herself trembling slightly. She cursed herself for her fear, but could not control the quivering in her limbs.

'Milord Vulgus,' intoned Sadiste, bowing reverently before the shadows, 'an offering I bring thee, from the lands of flesh.' Sadiste reached back and cupped Satrya's lovely, besmirched face in her clawed hand. 'Wilt thou not welcome her?'

Satyra struggled to pull herself free of Sadiste's grip, but froze as in the blackness two red points of light blazed suddenly to life, their light playing over her. A laugh like fall of great stones made the fires about the priestess flutter.

'Well done, my whore,' came the reply from the shadows, the voice deep and thick with malevolence. 'Let her see us in our glory and learn the true meaning of fear.'

Without warning the fires on all sides blazed up, stinging Satyra's naked skin with the heat. She winced as the glare of the fires ripped away the concealing darkness like torn black cloth, revealing the being within as for the second time Satyra stared transfixed with amazement and horror.

The creature Vulgus sat on a throne that appeared to have been carved from an outthrust spur of the great stone pillar. His arms and torso were like that of a man, but more powerfully built than any man Satyra had ever seen; every ridge and nuance of his rippling musculature seemed to be visibly beneath skin as red as the demoness Sadiste's. Set between the thick shoulders his head and facial features were roughly humanoid, but bestial, with a broad face with high cheekbones, a short wide nose, and thick dark brows beneath a broad forehead. From that forehead sprang two thick black horns that curled back about the side of Vulgus' head and then flared out like those of a wild bull, while his hair was a shaggy mane that fell to either side of his face and down his huge back. His eyes, which bored into Satyra's own, were a like two fiery coals, and his grinning mouth was filled with razor teeth that showed as his studied the girl kneeling before him. Looking up Satyra struggled to come to terms not just with Vulgus' overwhelming physicality, but his sheer size. Even sitting thus he rose in height to almost twice that of a man.

Below the waist, any resemblance to humanity in the lord of Hell ceased. His legs were like those of a goat, ironically not unlike Satrya's own wood-spirit father, covered in thick curling black hair that glistened in the light of the many fires. His feet that rested widespread on the floor were two cloven hooves that shone wetly like dark iron. Another demoness with curling hair and blue skin stood between those splayed limbs, her head level with the demon lord's navel, diligently attending Vulgus' most eye-catching feature.

Nestled in the mat of dark hair that covered him from the waist, the demon's giant male organ was huge, oversized even in his already giant form. The girth of the phallus was that of a man's leg. The blue demoness, as she used her tongue to lave at its red skin, used both her hands to support its semi-erect weight, and still her fingers wrapped around its girth failed to meet. The enormous penis oozed thick, noisome fluid from its tip that the she-demon lovingly lapped up, licking the residue from her lips and chin as her hands moved up and down the four foot shaft. Satyra could only stare hypnotized by the cock being tended in front of her, struck dumb by its power. In her mind she tried to imagine what that organ would look like fully engorged, and reeled in horror at the awful damage it would do as it tried to penetrate her to small form, shattering her pelvis, tearing her apart with its massiveness.

'Greetings, little witch of the Chevaan,' rumbled Vulgus in his volcanic tones. The blue demoness continued her work on his cock which stiffened a little as he looked over the bruises and bites on her naked body. 'I trust you are enjoying our humble abode.'

The monster's mocking tone as he enjoyed the evidence of her defilement sparked a flare of anger in Satyra, and she wrenched herself free of Sadiste and straightened her back, meeting the hell-lord's stare brazenly. The blue demoness looked up at her as she sucked at the head of Vulgus' cock and smiled at the Chevaan.

Vulgus himself stared back into the priestess' green eyes for a dozen heartbeats, then chuckled evilly. 'Oh, I like the slut,' he said to Sadiste, who nodded her head deferentially. 'She will be a fine addition to our ranks, all spirit and big tits and nice tight pussy. You should come up with something special to tame this one.'

'I will die before I swear service to scum such as you,' Satyra said boldly, and her heart trembled in her chest as she thought of the consequences of angering this huge creature. But the consequences of allowing herself to be turned were even more terrifying, and given the choice, between falling prey to Vulgus' depredations and goading him dealing her a swift and violent death…

Vulgus, however, showed no inclination to be baited by her defiance. Instead her threw back his maned head and laughed so that the rocks about the demons and Satyra shook and rattled.

'No, little witch-whore,' Vulgus said as he brought his eyes back down to rest on the prisoner. 'Death will not find you in this realm, and you have no hope of that sweet release. Our sport here would be poor indeed of our guests died during our ministrations. Your suffering will be without surcease, until you pledge service to me.'

'If Sadiste can do what she says,' chimed I the blue demoness, glancing up lovingly at her master from her licking of his shaft. 'Another session like that with the serpents and her firm body will be good for little besides food for milord's hounds.'

Sadiste watched Vulgus glance down at Zaraeth and pat her head roughly as she sucked him, and narrowed her eyes. The insolent look in the blue skank's gaze had told Sadiste all she needed to know about the unexpected savagery of the serpents during Satyra's testing. You little cunt, she thought, though she was also somewhat impressed that a cock-slave like Zaraeth could come up with something so subtle. She tossed back her black hair and sized Satyra by her red tresses, staring down in her angry green eyes. 'Perhaps we should demonstrate to our new sister the nature of her imprisonment.'

Vulgus stroked his chin and continued patting Zaraeth's curly head. He smiled wickedly at Sadiste. 'And would you be willing to undertake such a chore, dear Sadiste,' he asked in a low voice. Nearby Sadiste sensed the two demon warriors tense suddenly as they sniffed the chance for sport with the demoness who had recently humiliated them. She could imagine their eagerness to repay her and railed inwardly at the thought of their leering visages as they had their way with her, while Zaraeth stood by gloating no less, but she only said, 'I exist only for my lord's will.'

'Yes, you do,' Vulgus replied, and Vhyl and Fylth shifted in anticipation. One of Vulgus fingers traced the outline of Zaraeth's horns as he sat considering. 'A demon -stration then,' he chuckled. Zaraeth looked over at Sadiste and grinned in triumph.

Abruptly Vulgus seized one of Zaraeth's horns and hurled her to the stone floor. The blue demoness fell heavily and cried out, her head whipping around to stare in horror at her master, who now fondled himself with his other hand. 'Milord,' gasped the naked blue woman, her yellow eyes wide with fear, 'I live only to serve you.'

'Of course you do,' said Vulgus, smiling as she leaned forward to stare down at her. 'And you shall.' He straightened, and looked at Vhyl and Fylth watching the prone demon-woman. 'Boys,' he said with a smile, 'in dul ge yourselves.'

The two devils looked at each other, and Sadiste saw Vhyl flick his yellow eyes over towards her. Clearly Zaraeth wasn't the only one wishing that she was not the one to be used as an example. But after barely a second both he and Fylth sprang forward and seized the woman lying on the stones and dragged her up as she screamed in terror and Vulgus laughed long and heartily.

Satyra watched as the demons dragged their blue skinned kinswoman over to a low flat stone. Fylth stood near her head and grabbed both her arms above the wrist with one hand, dragging them up past her head. Her buttocks rested on the rock and her legs hung free, kicking wildly as she screamed, but Vhyl moved forward quickly and set his spear tip against her belly. Zaraeth looked up with a mixture of fear and anger and tried to kick him in the crotch, but he twisted out of the way, using one hand to grasp her ankle and force her leg down. In one swift motion his taloned foot came up and slammed down, the claws of his toes gouging into to top of her foot and pinning it to the ground beneath his weight. Dark blood spurted from the pierced flesh and Zaraeth screamed in pain.

While his victim was temporarily stunned Vhyl dropped his spear on the ground next to him and moved to grab the demoness' other leg. He repeated the process, laughing at Zaraeth's fresh scream as his other foot pinned hers with its wicked talons.

Vhyl leaned over Zaraeth and used the god chain about her throat to pull her head up. 'Please milord,' the demoness sobbed, twisting to look at her master. Her breasts with their purple nipples rose and fell rapidly as Vhyl inspected her nakedness spread before him. 'Have mercy on you servant.'

Vulgus paused, considering her request. 'No,' he smiled finally, then nodded to Vhyl.

Reaching down with a clawed hand the demon stabbed a finger brutally into Zaraeth's hairless vagina, digging his claws into her flesh as he worked his way inwards. Zaraeth gave a muffled shriek as she flung her head to one side, tears seeping from beneath her long lashes.

Vhyl moved his hand around, stretching her pussy walls painfully, probing with his claws. The fingers still outside the woman's body squeezed and pinched the blue flesh of her thighs. When he had pulled and twisted at her folds for a few minutes he shifted his grip and pushed a second finger in next to the first, widening the entry to her sex. Zaraeth moaned and arched her back as she felt her cavity violated. A little blood seeped from the entrance to her pussy in evidence of the lacerations Vhyl's claws were doing inside of her.

The demon moved again, shoving a third finger into the blue she-devil, stretching the woman flesh agonizingly. She was weeping freely now, alternately crying out and pleading for mercy. Fylth dropped his spear and reached down to paw one of her round breasts as she was racked by quivering sobs.

Shifting his weight again Vhyl moved to push his hand deeper into the victim's bald twat. He pulled his arm back a little, extracting his fingers to the first joint below the tip, then rammed his arm forward again. Zaraeth cried out and thrashed on the stone. He did it again, and again, each time more forcefully. The blue woman's gorgeous body heaved and shook as his claws raped her, battering her and cutting her at the same time. More blood leaked from the bottom of her quim hole, spurring the red male demon to more violent efforts, this fanged mouth wide in smile as she watched her squirm in pain and scream as his penetrated her inmost womanhood. Zaraeth's sobs and groans grew louder and more frantic as he continued, and she shook her head from side to side so that her mane of curling midnight hair whipped across her face. She tired to gain leverage with her legs to pull herself away form his scaled fingers, but only succeeded in tearing her feet against the male demon's claws and adding to her own suffering.

Finally Vhyl slid his fingers out of the demon woman's abused vagina, lifting them to his lips and licking the blood and pussy juice from them and moving his pelvis until his now fully erect cock was nudging her splayed thighs. Zaraeth lay with her eyes closed as Fylth pinched and twisted one of her firm round nipples. She moaned again.

Vhyl leaned far over her, the movement bringing the head of his cock up to rub against her belly between her navel and the top of her opening. He used the hand still slick with some of her blood and vagainal fluid to stroke her soft cheek, so that she opened her yellow eyes and stared fearfully up at him. 'I want to hear you beg, bitch,' he hissed at her.

Zaraeth paused, struggling a little in Fylth's grip. Vhyl moved his hand down again and brutally thrust his claws into her crotch. She screamed and reared back as the bony points stabbed into her meat of her sex. Vhyl wrenched his claws out of her, and she collapsed back to the stone, sucking in air and weeping. Again he used his hand to stroke her cheek, the fresh blood leaving a dark smear against her opaline skin.

'Beg for my shaft, slut,' Vhyl growled dangerously.

'Please,' Zaraeth moaned through her tears, 'oh please.'

'Yes,' Vhyl said again, flexing his fingers before her. He smiled like a loving parent. 'Go on.'

'Please…can I…have your sh…shaft,' she sobbed. Her full breasts trembled a little as she wept.

Vhyl smiled wider and looked up at Fylth, who chuckled. 'Where do you want my hard shaft, whore?' He curled his toes and his claws bit deeper into her feet.

'In me,' Zaraeth gasped. 'Put it in me, please, put it in.'

'Inside you?' Vhyl asked, all leering smile. 'You want my shaft to go into you? You want it in your belly, slut?'

Unseen by Zaraeth, Vhyl's long tail moved across the rocky ground to where he had dropped his long iron spear.

'Yes,' Zaraeth said, her spirit completely broken. 'I want your shaft in my belly. Please, I'll do whatever you want.'

Vhyl pulled back a little, his cockhead moving down so that it nudged the entrance to her pussy. The humbled demoness moved her hips a little, inviting him to move into her, wanting only to be free of her painful humiliation as quickly as possible. It was not the first time Zaraeth had found herself helpless in the grasp of creatures such as Vhyl and Fylth, and she knew that resistance would only add to her torment.

Satyra watched from the side and felt herself grow sick at the sight of the blue demoness demeaning herself before her attackers. The female spread her legs a little wider and moved her hips, teasing Vhyl's thick nine inch penis with her outer lips, the lips that were still stained with the blood of his claws tearing at her. The spectacle of a woman, even a demon woman, made to debase herself and beg to be raped made her want to vomit. She tried top look away, but Sadiste held her by the hair at the back of her head, forcing her to watch the unholy scene playing out. Satyra flicked her eyes towards the ground to try and avoid the show, and saw Vhyl's tail curled around his spear on the ground. With barely a sound he lifted the weapon with this tail and moved it towards his left hand that had strayed down next to his hip.

Wit a sudden explosion of clarity Satyra saw what was about to happen. Instinctively she began to shout a warning, but Sadiste's long nailed hand wrapped itself over her mouth, stifling her outcry. 'Patience,' the red demoness whispered in the priestess' ear. 'Your time will come.'

Satyra struggled as the tail moved the iron spear into Vhyl's waiting hand. His cock was now almost parting the devil woman's labia.

'You want me to ram my shaft into you belly,' he growled, his face becoming angry. Zaraeth looked up at him in terror and swallowed hard. 'Then say the words, cunt. Say it!'

'Please,' she half whispered, half wept, 'ram your shaft into me. Ram it into my belly, please.' She closed her eyes, opened them full of fresh tears. 'Please.'

Vhyl moved his hand back down to her breast, cupping it gently. 'As you wish,' he said softly.

With the swiftness of a viper Vhyl reared back, towering over the victim on the stone. Zaraeth felt his cock push up into her to the edge of her inner sanctum, bracing herself for the penetration, then saw his hand with the spear coming up and angling over Vhyl's shoulder. She shrieked in terror and tried to squirm aside, but it was useless. 'No!' she screamed. 'NO!!!"

Part V

The Dream of Death

With a roar Vhyl brought the spear down point first, stabbing the blue demoness through the midriff. At the same time he leaned back and thrust with his hips, plunging his cock deep into her.'

'AAAAiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!' Zaraeth's tortured howl was piercing, rising above the other tortured screams around the spectators. Pinned to the stone by the iron weapon she writhed like a wounded beast, black blood spurting from the wound. She heaved up, trying to wrap herself around the agony in her belly, but Fylth slammed her back down to the stone, holding her outstretched.

'Yeaaaahhhhh!!!!' Vhyl thundered, feeling Zaraeth's hot pussy clenching around his cock. He was more than halfway into her, and pushed again, burying more of himself in her cunt. He used both hands to twist the spear impaling his victim and felt her pussy spasm again as her lovely body twisted in aguish before him. Zaraeth's mouth was open side to suck in more air, then she screamed again, the sound torn from the depths of her being.

Satyra watched the woman being butchered before her and fought with all her strength to free herself. The horror of the spectacle was beyond description, the two demons laughing and gloating over the spitted victim, Vhyl raping her brutally as he used the spear to rip at her internal organs. They had turned the slaughter of this woman into a sick sexual experience for the warped pleasure. On his throne Satyra could see Vulgus watching his servant's demise with unconcealed glee, one hand stroking his thick shaft as he masturbated himself to the sight of her murder. Sadiste held the priestess fast, but had shifted the hand over her mouth to rub at her breasts, while the red demoness ground her pelvis against Satrya's back and shoulders, she also deriving sexual pleasure from the helpless Zaraeth's death agonies.

Vhyl kept pumping, both with his cock and the spear, sometimes pulling the weapon almost free of Zaraeth's lovely body before plunging it back into her, skewering her on its barbs. Her lower body was slick with dark blood now and some of it had run down in small streams around her crotch, the hot liquid tickling his rape-shaft as he moved it inside his victim. The heat of the blood fired him to new violence, fucking in and out of her at a frantic pace, driving his fill length inside her quim so hard that the blue woman was driven upward with each thrust, her breasts dancing in rhythm to his movements while the spear's points sawed through her quaking flesh, tearing the wound larger.

'AAArrrggghhhh!!! Oh darkness….aahhh….AAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! Please…..eeeeaaAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!.......'

Zaraeth's head was thrown back over the stone as she screamed and screamed, and then screamed again. She could feel the iron spear tearing her insides to shreds, the blood spurting from her belly wound and running down over her hips and thighs and legs. Vhyl's cock tore at her as well, the thick, coarse skinned phallus tearing at her soft pussy walls already lacerated by his clawed fingers. Her body shook and heaved, adding to her misery as she tore herself against the pole arm in her abdomen and the talons piercing her feet and ankles, but she was helpless to prevent her contortions. She filled her lungs with air so that her firm tits swelled and screamed so loud it felt that her head would explode, but it did not give her release from the horrible pain.

Holding his demonic kinswoman's arms, Fylth could no longer contain himself as she watched Vhyl hump the blue bitch before them. Shifting to a one handed grip of her wrists he grabbed Zaraeth's head and twisted it violently, forcing her to look around at his own rampant male organ. He pushed it against her lips, taking his hand away from her head and getting a fistful of her tit meat that he squeezed mercilessly, the blue flesh darkening between his thick fingers. Zaraeth tried to pull her head away, keeping her mouth a tight blue line as the toad faced demon tried to get his dick between her full lips.

Seeing his companions difficulties Vhyl paused in his fucking to tear the spear out of Zaraeth's body. She arched her back as her lips flew wide, and Fylth seized his chance and pushed his cock into her open mouth, hauling on her tortured boob for leverage. Vhyl then stabbed down again, the spear tearing into the demoness just below the bottom rib. More blood gushed out and she gave a gurgling howl as she screamed around Fylth's penis now lodged deep in her mouth.

Sadiste watched her enemy being fucked without mercy by the two demons and felt her own orgasm humming inside her. She would never offer any complement to the demoness' appearance, but it had to be said that Zaraeth looked fantastically sexy as she lay impaled by the spear and the two demon cocks penetrating her mouth and tight bald cunt. The blood smearing her glistened in the firelight as she wriggled, and as she watched Fylth mauling her tender breast flesh Sadiste imagined what it would feel like to have her own talons inflicting that damage, to have her own hands wrapped around those firm blue tits and grind them between her fingers while their owner used her lovely mouth to scream into Sadiste's wet red pussy.

From his throne Vulgus also grinned with pleasure as the demoness who had sucked his cock so dutifully was tortured and violated by his male servants. His dick was again hard in his hand as she watched Zaraeth howl and gargle while Fylth raped her mouth. The warriors in his service were banned from exercising their lusts upon his she-demons, who used every chance to tease and demean their male brethren, and if there was one thing a lord of hell knew, it was that forbidden pleasures were always the sweetest. He had known such a display of grotesque violence from the two rapists would be forthcoming, and trusted it was not lost on the exquisite red-haired captive.

Kneeling on the stone floor Satyra tried to black out the sight and sound of the demoness being done to death in front of her, but every attempt was met by a vicious twist of her wounded shoulder by Sadiste that caused her to open her eyes to the vile display. The two creatures fucking her had become more and more savage in their assault, hooting and baying to each other as they continue to pummel her body as it writhed on the iron lance, the blue woman's muscles tight knots under her skin as she suffered unspeakably. Her body shone with seat and blood as it jerked to Vhyl's cock-thrusts and blood was now bubbling from her mouth and nose, coating Fylth's penis sliding in and out of her mouth and down her throat. The toad-creature alternated his grip on her tits, shifting from one to other as he pulled, twisted and ground the mounds of woman-meat in his powerful fist. Satyra wept in horror and pity as the carnal violence went on and on, the horned blue woman's suffering stretching out unbearably as she was fucked and fucked between the pair of inhuman monsters.

But though the rape continued for what seemed like ages, it eventually dawned on Satyra that the demoness tortured writhings never slackened or grew less frantic. Satyra knew a belly wound could be agonizing, could take days to kill its victim, but the sheer loss of blood shown by the victim, coupled with the repeated stabbings and violent use of the weapon inside her, should have begun to reduce the demoness to exhaustion, if not unconsciousness. Yet by her erotic twisting and muffled shrieks it was clear that Zaraeth way very much aware, as vibrant with pain as she had been when she first impaled on the spearhead. For long minutes Satyra watched the macabre vision continue, and still the blue woman thrashed her gorgeous body vigorously and continued to moan and wail as the demons pumped themselves inside her.

Finally it was not the stamina of demon-girl which gave out, but that of her defilers. Vhyl's pace quickened until the very friction of his cock was a pain to her abused womanhood, then gave a last deafening howl and thrust deep into Zaraeth's hairless quim, his body stiffening as he released his load inside her. He pulled out and thrust again, the backward motion releasing a gout of syrupy brown liquid from her cunt, held, for a moment, pulled out again.

At Zaraeth's head Fylth's let go of the demoness' tit and arms to grab her by the horns and fuck her mouth powerfully, head down on his chest as his belly spasmed to shoot a second deluge of demon cum into her mouth. His lustful bellow was drowned out by Vulgus own as the demon lord jerked at his gigantic member, spraying the area before the throne with boiling jism. Zaraeth gasped as she chocked down Fylth's evil fluid, spitting some out around the girth of green scaled cock so that it ran down over her chin and cheeks. Fylth continue to choke the bloodied woman for half a minute before he yanked his dick free and used he own fist to pump the last vestiges of semen from his shaft, spattering Zaraeth's throat and curving chest with as his emissions mixed with her blood and sweat. Vhyl also slipped his phallus from her nether lips, its shaft slick and shining with their mingled sex juices.

Grasping his spear in the victims belly with both hands Vhyl roughly yanked it free, releasing another fountain of black blood as Zaraeth screamed and tumbled from the stone. She lay there in a phoetal position, clutching her wounded belly as more blood seeped around her fingers. Satyra watched on, hoping the blue woman-creature would finally know the release of death.

'Arise, my little harlot,' Vulgus said from his throne, still working his cock gently in his fist. 'You have done well.'

To Satrya's shocked disbelief the demon woman stood up shakily, her hands wiping the congealing blood from her body. As she cleaned herself the area where the spear had pierced her became visible, the smooth skin showing no signs of any wound, or even a scar. It was as if the violent penetration had never happened.

Shaking on her feet Zaraeth made her way over to her lord, kneeling before him and nuzzling against one of the huge black haired legs. He stroked her hair and looked over at Satyra kneeling next to Sadiste.

'Now do you understand, little tramp of the forests,' came Vulgus rumbling voice. 'Death will not claim you here – your tortures will last as long as it pleases us to hear you beautiful screams, and watch the pain dance of you lovely body. The six torments you shall endure will seem endless, and in the end, I will break your spirit to my cause and you shall abase yourself before me as completely as this little cunt.' He ran a finger through Zaraeth's ebony curls.

Satyra pulled her head up to look at the hell lord squarely. 'Five,' she said in voice soft, but firm.

The collection of demons about the throne paused, and the rumble of the hell fires seemed to skip a beat. 'What did you say?' Vulgus finally asked in an ominous tone.

'Five,' repeated Satyra, looking undaunted, though in truth vision of Zaraeth's hideous ordeal was seared into her mind. 'The bargain made was for six torments, and I have already endured one at the fangs of your degenerate snakes. Only five remain.'

Vulgus leaned forward, and his shadow seemed to move out before him and chill Satyra with its touch. Even Sadiste seemed uncertain. 'You would seek to split hairs over your contract with me, little shit-whore of the Chevaan?' he growled.

'The contracts terms were simple,' Satyra replied, almost keeping the tremor from her voice. 'The rules of our bargain are clear.'

Vulgus guffawed, but his every breath spoke of deadly danger. 'You really think I care about rules?'

'Of course you don't,' answered Satyra, but with growing confidence, ' if you can get away with ignoring them through the ignorance or terror of your victims. But I am neither ignorant nor terrified – and I say you will hold to your terms, or find your contract in abeyance. You have had one chance to turn me, and failed. Five remain to you.'

Vulgus sat looking at her for a moment, eyes blazing. 'No attempt to turn you with the serpents was made,' he said finally.

'But the torment was your own devising,' Satyra shot back, sensing victory. 'It is not my fault if you squandered your chance.'

For a long time Vulgus sat looking at the naked woman before him, unclad but still defiant with her red hair a shimmering mane of fire about her face with its frame of curling horns. Sadiste stood stock still, holding her breath. All of hell seemed to be waiting.

At last Vulgus sat back, chuckling and stroking his chin. 'Oh I like the slut,' he chortled. 'A bold witch indeed, Sadiste, and a worthy one for our cause. She will be a great asset.' He paused and smiled without humor down at Satyra. 'As you say, my proud beauty, five torments remain for you. The second we shall administer here and now, in preparation of your long and eventful stay here. And furthermore,' he added, ' in recognition of your impressive courage I declare that no cock before mine shall gouge out your insolent pussy hole, and only after your pride has been stripped away. At which time,' Vulgus continued, his voice dropping to a thunderous whisper, ' I shall fuck your miserable cunt to a shapeless ruin of meat while you amuse me by skewering your own tits with burning irons.'

Satyra swallowed, but met the hell lord's gaze stoically. He leaned back into his throne and motioned to Sadiste. 'Bring in the cauldron.'

Sadiste bowed, and made a sign to the shadows. A dozen troll like beings, each less than four feet tall, appeared, carrying on their backs a huge brass bowl about eight feet across and two feet deep. Liquid sloshed inside it. From the rim, in five places, large poles three inches thick curved out for three feet and them back up towards and apex over the container. The reverse curve of the pole rose nine feet into the air, and fixed to each pole there was a woman.

Their hands and ankles were tied behind them, the brass shaft entering her body through the anus. The poles evidently continued up through their bodies, emerging from their wide open mouths near the convergence of the five rods. Satyra looked up in horror at the sight of the skewered women, made double horrific by the fact they were not dead. Each one moaned and wriggled at her impalement. The girls were all young in appearance, fair, though their beauty was marred by the pain of their ordeal. Two were fair skinned like Satyra, one with brown hair, the other honey blonde. Another girl had olive skin and curling black hair. She seemed shorter, with rounder hips and plump breasts, and her features reminded Satyra of the Roman's she had seen. The other two victims were of races unknown to her – one had skin like old ivory, with straight black hair, dark eyes, and small pert breasts with dark red nipples. The other was dark skinned, a brown that was almost black, except on the palms of her hands and soles of her feet. Her hair was a wide bush of kinky dark curls, and her large heavy breasts had black nubbins. She was the tallest of the five and had big lips that wrapped around the pole coming from her mouth, and an exotically lovely face with a broad nose.

The troll creatures set the bowl down and withdrew. Vhyl and Fylth came over and grabbed Satyra under the armpits, carrying her over to the bowl. Sadiste joined them. Inside the contents seemed like dark red wine, but the metallic odor coming from the liquid left no illusions about its true nature.

'Put her in,' Sadiste said without preamble, and the demons hoisted the shackled Chevaan into the bowl and set her down in the blood. Satyra struggled instinctively but was unable to prevent them attaching her legs to two clamps hidden on the inside of the bowl, the metal restraints circling her legs just below her knees and forcing her to kneel with her legs spread. Moving forward she would only pitch face first into the blood with her hands still bound behind her. Backwards she could sit in a kneeling pose, but she had not desire to let more of her body rest in the coagulating fluid than she had to.

Sadiste ran her hands over the surface of the blood where a thin scum was forming. 'This won't do at all,' she tsked. 'You two,' she said, calling to the demon warriors. 'Freshen the infusion.'

The demons laughed, reaching up with their spears. Satyra lifted her head to watch. Vhyl pressed his spear against the left breast of the blonde prisoner, then pushed, piercing the flesh. The girl howled and jerked and blood gushed down the spear to add to the contents of the bowl.

Satyra pulled back to avoid the red shower and almost overbalanced. As she did Fylth readhead over her shoulder with his spear and stabbed the dark skinned woman in the belly, making her scream and shudder as Zaraeth had done as her blood ran free.

Round and round the bowl the own demons continued, using their spears on the women's bellies, their breasts, their throats, and their pussies. The blood gushed freely from each, but like Zaraeth the helpless women showed no signs passing out or expiring. After a time their wounds bleeding would slow, and the demons would repeat the process to keep the blood flowing. There were particularly vicious with their stabs at the tits and genital of the victims, and laughed at the anguished cries that always followed.

As the demons stabbed, Sadiste began to chant in a low sing song voice, her body moving rhythmically, like a serpent's. She passed her hands over the blood, moving around, her eyes alternating between the sobbing prisoners and the ram horned captive. Satyra shook her head and leaned this way and that, trying to avoid the red liquid spattering her. It hand risen now up to her thighs only a foot below her exposed sexual organs.

Finally Sadiste paused and reached down beside her. When she stood up she held a flaming coal in her red palm.

'By all darkness,' she intoned, 'let the fire of hell enter the flesh of the living. Let her body be infused with its eternal flame, that she may endure without respite, and her pain be never ending.' She smiled evilly at Satyra. 'NOW!'

With her last cry Sadiste tossed the coal into the blood. Instantly the liquid roared to flaming like, as if it were oil from the earth. The flames shot up, engulfing Satrya's naked body in their scorching embrace.

Now…

'YeeeeeeaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRHHHHHHHH!!!!!'

Satyra howled and writhed in the pool of blood for what had seemed centuries. Her mind registered nothing but the hot pain blazing in her legs, her arms, and her body. When the magical flames wrapped around her breasts those large soft orbs felt like they were full of burning coals, swelling until they must surely explode outwards to release the trapped heat When the fires shot up between her legs the meat of her womanhood became a sizzling inferno that left in such anguish that she could not even scream. Only hold herself rigid, her head back and mouth wide in a silent paroxysm of anguish.

The fires lit her hair and wreathe her head in leaping flames. She lived on, and the hair reappeared. It turned her skin to red and then to black charred flakes that peeled away from her body. New skin grew back, ad still she lived. Her fingers bound behind her withered like sticks in a fire, her pussy lips hissed like frying strips of bacon, and the round crests of her breast cracked and bled down over her slender body. But she didn't die.

Over and over as she suffered she heard the soft Voice of Sadiste in her ears, urging her to surrender. Sometimes it offered pleasure without limits. Sometimes it promised the pain would never end. Always her refusal to accept its terms assured her suffering continued. Satyra wept and struggled and screamed and cursed and prayed, but the only words that would end her torture caught in her throat. And the horror went on.

She did not have nay awareness of time, but eventually she as if from a great distance a voice nearby. 'It is done,' it said, a woman's musical tones. 'Finish it.'

Satyra opened her eyes and say her body burning and blistering, the flames tearing at her without consuming her. She made another effort to rip her legs free of the shackles beneath the scalding liquid, pulling and tearing, then felt two points gouging her seared back. She pitched forward, mouth side in a scream as she fell beneath the surface.

Instantly her pain increased by an order of magnitude, the boiling liquid entering her mouth and lungs and searing her form the inside out, her eyes reduced to melting lumps of goo. Her brain shrivelled inside her skull then exploded like a birthing sun.

Then it was over, and she was upright again. The fires had vanished. Her body from the top of her head down was stained with the thick red slurry, and she shook it out of her eyes.

Rough hands reached in and removed her shackles and she was hauled out of the bow and dumped on the ground. She coughed and wheezed, looking up at Sadiste standing brazenly over her, and the more massive shadow of Vulgus behind her on his throne.

With a wrench the two spears tore loose from her shoulders, and she fell forward with a cry. Sadiste straddled the priestess and wiped away some of the bloody residue wear the points had pierced her. No wounds were left behind, and the skin, once bronze, now showed as an alabaster white beneath the clinging scum.

'Excellent,' rumbled Vulgus, as he pushed Zaraeth's head down over his dripping cock. 'Now we can truly begin.'

Satyra lay before the lord of hell, sucking in air, dreaming of the death that now would never come.

Part VI

Back Up

"The Yukhoth are among the most degenerate creature who reside in the Underworld, Sadiste explained as she stood with her hands on her waist, her weight on one leg so that her hip was pushed out and her long body curved like a serpents. "More intelligent than the Ashath, the slithering ones, though of course that' not saying much. They exist only to inflict pain and to rut like dogs in heat."

Satyra lay on her belly on a stone block about two feet high near her head and slanting down to one foot at the other end, where her bare feet hung over the end with metal clamps about her ankles. Other chains kept her arms pulled up with her hands either side of her shoulders. She was facing the demoness, the two of them in yet another of the seemingly infinite number of cavern chambers that made up the fiery realm of evil.

And they weren't alone.

Standing around the red she-demon were a half dozen of the little troll-creatures that had brought in the bowl of blood during the invigoration ritual. They were all virtually identical, about four feet tall stockily built humanoids with scaly green skin. Their head were round and hairless with broad ugly faces under heavy overhanging brows, with wide pug noses and lipless mouths full of short broken teeth. Their ears were like tiny bat wings either side of their head, and they had almost no neck between their chins and their podgy thick bodies. Like the demons Vhyl and Fylth they were naked, their short thick phalluses handing between their legs as they shamelessly examined the naked woman bound to the stone.

Sadiste stared at Satyra as well. Her red hair shone in the light of the torches in the chamber, and her green eyes still showed the defiance of their earlier conversations, though perhaps a little more fear as well, now that the priestess had had some experience with the horrors of her situation. But below the fringe of her curling red hair the face in which those green eyes were set was markedly different. The smooth skin, like that of Satrya's entire body, had gone from a healthy golden bronze to an alabaster white. As the nude captive lay on the stone block facing her Sadiste thought she seemed herself to be made of stone, a perfect white marble copy of a living woman, with only the copper hair, ivory horns and bright angry green eyes to reveal her true nature.

'Its rumoured that their sexual appetite is insatiable, that they can go for days raping a victim over and over without getting tired,' Sadiste continued, plying with the ears of one of the Yukhoth as it giggled at the helpless Chevaan, 'And,' added the yellow eyed hellion, 'they'll fuck almost anything.'

'Don't feel inhibited on my account,' Satyra said in a breathy voice, twisting her head a little to try and find a comfortable resting space against the harsh rocky surface.

Sadiste smiled more broadly. Satrya's resistance was exceeding all expectations. She found the woman's stubborn refusal to be broken very erotic, because she knew it would afford her so many more fulfilling opportunities to hurt and humiliate the proud beauty on the way to taming her.

Actually, they're here for your benefit, Sadiste smiled, and turned to the Yukhoth nearest to her. 'Now you are not allowed to rape her,' she told the little monster. 'Lord Vulgus has reserved the honour of being the first to penetrate her, and he will be most displeased if any of you should pre-empt him.'

'No pussy,' the creature growled. 'Ass?'

'No,' said Sadiste.

'Mouth?' asked another.

'Sorry, no.'

The trolls looked hard one by.

'Another thing,' Sadiste said. 'The spell that allows keeps her from death is powerful, but she may still not be as resilient as the souls you are used to tormenting. Best not to try decapitating or dismembering her.' The creatures blinked stupidly, and Sadiste sighed. 'Don't cut off her head, arms or legs.'

Again the Yukhoth pouted like disappointed children. 'Fingers? Tits?' asked the leader hopefully.

'No,' Sadiste said, getting annoyed. 'And not her feet, toes, ears, eyes, tongue, clit, or anything else you might think of. She stays all in one piece.'

The Yukhoth grumbled petulantly, and the leader next to Sadiste kicked the floor. 'Can't fuck it, can't slice it up,' he complained sulkily. 'What can we do to it?'

Sadist bent down so that her full breast hung forward and used her finger to raise the chin of the little demon and look at its face. 'Anything else,' she said with a smile.

The monster looked back for a moment, and then all six broke into a chorus of devilish laughter. Sadiste stood and looked over at Satyra. 'I'll leave you now,' she said to Satyra. 'Play nice.' She laughed as Satyra struggled with the chains around her wrists, then strutted out of the chamber.

Left alone with the hideous demons Satyra struggled more forcefully, but stopped as the creatures approached her, some standing around the stone block, the leader near her head. She shuddered as they pocked and pinched her, tweaking her ass and pulling her curling hair. 'It gonna beg for Vulgus big cock?' he asked.

'No,' Satyra snarled. 'Never.'

'Bad cunt,' snapped one of the Yukhoth at the rear, and gave her a vicious slap on the backside. Satyra winced.

'Dumb cunt,' laughed the leader, grabbing a fistful of Satyra's hair so she gasped. 'Cunt needs teaching.'

Two of the Yukhoth went over to a wall and grabbed objects hanging there. When they came back each held a long whip with nine thongs of some material that looked like cured leather, but was a bloody red colour. 'Cunt gonna learn now,' smiled the leader.

The whip carrying demons stood either side of Satyra, about level with her chest. She pulled her head up to look at one as it swung the weapon experimentally. She shivered, and the stone felt cold against her stomach and breasts.

While she was looking at one, the other swung its whip against her back, the leather thongs cracking loudly against the skin below her shoulder blades. Satyra gasped loudly and curled her hands into fists. As the pain flared in her flesh the other swung as well, the whip curling around the base of her back just above her ass.

The grinning trolls took it in turn to ply the leather against their victim's bare back, the whips wounding like snapping timbers as they crashed against Satyra's naked skin. Against the white flesh the red welts of the strikes flared angrily, as the priestess shook and began moaned and gave short yelps of pain.

After six stokes Satyra's body was damp with perspiration. At twelve it had begun to shine in the chambers light. Tears stung her eyes, and she stirred to push up against the stone to free herself, only to be battered down again by the force of the blows landing. She tired again, failed, fell back against the block. She cracked her chin and groaned. The demons laughed.

After twenty strokes the woman's back was spotted with drops of blood as the scouring lashes began to flay her skin. Satyra cried and ground her teeth. Sweat ran down into her eyes, and the skin around her wrists was chafed from tugging at the shackles. The pain between her shoulders and hips was if she were standing with her back to close to a fire, mixed with an ever-present stinging throb. In some part of her mind she had believed after the ordeal in Sadiste's magical flames she would be inured to any other pain, but as the whips fell again and again she had to struggle to stop from screaming like a trapped beast.

At thirty stokes the flogging stopped. Satyra swallowed and looked up, but the demons were only passing their whips to two companions eager to inflict pain on the lovely captive.

The second series of blows landed on her legs, working up and down their tapering length. When they whipped the soles of her feet Satyra finally cried out loud, the sensitive pads sending messages of anguish the full length of her body to her fevered brain. Satyra trembled and tried instinctively to pull herself away from the whips, but only succeeded in arching her back up as she pressed her hips and pelvis against the stone. The demons continued until her lower limbs were slick with seeping blood from the broken skin.

When the next pause came the leader grabbed her horns and pulled her round to face him. 'Cunt will beg for Vulgus cock.'

It wasn't a question, but Satyra responded anyway. 'I…won't,' she whispered behind grit teeth.

The demon slammed her head down against the stone so she saw stars, then strode round and grabbed a whip. The last demon to wait its turn did likewise.

The tongs whistled and cracked against her left ass cheek. Satyra screamed. Her right cheek got the same, and she screamed again.

Satyra soon lost track of how many blows struck her from behind. The torment sang in her ears and her world contacted around the awful flames ignited in her soft buttocks. She

Buried her face in the crook of her shoulder and wrenched against the chains about her wrists, and her body shook on the stone. Eventually her screams became mingled with the sobs that wracked her bleeding form. The Yukhoth laughed and kept beating her until the whip was sodden with blood and the flesh of her rounded ass was a mass of sliced, broken tissue.

At some point the flogging stopped. Satyra knew because the searing pain flaring like a sun in her backside receded to an agonizing but constant torture. It was a long time before she could summon the strength to lift her head to see what the demons were doing.

Through the sweat-moistened strands of her red fringe Satyra saw one of the demons who had already beaten her approaching with a new weapon, this one a metal handle trailing three lengths of three foot long chain, the fine links adorned with tiny metal spikes.

While Satyra watched in fascinated dread another of the creatures emptied a bucket of fetid water over her back. She gasped, but as the brine sluiced the blood from her there was far less pain than she had anticipated. She felt one demons clawed hand caressing her spine and twisted her head to see the leader running his fingers across the white skin, the surface smooth and unscarred. He smiled at her. 'All better,' he said. 'We can fix that.'

Satyra brought her head back around and braced herself as the chain whip hissed through the hot air. It took three strokes of the flail tearing the skin from her shoulder blades before she screamed again.

The Yukhoth flayed the woman's body up and down, from shoulders to feet. The stone and the ground about became drenched in blood, more blood than a woman could loose without passing out, but Sadiste's foul sorceries infused her rounded form with unnatural vitality, and her wounds healed swiftly so that the demons could keep on hurting her. She arched her body upwards when they beat the small of her back, so the trolls could see her full tits and nipples just clearing the hard stone. They got excited and spent some time using the spiked chin against the sides of her breasts where they were pillowed outwards against the block, watching the prisoner wiggle as she tried to shift her position to keep as much of the tender mounds hidden as possible. After a time they went back to flogging her tender ass, and her screams bounced off the cavern walls with each strike of the barbs. The twin cheeks clenched instinctively as the chains tore at them, making it look as if the copper-haired woman were humping the stone slab while she was whipped. They would pause to swap the flail around and give her backside time to partly heal, then rip into it again.

For Satyra, the universe degenerated into a cycle of agonized writhing and sobbing, anguished misery. Even when the demons were not beating her there was no release, her mind tormented by the knowledge they would soon be hurting her again. Her green eyes burned with tears, and despite the fiery signals coursing up from her shredded back she shivered, drenched in sweat. When the Yukhoth stopped now and again to offer her a chance to join Vulgus she could no longer muster any words of defiance, just shake her head feebly and then brace herself more pain.

At some point the torture paused for longer than normal, and Satyra lay with her eyes closed, enduring the feel of the open wound that was her rear. Her lips were dry and her throat parched from screaming.

Abruptly her eyes flew open as she felt little claws digging into her lacerated back. She twisted as much as she could to see one pf the demons had climbed up onto her back, using his clawed toes to grip her flesh. It stood facing her feet. One hand holding a short metal rod, like a riding crop but with wicked little points along its length. The other hand was employed in stroking the creature's hardened phallus.

With the trolls weight atop her Satyra's head was dragged around by hands grasping her ram's horns. She was made to look at the leader again as more clawed fingers grabbed her ass from either side.

'The cunt needs to beg us,' the chief Yukhoth hissed. Satyra's face twisted with disgust and she shook her head violently, pulling away from him.

At a nod from his leader the troll on her back swung the quirt down between Satyra's spread butt cheeks. The barbed metal crashed into the sensitive cleft, the pins gouging the rim of her anus and the small, intense pace between her sphincter and her genitals.

'Eeeerrrrrgghhgg!' came the beautiful red-head's gurgling cry, as she tried to clench her ass but was prevented by the clawed hands gripping the full round flesh. The rod swept up and down again, wrenching another cry from the prisoner.

'Beg!' barked the Yukhoth. Satyra did not even have time to refuse before she was struck again, the pain making her heave on the slab. The tender zone was struck by the barbed rod over and over, the pain hammering at her without respite. She cried out brokenly, sobbing and struggling hopelessly. Even after the exotic tortures she had witnessed and endured, the simple brutality and humiliation of being viciously and sadistically beaten while a helpless captive was deeply horrifying. With each blow that made her yelp and twist the Yukhoth exercised their power over her at the most base level, the most primitive and disgusting need for the male to hurt and dominate the female. Unlike the efforts of Sadiste, and Vulgus, and even the Romans, the Yukhoth punishment of her body was untempered by the trappings of culture or sophistication. They understood only that they wanted to hurt her, to take pleasure in her suffering, and they adopted the most direct and simple route to bring about that suffering. The demons not otherwise occupied frigged their jutting cocks shamelessly as they watched her sweat-slick body wriggling across the unyielding surface, the moist flesh of her breasts and belly clinging damply to the stone when she twisted and stretched and shuddered, unable to protect herself from the crop tearing between her asshole and pussy again and again.

Satyra screamed as they hit her, each time they hit her. Sometimes between strokes she would sob a prayer of deliverance. Sometime she would curse them. Mostly though she just sobbed and squirmed and screamed until her throat cracked.

How long they beat her ass, ten minutes or an hour or a day, Satyra did not know. Her universe was the creature on her back and the agony in her rear. Claws holding her buttocks painfully apart changed over and over as the demons took turns with the duties of her torture. The claws gouged the ripe mounds and the blood ran down to join the red fluid already mingled with her salty perspiration. At intervals she would feel the warm spray of demonic cum as a Yukhoth unloaded his pulsing cock over her back or hair or tear-stained face while it howled and gibbered in ecstasy.

But finally there came a stop. Satyra did not know how long it was after they actually ceased flogging her that she regained enough awareness to realize they had stopped. She only knew they had, and she lay drawing deep full breaths. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt swollen. Tears and sticky sweat and drops of vile semen coated her face. Her green glowing eyes were half closed as she lay immobile, still chained.

Without warning the chains at her wrists and ankles tugged and fell away. She blinked groggily, then gasped as Yukhoth hands grabbed her arms and legs, the later running up to scratch at her crotch. Swiftly and unceremoniously she was flipped over onto her back, the manacles snapping back into place just as Satyra became aware enough to start struggling. She winced as he tortured back was slammed against the stone, but already the dark magic had almost healed those wounds. Even the scars had begun to fade.

Lifting her head Satyra found the chief Yukhoth standing between her feet hanging just past the edge of the slab. At a signal from him two demons near her head adjusted the length on her wrist chains, pulling her hands up past the top edge of the stone so that her forearms were drawn down towards the floor, the crook of her elbow bent at right angles over the rim of the rock. Her body was forced up along the smooth stone surface so that her shoulder blades were resting at the very top end, her head hanging in space as her red foaming hair tumbled down towards the ground.

Satyra felt the tightening of the muscles in her neck and shoulders to keep her head raised. Looking down between her legs she saw the demon staring lecherously at her full white breasts with their pale nips, enhanced by the position of her arms. She knew letting her head fall back would accentuate their upward curve further and so stoically kept her head level, glaring down at the ugly little beast.

'Sexy cunt,' the demon growled, admiring her tits and also stroking her lower leg as its yellow eyes drifted down over her belly. 'Sexy and stupid. Cunt wants us to hurt it more?'

'Fuck you,' Satyra snapped, and was surprised to hear the base words leap from her mouth. As a priestess she had trained to subdue such impulses, especially given the wild nature of her satyr heritage, but her recent experiences were testing that discipline.

The demon blinked and glowered at her. 'Cunt's for Vulgus,' he snarled, his desires easy to read as he stared at her copper crested femaleness. He turned to one of his subordinates. 'Find a cunt we can fuck.'

The creature gibbered and jogged off, and the lead demon signalled. Two of the other Yukhoth stepped up on either side of the prisoner, holding the wicked leather thong whips again. 'Make it scream like a pig,' he commanded.

Part VII

Back Down

The two trolls went straight to work, each drawn irresistibly to the nearest of those two splendid boobs. The thongs smacked loudly against the taut skin and Satyra choked on a scream as the force and sudden pain drove the air from her lungs. As she tried to suck in a breath the leather hit her breasts again and she yelped, letting her head fall back, only to bring it up again as the third strike slashed at the bouncing, reddening orbs on her chest.

The sight of those two mighty mounds of woman-meat dancing under the whip inspired the demons to even greater cruelty, and soon Satyra's screams of torment were again echoing around the chamber. The whips cracked against her firm young body, breaking the white skin so blood oozed from the welts and was plastered across the female canvass by the next strike. Satyra twisted like an eel in her chains and threw her head from side to side as the pain cut deep into her shuddering breast-flesh. The watching demons jerked at their rock hard cocks until jism sprayed over the legs and belly of the wriggling woman, then bayed for their turn with the whips as their companions released their own pent up lust.

As two of the demons reluctantly came to the end of their spell of punishing the howling priestess, the Yukhoth that had been sent out returned, leading another prisoner by a golden chain. The demons in the cave bayed with pleasure at the newcomer's arrival, for the moment forgetting the Chevaan on the slab and crowding to reach the fresh meat.

Through the red haze of her pain Satyra struggled to focus on her fellow prisoner. The woman seemed about the same age as herself, with dusky skin and black hair cut square about her shoulders. She had a slender, willowy body shape; tapering slender legs, narrow waist, long taught body and firm, pert breasts with large round nipples. When Satyra caught a glimpse of her face among the clustered demons, she saw a finely chiselled set of features, adorned with full red lips and dark, almost black eyes rimmed with dark cosmetic lines and golden paint between her brows and long lashes. She looked up at the vile beasts clustered around her, speaking in a language Satyra did not understand, but the terror in her eyes and voice needed no translation.

One of the demons balled up a fist and struck the cowering girl in the mouth, knocking her down. She cried out and tried to fend them off, but they seized her and hauled her up to be struck in the face again.

'No,' Satyra shouted, rattling her chains as she tired futilely to intervene. 'Leave her alone.'

The Yukhoth turned her way and she grew cold feeling their attention return to her, but she struggled to not show any fear. The dark girl huddled on the ground, weeping softly.

'Beg for cock, cunt,' the leader snarled. 'If it wants us to stop hurting the other cunt, it has to beg.'

Satyra twisted in her chains and looked with hatred at the sneering demon. The sight of the young girl surrounded by the stiff-pricked monsters filled her with pity and horror, but she knew what was at stake and stayed silent.

The Yukhoth leader shrugged and waved to his followers.

Two of them stepped forward with the lashes again while the other three scuffled near the whimpering desert girl until the two biggest had her kneeling between them, one holding her head and the other her slim waist.

One of the whip carrying demons reached out and grabbed Satyra's right mammary in his clawed grip, squeezing hard. She bit her lip and moaned softly as he pinched the tender curve. The other flicked his whip out so the tails smacked against Satyra's midriff, making her tense her abdominals, her body quivering.

Starved for the chance to properly express their lustful intentions towards their captive, the Yukhoth around the brawn skinned girl were far more to the point. As soon as the one behind had positioned himself he surged forward, his sticky demon shaft jabbing deep into the folds of the girl's exposed pudenda. She cried out and moved forward, but he grabbed her hips and hauled her back against him, pushing his cock-head further into her unprepared entrance. The girl sobbed wretchedly, crying out with every thrust as the demon grunted and laughed.

'Bastards!' Satyra spat out, just as the creature holding her breast sliced her bulging boob crest with the whip. The demon's tough hide withstood the blow but bloody welt sprang across the surface of Satyra's imprisoned teat, and she yelped in pain. The next stroke felt even words and she cried out loud. With every stroke the troll squeezed worse and hit harder, eyes glowing with the passion of feeling the soft flesh it was flogging to bloody strips.

The creature with the other whip caught the fervour of its companion and began plying its lash in earnest against Satyra's belly and the ridges of her stretched abdominal. It used a backhand stroke that flicked the whip ends viscously against the prisoner's skin, and felt like razor sharp claws tearing at the taught white flesh. Blood began to pool around the red-heads pelvis and the dip of her navel, and her diaphragm quivered as she sucked in air and tired to pull her stomach back from the cruel thongs. The effort only made her abdomen flatter and sexier, a fest for demon eyes as it sweated and shook and bled in concert with her shrieks.

The demons fucking their dark skinned trophy enjoyed the spectacle as well, their eyes on the torture as they used the helpless girl roughly. The creature at the front had waited until a particularly loud outcry form the prisoner to push his green cock into her open mouth, and now his hands gripped her dark hair and used it to pull her lips back and forth around his shaft, raping her mouth. Strangled moans and cries emanated from the victim as the beast behind sank his impressive length to the hilt in her dry, unwilling channel, tearing her inside while its claws drew blood from its grip in her waist and tight little ass. The Yukhoth unlucky enough to be left watching held its cock and slapped it against the girls smooth back as it jerked off, hollering along with its brethren while the girl was pushed back and forth between the two monster penises reaming her front and back, her tits hanging down under her jumping and quivering with the force of the dual rape.

As the demons fucking the girl thrust faster and harder with excitement, their friends with the whips became more energetic as well, moving back a little to really let fly with the terrible cords. Satyra had thought they had been hitting her hard when she was face down, but the strokes her back had endured proved mild in comparison with the punishment her front now endured. The cords struck with enough force to slide the skin like shallow knife-strokes. Instead of blood oozing though mild breaks, it ran freely from criss-crossing gouges and cuts, soaking her in ichor. Before long her upper body and midriff was a mass of ragged bleeding flesh, the skin flayed away in places to show the muscle and ligaments beneath. The creatures spared her face, possibly to better enjoy the sight of those gorgeous features twisted by howls of animal suffering, but not and inch of the rest of between her navel and neck was spared. Her upper arms and shoulders felt as if acid had been used to scour away the skin, and Satyra squirmed on a slab now slick with her own red blood.

She drew in breath to scream, and the mounds of her breasts leaked more crimson fluid, their contours still firm and commanding but their delicate smoothness turned into agonized mounds of broken, lacerated femininity, the taught nipple obscured by slivers of torn skin and clots of blood. Only the throaty howls of the priestess and the frantic shaking of her horned head when the thongs struck the breast-peaks attested to the nubbins continued presence.

Satyra soon sank into a rising tide of pain that washed over her in ever mounting waves, reducing her to a thing of torn flesh and desperate, broken screams. The jerking movements of her body as the whips tore at her sent messages of agony from the pattern of whip-slices covering her chest and torso, but she was as powerless to prevent her bodies instinctive response to the flogging as she was to spare the young woman being used by the demons as a mere fuck-toy while they watched her brutalized. Her head hung back over the slab, rising only when an especially terrible blow sent her into convulsions of pain, and her red hair was damp and matted with sweat. The screams coming from her red lips did not even seem to be her won, but rather separate entities that tore themselves from her, demanding escape.

Watching and enjoying the show the Yukhoth fucking the desert girl came over and over, swapping positions now and then but never abandoning their pumping assault for long. If one of the whip-wielders could pull his fellow away to replace him in the flogging, he instantly took up the pistoning abuse, the girl's mouth and pink pussy soon dripping with demonic cum.

Satyra opened her own mouth to scream again and choked on a job of hot fluid. She choked and made out the leaders dripping prick in front of her face as the head sent forth another spray of semen, spattering her eyes and horns. She gagged and dry wretched, the muscular contractions adding to the pain in her flayed torso. The leader laughed and punched her hard in the face, wiping his dripping phallus in her damp hair.

As the head demon stood back the whips stopped their endless, terrible cracking. Satyra lay utterly exhausted in her chains, breathing feebly, sobbing like a child and moaning in pain as blood from her split lip filled her mouth with the taste of metal.

A demon came over with a bucket and emptied fresh brine over her open wounds. Satyra's head snapped up and she screamed at the top of her lungs, a piercing sound or raw pain. She fell back and thrashed uncontrollably as the burning liquid set fire to her exposed nerve ending. As her breasts danced like jelly the salt water washed away the blood covering them, revealing the Underworld magic already knitting up the hideous wounds done by the whips just as it did the tear in her red curving lips, leaving her fresh and unmarked to hurt again and again.

The leader came over to pull up her jiz stained face, looking into her green eyes. He studies her closely, smirking. 'Tough cunt,' he grunted. 'Tougher than most. Most cunts nice and soft.' He nodded to where his followers were still raping the young dusky skinned brunette without cease.

The demon used one hand to finger Satrya's curling ram's horns. She was too tired to attempt to pull away. 'Nice,' he commented. 'Reminds me of Sadiste.' He leaned closer, his breath foul in her nostrils. 'We hurt her too, sometimes, when it pleases the master. Hurt in all sorts of ways. She's tough as well. Screams nice, wiggles nice. Like this does.' He pawed her shoulder and one of her again smooth breasts.

'I'm…nothing…like her,' Satyra gasped weakly. The demon was fingering hr nipple, and she closed her eyes as she felt him touching her. Wishing she could stop it, knowing she couldn't.

'Think so?' the demon said softly. He turned to look at her and smiled evilly. 'We'll see.'

Part VIII

Fractures

The demons dragged the sobbing, cum stained prisoner closer to Satyra, close enough for the red headed priestess to make out the individual globs of semen covering her face. The girl's lithe brown body trembled as she fought to recover from the exhausting repeated double rapes.

'Gonna play a game,' the chief said, still tweaking Satyra's plump white breast. 'Gonna see which cunt can make other scream the nicest.' He released Satyra and ambled over to the young brunette, running his claws through her bobbed black hair so she lifted her chin. As the girls' head came up the chief presented his cock in front of her and to the ram-horned Chevaan's disgust she compliantly began kissing and licking the scaled shaft. The Yukhoth smiled down at his slave. 'Cunt who can make other scream best, gets to rest a while.'

Satyra flexed her muscles, twisting a little in dreadful anticipation. 'I won't play,' she said firmly.

The trollish demon shrugged and turned to look down at the ducky beauty servicing his stiffened member. 'Will it make the cunt scream for us?' he asked

The girl looked up then glanced over at the bound priestess. Satyra met her gaze from the slab. 'They can do anything to our bodies,' she said to the girl, her voice even and firm, 'but they can only take our souls if we let them.'

The girl blinked but said nothing, her dark eyes travelling along the length of the Chevaan's nude form. The Underworld magic had already healed much of the damage from the whips, but the remaining welts and bruises, coupled with the lingering pain on the satyr-woman's face, told of the anguish she had already endured. The girl let her eyes rest on Satyra's cleft between her spread thighs, less than a foot from her face, then looked up to meet the Priestesses level stare again. Then she smiled wickedly.

The lead Yukhoth smiled to and released his hold on the girl's hair. Without instruction the brunette rose and stepped towards the shackled priestess, smiling the whole time.

'You don't have to do this,' Satyra said, her eyes and the girls locked together, but she already knew it was futile. The look in those deep dark eyes was of hope mixed with malice; this girl was prepared to do anything for a moments respite from her masters' attentions, including inflict the suffering she herself endured on another helpless victim. As she climbed up beside Satyra on the stone slab the lascivious movements of her tanned body were all designed to entertain the demons who had just moment before brutally gang-fucked her, just so she could enjoy a brief interlude to her eternal torments.

The slave girl moved up alongside Satyra on the slab, her soft hands reaching out to caress the fully healed skin of the chained woman's abdomen. They travelled up over the ridge of her sternum and between the rises of her ample chest, teasing lightly with a feather touch, then travelling up the crest of one of these soft orbs to cup the nipple, squeezing gently. The whole time the girl kept her eyes on Satyra's, a look of growing triumph in her eyes as she started to realise that her fellow prisoner was not only unable but unwilling to resist her. Satyra held her eyes with her own, her gaze unflinching as the girls hands touched her with undeserved intimacy.

The girl shifted her weight a little, pressing down on the tit she was holding, applying pressure so that it was squashed out around the prison of her fingers. Those digits closed inwards, pinching the rounded flesh in an ever tightening grip, then twisting cruelly. Satyra did not move but winced as the pain started to grow in her trapped breast-mound, the passion now lighting the gaze of her tormentor a sign that this was not just a matter of survival for her fellow captive; the girl was enjoying hurting her just as she herself had been abused by the demons.

'Mmmmm, that must be uncomfortable,' said a lilting voice beside her, and Satyra moved her head to see Sadiste standing by the head of the stone slab, leaning back to inspect the continuing abuse of the red-heads breasts. 'I'll bet their still tender from the whipping, too.'

Satyra said nothing, especially since Sadiste was fully correct and the evil pinching and yanking of her boob was making her eyes water a little. The girl was straddling her now and using both hands to manipulate the vulnerable mammaries, while the Yukhoth cheered her on.

'You know, I don't think this little bitch gives a flying fuck that you don't want to hurt her,' the crimson skinner Sadiste continued, turning around and leaning over to put her face near to Satyra's own. One red finger traced the outline of the suffering Chevaan's left horn. 'I think she's just getting off on hurting you .'

The girl brought her full weight down on Satyra's gorgeous breasts and dug her nails in, gouging the nipples with her thumbs. She pulled hard, lifting the priestess a little from the slab by her full flesh-melons and then slamming her back against the stone. Satyra blinked away tears. 'I'm not playing your sick little games,' she said through gritted teeth as the abuse continued, worsened.

'Whatever you want,' Sadiste replied casually, still fingering the horns smooth curve. 'I daresay your young friend here isn't going to complain. She's from a country called Egypt, by the way. She was a slave there, too, when she was alive. They can be very hard on their slaves, I believe. Very…imaginative. But you'll find that out for yourself soon enough.'

The girl got a finger and thumb grip on Satyra's nipples and pinched brutally, pulling them in toward the centre. Satyra sucked in air and murmured a pained retort, felling her nubs being twisted and the nerves conducting their howl of protest through her breasts. She moved her head to shoot a curse at the leering demoness, but the red skinned hellion had vanished as suddenly and silently as she had appeared.

Apparently oblivious to the exchange that had just occurred, the Egyptian girl continued her attentions to Satyra's c swelling breasts, dipping her head to flick the nipples with a pick wet tongue. The process stirred the oval buds to even greater hardness, making the priestess wriggle a little – those pale pink nerve clusters were still sensitive from being flayed by the Yukhoth's whips, and the stimulation of the girls generous mouth muscle was sending messages to Satyra's brain that brought a completely undesired response, one that the red-head desperately hoped that Sadiste never became aware of.

Abandoning her licking the girl grabbed one of the chained woman's tits in another firm grip, just hard enough to become uncomfortable. Holding tight she pulled the peak of flesh into her mouth, forming a seal with her lips and sucking diligently. Satyra felt her imprisoned boob-crest pulled into the slave girl's orifice by the vacuum as the tongue within continued its attentions, running all around the surface of the smooth mam-mountain, forcing Satyra to close her eyes to try and block out the ever mounting stimulation. The Yukhoth were masturbating openly again by now, as the Egyptian raised her hips to give them a good view of her ass and the pouting pussy they had so recently been savagely pummelling with their fuck-staffs. Satyra's own fem-meat pouted less than a foot below, two prime pieces of pussy hovering near each other making the jerking movements of the demons hands on their pricks even more enthusiastic.

Satyra pressed her lips into a thin line. She couldn't believe any woman would so willingly debase herself for the enjoyment of her rapists. Was there no limit to what this girl would sink to?

Then the Egyptian abandoned her sucking, pinning one diamond hard nipple between her teeth and biting down hard.

'Aaaahhhhhrrrrrrrr!!!' The exclamation of pain flew from Satrya's lips before she could prevent it, feeling the nubbin of her teat ground between the white ridges of the girl's teeth. The dusky Egyptian smiled up at her from where her mouth was clamped around her breast and shifted, using her back molars to get at the abused nipple, chewing and grinding at it while Satyra shook her head from side to side and felt hot tears coursing from her green eyes.

With undisguised glee the naked slave girl used her sharp teeth to savage Satyra's prominent girl-mounds, scratching and pinching with her hands while she bit and chewed at the vulnerable white orbs. Soon bruises and teeth marks could be seen on the pale skin whenever the beauteous desert waif moved her head to inflict misery onto to some new patch of soft smooth womanliness, while the helpless priestess trembled in pain and indignation.

Grabbing the side of one of those exquisite boobs the girl brought it to her mouth, snapping down hard and biting for all she was worth, hard enough to pierce the skin and draw blood. Satyra gave another cry of pain and fought in her chains, feeling the Egyptian's teeth ripping her flesh and the hot flow of blood again coming forth to mingle with the sheen of sweat and saliva covering her shaking chest melons. She yelped and moaned as the process was repeated over and over, until every inch of her naked tits felt bruised, battered and swollen by the dark skinned sluts vicious attack.

Sitting up the girl looked down at the priestess chained beneath her, licking the salty blood from her lips and leering in triumph. She seemed utterly without remorse at the hurt she had caused her fellow prisoner. Holding onto the hurting breasts she rubbed her pubis against Satyra's hips and lower abdomen, frigging herself shamelessly while the Yukhoth standing about called encouragement and jerked vile fluids from the ends of their scaly pizzles. Satyra looked up at her tormentor through her dishevelled red hair, panting in pain and mounting anger in time to the breathy gasps of the Dark girl's moans of joy as she used the prisoner's helpless body to pleasure herself.

The Yukhoth leader cam to stand next to the girls as she straddled Satyra, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him so that her could whisper into her ear where was covered by the shiny black coif of her straight bobbed hair. The girl listened, keeping her dark eyes fixed on Satrya's all green ones, nodding as she received instructions. Then the demon let her go and she moved back up to balance over the ram-horned priestess.

Still staring at Satyra, the girl released her grip on the Chevaan's sore tits and leaned back, reclining her weight against the bound prisoner's pelvis and moving her legs so that her knees come up beneath Satyra's armpits and she was kneeling with her toes either side of the red-heads sensual waist. One hand came up to cup one of her own modest tits, caressing it gently in marked contrast to e relentless abuse she had inflicted on Satyra's own bruised mammaries. She smiled as her fingers tweaked her brown nipples playfully, rocking herself gently on the Chevaan's lap to continue the stimulation of her womanly parts while her tight brown ass cheeks massaged the chained holy-woman's inner thighs. Satyra's only response to this new lechery was to continue to glare up at the other woman, full of frustration as her full round breasts slowly healed themselves of their latest hurts.

With exaggerated sensuality the Egyptian minx slid her hand from the nipple down towards her belly, past her navel and on down to where the shadow of her feminine cleft rested near Satyra's own vale of desire. Light brown fingers sought put the puckered tan lips and wiggled beyond, teasing and tickling as the girl worked on her own pleasure centre, gently masturbating herself atop the shackled prisoner. Her eyes closed and little moans of pleasure dribbled from her lips as her body rocked and undulated to a sexual rhythm.

Satyra watched the shameless display in disbelief and disgust, shocked that any woman would debase herself so willingly for her captors. As she fought to ignore the persistent rubbing of the Dark girls tight ass against her nether regions, she noticed the little tramps other arm moving behind her body as she leaned back, exposing more of her fingers sex-play to view but also allowing her hand to move down to where Satyra's own labia lay nestled near the slave-girls buttocks. Those expert digits quickly found the Chevaan's entrance and pushed the outer gates aside to brush the pink slit within with tender scorn. The satyr-woman's efforts to close her legs to the invasion were futile as the groaning desert waif continued to rock back and frig herself with her right hand as her left began to tease and rub Satyra's female anatomy in earnest.

Watching the gathered demon henchmen took in the spectacle of their will-less fuck toy wanking joyfully while she finger raped the struggling red haired beauty. The dark girl moved her hips in a soft gyration as she rode the stubborn Chevaan cunt and used her other hand to worm her way into the heart of the priestess' pussy, sliding her fingers in and out as she massaged the hidden nub of the pale woman's sex. Their hands were a blur as they tugged at their phallic organs and drops of devil cum coated the stone floor.

For her part Satyra let her head fall back as waves of pleasure began to radiate from the waif's skilled caress, filling the hot space between her legs and then spreading out through her body. She closed her eyes but could not close her mind to the tingling as it ran up through her belly and across the curved surface of her breast, making the nipples stand to attention as she instinctively arched her back ever so slightly in response. Satyra wanted to make herself neutral to the heat coursing through her flesh, but nothing her mind could do would stop the rising tide of sexual energy moving through her ever more strongly. She wept quietly at the shame of it as she felt the lithe body of the girl moving on her lap, the memory of that nubile brown body niggling at her as her vagina began to quiver under the assault of pleasure.

Seeing her victim slowly succumbing to her attentions the Egyptian moved quickly, rising off Satyra's lap and spinning around on the slab. As Satyra opened her eyes in surprise she was shocked to find herself suddenly staring up at the dark purple lips of the slave-girl's moistened vagina as the girl settled her crotch over the priestess' face with her own head looking down at the exposed feminine charms of the red-head.

As the odour of the girls juices washed over her the head Yukhoth appeared again to speak. 'Cunt must make other cunt scream,' he rasped, while the curve of Satyra's horns brushed the Dark girl's smooth inner thighs.

Satyra shook her head, red curls drifting across her eyes. 'No,' she hissed.

'Cunt screams itself then,' grunted the demon.

Reaching up the beast grabbed the Egyptians ass and shoved it down, pushing the girls open pussy right onto Satyra's face. The priestess thrashed as the wet woman-meat enveloped her, overpowering her with its humid scent.

For her part the Egyptian lost no time in beginning to rub her inflamed loins on Satyra's face, humping the Chevaan's nose, chin and lips while those wonderful horns caressed her sensitive thighs. As Satyra struggled to get her mouth free to suck in air her efforts only added to the delight the black-haired vixen felt electrifying her love hole. Pinioned to the stone in the midst of her enemies Satyra experienced the humiliation she thought she would never have to endure – to be raped by another female captive!

But the nubile Egyptian had more in mind for her helpless love toy than mere face-fucking. The Yukhoth had made the conditions of the contest clear, and the long suffering daughter of the Nile had no intention of recommencing her eternal torment a second before she had to; not while this foolish fire-haired demon woman was prepared to allow her free reign over her sturdy white body. As her crotch rubbed back and forth across the horned woman lovely face, smearing it with her juices, the tanned girl reached down to part the pussy lips open and vulnerable below her, while at the same time moving her hand towards the short stiff whip left conveniently on the stone by one of the furiously wanking devil trolls.

Satyra felt the fingers invading her again as she struggled to find relief from the musky wetness smothering her, the knowing digits once more gaining access to her feminine sanctuary to betray her with their understanding of its secrets. The fingers pulled the labia aside and stretched her vaginal lips wide, uncomfortably wide, exposing the priestess totally to her torturers. At any moment Satyra knew she would feel the brush of that merciless tongue lapping at her inmost being, turning her into a whore for these unholy scum, making her twitch and moan with pleasure more horrible than death.

Then her universe shattered into a million burning fragments as the crop crashed down into the middle of her sex.

'YYYYYYYRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNFFFFFFFFF!!!!!'

Satyra arched up, ramming her face deep into the slippery cleft of the Egyptian as pain took control of her and made her its bitch. Her chained legs kicked wildly and she wrenched at her wrist chains as her stifled scream vibrated through the pussy of her tormenter, making her groan in abandon.

Feeling the idiot red-heads mouth releasing its pain directly into her pussy, the Egyptian reared back and struck again, eager for more. The stiff hide slashed deep into the pliant pink valley and another muffled wail sent shivers of pleasure through the black haired girls undulating sexiness.

With her fingers dug cruelly into the ultra-sensitive girl-flesh, the Egyptian went to work with the crop mercilessly, tearing into the Chevaan's screaming sex-wound again and again and again. The gaping channel of the ram-horned priestess was soon swollen and bleeding beneath the continuous flogging, the pain and horror of it reducing the owner of that sensuous cavity to a thing of animalistic screams and spasming, erotic convulsions. As she whipped her victim's lacerated cunt 'til it took the priestess to the edge of madness, the Egyptian ground her own sex-flesh down onto Satrya's face. Using the horrific shrieks and mindless thrashing to bring her own self to an unbelievable orgasm, she gyrated atop the howling satyr-woman and released the white-hot flare of energy at the core of her female being, the gorgeous desert tramp barely remembered to keep her lips tightly closed, lest her own screams of pleasure count against her in the demons sadistic reverie.

Beneath the suffocating girl-soaked loins Satyra waged a desperate, losing battle to retain he grip on sanity as the centre of her feminine being was ripped apart lash by brutal lash. There was no hope of containing the pain that was blossoming like an angry sun between her legs, no hope of denying the monstrous violation; no hope at all. Only pain – terrible, awful, soul-shredding pain. It rose and fell like the boiling molten rock that welled from the Earth, every strike of the cruel sharp hide into her womanhood an inferno of suffering that forced the primal screams from her mouth like an eruption of agony. Her body heaved with the force of an earthquake, the flat plains of her abdomen rippling and shifting in an undulating pattern while mountain breasts trembled and danced with tectonic fury. Her arms and legs jerked powerfully at the chains binding them, snapping the coarse metal links taught, blood from her broken flesh oozing around the shackles as she heaved up, crashed back against the pitiless rock, heaved again.

The Yukhoth watching the spectacle were transfixed in their masturbation by the sight of the two gorgeous females, one suffering, one rutting furiously, both their spectacular bodies moving like avatars of sex.

The Egyptian pummelled Satyra's face with her loins, lost in her swelling climax. She moaned like a whore as she continued to whip the Chevaan's pussy, flogging the ultra-tactile pinkness raw and riding the horrific screams drilling into her own tunnel. The far more delicious heat between her thighs rose to a crescendo as she clenched her teeth and came hard, humping Satyra's face while she paused in the twat-flogging to grab tit, her own and Satyra's; the one to tweak and fondle, the other to twist and maul as the orgasm flooded her dusky young body.

Beneath the climaxing waif, the break in the torment lacerating her most sacred space gave Satyra the chance to recover some of her senses. The frantic motion of her sister prisoner and the coursing juices flowing from the cunny in her face told her all she needed to know of what was happening, and as the pain faded slightly it was replaced by disgust, and then quickly to bubbling anger. Satyra would have suffered any torment rather than defile another woman, but this shameless desert slut had sloughed off any sense of decency. Satyra's honour and sacrifice meant nothing to this damned thing, and as she felt the girl straddling her rising and falling in pleasure born of her pain the Priestess thoughts grew as red as the flaming hair tumbling down towards the stone floor. Rage drove out her pain. Rage, and the need for vengeance.

The girl was beginning to slow as her climax ebbed, and she tightened her grip on the whip to employ it once more on the sweet-meat before her. But before she could strike, Satyra seized her chance and acted. As the pussy lips smearing themselves over her lifted slightly, the Priestess jerked her head upward, opened her mouth to encompass those drizzling edges of flesh, and bit!

Above the Egyptian froze in mid groan, feeling her labia suddenly pinned between the red-heads jaws, the teeth biting down hard on the soft pubic meat. She gasped and tried to lift herself up, but the chained woman hung on like and angry hound, trapping the folds of pleasure with her jaws and holding on, biting and gnawing. The brown girl's eyes became frantic as she felt the painful chewing and grinding of her sex, while at the same time Satyr found just enough slack in her chained arms to move her hands round to seize the Egyptians slender ankles, preventing her from further attempt to rise.

Trapped the slave girl became increasingly desperate, teeth clenched to hold back her screams as Satyra savaged her pussy. She threw her body around but could not pull herself free. She tied pushing against Satrya's body with her hands but the vengeful grip of the priestess was too strong. Unable to find any escape the Egyptian again lifted the short whip still in her hand and took aim.

With the taste of the nubile desert-dweller's labia in her mouth Satyra felt the pain once more flare in her mons Eros. But rather than cry out she used the pain to make her bite harder, harder. More torment blazed through her cleft as the Egyptian whipped her ever more frantically, but each stride only tightened her grip as she ground her teeth against the slaves tender fem-cleft.

Now sobbing desperately as her sweat-coated body fought to escape, the girl leaned far over and stabbed her fingers deep into Satyra's sex, prying the flesh either side wide as she sought the half-satyr's ultimate womanliness. Satyra felt the change and shoved her face deep into the minx's pussy, her tongue swirling and probing as the Egyptian tried to keep herself moving. It was a race to see which woman would find the others most intimate secret first.

Satyra felt the whip bite her pussy deep inside, and the nausea almost made her let go her teeth. She shook in pain but hung on. Another blow landed closer to her tiny flesh hood, and her body soaked in sweat writhed, tearing at her bondage, but she hung on. The brown girl used her free hand to rip at Satyra's bouncing tits like claws, ripping the pliant flesh, but the red-head continued. She chewed her way into the Egyptian's she-meat, questing with tooth and tongue, seeking the prize. Fear and desperation lashed her harder than the whip as she felt the strap strike again, less than an inch from her love-nub, the pain extreme. The next blow would surely land squarely on the hood itself and she would be lost.

As the Egyptian raised the whip and gazed down at the revealed target with triumph in her tear-filled dark eyes, Satyra's tongue brushed the hard bump of the girl's clitoris. Without thought of mercy the priestess moved her head and bit!

The shriek that filled the cavern was unbelievable. The Egyptian's whole little form arced back, her spine bent so sharply it seemed it must shatter. Her breasts pointed at the ceiling and her red lips sent forth a scream of ultimate suffering, of grotesque physical anguish mixed with the despair of total defeat, and the knowledge of what it meant.

On the stone slab Satyra tore at her enemy's vulnerable sex with fury. The intimate knowledge of female anatomy, the gentle skill with which she used her red mouth to tease and caress and pleasure Conine's intimate tenderness she now used with merciless fury, making the Egyptian slave suffer horrifically. As she felt and heard her opponent shriek in surrender she felt a wave of triumph, a not-entirely un-sexual warmth that tingled through her body, easing the hurt still throbbing in her whip-slashed womanhood.

About the stone jism flew thick and fast as the demons loosed their most potent load yet at the sight. Blood was flowing down over the white satyr-girls chin and between her breasts as she savaged the Egyptian's cunt with animal rage. The wailing girl dropped the whip and clawed at the air with her long fingers, screaming continuously, her diaphragm expanding to suck in air for each new hideous outcry. Her black bobbed hair flew about as her head shook from side to side, anguish written in every edge and shadow of her sensual form.

At last the demons ran dry and several stepped forward to grab the desert woman and drag her off the stone. So furious was Satyra's assault that they had to pry her jaws apart to release the sobbing slave, her pubic region a mass of mauled red flesh. Satyra sucked in air and let her head fall back, the glow of her victory fading as exhaustion set in. Her red hair was lank and lifeless and her beautiful pale face covered in a sticky mixture of she-fluids and blood.

'Cunt did good,' the leader said with a smile, and Satyra was too spent to reply. She let her head loll back and could not even muster energy to curse as the demon patted her breast as she drew fresh air into her lungs.

The Yukhoth dragged the weeping slave away and returned for the Chevaan, releasing her manacles and bundling her off the stone. Satyra could offer no resistance as the creatures carried her from the chamber the same way she had come in, hands pawing her more erotic areas as they shuffled out.

Back in the cavern Sadiste moved through the doorway and crossed to the slab. Sweat, blood and sex gave it a shining wet gleam in the ruddy light. The session had gone well, better than she had hoped.

'Strong,' grunted the demon chief, and he held up one of the wrist chains that had held Satyra bound to the plinth. Several of the links were stretched and one had actually started to snap though from the force of the half-satyr's exertions. 'Another minute, maybe less, would have snapped clean.'

'Or pulled right out of the stone,' murmured the red-skinned hellion, looking at one of the ankle chains. The rock where the metal was fastened to the slab was laced with a spider web of fractures. 'Very impressive.'

'Yah,' grunted the Yukhoth, fondling his semi-hard member. 'Good show.' He smiled evilly at the demoness. 'You better be careful – satyr cunt does get loose, she might have something to say to you.'

Sadiste smiled at the grotesque little demon, her eyes narrowing as she shared the Yukhoth's laughter. Turning away she sauntered towards the door, hips swaying alluringly so the creature did not notice her hand reaching towards the wall. He jerked his cock harder and turned back to the slab, his dirty little mind still filled with the sights and sounds of the red-haired Amazon's torture

'Oh my dearest,' Sadiste purred, half turning her horned head to look over her shoulder. He looked back around at her as her wrist flicked and the whip lashed out with supernatural skill the end tearing into the little demons face just below the ridged brow of his forehead so that he reeled back, screaming in pain.

'You have something in your eye,' smiled Sadiste, and then dropped the whip and left the mewling Yukhoth grovel on the floor and clutch the bloody ruin of his yellow orb.

To be continued…

Part IX

Between Two Rocks…

Satyra groaned in sobbed in pain and for the hundredth time tried uselessly to find a way to alleviate her suffering.

The red-haired priestess lay face down on a slab of grey stone in a chamber much like the one she had last been tortured in. After her session with the Yukhoth and their Egyptian sex-slave the beautiful Chevaan had believed that her captors would again cast her into a cave by herself to be alone and think about what hideous suffering they would force her to endure next.

She had been half right.

After she was dragged from the Yukhoth cave the two demons she had seen with Sadiste when she first arrived in the Underworld were waiting for her. They had taken her from the Yukhoth, who glared at the larger creatures but were clearly too terrified of their more powerful brethren to protest the loss of their new toy. Then the pair of warrior demons had carried the exhausted satyr woman to this new abode.

Once inside the creatures had wasted no time in playing with their prisoner. Satyra was to spent by her whipping ad her duel with the Egyptian slutress to do more than glare hatefully at the monsters as they had cast her belly down on the slab in the middle of the room, her head hanging over the end of the rock facing the ground as they spread her legs to either side of the stone and fixed her ankle to shackles near the base. While they bound her the pair used their taloned hands to grope her body, grabbing her firm ass where the bondage had it thrust back invitingly as pulling her hair back to raise her head and give them access to her full breasts where they lay pillowed against the rough surface. They had squeezed and twisted and scratched the luscious globes of her chest while she cried silently, finally letting her loose so that she collapsed forward onto the gravely top of rock, breathing deeply and trying to regain her composure.

The red demon, Vhyl, though, had no such plans in mind for her. ‘Grab her arms,' he had snarled, and his toadish companion Fylth had hastened to comply. The monster had grasped her by the upper arms and pulled her head back again, while at the same time using the leverage of his hold to keep her torso pushed down against the rock. Satyra had been forced to arch her back painfully, her fulsome breasts brushing the stone and her belly and groin mashed down upon the slabs surface while her long legs tapered down on either side, knees bent a little forward as if she were straddling a horse for a swift gallop. The rocky surface was hard and rough and the edges tormented the still smarting meat of her sex.

A ratcheting sound and the noise of chain links jingling had inspired the ram-horned beauty to twist herself around to look behind her. As her neck and back muscles cramped with the effort she had seen Vhyl working a length of chain that had been fastened to the wall and ran up to the ceiling. In the shadows above her, se sensed something moving ponderously and bent her head back to look up.

Descending slowly towards her in a gently arc was another piece of stone, larger and much heavier looking than the one Satyra had been fixed to. It was cylindrical, its surface having a shining grey look to it, like wet granite. It was not difficult to see that if it kept descending it come to rest directly on top of the slab I the middle of the room.

And its helpless female occupant.

Panicking Satyra had tried to struggle free but the demon holding her was a strong as he was hideous. There was nothing she could do to escape as the huge rock above moved down over her.

When the stone had been close enough for her to feel it pressing down on the curling flame hair of her head, it had stopped.

Vhyl had done something with the chain he had been working, apparently locking the stone in place, then he had come over to assist his companion. Each had taken an arm and pulled it back so far that Satyra had yelped in pain as it felt like her limbs were bind dislocated from her shoulders. With brutal disregard the demons had dragged her arms upwards behind her until they had her wrists on either side of the curving stone block above, and had then fastened them there with another set of metal cuffs, the sharp edged digging painfully into her wrists as gravity and the limits of her spine's ability to bend tried to drag her down towards the floor.

The raising of her arms had given the pair of monsters a fine view of her breasts, which jutted forth proudly as her shoulders were hauled backwards by the position of her arms. Vhyl had taken the opportunity to fondle those round samples of female flesh and their hard pink nipples cruelly, the now chalk white skin soon showing fresh bruises and scratches from his mild abuse.

‘This is just love-play compared to what awaits you when we have your soul,' the demon had growled. ‘Lord Vulgus doesn't appreciate being made to wait for his pleasures, so the more you fight, the longer and more terrible your suffering will be when you are his.' The demon had pinched one nipple so hard his talons had drawn blood, practically skewering her tit-meat as her leered down at her. ‘Once he'd done with your Chevaan pussy, maybe he let the rest of us have a turn at fucking you. I'm gonna make you scream like a little bitch when I've got my ten inches inside your cunt!'

Satyra had not had even the strength to curse him, trying to ease the terrible pressure on her back, feeling as though her spine were about to shatter into bony fragments inside her body.

Relief had come when Fylth had taken up Vhyl's place at the wall chain and begun lowering the stone above again, Satyra sighing audibly as her body was allowed to fall slowly forward, the terrible pressure on the small of her back diminishing as she eased downwards. She panted fitfully and drank in the absence of pain.

But her moment of rest was short lived. In less than a minute the stone had lowered so far that the tips of Satrya's pale breasts were brushing the stone slab on which the demons had laid her.

With obvious relish the toad faced Fylth had continued to lower her.

The pain had begun in her pelvis and first, no worse than if she had banged against a table, but constant. Soon the weight of the stone had increased that dull annoyance to a sharp pain.

As the stone came further down, it began to apply pressure to her lower abdomen. Breathing became more difficult. Her flat belly became even flatter, melded up against the unyielding surface she lay upon as the pressure on her lower spine built up to painful levels, making her gasp and wince with every little downward jerk of the crushing block. By then her nipples were out of sight as the fleshy mounds of her tits were pillowed against the rock. Several more links of the chain and those fabulous orbs had also begun to suffer as they reached the limit of their elasticity and the mass grinding Satyra down put the twin peaks under unnatural pressure, the globes bulging out to the side and beginning to feel as if they were to full of blood, the pulse of her veins building up to a hammering rhythm in her ample chest. Satyra barely notices that pulsing beat though; by then the weight on her loser body had built from pain to constant agony and her head and shoulders had been working frantically to try and squirm out from beneath the descending stone, a useless gesture that made the attending demons laugh and gibber, watching her more and more frantic struggles.

She hadn't cried out loud until the terrible force had cracked her pelvic bone with an audible snap that was immediately drowned out by her continuous, shrill scream.

And then the weight had increased.

By the time the sadistic duo had completed their task barely eight inches had remained between the upper and lower blocks, Satyra's magnificent female form sandwiched between the two stratas from her collar bone down to her backside. Her head and shoulders were free of the crushing stone and her face gleamed with a covering of sweat, the beautiful features a glowing mask of pain. She had struggled to draw air into her compressed lungs, gasping like a fish panting hauled from the waters, managed a feeble whimpering screech before needing to suck I air again.

Watching the demons had moved around to where her head protruded from beneath the huge weight. The sight of her gorgeous features pinched with agony and her alabaster white skin turning blue from asphyxia had quickly raised the libidos of the two to new heights, their stiffened cocks waving in front of her gasping flame haired visage until their jerking fists had sprayed her lips and nose and cheeks with a fresh coating of underworld semen.

Then they had left.

Trapped in the hideously cramped gap between the two pieces of stone, Satyra had quickly come to a new understanding of suffering. Without even needing to be present, her captors tortured her young body with pain she had never believed possible. Her head pounded with throbbing anguish as she struggled to breathe. Her diaphragm and guts felt as if they would burst and spill her organs our on the ground; she could feel her heart being squeezed up into her throat with every spasming irregular beat. Drops of sweat ran down her face and into her eyes, tormenting her. Even worse were the ones that coated her body under the stone, where she couldn't shake them free. Every itch of the rough stones digging into her flesh became unbearable anguish. She instinctively tried wriggling, but quickly found that it only added to her nightmare as her tender flesh was ground against the coarse stone by her movement, its white softness stretched and torn against the far more durable rock.

Satyra moaned, trying to distract herself from her torture by analysing the unexpected subtleties of what looked so bluntly simple. If she moved, she hurt. If she tried remaining still, the torment became unbearable. The weight was terrible, constant, but just barely endurable – at least at the purely physical level. Her Sadiste-given fortitude kept her alive, her body acting to heal itself, but rather than ease her pain, the constant regeneration was just another torture. Satyra could feel her bones trying to mend themselves, only to be prevented by the awful compression grinding and cracking them. She lay at a balance point between healing and suffering, shuddering and sobbing. As the hours being horribly squashed grew more and more, Satyra felt her emotional control slipping. Tears and whimpers became throaty screams of frustration, rage, blind fury. Her hands outside the rock vice worked like claws. Sometimes she would struggle so powerfully she felt new bones in her ribs and shoulders cracking while she coughed blood from her ruptured heart even as it instantly rejuvenated itself. The pain would fuel her rag until exhaustion overcame her and her head would fall forward, hair lank with sweat, fighting against despair.

How long she lay in the crusher, she did not know. Days; a week. Every part of her imprisoned form hurt her – chest, abdomen, her breasts, her female parts mashed into the jagged surface of the block. She felt madness tickling the corners of her mind and wept brokenly, wishing only for death.

Sounds of footfalls roused her from her dance with insanity. They were light, not the heavy tread of the warrior demons, but not the skittering gait of the Yukhoth either. A woman's tread.

Satyra braced herself, shaking hair from her eyes, feeling her horns tangled in the copper locks. Could she face Sadist again? Her pain was terrible; she felt ready to do anything to escape. Fresh anger welled in her at that realization – was she so weak, then, so easy to subdue. Hatred of her red skinned torturer gave her fresh strength. She hoped Sadiste would come close enough for her to spit on the demon slut.

But her green eyes opened in surprise as the blue demoness appeared in the doorway.

As before the devil-girl was nude, her blue skin, purple nipples and hairless pubic region and exercise in lithe sensuality. Beneath the straight black horns her yellow eyes looked down on the wriggling satyr woman while one hand played with her thickly curling raven hair.

That looks awful, said the demoness after a moment of staring back at the prisoner. Her voice held just enough sincerity to truly mock Satrya's pain. ‘I'll bet the pain is terrible.'

Satyra refused the bait, thinking through the pain. ‘You were…in…the throne… room…, she wheezed.

‘You remember,' said the demoness, stepping closer. ‘That's so sweet; especially since everything that happened to me there was for your benefit.'

Even in her anguish Satyra sensed the subtle malice in the blue woman's voice and tried to shake her head, her neck muscles cramped almost to immobility. ‘Didn't…want…'

‘Oh, of course you didn't,' the blue demoness said quickly, stepping over and kneeling beside Satyra's head. One delicate blue finger wiped some blood from the marble white cheek of the prisoner. ‘You're one of the good girls.'

Satyra looked over at the demoness as she put the finger with the Chevaan's blood to her lips, licking it slowly clean. Her smile was like a serpent's. ‘What…do … you want?' the red haired torture victim asked huskily.

The other woman smiled, still running her finger over her dark blue mouth. ‘We haven't been properly introduced,' she said, yellow eyes bright. ‘My name is Zaraeth.' Satyra said nothing, so the demoness went on. ‘I want to help you.'

‘Help…me?'

‘Yes. I want to help you escape, back to your mortal world.'

Satyra blinked, feeling an itch growing between her sternum and navel. She tried to ignore it by focussing on the pain in her hips. ‘Why?' she hissed up at Zaraeth.

The demoness squatted on her haunches near the Chevaan's head. Her fingers reached out to wipe the sweat from the suffering priestess' brow. ‘In the throne room, what they did to me…' The blue woman's voice trailed off, and she felt her abdomen, as if remembering the feel of the iron spear skewering her soft flesh. Her eyes narrowed in pain. ‘No woman should have to suffer such horror. I cannot be saved, but you…' She looked again at Satyra, eyes softening. Blue fingers delicately brushed the prisoners white cheek, stroking her face. ‘There is still hope for you, Satyra. Let me help you.'

Zaraeth leaned closer, her full blue lips inches from Satyra's red ones, their eyes, yellow and green, gazing deeply into each other. ‘So strong, so beautiful,' whispered Zaraeth. ‘I cannot bear to watch what they will do to you.'

The devil woman moved closer, eyes closed, their lips almost touching. Their breath mingled.

‘Liar!' Satyra spat out, twisting her head away.

Zaraeth's eyes snapped open and she leaned back. She smiled again, that snake's grin. ‘Hmmm,' she mused, ‘your not as stupid as most mortals.' Satyra looked at her warily from beneath her tangle of copper hair, but Zaraeth merely smiled more broadly.

Then quicker than the eye could follow, her hand whipped forward, seizing a fistful of that lustrous red mane and yanking Satyra's head back so hard the Chevaan thought her spine would snap.

‘And yes, I am lying,' she said with a hiss. ‘I'd love to see a haughty little bitch like you, who thinks she's better than we poor demons, twist and scream while a dozen of my brothers tore your pretty pink cunt apart with their cocks.' The blue demoness fondled her breast as she imagined Satrya's unholy rape. Then she sighed, letting the priestess' head drop. ‘But unfortunately, I'll have to defer that pleasure for another time. For now, it suits my desires to help you escape. Is that not enough?'

Satyra tried to breath deep and winced as the effort put more pressure on her mashed fem-mounds. ‘You…hate…Sadiste…'

‘That's right, pretty slut, I do,' Zaraeth replied. ‘Sadiste and I go way back, and as much as I'd love to spend a decade on that luscious albino body of yours, the thought of getting to torture that red bitch inside out is to good to pass up. So,' and here she took Satrya's face in her cupped hands, leaning in and whispering around her right horn and into the Chevaan's ear, ‘you do what I say, and in return you'll not only escape eternal damnation, you'll have the knowledge that Sadiste is suffering horrors to terrible for mortal description.'

Satyra swallowed. A new itch had started atop her left boob. She ground her teeth in anguish. If she could have ground her swollen tit to red pulp to stop the damnable itching at that moment, she would have. ‘How…how know…trust…'

‘Well, that's the delicious thing,' Zaraeth purred, moving Satyra's hair out of her eyes. ‘You don't.'

Satyra looked into those hateful yellow eyes, tears welling in her own. She thought of spending hours and days and weeks under the stone above her while she ground her soft curves raw against the stone, her body and its round breasts and flat belly oozing blood while the soft helpless mound of her sex was flayed from within by the shattered fragment of her own pelvis, the splinters of bone tearing through a vagina reduced to ragged meat again and again, as the terrible magic healed her to suffer endlessly.

‘How?' was all she wheezed out, finally.

Zaraeth bit her blue lip softly, feeling the warm tingle of success. She brushed Satyra's white cheek with her own and purred into the delicately curling ear.

‘Well, you've probably guessed, it's going to hurt a little.'

Part X

…In a Hard Place.

Zaraeth smiled, stroking the face in her grasp like a lovers. It was a beautiful face, the demoness admitted to herself, made exquisite by the agony etched across its chalk white skin and twitching in the blood red lips. Add to that the exotic allure of the two curling ram's horns nestled amidst the curling red-fire hair, and the tingling in her own hairless loins meant Zaraeth could easily understand Sadiste's interest in this particular priestess. The inhabitants of the Underworld lived for one thing – the fulfilment of desire. The threat of punishment by one more powerful than themselves, such as Vulgus, could organize them towards a common goal, but at their core the creatures of evil were motivated by the need to satisfy their own passions.

And those passions were as fiery as the cavernous realm they ruled. Looking at the helpless woman lying in agony before her Zaraeth's mind swam with thoughts of making that lovely face twist in anguish, watching that red mouth stretch wide as screams of horror ripped from the exquisite chest whose succulent roundness lay grotesquely pillowed around the edges of the pitiless stone slabs. The curly haired devils thighs twitched as she imagined feeling that incredible body grinding against her own as the two of them engaged in wild sexual adventures as they were both whipped bloody by Vulgus' minions for the Demon Lords amusement. Their screams of pain and ecstasy would mingle like the blood flowing down over their skin as they mashed their feminine clefts together like wild beasts locking horns in battle, and sexed with a primal, animal lust few mortals ever experienced. All in the space of a few heartbeats Zaraeth saw in her minds eye the glorious carnal perversions she and this half-satyr demigoddess could wallow in through the millennia.

But even that almost irresistible fantasy paled before the craving to have Sadiste as her piteously mewling slave while Zaraeth subjected her crimson rival to agonies and humiliations that would destroy the sanity of any creature born of Earth. To make the strutting red harlot beg to peel the skin off her own impudently firm tits with a red hot blade and then pour salt acid over the flayed mounds, the blue she demon would even give up the opportunity to share intimate torment with a woman like the beautiful Chevaan pinioned in front of her.

Satyra stirred and pulled her head around to stare at the lovely yet evil face of the indigo demoness. ‘How?' she said again in a voice thick with suffering.

Zaraeth shook herself free of her black dreams. ‘A spell,' she replied simply. ‘We will lay a trap for Sadiste. When it is sprung, it will allow you to gain a brief but decisive advantage. You will escape, and she will be disgraced in the eyes of our master.' Zaraeth smiled, tilting one horn towards the ceiling. ‘Her punishment will be…memorable.'

Satyra looked at the creature squatting before her, smiling despite the agony the fellow woman in front of her was experiencing. A shudder, stifled by the massive crushing pressure of the rock above, ran through her. ‘No magic,' she bit out.

‘True,' Zaraeth agreed, ‘your talent for utilizing the gift of magic from your Goddess is useless away from the mortal world. Fortunately there are…alternatives.'

Satyra's eyes narrowed even more. She focussed past the feeling that her ribs were about to implode into her heart. ‘What…do you mean?'

‘Other sources of magic, my dear, more suitable for your surroundings.'

Satyra shook her head. ‘Dark magic. No.'

‘There is no other way. It's this, or suffer tortures that will destroy your soul, until you are hers.' Zaraeth stood and placed her hands on her hips. ‘And don't think that six trials rule will save you. If it takes ten thousand years of agony to make you submit, Sadiste will find a loophole to keep you here that long.'

The Chevaan shuddered. She knew in this at least the demoness spoke truly, but still she struggled for an alternative. ‘You could…cast…spell.'

Zaraeth frowned. Didn't this little bitch realize what was being offered to her? ‘Sadiste is…' The blue woman paused, making a face. ‘Simply put, she's too powerful,' Zaraeth said, her face looking like she's just swallowed bile. ‘My magic alone will never act quickly enough; she'd perceive the spell and act to counter it. And she knows my glamours well. Only together can we hope to succeed.'

Satyra groaned. Her pelvic bone was almost mended again, and she could feel the pressure building in her abdomen. She tired not visualize what her lower body looked like at that moment. ‘What do…I do?' she whispered at last.

Finally, thought Zaraeth. ‘We will cast in tandem. The true spell will be yours – mine will link with it and blank Sadiste to the effects, until it is too late.'

‘What spell,' Satyra gasped.

Zaraeth smiled. Then she told her.

Despite her torment, Satyra actually looked shocked. ‘What,' was all she could cough out?

‘It will work,' Zaraeth reassured her, ‘and it is the only way past her guard.' She bent over, placing her hands either side of the Chevaan's head, her blue breasts hanging down before Satyra's pain racked face. There was wicked amusement in her voice as she stared into the wide, tear-filled green eyes. ‘Don't tell me you've never cast such a spell before.'

Satyra shifted her eyes towards the floor, and Zaraeth smiled like a hunting cat. ‘So, not so pious after all.' She played with one of Satyra's horns. ‘And with a face and body like yours – why Satyra, that's positively…' Zaraeth leaned closer, savouring the word ‘, sinful.'

Satyra tried to breathe deeply, but just ended up moaning again. She ground her shoulder blades bloody lifting her head to meet Zaraeth's gaze. ‘What do I do?'

Zaraeth straightened. ‘You must clear your mind of your priestly teachings,' the demoness answered. As she spoke her fingers traced patterns in the air before her. ‘Here you must channel a different kind of power.' The patterns began to glow with little trails of blue and gold light in the air. ‘In the Underworld, your desires define you, your cravings. And vengeance is a powerful desire. Vengeance and anger. You must use them now. You must abandon compassion and understanding and focus on a new idea.'

Satyra breathed quicker, feeling the power of Zaraeth's casting tingling along her skin. ‘What…idea?'

Suddenly the rock next to Satyra's head on the slab below shifted. The solid granite flowed like thick grey mud and a needle of rock, two inches wide and sharp as a dagger, rose up and pressed against her shoulder. Satyra looked at it with horror, but no particular surprise.

‘Pain,' Zaraeth smiled, then flicked her hand upwards. Instantly the needle shot up another few inches, driving through the Chevaan's white flesh.

Satyra coughed out a scream as the needle pierce her shoulder, driving through up to the slab above. She shuddered and the motion brought fresh suffering to her body being crushed upon the stone.

Zaraeth looked down at the priestess struggling with this fresh pain. She smiled, feeling a tingle in her breasts, in her loins. ‘Concentrate,' she whispered, and gestured with her fingers. ‘Accept the pain, and think of Sadiste,'

On the stone, Satyra felt nubbins of sharp rock moving, and her heart went cold.

Without preamble a shaft of needle sharp rock stabbed up through the red-haired victim's belly.

The shock was so great that for a moment Satyra could not even scream. Then she lifted her head and shrieked just as her mouth filled with hot blood.

The dagger in her abdomen pulled out, melting back into the rock below. Blood from the now open wound gushed like a red flood out under her, hot and set as it found flowed between her and the torture slab. Satyra screamed again and gurgled in pain. ‘Goddess,' she whispered her voice full of pain. ‘Goddess.'

‘No!' Zaraeth spat, grabbing one of Satrya's horns and dragging her head up to face her. The demoness beautiful blue face was radiant with passion. Her breasts heaved and surged. ‘Your Goddess cannot help you now, pretty Chevaan. Only your rage can free you. Only your pain!'

As Zaraeth spoke another stone skewer punched through Satyra beneath her sternum. A second ripped up under her collar bone. A third tore through her pelvis, grinding against the already broken bone.

Satyra's mind was exploding with pain. The stone barbs ripped through her savagely, tearing through flesh and muscle and organs, slicing open blood vessels, shredding her body. Without the magic of the flaming pool when would have been dead in minutes, but she lived on. Trapped beneath the massive crushing stones her magnificent womanly body jerked and twisted in ways that dislocated joints and cracked her already battered ribcage, but she lived on. In mindless agony she ground her white womanly skin raw against its stone prison and even made worse the terrible piercing thrusts of the stone needles through her as she heaved and shrieked and wept.

But she didn't die. She lived. And because she lived, she suffered.

Standing over the tortured Amazon Zaraeth felt the power of her own spell rippling forth, mingling with the forces building within the pain-racked body of the captive. There was not a wisp of a breeze in the cavern, but the demoness' curling raven hair began to move as if a wind were starting to build to match the anger rising in the copper-haired girl. Zaraeth's own breath quickened as she felt the energy rising in Satyra, needing only a final nudge to bring it to glorious actualization.

Fortunately the demoness knew just the thing needed.

Without warning, Satyra felt the awful pressure of the stone above her easing, her body lifting slightly as the mighty slap rose back up. She felt her breasts and belly clear the stone, the horrible compression of her abdomen and her genitalia fading. She glanced down and saw the rock she had been crushed against covered in her sticky red blood. She looked up…

Her universe became dark.

Standing before her, using her magic to work the chains, her red skin shining in the ruddy light, was not Zaraeth, but Sadiste.

Satyra stared up in horror, her mind numb. Sadist threw back her head and laughed, her full tits quivering with mirth.

‘You stupid girl,' mocked the red devil-woman. ‘You really thought you had a chance to escape. Little idiot, this is hell! There is no escape – you are mine for all eternity.' Her eyes glowed like hot coals, utterly malevolent. Her full-lipped smile was pure evil. ‘Now scream. Bitch,' Sadiste snarled, ‘scream for me while I tear your whore's body apart.'

The stone began to drop again, and Satyra did scream, in rage, in denial, in horror. She struggled uselessly and looked down as she descended once more onto the rock of pain.

Only this time it was not just a flat slab. Now needles of stone were rising from the granite, twisting like screws as demon magic gave them hideous life. Satyra's helpless flesh dropped toward them. She fought harder, twisting this was and that. The muscles in her arms and legs rippled as her boobs bounced wildly, falling towards the razor sharp points. ‘No,' she screamed, tears in her glowing green eyes. ‘NO!!!'

‘Yes!' hissed Sadiste, wild triumph in her eyes. ‘Scream, pretty slut. Scream for me now.'

The first points made contact with Satyra's belly, starting to gouge the skin. Their points pierced the outermost smoothness, spilling blood, then bit deeper. ‘You BITCH!' Satyra shrieked, pain beginning to flood over her. ‘I'll kill you, you dirty demon piece of shit!'

Sadiste laughed louder. The twisting points punched though the skin of Satyra's abdomen and began shredding through the firm muscle beneath.

‘AaarrrrggghhhhHHHHH,' Satyra cried out, slamming her head back against the stone, fighting heroically to say clear of the wicked points. It was hopeless. The pressure between her legs mounted anew as the stone swung down, crushing her loser body, even as the needles skewered her through the belly. She felt one point tearing its way into her navel and howled in agony. Inside her abdominal cavity a half dozen turning screws of rock burrowed through the organs of a woman who could not die, only scream and scream.

The stone dropped lower. Blood gushed from the priestess mouth as her stomach was torn to pieces inside of her. Her head lashed from side to side in a frenzy of mindless horror. Another few inches, and her sternum began to crack as weight built on it, then her lower ribs. Her heavy breasts sank down, and were met by more of the rotating stone points, hungry to drill into her. The first of them kissed the peak of her fem-crests, just neat the nipples. Blood began to spill out as they broke the white skin, digging into the soft meat.

‘Ah…ahhh, no, NO…fuck…aaaaahhhhhhh!' The satyr-woman's screams became wilder, hysterical. She felt the needles pierce her breasts, the heavy peaks, the gentle upper slopes, the sensitive plunging lower curves, tearing away her control along with her flesh. ‘You evil bitch…I'll kill you, you fucking cunt …arrr…AAAARRRRRRRHHHHH!!!!!'

With a final laugh, Sadiste lowered Satyra all the way.

The weight above smashed the Amazon down under tons of rock. Her arms and legs spasmed as the stone daggers ripped into her body. Blood flowed in rivers down the sides of the stone as they shredded through her belly, her diaphragm, her tits. The mounds of her chest were shredded to bloody ruin, healed almost instantly, and shredded again. Her breasts were crushed to jelly and ground into pulp, her nipples chewed up into formless lumps of ultimate pain. Her tits were shredded, mangled, destroyed, while her screams made the walls quiver.

‘Kill you…KILL YOU… YEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! '

‘Now!' Sadiste thundered suddenly, seizing the Chevaan's head, magic pouring from her hands into the howling priestess, seizing the power blazing in the mangled white body, channelling it. Both women were at the centre of a suddenly maelstrom of energy as fire flew out from between the grinding stone blocks. In a flash of lighting Sadiste's form vanished and Zaraeth stood clinging to Satyra's horns as the Chevaan beauty's scream shook the chamber as the demoness struggled with the raw power erupting from the very depths of the woman's agony and rage as she imagined her captor laughing at her gorgeous body being torn apart.

With a final burst of light Zaraeth was flung back across the chamber, slamming into the wall. The wild storm of magic vanished instantly. Satyra's head remained uplifted for a split second, ultimate pain carved into her goddess-like face, then her head dropped forward like a stone.

For a long time, nothing moved.

Finally, Zaraeth rose shakily to her feet. With one hand she brushed her hair from her face as she staggered across to the still-pinioned Chevaan. Her body was still tingling all over as she lifted Satyra's head.

The priestess opened her eyes and stared up blankly, mouth open slackly. With surprising tenderness the blue demoness held her face steady. The Chevaan said nothing, but her eyes relayed her questions.

‘It is done,' Zaraeth said softly. She looked at the blood covering the stones and gestured. The rock of the underworld instantly absorbed the spilled ichor. Between the slabs the needles had retracted, the terrible wounds of their invasion already healing. ‘When Sadiste comes for you next, you will be ready with a spell keyed just to her.'

‘How,' Satyra slurred, blinking in exhaustion. The agony of the tons crushing her body seemed far off. ‘How…cast…it?'

Zaraeth smiled again, eager to show her.

Part XI

Many Vices

Satyra woke slowly with the sounds of her own cries of agony lingering in her ears. Her dreams had been nothing but a patchwork of violation and pain, but she was in no hurry to awaken fully, knowing her waking world would be no better.

The Chevaan blinked and took stock of her surroundings. She was in a sealed room with no windows and one door. No surprises there. And she was bound. Again, no surprise.

What was unusual was the nature of the room. The walls, floor and roof were all of the same dark reddish brown stone she had seen throughout the Underworld, except in the corner where she was tied – here the surfaces were covered in sheets of flat, rusted metal, the seams dotted either side with large bolts. The metal surfaces formed an alcove about ten twelve feet wide and eight feet deep, with Satyra bound in the centre of the space and slightly towards the front.

Satyra finished examining her resting place and looked beyond, around the walls of the chamber. The light here was dull red with many shadows, but lining the walls on hooks and natural shelves she could barely make out what appeared to be tools or devices. Their half seen outlines seemed to radiate a sinister menace, and the beautiful priestess looked away. Her recent experiences left her in no doubt as to the debased purpose of those objects, the exact nature and function of which she dared not dwell upon.

The white-skinned captive examined her new bondage. Her ankles were shackled almost six feet apart by two iron rings that were attached to the floor by fixed metal rods. The circles of iron were positioned so that her feet were held clear of the floor, her toes arching down to where they could almost touch the rusted surface. Above her head her arms were drawn straight up, their smooth white flesh framing her face, the curve of her horns, and a few wisps of curling copper hair, while below her slender throat her breasts rode high and proud. Two more bindings identical to the ones on her feet held her wrists together over her head with her arms at full stretch. With her feet clear of the floor, her whole weight was being supported by the iron circlet biting into the soft skin of her wrists.

Satyra shuddered. The nature of her captivity was such that she was effectively sitting in mid air, her rounded ass pushed out a little behind her and her knees bent at right angles as they were drawn out away from her body. Her thighs strained slightly to accommodate the splayed position of her legs, and she knew that with her lower limbs hauled wide as they were that her intimate regions were lewdly displayed. The binding above drew her arms to their maximum extension and her sternum was thrust out below her large breasts with her abdomen running in a concave slope down to her navel and the swell of her feminine temple.

The woman squirmed a little, wincing as the motion made the metal holding her wrists bite harder. She knew if she could straighten her legs, the pressure on her arms would ease. She tried pushing up, but her arms were positioned wrongly, elbows pointing outwards, and wouldn't bend to allow her any upward movement without excruciating pressure on her wrists. With some effort and chafing of her skin within the iron manacles she managed to twist her arms so that her elbows were pointing more forward. The motion put more strain of her ligaments and the joints at her shoulders, but a last she could manage to push herself up as she bent her arms like a chin-up exercise performed by the warrior women of her tribe.

Now, however, a new complication arose. Satyra's legs were spread so wide that it was impossible to straighten her knees fully without bending her ankles, but those slender joints were held rigid by their own fastenings. Trying to push up to far with her legs brought crushing force to bear on the delicate small bones connecting her legs to her feet.

Satyra stopped still, her arms bent at right angles in front of her and breasts quivering from her efforts. The choice was obvious. She could either endure the discomfort to her wrists and thigh muscles from her suspended position, or she could struggle and probably shatter her ankle bones, and then have to endure that agony as well.

She gave a frustrated snort, and settled herself back into her original squatting stance.

Time passed. The priestess licked her dry lips and tried to ignore her parched throat and mouth. Despite her natural limberness her thighs began to ache constantly, and her lower back. The dull rumble of the underworlds volcanic torment pervaded the room and made the iron rings holding her vibrate softly.

Across the room from her Satyra could see the doorway, the space filled by a door apparently wrought of the same metal as the alcove walls. Between the door and the floor was a space where flickering red light could be seen.

With nothing else to do but wait for her next torture to begin, Satyra contemplated the words of Zaraeth. The blue demoness had seemed sincere in her passion to bring down Sadiste by helping Satyra, but the priestess knew that in this place nothing could be taken at face value. Following Zaraeth's plan might indeed lead to the red demon-woman's fall from ‘grace', but it did not mean that Satyra herself would be any better off.

Of course, she would have Sadiste's screams of agony as Zaraeth oversaw her torment and degradation as comfort during her stay. The thought of watching Sadiste's admittedly gorgeous body twist and writhe as she was brutally tortured by the equally sexy blue devil-ess brought a small smile to the Chevaan's full lips.

Abruptly, Satyra shook her head to clear it. Such thoughts of revenge went against everything her life as a servant of the Goddess stood for. She closed her eyes and pushed the images of Sadiste's helpless agony to the dark back of her mind, where it belonged.

To keep her mind from being occupied by savouring Sadiste's eternal damnation, Satyra replayed her conversation with Zaraeth in her head, the instructions the devil woman had given her. It was a simple spell, really; and Zaraeth had been right about one thing – Satyra had cast it before.

The priestess sighed and shifted to ease the pain in her arms and legs. She had not thought of that incident for years; indeed, it was not something she preferred to dwell on. There had been no malice in her actions, but there had been selfishness. She had let desire rule her actions, and afterward had bitterly regretted it. She had hoped that she had put that deed behind her, that her works as a faithful acolyte of the Goddess had washed away her transgression. Now though, thinking back to what Zaraeth had said about the relationship between desire and the Underworld, Satyra couldn't help wonder with a cold dread whether her suffering in the dark realm was partly her own responsibility.

Did she deserve to be here; had her misdeed earned her a place among the damned?

A noise sounded outside the door broke in on her thoughts. A shuffling, shambling echo, coming closer. A shadow appeared at the light beneath the door.

Satyra watched the shadow linger there. She knew her pulse and breathing were speeding up and fought to control them.

The door creaked inward. Beyond the satyr-woman could see a tunnel like every other tunnel in this wretched place. In the middle of the door was a squat, almost shapeless figure, visible only a black outline. The sound of ragged breathing came from the shape as it stood motionless.

Satyra remained still as well. She had seen demonic horrors enough in this place to send a sane woman mad, but there was something about this perfectly still figure that made her afraid in a way that even the towering demon lord Vulgus had not done. She could not see any eyes or face anywhere in that shadow, but the priestess had the distinct impression she was being studied, with the same deliberate, cold scrutiny of a man inspecting a piece of freshly slaughtered beef to determine where the best cuts might be found.

The waiting silence drew itself out as the woman and the shadow watched each other, the former with growing tension. Finally the strain became too much and the priestess snapped out, ‘Are you going to stand there leering forever, or are you going to come in and do something about it, you little worm.'

The shadow gave no replied, but it seemed to quiver slightly around the edges. Satyra had the feeling that the loathsome creature was giggling.

The quivering stopped and the shadowed one moved into the room. Behind it the door closed on rusty hinges and sealed itself with a sound of metallic finality.

Satyra watched the shape move forward, its details becoming more distinct but no less disturbing. The amorphous nature of the being was the result of a cloak of some heavy black cloth, which completely covered the wearers head, body, arms and legs. The being held its hands within the voluminous folds of its sleeves, and the ragged bottom of the garment brushed the stone floor it came forward. A deep hood was draped over what was presumably a head, but beneath was visible nothing but blackness, marked only by a soft, wet slobbering.

The being came on until it was standing at the edge of the metal alcove. It was less than four feet tall, meaning that even with Satyra's current positioning it looked up at her slightly.

The creature stood like that for long moments, staring at her as she met its gaze with a scowl. After a while its head dipped and it slowly looked over the rest of her body. As its attention lingered on her full round breasts and the helplessly exposed cleft between her legs it shuddered again and wet slobbering sounds came from the depths of the shadowy hood.

The creature stirred slightly and drew back one of its arms. From the depths of its sleeve a hand covered in matted, filthy black bandages emerged, reaching out slowly towards the succulent curving globes of Satyra's chest. Satyra watched in disgust as the filthy appendage drew closer, trying to pull her skin back away from the filth crusted fingers.

Gently the questing hand came into contact with the smoothly rounded flesh, stroking it softly. Satyra screwed up her face and again tried to pull back from the foul caress. ‘Get your vile hands off me, you piece of filth,' she snarled with venom.

The creature looked up at her, cupping her breasts and massaging it softly. Satyra heard another little wet giggle inside the hood and bit back an even more lurid comment. She could feel her anger bubbling up like molten fury and tried desperately to regain her composure.

The creature reached out its other hand, holding both her breasts now. It began to squeeze the twin orbs, softly at first, then with increasing force. Its moist breathing became quicker as it started to twist the Chevaan's ripe breasts flesh, first one way, then the other. With each twist and squeeze the handling of her breasts became frenzied. In a few moments Satyra was gasping in pain as the hooded Underworld denizen mauled her tits brutally, pinching, bruising and yanking in a fit of dark passion.

‘I said get your hands off me, you little turd!' Satyra yelled between gasps of pain. She could no longer suppress the feelings of rage at the creature's abuse of her female form. The beings only response was to increase the violence of its assault, digging cloth covered fingers deep into her vulnerable flesh and pulling even harder, turning her eye-catching mams into distorted shapes of pliant white flesh. The squat attacker slobbered fitfully as it manipulated her breasts with painful intensity, digging at the nipples and pinching them so that Satyra cried out loud and tears formed in her angry eyes. It held onto her tits and pressed harder and harder, ‘til the red-head's face was twisting in pain.

Suddenly the creature stopped, releasing the twin fleshy globes and drawing back. Satyra's chest bounced back to its normal shape, her breasts and nipples almost tingling with relief at being set free.

Satyra shook her self, fighting away the lingering ache of the abuse to her sweet mounds. The short grotesque, however, spent no time watching her recovery. Instead it shambled over to one of the walls not far from the alcove, reaching across and taking something from the hooks on the wall before turning back towards the prisoner.

Satyra blinked to recover her wits and looked over to watch her tormentors return. What he carried almost made her gasp aloud in horror.

It was made all of metal, like the walls and floor around her, with a look of ancient evil in its corroded parts. Two flat plates, each about a foot and a half long and six inches wide, ran parallel to each other eight inches apart, joined at either end by two metal rods and inch thick that seemed to pass through holes in the top and bottom plate. Along the surfaces of the plates that face each other were a series of dull but sizeable metal studs, about a half dozen top and bottom, while on the outer surface where each of the rods passed through their appeared to by some kind of knob.

The cloaked figure came over in front of Satyra again and once more stared in rapt attention at her swell of womanly chest, rising and falling gently as she inhaled and exhaled. Its bandaged hands fingered the contraption, running over the studs and the knobs. With the creature closer now Satyra could see that the rods were not smooth, but shaped into a spiral pattern which the knobs seemed to follow as they turned, either moving up or down depending on which way the rag-swathed fingers turned them. And as the knobs moved, they moved the plates as well, either drawing them further apart or forcing them closer together.

Closer together.

Satyra's stomach dropped into an ice cold void as the significance of the creature's interest in her fully formed breasts became clear. She felt her breathing getting quicker again and fought to slow it. She could feel herself trembling.

The creature moved forward to within a few inches of her, moving between her spread thighs and lifting the device towards her youthfully jutting she-spheres. Satyra tried instinctively to pull back but her only reward was a wet titter from within the black folds of the hood. The plates slipped over and under the shapely domes, the rusted brown iron framing the white flesh with its palely erect nipples.

‘Son of a bitch, get this thing off me!' Satyra snarled furiously, anger driving down her fear. She tried to twist, shaking her mane of foaming

copper hair like an angry lioness. Her movement delayed the inevitable, but could not prevent it. With a few twists of the screws on the vertical rods, the plates had moved sufficiently close to make the studs on the plates find a purchase in the soft pillows of her breasts, gripping and holding the machine in position. The top one sat upon her breastbone, while its southern partner was a little higher than her defined sternum.

That done the creature stepped back a little, allowing Satyra's boobs to take the full weight of the clamp. It was light enough that the gentle pressure thus far kept in affixed, but the Chevaan could feel the slight drag on her mounds. She wriggled in her feet and wrist bindings, sweating under her arms and across her forehead. The creature reached out stroked both the imprisoned mammaries, making their owner curse anew.

While Satyra was still seething the cloak wearer reached out again and moved the screws on top of the machine. The plate moved down. It switched to the bottom pair of screws – the lower plate pushed up.

With deliberate precision, the creature alternated its attention, moving first the top screw, then the bottom. With each twist the plates moved towards each other. Eight inches shrank to seven, then to six.

Satyra soon gave up cursing the vile instigator of her torment and concentrated on trying to deal with the growing pain in her mightily full bosom. At six inches apart the studs were almost fully imbedded in her pliant suckling-mounds, and the compression had started to noticeably distort their shape, pushing the sides outwards where they were blocked by the screw rods, or inwards, unnaturally amplifying her generous cleavage. Stymied in its attempt to expand in these directions her breasts also began bulging forward, the firm, smooth flesh becoming even firmer and smoother, like a bladder that was being filled beyond its capacity. She refused to look at the obscene process, staring upwards at the roof above the door with her lips tightly pressed.

Five and a half inches. Five.

At five Satyra had resumed cursing, but her words were laced with the agony beginning to hammer at her from her tortured tits. The pain now was excruciating, already almost as bad as being crushed on the slabs, despite being specific to her throbbing glory-peaks. Mashed between the narrowing space her tits felt as if tiny devils were inside pounding at her flesh with spiked hammers, trying to break through and escape. The studs, too dull to actually pierce the flesh cleanly, ground deeper and deeper into the sensitive meat, bruising and tearing it cruelly.

Four and a half inches. The creature was breathing like a fish beside a pond, ragged sucking gasps of excitement. Satyra's own gasps were even louder, whimpers and groans giving way to deeper expression of suffering. With mixed anger and terror she relented and looked at the plate below her collar bone as it moved down, tugging the tender globe along with it. She twisted her arms again, blood trickling down towards her elbows. Between twists of the screws she took short shallow breaths between clenched teeth that made the compacted flesh melons shudder and dance as the unholy device ground the beautiful woman's roundness of her breast into food for dogs.

Four and a quarter inches. Four.

At just under four Satrya's mouthings became full blown screams. Her eyes were wet with tears, her brows arched in horror. ‘Goddess, of gods and goddesses, you scum, aaaah….aaaaaAAAAHHHHH…EEEAA AAAHHHHH!' Her tits felt as if they had been filled with an ocean of boiling blood that was trying to tear free of the soft female fruit and explode across the chamber. Another twist and surely the white curving skin of her tits would rupture and burst, leaving her gorgeous breasts nothing more that mangled cones of pulped gristle.

At just under four inches, the creature ceased the clamps mounting pressure. Where a pair of firm and perfect breasts had stood large but moments ago, now there were two hideous parodies of that lush beauty, each four times the size of a man's fist and pointing straight out almost a foot from Satrya's heaving chest. The skin was so taught and smooth it looked to be carved from white marble, the nipple were engorged with trapped blood to half again their size. Sweat dripped down the priestess face while her head hung back, and diamond drops grew beneath the tortured meat where it bulged past the Underworld iron and fell like rain onto the sharply falling slope of her midriff, then on down to the copper delta and its promising pink ravine.

The giggling Underworlder cupped one hemisphere of pain and squeezed gently.

‘AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEE! STOP IT, STOP!' Satyra's head snapped back forward, red lips thin and pale as they drew back in anguish. In reply, the creature reached for the other tit.

‘No…NO, YOU BASTARD, I SAID NO…ARRRGGGHHHHH!!!!'

Slobbering foully it squeezed the pinioned twin. It began alternating its attention, first pressing on one flesh balloon, then the other.

‘AARRRRRRR….no, you…STOP IT, DAMN YOU!' Satyra's made of sex body trembled in every line and sensual curve. ‘AAAHHHH…huh, huh,…wait, wait…ah ah ah aaarrrRRRREEEEAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa...*'

The creature continued this game for several minutes, slavering within its hood at the splayed-leg contortions of the half-satyr beauty. Satyra felt as if her tits had been transformed into things of pain that existed merely for her suffering. She screamed, but she could never scream loud enough to let out all the pain.

Her mind was so wracked with suffering she didn't even notice when the cloaked one stopped and went to the wall again. He came back as she hung moaning and sobbing and used her land hair to drag her head forward again and look at his new tools.

In one palm his thumb turned a trio of small vices, similar to the ones on her tits but with only one pair of screws each. The plates that came together were the size of a fingernail. The monstrosity burbled like a deranged school boy and used its free hand to flick one over-gorged nipple.

‘Oh no, no, don't you do it,' barked Satyra, but there was a note of pleading in her words as well as command. This was beyond monstrous. The creature cupped two vices deftly in one hand and used both it and his empty one to position the clamp around the priestess' right nipple. It began turning the tiny screw. ‘No, I said no, damn it! Aaaaa…you filth…please…Oh Goddess help me, HELP ME!' These last words had risen to a shrill wailing cry as she pushed up with her legs, prepared to break her ankles if it tore her loos from the evil little abomination on her tit. The already thundering pressure in her mammary increased to a volcanic roar as the maxi-sensitized nerve cluster was pinched harder and harder, the vice tightening; tightening. Satyra's green eyes were wide and unfocused as the pain became her universe.

The creature stopped, the prisoner panted like a mare being run through a steeple-chase. The second vice moved into position as Satyra buried her face in her arm and bit down, her teeth drawing blood as the vice closed ever harder. She couldn't bear it and pulled away mouth so wide she could feel the corners tearing.

‘ YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR! Oh no, oh no…mmm….ah..uuuaaAAA…AAAA…AAAARRRRHHHH!!! NO, no more…make it stop MAKE IT STOP!' Satyra's whole glamorous 5' 11” body heaved and danced as her tit-tips became exploding suns. If she could have taken a knife and hacked her breasts from her body, she would have. The little cloaked figure was standing right up against her now, his body rubbing against the sweat-moist cleft of her pussy as she jerked in agony, the puppet of his sex torture. The creature moaned and hooted and pressed its filthy raiment against the bucking Chevaan flesh, dry humping her as she howled like the most damned woman in the Underworld.

And then those filthy rag covered fingers were at her crotch, and they were touching her, touching her most special place, rubbing and probing, moving aside the lips of the vulva to uncover the hot pinkness behind. Satyra looked through a red mist of anguish down her body, past where he crushed mipples bleed down her obscenely swollen tits, and she could just see the parted window of skin as she felt her temple being laid bare. Her eyes were wide with agony close to madness, her face was wet with tears. She couldn't close her legs, couldn't protect her self, couldn't do a fucking thing to stop the little slurping horror reaching down with the last clamp toward the tiny little bud inside her, the insignificant centre of her womanly being.

She felt the metal move pushing into her sanctum and her mind screamed at her, Give in, tell them you'll be there's, tell them you'll do anything they want. She looked up and away and felt the metal plates find the bump. For fuck's sake, you stupid bitch, say it. Say it or he's going to crush your clit like a mussel on the beach, say it or he's going to burst it like a blood filled berry and you'll feel it and you'll be screaming and you won't die and your body will be ripping itself to pieces and you won't die and for love of all the gods just FUCKING SAY IT NOW NOW NOW!!!!

Satyra said nothing.

And then the pressure was there, and it grew, and it became pain, and it became agony, and it went beyond either pain or agony until she had her horned head thrown back, and her mouth open to the floor, and her savaged tits and their blood oozing nipples pointed to the ceiling, and her back was bent like a tensed hunting bow, and her belly was a crescent moon, and between thigh stretched like ship's cables her bleeding cunt was thrust out and…

‘EEEEEEYYYAA AAAAAAAAA AAAA AAAAARRRRHH!!!!!!'

Part XII

Fine Points

Satyra woke slowly with the sounds of her own cries of agony lingering in her ears. Her dreams had been nothing but a patchwork of violation and pain, but she was in no hurry to awaken fully, knowing her waking world would be no better.

The Chevaan blinked and took stock of her surroundings. She was in a sealed room with no windows and one door. No surprises there. And she was bound. Again, no surprise.

What was unusual was the nature of the room. The walls, floor and roof were all of the same dark reddish brown stone she had seen throughout the Underworld, except in the corner where she was tied – here the surfaces were covered in sheets of flat, rusted metal, the seams dotted either side with large bolts. The metal surfaces formed an alcove about ten twelve feet wide and eight feet deep, with Satyra bound in the centre of the space and slightly towards the…

Satyra blinked with growing awareness. She had seen this room before, been in it. Like the foul things at the bottom of a crystal blue pond the memories of ultimate pain rose to the surface of her mind, making her close her eyes at the horror of the recollection. She took a breath to calm herself. When she opened her eyes, she was trembling with an ague of dread.

Would she have to suffer through that again? She became nauseous at the thought, bile stinging her throat. The feel of the merciless vices on her tits and nipples and her helpless clit, and the memory of her own inhuman screams, turned her blood to ice in her veins.

No, it had to be a trick, a deceit of Sadiste. They had said only six trials, and they already failed in their last stratagem, though by the breadth of a hair. Surely they would not have run out of atrocities to commit upon her body – but then would the next be even worse. Satyra could not believe it was possible, but if it was…she swallowed. How could she endure worse than the destruction of her love-bud between the iron jaws without surrendering body and soul? Even if this was the last trial, the priestess knew the limits of even her half-satyr strength, and she had already pushed well beyond them. Hanging in mid air with her crotch spread in lewd invitation the ram-horned beauty struggled against the rising tide of despair, knowing that no matter what was the case that it was not in her power to control. These creatures would use her in the foulest and most debased manner, and she was utterly at their non-existent mercy.

The realization of her helplessness fell upon the red-haired priestess like the weight of the granite blocks she had lain sandwiched between. Until this moment she had somehow blocked from her mind the thought that she was powerless to have any say in her fate, but the agonies she had already endured put the lie to that belief. For all her priestly enlightenment and Chevaan pride she was now no more than a victim. Sadiste, Vulgus, the demons – they could do anything to her. Her wishes meant nothing – her will meant nothing. She was their pain toy, and that was all.

Fresh tears seeped from her eyes. Despair rose around her heart like a dark choking fog.

But no – she still had one hope, however faint it's glimmer; the spell given her by Zaraeth. Satyra could only hope that it would not be too long before Sadiste again came to look in on her red-haired prisoner.

Abruptly, the metal door opened. More out of habit than pride Satyra blinked away the tears and tried to look calm.

Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as instead of the straight horned demoness, the cloaked creature who had crushed her breasts and womanhood shambled in through the door. The sight of those bandaged fingers that had tightened the vices on her nipples and her clitoris made her feel like screaming and finding a hole to hide in, but she controlled her fear and hung in the shackles without trembling.

And then, to Satyra's perverse relief, Sadiste herself also came through the door. The red skinned demoness strolled over to the alcove where her guest hung in captivity, yellow eyes glowing softly with pleasure. The gold ornaments on her nipples glimmered faintly in the dungeon light, as did the chain that held the silk strip between her statuesque legs in a mockery of modesty. Her heeled sandals clicked sharply on the stone floor as she moved over to stand looking down at Satyra while she twirled a lock of her straight black hair around her fingers.

Sadiste stood looking down at the priestess for some time, hips pushed out arrogantly. She could see that the priestess' spirit had suffered just as much as her splendid body, and smirked wickedly. ‘You look well, my dear,' she lied.

Satyra made no answer, just hung looking sideways, away from the devil woman confronting her, lest her rekindled hope at seeing the architect of her suffering become apparent to the female demon. Sadiste made a small gesture to the cloaked creature, who went to the wall and operated one of the devices hanging there. There was the sound of gears turning, and the manacles holding Satyra's hands moved up towards the ceiling, while the ones about her ankles did likewise, keeping the same position relative to the wrist cuffs. The effect was that the ram-horned beauty was raised up in her spread-legged position ‘til her head was level with Sadiste's.

‘I said you look well my dear,' Sadiste repeated. To emphasise her words she let her fingers travel softly over Satyra's arms, then down around the outside of her breasts and over her midriff where just a few shallow folds of skin were all the effect her suspension had on her tight muscles. ‘White becomes you,' Sadiste added as she traced a circle around the priestess' navel.

Satyra continued to say nothing, though she felt like screaming at the demoness touch. Visions of their positions being reversed while Satyra crushed Sadiste's throat to gurgling pink pulp danced behind the Chevaan's eyes.

Sadiste watched the subtle play of emotion on the prisoner's face and was satisfied. She stopped her caress and stepped back. ‘Forgive me,' she said, with mock courtesy, ‘I am forgetting my role as hostess.' She gestured to the little cloaked horror standing a few feet away. ‘Allow me to introduce one of our pre-eminent artists – Satyra, this is Krool.'

Satyra did not look over at the hooded being, but responded with a tight-lipped, ‘We've met.'

At this Sadiste's yellow eyes went wide. ‘Really? When?' she asked in surprised tones.

Satyra remained stony-faced, struggling with the freshness of the memory.

‘Because as far as I know, you and little Krool have never seen one another before; certainly not in relation to our business.'

Satyra blinked slowly and raised her head to look at Sadiste squarely. ‘Then it must have been his evil twin who was here with me a little while ago.'

Sadiste's face and tone were maddeningly innocent. ‘No, I'm afraid Krool here is one of a kind. Oh dear,' she went on with elaborate concern, ‘I hope you're not suggesting that Krool took any liberties with you?'

Satyra could feel her blood staring to warm. ‘I'm not interested in playing your sick game of pretend, Sadiste!' she spat. ‘One more trial, and then you and your master can go fuck yourselves.'

Sadiste stifled a smile at the priestess casual use of profanity. ‘I'm sorry dear; you must have lost track – its two trials to go.'

Satyra glared daggers at her enemy. ‘That little wretch had his chance with me,' she bit back, ‘and he failed.' Only the slightest quaver in her voice betrayed how close that failure had been to a success. ‘Our deal was six, trials. You have one left.'

Again Sadiste gave a maddeningly innocent look. ‘I'm sorry, Satyra, I don't understand you. Are you saying Krool here did something to you?'

Satyra looked daggers at the Underworld woman. ‘That piece of shit tortured me in this very room! Don't try to tell me you didn't know!'

‘Why, that's terrible,' Sadiste replied, still full of wide eyed surprise. ‘Certainly Krool was never given any instructions to take liberties with you.' The demoness paced closer, pressing her palms together under her chin. ‘We would have to investigate such an accusation of course. What proof do you offer of this act?'

Satyra's white face twisted in fury. ‘Proof?' she snarled.

‘Yes, of course. You say that Krool has acted in a way that would violate the terms of our agreement. Naturally we would require proof. Is there a witness to the alleged torture?'

The Chevaan jerked at her restraints, making them rattle. ‘You know that there isn't one!'

‘Oh dear,' Sadiste said in a disappointed tone. ‘Well, other evidence; physical marks from the abuse, perhaps?'

‘You damned red skinned bitch!' Satyra screamed, knowing that Sadiste knew better than anyone that the terrible marks and bruises had vanished completely, thanks to the magic fires that had infused her mortal flesh with the power to regenerate any injury, endure any suffering.

‘Now my dear, you should try and calm down. I'm trying to help you.'

‘Fuck your help!' the half satyr raged, breasts heaving as she shook in her bondage.

‘Such a temper. And my word, do your eyes look a bit darker?'

Satyra trembled with indignation, but she forced her rage down to an ice cold ball in her belly. When she spoke again, her voice was low and dangerous. ‘No, no marks' she growled.

‘Hm,' pondered the demoness. ‘Well, without witnesses or other proof it will be difficult to investigate your claim.' A small smile began to turn the corners of her mouth. ‘It could take quite some time.' The smile got more obvious. ‘Would you like to wait? I'm sure that we can make you very comfortable, however long it might take.'

And then Satyra saw that everything that Zaraeth had said about Sadiste keeping her here was true; the red demon-girl would never let Satyra leave the Underworld, no matter what their bargain. She would find an endless number of ways to make the copper-haired priestess suffer beyond what they had bargained. There was in short no escape, except the one she made for herself.

Satyra swallowed, fighting down the last of her anger. ‘No,' she said, and she let her voice sound soft and broken. It was disturbingly easy. ‘That won't be necessary.'

Sadiste smile was as hateful as its owner was beautiful. ‘Well, if you say so,' she shrugged. She put her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts towards Satyra's face as she leaned closer. ‘Since that's settled, there's no reason we can't proceed with the business at hand.'

A little gibbering slobber came from Krool, and he began rummaging around among the bits and pieces hanging from the walls. Sadiste smiled as she looked over at the eager little creature, then back at the Chevaan. After a moment the hooded dwarf came over holding two objects, one in each hand.

Satyra looked at the pieces of metal. They were similar in shape to the small vices that Sadiste denied her vile slave had used to torture her nipples and clitoris, but not quite exactly the same. These implements were of a rounder shape, like a crescent moon with two flat discs from which the horns of the crescent protruded. There was a screw built into the middle of the object on one side, and on the outer rim of the crescent there was a small ring of steel.

Satyra stared at the metal objects in Krool's hands as it held them up for her to inspect. Then she watched as the two crescents moved towards her breasts as the Underworlder gave a small, breathy sigh.

Sadiste watched her prisoner watching the metal curves. ‘Krool has some very special jewellery he wants you to try. I think you'll look gorgeous in it.'

Krool palmed one of the metal vices and reached out with the other. Satyra watched it approaching the peak of her breast and tried to pull away. The other bandaged hand moved and caught the globe of white flesh in a firm grip. He attached the crescent around her aureole, the horns pressing either side of the circular nubbin.

Satyra watched in awful remembrance of the last time the creature Krool had held her breast like that. Echoes of her own agonized screams filled her mind, but she saw Sadiste observing her closely and fought to be brave.

Krool turned the screw on the side of the vice. Instantly the sharp horn-points began to pinch. In a few seconds their grip had gone from uncomfortable to painful, then increased beyond. Tears in the Chevaan's eyes betrayed how much she was hurting.

Krool kept tightening. The horns punctured the pliant skin and drops of blood rand down, then slowed as Satyra's flesh healed. But the vice kept tightening.

As the jaws closed, the discs around the horns began to squeeze the nipples jutting bud. It gripped them tight, kept going. The tight little nerve cluster crushed slowly between the metal plates. Another turn, and another. Satyra threw her head back and hissed, fighting the pain, fighting with everything she had.

The tightening stopped.

Satyra had no opportunity to give thanks. Though the vice did not crush her teat further, the horrible pressure did not disappear. She felt as if her suckling-button were being torn slowly free from her mammary. She wanted to gag.

Krool moved to the other nipple.

Satyra felt the touch on her boob and panicked, trying to yank herself away, sobbing slightly. Sadiste reached out herself and captured the Satyr-woman's quivering tit, massaging it gently as the vice was moved into position.

‘Stop it, stop stop stop,' panted Satyra. Her control was slipping as the extreme horror of her previous torture in this dungeon became awful reality.

‘No, my dear,' Sadiste said patiently. ‘You'll look lovely in these, very sexy.' She used the back of her hand to stroke the fullness of the white boob and nodded to Krool. The vice moved into position. It started to pinch.

‘Aaah,' gasped Satyra, tears starting to run down her cheeks. ‘Wait – just…aahhh…wait, wait!'

The demoness and her slave ignored Satyra's frantic pleas. The vice tightened. It pierced the skin. More blood spilled down over her curving plunge of breast.

‘Arrrrgghhhh! Stop!'

The nipple was sandwiched between the metal discs. The crushed in. Harder. Harder!

‘Noooo…ah ah…stop it….fuck…eeeeaaarrrghhhh….'

Sadiste watched Satyra squirm in the shackles as if in the throes of passion. Her mouth was open wide, eyes tight shut, body shining with a dew of pain.

At a nod from Sadiste the little homunculus stopped his tightening. Satyra hung in her shackles and tired to suck air into her lungs. Her breasts rose and fell in spasms as she sucked in air. The shaking of her eye-catching breasts made the clamps hurt her more.

Krool moved back, taking in the view of the shuddering boobs with a delighted slobber. Shuffling quickly across to the left side of the alcove he fiddled with some more machinery while Sadiste walked slowly around behind the red-haired prisoner, letting her hand run up and down her Satyra's lithe arms while the Chevaan panted and tried to steady her breathing.

In less than a minute Krool had reappeared in front of the gorgeous victim. Sensing his return Satyra opened her eyes.

In one hand the filthy rag-covered creature held a thin silver strand – like a piece of fine twine, but made by some devils art not of rope or even leather but shining metal. The slavering homunculus took some tentative steps forward, and again reached out for the clamp on Satyra's left breast. She tried to pull back, but Sadiste settled her arms on her shoulders, holding her firmly. ‘Now, now,' said the demoness in soothing tones, ‘let Krool finish what he started.'

Reaching out once more Krool found the pinioned nipple and pulled it towards him, dragging the rest of the tit behind it. Satyra sobbed in pain as her boob flesh was stretched by the squashed nub.

Holding the tit out from her suspended white body, the little demon threaded the metal strand through the ring in the outside edge, tying it securely. Then while Satyra whimpered and Sadiste watched he repeated the process with the right nip-pincer.

‘You're doing very well,' Sadiste purred in the Chevaan's ear as Krool moved away again. ‘Don't you feel sexy with that lovely jewellery on?'

‘You…damn…slut,' was all Satyra gasped out in reply. She closed her eyes, her suspended body shaking slightly with the strain on her arms.

‘Mmmmm, you have a naughty little mouth,' Sadiste teased the prisoner. ‘Let's see it opened a bit wider.' She glanced off to the side and nodded.

At the wall, Krool began working a metal wheel with a single handle. He wound the wheel around and around with a broken ratcheting sound. At first Satyra had no idea what the creature was doing. Then suddenly she felt the wires hanging down from her tortured breasts quiver, moving slightly over her concave abdomen.

Sucking in air she looked down. The wires were moving, rising off the floor as their nether ends were drawn back towards their point of origin. They lifted off the floor, rising higher. Satyra began to feel them tugging gently on the pincer, even that tiny pressure adding to her considerable pain.

Satyra squirmed futilely in her restraints, her pelvis rising and falling as she tried to gain some leverage by which to free herself. By now the wires were level with her waist, and still they rose; higher and higher. Soon they were hanging almost horizontal, and the Chevaan was grunting in pain as they pulled at her entrapped titty-points. She watched in mesmerized despair as they kept going, lifting above the horizontal as they fought to return to their home in the shadows above.

‘Ah, ah, ah, ahhhhh….' Satyra's cries became more high-pitched as the wheel turned. The metal strands tied to the nip-clamps were standing out rigidly form her breasts now, angling up into the shadows of the roof, and still the tension increased. The faint tug had now become a unyielding pull on her crush-sensitized passion peaks, the grip of the vices meaning that the two full Chevaan breasts were being hauled up and apart by their most delicate aspect. Satyra struggled to lift herself even a few inches to help ease the pain that made her feel like her nipples were being torn from her breasts by a pair of sharp toothed pliers. Her head was buried in her arm as she ground her teeth in frustration, torment, and agonizing helplessness.

The wheel stopped turning, and Sadiste moved around in front of Satyra to stare at her new lesson in suffering. To the awful crushing of her boob-buds, in itself a terrible pain for a woman to endure, had now been added a new dimension – having those hardened nerve clusters stretched practically to the point of ripping free of their luscious home. Sadiste knew that for the priestess bound in front of her the tension in then wires had increased her pain threefold, the constant strain lifting her curving tits high and making their whole soft roundedness a transmitter for pain to their sweating, squirming mistress. The demoness long nailed hands travelled to her own eye-catching breasts, her fingers squeezing gently as she thought about the intense sensations running feverishly from her prisoners tortured mammals and into her brain. She felt herself growing warm, arousal building in her sex-charged crimson form as she channelled some of Satyra's sensual torment.

Satyra glance up to see the red whore-demon fondling her large boobs as she leered at the satyr woman's own tormented flesh. The look of growing ecstasy on that beautifully evil face filled her with loathing and contempt, and she tired to endure the torture more bravely.

Krool came up behind her, reaching past her shoulder and using one bandaged finger to test the tension on the right wire, tweaking it softly. The minor physical contact made Satyra's whole breast explode with pain, but she kept her response to a tight lipped grunt and a twisting of her full red lips.

Sadiste noticed her unwilling companion's stoicism and stepped closer, reaching out so that her fingertips brushed the Priestess scrunched midriff. ‘Don't try to deny these sensations,' she purred, eyes dancing over the length of the sexy Chevaan's body, dusted with small diamonds of sweat. ‘There's so much I can teach you if you just let yourself experience them fully.'

‘You,' Satyra gasped out, ‘are…a sick…twisted bitch!'

‘Let me show you just how true that is,' Sadiste purred. She moved casually to one side as Krool stepped forward again. The sight of the little demon made Satyra flinch without thinking. In his hands the robbed deviant held what appeared to be a pair of small metal fastenings, no longer than his little finger, except they were not full circles and seemed to barbed at one end. With a start Satyra recognized the objects.

Hooks!

Krool shuffled forward until he had positioned himself directly between Satyra's wide spread thighs her delicately furred mound cracked open just in front of his slobbering hooded face. Wordless sounds of excitement bubbled from within the shadows of the hood as the creature stared at the thin reveal of pink only inches away. Satyra could only watch in utter horror as the demented little creature held up the wickedly barbed hooks and dangled them before her most intimate flesh.

Sadiste watched the terror in the prisoner's eyes and felt a warm glow spreading through her own loins. She moved one of her hands down to rub herself lightly through the gossamer purple loincloth. ‘Aren't they wonderful,' she said in a purr as Satyra's wide green eyes just stared at the barbs. ‘Imagine what they're going to feel like when Krool pushes them in, the points digging into your pussy lips, tearing out the other side. And then, when he pulls on the strands, and the barbs dig into you from within and you start to open like a flower…' The demoness voice trailed off as she slipped her hand under the loin cloth and played with her self shamelessly, thinking of Satyra's future nightmare.

‘Oh Goddess,' whispered Satyra, her white face even more ashen as the terrible image filled her mind. ‘Oh Goddess, please deliver me from this evil.'

‘Sorry,' Sadiste said, darting forward so than he face was only inches from Satrya's. Her smile was like a shark circling its prey. ‘No divine intervention allowed – though if you want to try a bit further south, I'm all ears.'

Satyra was actually trembling a little as she met Sadiste's yellow stare. The defiance seemed to be draining out of her like water from a leaking bucket. ‘Please don't do this,' she whispered. ‘Don't let him, please. I can't…I can't bear…' her voice trailed off into a half sob.

‘Its' alright, my pretty one,' Sadiste said, ‘you don't have to do anything you don't want to. Just say the word, and we can leave here right away.'

Krool gave a piteous whine at those words, but Satyra hung in abject misery. ‘Please, please I'll do anything else. Anything.'

Sadiste moved closer still, so their breasts were rubbing gently as each woman breathed. ‘There is only one think I want, dear girl,' she said. Her voice had become low and husky. ‘Give up your foolish defiance and yield to me, Satyra. Yield up your soul, and I will show you pleasures such as you never imagined in your wettest teenage dream.'

Satyra's lips quivered in anguish. ‘I can't,' she said again, but her voice was less certain than in previous refusals. She drew a shuddering breath and her tits wobbled gently against the red demon mounds of her enemy.

‘I can be very skilful,' Sadiste moaned, stepping even closer. Krool had to scurry aside as the tall devil woman stepped up between the prisoner's legs, their bodies nestling against each other. Sadiste's arms circled Satyra's waist, pulling her gently against the demoness while the red woman nuzzled her smooth neck. ‘Do you remember my tongue, Satyra, how it felt to have it moving over you, over your skin, over your sex.' She paused and bit one pointed white ear gently, pausing her read curls aside with her horns. ‘Would you rather feel my mouth on your sweetest lips?' She ground her groin softly and slowly against Satyra's naked mons. ‘Or would you rather feel Krool's little toys?'

Satyra's sexy body was trembling against the demon woman's with each shuddering breath, but she shook her head, tears running down her face. ‘Goddess help me, I can't,' she wept.

Sadiste pulled back, lifting the satyr woman's head by the chin. ‘That's a shame,' she said, and Satyra was stunned by the sincerity in her voice. ‘Krool,' Sadiste snapped out, as she turned away and moved back from the alcove.

Krool raced forward, almost stumbling over his robes in his haste. Without preamble one raggedy hand clutched roughly at Satrya's womanhood, pinching the soft outer lips in a cruel grip. He jabbed his thumb inside her, prying the folds apart.

‘No, NO!' Satyra shouted, fear making her voice louder and higher. She desperately tried to twist fee of the filthy grip as the hooks moved closer to her pussy. ‘Get him away from me. !'

Krool laughed like a bubbling cess pit and pulled back Satyra's right vulva, holding the fold of skin between finger and thumb. With a cruel move he jabbed the first hook against the inner flesh, pressing with his thumb so that the bard pressed against the skin, making the priestess cry out. The demon applied more pressure, getting another scream, and then the pointed metal surpassed the elasticity of the woman's pussy cover and pierced her, driving through the flesh.

‘Aaaaaaarrrrrr!' Satyra's scream as the barb spitted through her pussy lip filled the room, and she shook violently in her restraints, making her breasts dance as drops of sweat fell from them in small torrents. She took a long breath and screamed again as the demon continued to push the point into her, until at last with a squirt of blood it emerged though the other side of the undulating quim-cover.

Sadiste watched the lovely red-head shaking in pain, the red blood showing starkly against her white skin. She reached under her kirtle and pinched her own vulva hard enough to feel the pain, thrilled at what the bound victim was going through.

Satyra's eyes were clenched so tightly her head throbbed. She could hear the demon moving, sense him close to her. She tired to ignore the sounds, tried to tell herself that if she didn't look, didn't see him getting the hook ready then it wasn't real. She felt the finger touching her gates again and the fear took her, made her gasp for air and twitch. By the time she felt the cold metal point against her flesh she was already crying out. A moment later she was screaming, sobbing hysterically as he pierced her other side, repeating the procedure as she howled and wept helplessly.

Having finished with the hooks Krool moved off to the wall. Again Satyra heard the sound of wheels and gears. The metal crescents impaling her began to quiver, then the satyr woman felt the hooks tighten, tin at her bloodied lips. The tightness grew as the sound continued, Satyra knowing without opening her eyes that the wires tied to the hooks were rising even as their companions on the nipple rings had done. As they reached the limit of their extension they continued to tug at her flesh, pulling the vulva slowly apart, the crack of female flesh widening to reveal her pink inner being more fully even as her barb-pierced flesh sent messages of pain racing up her spine to make her cry fresh tears.

Wider and wider the wicked barbs hauled the soft white slit, Sadiste watching the process like the unfolding a beautiful flower as the feminine petals were pulled back. At the top and bottom of the cleft Satyra could feel the flesh straining until it was almost at the point of tearing, her crack so wide that the inner lips of her pussy were fully exposed and parted in sympathy with their outer siblings. The air of the dungeon wafted over her naked quim as she wiggled her heaps to try and take some of the tearing pressure off her tortured woman-flesh. Sadiste watched the display with her finger deep inside her own vagina, eyes glowing with lust, while at the controls on the wall Krool's wet gibbering was clearly audible, growing more frantic as the lips of Satyra's femaleness were peeled back like the skin of a ripe fruit, revealing the juicy wetness beneath.

Krool stooped and locked off the mechanism. Satyra now hung in her bondage with her vulva wrenched a good five inches apart, while the rest of her sweated and squirmed and shook with weeping. And the diminutive creature wasn't finished with her yet.

While the priestess let her head fall back and sounds of incoherent horror came from her lips, the demon readied another piece of apparatus near the wall. He trundled it forward, the whole thing rolling noisily on metal castors so that Satyra's head snapped up to see what new atrocity her captors had in store for her.

The device was a metal pole five feet high fixed to a round base that rolled across the alcove flooring. At the top the pole hung over, and a short chain was attached to it, hanging down to a thumb sized hook. Swinging gently on the end of the hook was a glass container filled with some greenish liquid – at the top it had a metal cap with a ring that sat on the hooked chain, while at the bottom was another metal cap that tapered down to a cone-shaped funnel, sitting open a hall-inch wide at the base and with some sort of small wheel attached. The whole arrangement reminded the beautiful horned prisoner of ale kegs she had seen tapped with a wooden bung in her village, but she doubted that the purpose was anything so benign, especially when the funnel opening was positioned by the raggedy figure so that it hung directly over her forcibly exposed womanhood.

Krool tittered maliciously and moved around behind her again. Satyra wiggled her hips to try and keep as much distance as possible between her vaginal opening and the metal spout as Sadiste came forward again.

The demoness pulled her finger out from under her kirtle, the red skin glistening with the moisture of her sex. She held it up and pressed it against the puckered lips of Satyra's own entrance, mingling their juices. Satyra trembled in shame and fear and closed her eyes as the crimson bitch diddled her hole.

‘It's almost time for your next lesson, dear Satyra,' Sadiste said in patient tones. ‘I have tried to educate you in the ways of the world, my dear, for your own benefit. Unfortunately, despite having a great deal of potential,' and here she paused and sniffed the finger she had worked up inside Satyra's love tunnel, before sliding it back inside the pink crevice and continuing, ‘you remain a poor student.'

‘Then I realised,' the demoness went on, still finger raping her audience, ‘that the reason for you recalcitrance is to do with your upbringing. You have been brain-washed with the teachings of your Chevaan sisters about the nature of good and evil, love and desire. Your experiences in our realm have helped you to shed some of these inhibitions to your true nature.'

Satyra's breathing came in tight quick bursts as she felt the demoness' finger stimulating her feminine regions in ways she found equally repellent and intoxicating. ‘Get your finger out of me and release these chains, and I'll show you some of my true nature,' she growled.

‘You see,' Sadiste smiled, ‘you can learn. Even now, thanks to you encounter with the slithering ones, you understand that your body can react to pleasure in ways you never dreamed of.' Sadiste gave a sudden extra forceful push, grinding her knuckle against the prisoner's love-nub and making Satyra's eyelids flutter as warm feelings of excitement arced out from her moist centre. ‘Yes, you learned that lesson very well.'

‘Bitch!' Satyra gasped. Even the little movements of Sadiste's hand caused jolts of pain from the hooks in her stretched vulva.

Sadiste ignored the outburst. ‘The flames hardened your mortal flesh, and the Yukhoth helped you understand the true nature of the humans you would dwell among – selfish, cruel and treacherous.'

‘Like others…I could mention,' Satyra said in a fight to keep her tone even. The evil slut was making her soft pinkness quiver as her finger created ever greater feelings of arousal. She knew if she moved even slightly to try and escape the vile digit the piercings would reward her with terrible pain.

‘Yes, but I make no pretence of being anything other than I am,' Sadiste smirked back. ‘The stones helped you to understand the nature of futility, struggling against the crushing forces that trap as all. Satyra closed her eyes as Sadiste mentioned the stones, fearing that the demon-girl would see some spark there as she remembered the other lesson she had learned there from Zaraeth. She felt Sadiste's finger frigging her with slow, deliberate movements and heard her sigh. ‘Despite some progress, however, you remain mired in narrow minded Chevaan philosophy. Why, I asked myself.'

‘Maybe because you've…spent…all this time…torturing me, you sick freak,' Satyra blurted out angrily.

‘Discovery is often painful,' Sadiste said. ‘At any rate, that does not explain you stubborn refusal to embrace a new and better way of seeing the world.'

‘I serve the…the goddess,' Satyra whispered. The finger rubbing the channel of her sexuality was nearly driving her mad now, teasing her at the edge of release but expertly keeping her from achieving it. She felt herself quivering with unspent energy.

‘But that is not the reason,' Sadiste said forcefully, twisting her wrist and drawing a soft moan from her victim. ‘However powerful that loyalty is, it is ultimately an abstract. You have never seen the goddess, never known the warmth of her embrace. Only something tangible could provoke you to endure such suffering when escape is only a sweet surrender away.'

Even in the midst of her rising sexual fever, Satyra felt her heart grow chill at these words.

The red-tressed woman felt her head jerked back and saw Krool standing directly behind her. The violent action sent messages of pain from the hooks in her tits and pussy as the rag covered hands jammed a metal rod like a horses bit into her mouth, securing it with a strap that passed around the back of her head. The demon pulled the fastenings brutally tight, digging the round metal deep into the corners of the woman's red mouth, then pushed her head forward to look down at Sadiste still casually fingering her captive slit.

‘Thank you Krool,' Sadiste said. ‘We want to be sure our lovely student can't interrupt proceedings.' She looked up at Satyra, meeting the stare of those wide all green eyes. ‘You cling to hope, my lovely priestess – hope that you will somehow triumph and see her again – that she will take you in her arms thank you with her heart and body and tongue for all you have done for her.' Satyra's eyes grew wider as the full truth of what was to happen dawned terribly. ‘Well, be careful what you wish for, my dear.'

Krool's hand moved around like a serpent and touched the faucet attached to bottle over her quim. Instantly a drop of green liquid appeared at the opening – it hung for a moment at the edge, then fell through space and splashed lightly against Satyra's wide-peeled womanhood.

‘Gaaaarrrrrhhh!' came the gorgeous prisoner's muffled cry. Where the emerald potion had landed, waves of caustic fire seared through her, the nerves burning in acid torment. The pain overwhelmed her control and her body shook so that fresh needles of suffering stabbed in her nipples and impaled pussy lips and brought further gagged sobs.

‘Very good Krool,' Sadiste nodded. ‘But stop now – we must wait for the arrival of the last player in this scene.'

Satyra shook her head to try and clear the green burning haze as Sadiste stepped down from the metal platform and into the middle of the chamber. Lifting her arms the demoness began to chant softly, muttering words long forgotten by all but a few in the mortal lands above.

A shudder ran through the cavern. Sadiste intoned more loudly, eyes glowing, and with a sound of shattering stone a crack burst open in the roof above. Soft solver light flowed down from the cleft, washing in shining ribbons around the chanting demoness as Satyra opened her eyes and watched in numb horror as a figure took form, lying helpless on the floor in front of the beautiful minion of evil.

Sprawled out before Sadiste's sandled feet, completely at her mercy…lay Conine!

Part XIII

Dark Passions

In the depths of the night-cloaked northern forest, a woman stirred in her sleep and moaned.

The dreams tormented Conine as they always did.  Her sisters screamed as they were dragged by the Romans to the whipping posts, to the torture chambers, to the flat, cum stained wooden frames in the soldiers barracks.  Satyra screamed as she was carried away by Gracus men, who tied her to a tree and cut her with their swords til her body was covered head to toe in blood.   And then Gracus came and she was lifted up onto the cross while her sisters that she had failed hurled abuse at her, coming up beside the laughing Roman and the ramming the iron nails into her flesh, leaving her die hideously.

She wept, in the dream and in the real world.  She had failed them all.  She was not clever enough, was not strong enough.  All her fault.

When the ground in her dream opened beneath her, she did not question it.  When she toppled into the yawing abyss, she did not struggle to escape.  She deserved damnation, deserved to fall.  And fall she did, for what seemed like an eternity, as the howls of the thrice damned rose up to meet her. 

Satyra, she sobbed, Satyra forgive me my love.  I failed you.

I failed you all.

***

Satyra stared at the unconscious form of Conine in wonder and fear.

Part of her surprise was how much her lover had changed.  Even with her head lying on the stone floor, it was obvious the warrior woman’s hair was much longer, curling down around her breasts and broad back where it had once been cropped short about her shoulders.  She still wore her leather boots and greaves, but in place of her armour she was now clad in two strips of buckskin; one as a loincloth, the other to cover the generous curves of her chest.  She appeared leaner as well, her already toned figure now somewhat more muscular in appearance without having added any mass.  The marks of the whip upon her bronzed skin had faded to dim stripes, faint reminders of the ugly wounds that had adorned her hanging on the cross.

Satyra looked at Conine and new immediately that these changes, however subtle, were not ones that could be accomplished in days, or even weeks.

How long had she been in the Underworld?

Satyra stepped around the gently breathing warrior woman and brought the priestess back from her musings.  ‘She looks so peaceful,’ she said, staring down at the defenceless Chevaan.  ‘And so beautiful.’ She glanced up at Satyra.  ‘Shall we wake her?’

Satyra made a gurgling sound through the bit, and her eyes should growing panic.  ‘Yes, lets,’ Sadiste said, eyes narrowing in evil pleasure.  ‘A reunion between two lovers – what could be better than that?  She will awake, and then she will see her darling priestess again – that is what you want, isn’t it?’

Satyra gave a small sob, thinking of Conine seeing her.  More than anything, she wanted to be with the raven-haired warrior, to feel her strong arms around and loose herself in those shining blue eyes.  But for Conine to see her like this, bound and degraded, a thing to suffer at the whims of these degenerate fiends, was a thought that left her sick inside.  She would rather die than have her beloved see her like this.

Sadiste sensed her horror and smiled more widely.  ‘What’s the matter Satyra, don’t you want her to see you.  Don’t you think she would enjoy it, getting to see you hang in Krool’s machine with hooks through your tits, moaning like a common whore?  Do you think she might be repulsed at dead white skin, or would she be more disgusted by the way you have your dripping pussy peeled open like a piece of fruit so anyone can fuck you whenever they like?’

Satyra gave a wordless cry of rage, trembling and hurting herself against the barbs, but Sadiste knew it was not physical pain that brought tears to the corner of the ram horned beauty’s eyes.

‘Well,’ said Sadiste with a shrug that made her full breasts jiggle, ‘lets find out.’

Without further comment, the demoness stepped over, kneeling down beside the sleeping woman’s head.  As Satyra’s eyes when wide with horror, she whispered softly, ‘Conine; awake.’

***

The tickling in her ear brought Conine instantly to the alert.  She rolled forward, hands up and ready to protect her, eyes blazing, and saw…

Something that made those eyes grow wide.

Kneeling next to her, hair like spun copper, bronze skin and long curling rams horns framing a face like a goddess, with glowing green eyes full of warmth.  She paused for a heartbeat, then crossed the short space between them like a pouncing cat, wrapping the kneeling woman in her arms in a crushing embrace while her body trembled with emotion, tears welling up behind her long lashes. 

‘Satyra,’ she whispered, her voice breaking.  ‘Oh Goddess, it’s you.  My love.  My love!’

***

Satyra watched as Conine pounced upon the red demoness, knowing that her lover was a match for any natural foe but terrified of what Sadiste’s power would do to her mortal beloved.  But then she saw that Conine was not wrestling with her, just hugging the red-skinned she-devil and sobbing.  Sadiste’s arms were around Conine as well, the two of them breast to breast, kneeling together.  Then Sadiste pulled back her head and dipped her head forward, her lips finding the Chevaan’s.

As Satyra watched aghast, Conine returned the kiss with passion her lips covering Sadiste’s in heated display, the two women’s tongues dipping and licking inside each other’s mouths.  Small moans came from both, and Conine’s hands roamed over Sadiste’s back, pulling Satyra’s enemy against her own lush curves as she broke the kiss and buried her face against the side of her neck, covering it with kisses and small, passionate bites of her teeth.  ‘Satyra,’ the priestess heard Conine sigh between nips.

And she understood. 

Sadiste looked over her shoulder, seeing the dawning anguish in the redhead’s eyes.  ‘That’s right, my dear, your little plaything has her fondest wish, and you have yours – to see her again, safe and happy.’  She paused as Conine’s tongue found a sensitive spot on her neck, making her sigh in pleasure.  Her talking to Satyra apparently did not disturb whatever illusion the devil woman had used to bewitch the dark haired warrior into believing Sadiste was the Chevaan priestess hanging in chains less than ten feet away.  ‘Very happy, indeed, it seems.  I can…oh, that’s nice…see the attraction.  Mmmmm.  She really does like you, doesn’t she?’  Her yellow eyes became spiteful.  ‘Though you would think with such love she’d be able to tell a fake, wouldn’t you?’

Satyra’s only reply was another gagged shriek as she watched her lover nuzzle the shoulder of the woman who had repeatedly tortured her.

‘Oh, I’m sorry my dear,’ Sadiste purred softly, fingers in Conine’s hair.  ‘How rude of me.  You should not be forced to merely watch.  Krool?’

Satyra started and saw the rag-clad demon, standing next to her, holding something in his hand.  He moved and pressed it to Satyra’s shoulder.

Pain blossomed in the priestess’ flesh as the jaws of the tongs closed around her flesh, grinding the white softness between them.  The heads bore wicked little metal teeth that pierced the skin so that blood trickled down over the Chevaan’s arm and she groaned.  She tried to pull away, giving another sharper cry as her jerking movement brought fresh stabs of anguish to her pierced tits and womanhood.

‘That’s it, my dear,’ Sadiste sighed to the squirming captive as Conine lowered the demoness towards the stone floor, still kissing her long red neck.  ‘Relax and enjoy .’

Conine shifted her lips so that she was showering Sadiste’s shoulder with light, fervent kisses.  The demoness groaned languidly, rubbing slowly against the warrior’s curvaceous body.  Conine let her weight fall fully on top of Sadiste, pressing their bodies together while one hand wriggled down to cup a full red breast and flick the nipple to dark hardness.

In her bondage, Satyra watched in despair and heartbreak, but was quickly distracted by Krool’s continuing attentions.  Watching the action with gibbering delight, he used the tongs to bruise and maul Satyra’s shoulders.  As Conine’s finger teased and fondled the demon nipple beneath her, Krool reached around to give the wire running to one of Satyra’s nipple-rings a viscous tug, making her jump and squeal shrilly.

It took little effort to see Sadiste’s intentions for this torment.  Whatever Conine did with the demoness was perversely mirrored by Krool’s attentions to the captive priestess.  When Conine craned her head up to gently kiss the nape of Sadiste’s throat, Krool used a thick rope to strangle the helpless priestess until she gurgled for air.  When the warrior’s strong hands roamed down to grasp Sadiste’s waist, Krool used a short whip to lash Satyra’s sides, making her squirm.  And when her lover dipped her head and suckled gently at each of Sadiste’s impressive chest-globes, Satyra cried out wretchedly as the little horror with her used the metal tongs to brutalize her tender white orbs, leaving the smooth curves of flesh a mass of rapidly healing bruises and dull wounds that oozed blood over her white skin.

Down on the stone floor Sadiste groaned in pleasure at the attention Conine was showering on her with hands and lips and the pressure of her ripe, lithe figure.  The Chevaan warrior sought out every curve and dip of the demoness body with a passion that left even the sexually accomplished Underworlder panting.

Shifting her body, she grabbed Conine’s hair, pulling her head up to stare into her eyes.  Thanks to the magic she had prepared earlier the fierce warrior woman saw only the image of her beautiful satyr horned lover, but the carnal fire that had been kindled in the demoness lit those of the illusion as well as the two women lay together, breathing quickly.  Krool stopped mauling Satyra’s tits and pulled her head up to watch.

‘Do you want me, Conine,’ Sadiste breathed.  She stroked the Chevaan’s smooth cheek with the back of her hand.

‘Yes,’ Conine replied, without hesitation.  Sadiste smiled at the reply and the answering moan from Satyra in her bondage.

Sadiste leaned closer.  ‘Do you want to fuck me?’ the masquerading demoness asked.

Conine hesitated, just for a split second.  ‘Fuck you?’ she asked.

In the pain harness, Satyra watched with just a glimmer of hope.  Though they had only been together a short time, Conine would know the priestess well enough to realise the question was out of character.

Conine, it’s not me, she thought desperately, trying to send a message to her warrior partner but force of will.  Please, here me.

Sadiste also sensed the pause, but she pressed on.  Her hand found Conine’s left breast, cupping it and fingering the tense nipple.  ‘I need you to fuck me, Conine,’ she whispered.  Conine closed her eyes as little tinglings of pleasure raced from her breast peak.  ‘I need you to say it.’

‘Satyra,’ the warrior moaned, eyes fluttering as she smiled.

‘Yes, I’m here,’ Sadiste cooed.  She moved to press her body against Conine’s, leaning forward and biting her ear gently, playing with the lobe as her hand slid down to brush over the sword-woman’s flat belly.  She felt it quiver at her touch, Conine’s hand coming up to run through her hair.  ‘Tell you want me to fuck you, Conine.’  She pressed her tits against the Chevaan’s so they pillowed together.  ‘Tell me you want to fuck me, too.’

Conine groaned, biting her lip.  She moved so that she was kneeling with Sadiste facing her, bodies still in contact.  Her free hand moved down to cup the demoness tight backside.

No, Satyra though desperately.  There was a smack and she gave a muffled yelp as Krool used a wooden paddle to begin beating her own derriere.  Fresh tears moistened her eyes.  No.

Sadiste smiled, licking the soft curve of Conine’s ear with a deft tongue. Her hand skimmed the surface of the Chevaan’s cleft, teasing it and feeling the moisture seeping from within.  She smiled in dark pleasure.  ‘Oh Goddess, Conine, you feel so good,’ she whispered.  ‘I need you so much.’

Conine gasped, pushing herself against the hand so that it rubbed her intimately.  Her finger found the crack between two demon ass-cheeks and squeezed between them.

Satyra grunted as the torturer spread her backside cruelly, using a talon to slash painfully between her own buttocks.

‘Say it.’ Sadiste groaned.  ‘Tell me what you want, Conine.’

Conine let go of Sadiste’s hair and grabbed her backside with both hands, pulling her against the warrior, the devil-woman’s hand sandwiched between their damp love-mounds.

Satyra closed her eyes as Krool dropped the paddle and seized a short whip.  The thongs smacked against her ass and curled under to sting her pussy lips, making her tremble in pain.

‘Say it, my love!’ Sadiste gasped, her finger sliding past two soft dewy petals and finding a cavern of liquid warmth, soft and inviting.  ‘Say you want to fuck me!’

Conine cried out and pulled Sadiste away, holding her by the arms as she looked at her with desire burning brightly in her blue eyes, chest heaving with passion.

‘Yes,’ she said fiercely.  Satyra sobbed in despair,  ‘I want to fuck you.  And I want you to fuck me.’  She pulled the illusion-clad demoness against her, kissing her wildly and pushing her onto the ground.  ‘Right now!’

Conine moved over Sadiste’s crimson nakedness, her lips covering the demon-woman’s again as she kissed her hungrily.  Sadiste matched her passion and moved twined her arms around Conine’s head, drawing her down onto her as she spread her long red legs in greeting.

Satyra watched in total horror as her love ground herself against the Underworlder, tears streaming down her white face.  Her world was dying in front of her eyes.  But she did not have the luxury even of her sorrow – no sooner had Conine and Sadiste begun their carnal frenzy than the gibbering Krool appeared in front of her again, carrying a wicked looking curved knife.  With undisguised relish, the creature reached up with the blade and dragged it across the tops of her breasts.

‘Nnnnnnnnrrrrrhhhhh,’ Satyra gasped, feeling the warm blood flowing down over her as the edge of the knife gouged her open.  She jerked backwards, filling her nipples with fresh pain, but there was no escape.  Krool brought the blade down and cut her again, a line from her sternum to her navel that sliced the skin and into the muscles that held in her organs so that Satyra gurgled horribly, her blood running down onto the metal floor.

Slobbering, Krool bent its head forward and she felt a vile little tongue lapping at her wounds, probing past the rent flesh and suckling at the hot blood.  Thanks to Sadiste’s magic her injuries were already healing, preventing her from bleeding out, but the knife went to work again, opening another gash in her thing, then up on her left breast.  Cut and lick, cut and lick, the horror went on as Satyra could hear the moans of the two women sexing each other only a few feet away, knowing that one of them was the woman she loved. 

Through the anguish, she remembered when the soldiers had had her in the forest, tied to a tree so that they could cut her with their swords, laughing as she bled and hurt.  Conine had saved her then – leapt in and taken on three Roman soldiers to save Satyra. 

Cut and lick.  It hurt so much.

She remembered being with Conine in the cave, on the run, and the warrior never even thought of leaving her behind to escaped the patrols.  Lying close in the night because they could not risk a fire, using their bodies to warm themselves, and those strong arms around her, protecting her.  She had felt completely safe in those arms, wanting Conine to do more and at the same time so deeply moved that the raven-haired warrior took no advantage of her as she recovered from her ordeal.

Cut and lick. Her thighs bleed.  Her body bleeds.  Her breasts bleed.  Too much blood for the creature to lap up, but he doesn’t mind wasting it.  Cut and lick; carving her like a piece of meat while she bites on the bit wanting to scream her throat raw, hearing Sadiste purring into Conine’s ear, Conine begging her not to stop touching her.

Satyra remembered at the mountain lake, coming upon Conine as she was lost to passion, seeing the warriors strong hands touching herself and wishing it was her skin those hands were gliding over, her breasts they were squeezing so tenderly, her sex that those quick nimble fingers were exploring.  And at the same time wanting to touch Conine too, to please her in so many ways, to show her haw grateful she was for risking everything for her.

Cut and Lick.  Screaming, sobbing.

Sadiste was beside herself with pleasure, her sex rubbing powerfully together with the Chevaan warriors as both women unleashed their desire on the other. She looked over and saw Satyra bleeding from a dozen painful wounds while the vile little torturer was using his tongue like a thirsty hound.  She wrapped her legs around Conine’s waist and pumped, their mounds slick by now with their juices, Conine panting and moaning wantonly.  Sadiste shifted her weight and rolled them over, coming up to lie  on the dark haired woman, putting her hands around her narrow waist to give her additional leverage to keep their glistening sexes meshed together.  Conine responded by lifting her hips, taking Sadiste’s full weight with her pelvis and drawing a trembling moan from the demoness as the women’s nether lips met in a rapturous kiss.

As the warrior women pumped her womanhood urgently against Sadiste’s wet centre, the disguised hellion looked over to enjoy Satyra’s suffering.  Krool appeared to have abandoned the jagged knife for a rusty metal bar, which he was now using to beat the centre of Satyra’s exposed vagina, pummelling the soft pink meat mercilessly while the impacts made the priestess lower body jerk in ways that sent pain racing out from her pierced labia. 

In the midst of her suffering the satyr-girls eyes opened for a moment, and she stared across to see the demoness looking at her, red face ablaze with passion.  Sadiste smiled at the tortured Chevaan and cast back her head, crying out in delight as the pressure of Conine’s love-flower against her clit brought her to climax.

Satyra hung watching the demoness ride Conine passionately, her own feminine flesh throbbing in agony and bleeding from the repeated blows with the metal rod.  The cruel barbs threatened to tear her labia to pieces, blood oozing from the pierced folds and dripping down from inside her where the force of the blows had ruptured her inside.  Shards of broken bone from her pelvis floated inside her flesh like pieces of glass as body knit itself back together.

‘She’s really fucking me silly,’ came Sadiste’s voice in her ear.

Satyra opened her eyes to see the demoness standing next to her, then with a start realised Sadiste was looking over at herself still riding the frenzy of Conine’s sexual tempest.  As they watched, the Sadiste still fucking winked at her double and the priestess and bent double, thrusting her ass into Conine’s face while she brought her own down over the Chevaan warrior bubbling pussy.

‘Oh, she likes that,’ the Sadiste with Satyra commented.  Blinking Satyra could detect just a hint of transparency about the Sadiste talking to her.  A projected image.  ‘I can feel how much she does. Hellfire, she’s wet.’  She grinned. ‘But then, so am I.’

Conine had grabbed the first demoness’ ass again, and Satyra grunted as Krool began flaying her own backside with a strip of barbed leather.

‘I can see why you decided to keep her alive,’ the image went on.  ‘She’s amazing – one of the best I’ve had, and I’ve had plenty.  It was so thoughtful of you to save her from the cross for me.’

Satyra gave another shriek as the lash opened her flesh.  Blood dripped down onto the floor from the tears in her buttocks.

‘Why, I she’d died, I’d never have known how well she rubs that warrior cunt of hers against mine.  And those tits – the look in her eyes when I suck them is incredible, a real wanton slut.’  Satyra closed her eyes and tried not to hear the words.  ‘Just think, if you hadn’t agreed to be tortured in hell, I’d never have known what a whore like this could do with her tongue.’  The image fingered herself, pushing two knuckles up past her pussy lips.  ‘Oh, yes, she’s licking my tummy.  What a tease, but I can feel her fingers pulling at my pussy lips.’

Krool reached around and jerked at the wires running to Satrya’s sex hooks.  ‘GGGGLLLLRRRRRR’ howled the gagged Chevaan.

‘Oh, she’s blowing on my cunt,’ gasped Sadiste’s projection.  ‘Oh, fuck, she’s good.  Oh, lick me Conine please,’ she sighed, the last said simultaneously with the real Sadiste as she lifted her head from between the warrior’s legs.  ‘Use your tongue on me, I beg you.’

Conine made no reply but lifted her head.  For just a second Satyra would have sworn that her lover looked right at her, but then the dark haired woman’s face disappeared as she applied her lovely mouth to the task of Sadiste’s hairless demon quim.

Krool came stumbling around in front of Satyra, trembling with excitement.  The image of Sadiste licked her lips, eyes narrowed din pleasure.  ‘Her mouth,’ she groaned.  ‘Oh fuck, her tongue.’  The demoness smiled in ecstasy, then looked down at her helpless prisoner.  ‘Your turn too, sweetness.’

Krool gave a slobbering cackle and reached to the mechanism on the acid bottle over Satrya’s spread womanhood.  The red head watched eyes wide with denial and terror.

Krool turned the tap, and a single green drop formed on the spout, then fell onto Satyra’s exposed pussy.

The effect was instant.  As the burning fluid splashed against the inside to the prisoner’s labia, The Chevaan went completely rigid, her whole body spasming as burning pain raced out from her sexual centre and infused her with its awful heat.  She could feel the venom burning her, eating into her flesh.  It entered her blood and made it boil.  It found her nerve endings and turned them into searing needles.

And then more drops fell.  Soaking into her outer lips, her pink folds, seeping inside her.

Satyra’s mouth clamped down on the bit so hard she felt teeth cracking, blood oozing from the corners of her mouth.  She lost control of her body, jerking like a puppet on the strings of a deranged master.  The hooks in her nipples and pussy lips tore at the tender flesh as she convulsed uncontrollably.

‘NNNNNNNNNRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!’

Sadiste watched Satyra and felt Conine.  Eyes closed as she lapped attentively at the musky sex of the warrior, she could see through her sending's eyes the helpless priestess in agony as she felt Satyra’s lover flicking her demon clit with her tongue, pulling the bud into her mouth to suck on it.  As Conine’s attentions grew more urgent, the acid venom dripped faster.

Satyra was almost out of her mind with pain.  Krool was letting the acid run as he used whips and knives to turn her splayed body into a bloody canvass, so much blood that she looked almost a red as the demoness being fucked by her lover.  Fucked by her lover.  The words played over and over in her agony-drowned mind, torturing her soul while the demons demolished her body.  She could somehow hear Sadiste’s sounds of delight, begging Conine not to stop.  And mingled with those groaning pleas Conine’s own sighs and whimpers of pleasure, racing towards climax from the evil that was smashing Satyra’s universe into howling fragments.

It’s not fair, Satyra’s mind screamed.  It’s not right.  Conine, please, help me!

Sadiste felt her orgasm building, the world contracting down to where the woman under her was using her mouth to make her feel wonderful.  She turned her head to look back over her shoulder, face wet with the juice of Conine’s arousal.  ‘Oh goddess,’ gasped, knowing it was Satyra’s face the warrior saw, Satrya’s voice she heard.  ‘Oh shit, Conine, fuck me with your tongue.’

Conine grabbed Sadiste’s ass so hard it felt like she would tear her open, plunging her tongue into the demoness molten slit.  ‘Don’t stop,’ Conine hissed between forays into the wet valley.

Conine, no, Satyra’s mind pleaded desperately, as the venom scalded her sex,  it’s not me!

‘Tell me to fuck you, Conine,’ Sadiste urged, fingers deep in Chevaan pussy.  ‘Tell me you need it.’

‘Oh, Goddess yes, I need you so much,’ Conine half wept.  Her incredible body squirmed against the crimson hellions.  ‘Please, yes, fuck me, my love, please.’

Satyra’s mind reeled.  How could Conine say that, how could she not know?  A metal blade pierced her right tit, and the venom boiled away inside her tender woman-flesh.  She howled in pain, she writhed, betrayed, her soul screaming as loudly as her body.  The caustic liquid ate its way into her, bubbling acid fire filling all her femininity.  Spittle and blood flew from around the gag as she shook in the torture harness, tearing her tits and labia to shreds.

Sadiste saw the moment arrive.  ‘Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had, pet,’ she slurred to Conine, drunk with sex.  Her fingers wriggled deep inside Chevaan pussy, holding the muscular warrior at the very edge of ecstasy.  ‘Tell me no one has ever fucked you like me.’

No, Satrya’s mind screamed.

‘Oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK!’ Conine groaned, body awash in pleasure.  Her head fell back from Sadiste’s soaking mons, licking the sweet nectar from her lips.

Sadiste spat on the warrior woman clit, blowing on it, rimming her pussy with her tongue.  ‘Say it, Conine.’

NO! Satyra wanted to howl, as metal hook stabbed into her anus, lifting her bleeding ass so that the foul acid inside her sluiced back out, tracing a scalding path down over her thighs as it burned out of her sex-channel.

‘Say it,’ Sadiste commanded, her fingers plunging back into Conine’s wet cunt and working her buzzing clitoris to the point of pain, her lips dipping to suck the bud so hard that the warrior woman opened her mouth wide and screamed

‘Oh fuck me yes! YES!  YOU’RE  THE BEST, MY LOVE! THE BEST!!!’

‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!’

The shackles holding Satyra’s arms above her head shattered like glass, metal fragments shrapnelling across the chamber.  She screamed again, and her body sudden exploded with eldritch force, energy like black lightning running over her naked form, consuming her bonds in an instant.  Free of all restraints she fell, landing on her feet, eyes blazing with dark power as Krool gibbered in panic.

At the sound Satyra whirled.  Krool shrieked and ran, barely clearing the metal platform before a bolt of sable energy impaled him through the back and sent him hurtling into the far wall, the force of the impact leaving him lying like a sack of wet meat on the floor.  Sadiste had rolled out from under Conine by now and was rising to her stand over the uncomprehending Chevaan, but before she had time to raise her hands or mouth in incantation Satyra was on her.

‘YOU FUCKING EVIL BITCH!’ the priestess screamed, her fist slamming into the demon woman’s jaw with a crack like thunder and snapping her head around. Sadiste reeled back and then suddenly the red-skinned Underworlder was pinioned in a web of blazing power, crackling currents of energy racing across her body, making Sadiste arch her back as the terrible midnight fire ripped scream after scream from the writhing demoness.

‘I’ll kill you, you soulless slut!’ Satyra raged, the power from her hands making the room tremble and the air reel of dark magic.  Sadiste could do no more than wail helplessly as the bolts twisted her in their grip ‘til it seemed her lovely red body must be torn apart by the forces ripping through it.  ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

But before the priestess could make good on her words, she was suddenly knocked from her feet, a body slamming into her from below and carrying her to the rocky floor.  Instantly strong smooth hands gripped her wrists, trying to pin her, and Satyra’s midnight eyes stared up into those of Conine, seeing no recognition, no remorse, only deadly intent.

‘I don’t know what you are,’ the warrior growled, straining to hold he lover down, ‘but if you’ve hurt her…’

‘You don’t know,’ Satyra growled, the rage swelling in her again. ‘You don’t KNOW?!’

Again, the power blazed out, arcing from Satrya’s fingers and racing up Conine’s arms and into her body, her head snapping back as her mouth flew open in silent pain. ‘I suffered for you!  I screamed in hell… for YOU!’  Conine trembled in the grip of the awful lightning, and Satyra ripped one hand free and used it so seize the helpless warrior woman by the throat as she surged back to her feet.  ‘The things they DID to me!  The torture; the violation; the PAIN!’  The bolts searing Conine grew more frenzied, and the dark haired Chevaan gave a long gargling scream as her skin was scorched, her legs kicking spasmodically while her body convulsed and her firm breasts quivered as they were licked by sable fire, the charge running along her arms, across her belly, down to her bared mons.  The warrior’s heart felt ready to explode from the pain.  ‘All for you, and YOU…’

‘AAARRRGGGGGHHH!!!’

‘…DON’T…’

‘AAAHHH…AAA….EEEYYAAAAAHHHHHH!!!’

‘…KNOW!’

Satrya’s beautiful face was twisted into something bestial.  Her all black eyes looked up at her victim with nothing remotely like mercy or compassion as the naked woman screamed horribly, tear filled eyes staring at her, and suddenly going wide with something beyond terror, beyond agony.’

‘S…Satyra…?’

The simple word cut through the priestess hurt and rage, hollowing her.  She blinked, and suddenly Conine was staring down at her in grief and confusion, even as blood rand down over her bare breasts from Satyra’s grip around her throat, even as she trembled with the lingering pain of the lightning.  ‘Oh Goddess alive…Satyra,’ Conine half gasped, half sobbed.  ‘What have they done to you?’

Satyra saw the horror and pity in her lover’s eyes, cutting her like a blade.  She saw the white hand like a claw digging into Conine’s throat, threatening to strangle her, and the burns from her lightning peppering the soft smooth flesh with patches of suffering.  Her hand flew open and the warrior dropped at her feet, sprawling on the stonework as she reeled back in terrible understanding.

‘Conine,’ she whispered.  ‘Oh my love, what have I done?’  She took a small step forward, and the sudden fear in the warrior woman eyes struck her like a physical blow.  ‘Conine, forgive…’ she began, but without warning there was a flash of light, and a sound like a great wind sweeping through the noisome cavern, and a woman confused cry.

And Conine was gone.

Satyra stared a moment at the place where he love had lain, then past it to where Sadiste lay near the far wall, her hand outstretched from having cancelled the summoning that had brought the human Chevaan to the Underworld, even as she had cancelled the illusion that had prevented Conine from seeing her surrounds truly.  All this comprehension flashed through Satyra’s mind in barely an instant, but before she could act on her understanding, a bolt of dark flame lashed out and struck her from behind, enveloping her in its fury and dashing her senseless to the ground.

Sadiste stood slowly, rubbing her bare shoulder where she had slammed into the rock wall.  From the shadows near the door, the demon Vhyl padded into view, his forked spear still emitting small wisps of flame as he stared down at the felled Priestess with satisfaction.

‘You took your time,’ Sadiste complained, moving up next to the black skinned devil as she stood over Satyra.  ‘She might have killed the warrior bitch had you tarried longer.’

‘What of it?’ the demon sneered.   ‘Besides,’ he added, looking her naked red form up and down, ‘I liked how you looked in pain.’

Sadiste ignored the comment and the frank lust in Vhyl’s stare and gestured to Krool where the torturous demon cringed beside the wrecked harness.  The raggedy creature darted forward and began again securing the white skinned prisoner. ‘She is not yet ready to kill her friends,’ Sadiste explained to the lumbering demon warrior.  She crouched beside the lovely half satyr, fingering her red hair.  ‘One final test to endure, and she will be ours without hope of salvation.’

Satyra full red lips parted and a soft and piteous moan escaped between them.  Sadiste smiled and on a sudden impulse bent down, brushing those soft lips with the dark velvet caress of her own.

For the briefest of instants, as the women lips touched lightly, a spark of eldritch power tingled between them, masked by the lingering fury unleashed within the cavern.

But not far away, the blue skinned Zaraeth blinked and smiled in the servicing of her lord Vulgus’ rampant male organ. And in the black and tormented recesses of Satyra’s unconscious mind, a tiny flicker of hope lit the darkness.