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Subject: Story : Fantasia - The Screams of the Dove (2 Parts - TXT) - dove-1 [01/01]
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Date: Tue, 30 Aug 1994 06:36:10 UTC
Subject: FANTASIA: The Screams of the Dove - Part One
Lines: 945
WARNING: All Fantasia stories contain some or all of the
following: Non-consensual sex, rape, bondage, heavy pain,
torture, incest, degradation, underage characters. If these
things offend you, do not read.
...............................................................
THE SCREAMS OF THE DOVE
by V.P. Viddler
Part One
It struck him, as he heard the screaming, that it would not
be himself only from whom information was to be sought; although
it was obvious that with him would be employed no such physical
crudity. Still, it was not to be put down, that frisson of
trepidation for himself and of horror for that other whose sounds
of profound agony continued to ring out, hardly muffled by walls
dividing him from its--intentionally, no doubt--proximate source.
Now, as the screams went on--for they did go on, almost
continuously, ringing out again and again, shrill, horrific,
carrying such burdens of unendurable, unsupportable anguish that
his blood ran chill--an additional, and hardly admissible,
emotion swam to his consciousness, an emotion no sooner known
than--as much as possible--cast out. But it would not stay out.
Listening, it was not to be put away, that stirring of his blood,
that small but significant tumult in his loins. For it was
indubitable that the screams, such loud, such awful screams, so
insistent in their unrhythmic but unceasing repetition, could
only come from a woman. A woman, probably, from the sound of it,
young. A woman, most probably, innocent of anything calling for
such torment; for any information in such possession could
without question be extracted by far less extremity. A woman,
thus, probably attractive, on whom was practiced such arts of
persuasion, appropriate or not, by which her inquisitors would
gratify such lust for pain and for the thrills of knowing her
agony as--it must, it would be admitted--he himself, hearing,
listening, could not stop his mind and his blood from absorbing
and even, alas, envisioning.
No doubt she was young, no doubt attractive; no doubt, at
this moment, as the screaming burst forth with fresh horror or
torture, in a position of restraint, in which such twistings and
strugglings against the bonds of her captors as would
necessarily, on her part, be brought forth, would add to that
lustful, lubricious happiness with which those madly obsessed and
uniformed characters would watch her. Thinking of it, again a
stirring of his loins partly dismayed, partly aroused him, and he
could not but think of it. The woman would be, must be,
unclothed; in shameful nudity must she be hanging, or tautly
lying, or sitting, bound, in a chair of pain; twisting, writhing
in horrible, insupportable submission to that form of punishment--
they would call it persuasion--which had been utilized for this
purpose.
Was it a whip? He could not, try as he might, but ask. A
knout? A branding iron? Or some possibly unknown to him
instrument, causing that pain, that anguish, that his aroused
imagination saw as producing that struggling and straining and
lubricious, almost wanton writhing the picturing of which so took
him from his own plight as that unknown victim screamed and
screamed and screamed...
And it may have occurred to him, upon his awakening from a
sudden loss of consciousness, that his arousal was just the point
of his having found himself in a position to witness, aurally,
that which had passed so near to and so far away from him. It was
that his captors, divining his proclivities in that direction--
hardly, truth to say, unusual--had, on him, utilized a particular
form of persuasion--at least, a first or initial stage of it--in
tandem with, if not simply as the principal spring for, that more
obvious persuasion inflicted on that horribly, thrillingly
screaming victim.
For now, as it surprisingly imposed itself to his awareness,
he was not still solitudinous. With him, sitting in unstirring
calm to all outward appearance, was another, and a woman.
Startling as this was, he at first almost thought of it as an
apparition, a lingering vision from his until just now slumbering
state. But no, it was truly as it may be said to have been seen,
though by him only.
His first thought, upon realizing this fact, was such a
mental inquiry as might only naturally, if irrationally, occur,
as to the possibility of this being that very, that same woman
whose agony had only this morning saturated the room, through the
walls, in which now they both sat. Nothing in that face, nothing
in that posture, indicated such a conclusion; and still that
inquiry was unstilled. This woman, upon whom for a long portion
of time, as it struck him, he gazed, and who only sat, unmoving,
unspeaking, still as that chair that held her, and yet also
pulsing with a kind of living vibration which must at least now
go unnamed, gave no outward show, now, of discomfort. Not, he
further thought, looking still, in a physical form, but possibly--
that thought had to go fractional.
This woman was, no doubt, young--to his judging, not more
than twenty-five, nor less than twenty. And most assuredly was
she, to his thinking, attractive, with a strongly oval face in
which were situated a most pleasing and, he thought of it,
striking an arrangement of features. Most striking of all,
perhaps, her dark and soulful eyes, gazing at him, at what at any
moment they saw, with at once a profound calm and a most vivid
vivacity, a contradiction which struck him as absurd as it still
struck him as singularly, exquisitely right. The calm diluted
with a consciousness, as it might be said, of all that was vivid,
also had its cognition in her carriage, her posture, her figure
in all.
Still he could not forego that thought of this woman as
embodying for him that same imaged victim so brightly in his mind
that morning. That body was now fully clothed, and unbound--
though he had no illusion of liberty, for her or for himself,
beyond the boundaries of that room--and that body, thoroughly
still, thoroughly elegant, thoroughly poised, called to him, in a
way, his way of looking at it, across that room; the long dark
hair also was a part of that elegant charm, swaying so slightly,
so softly, with no definite causality; but was that body the body
upon which that horror had played which had resulted in such
recalled, such agonized screams? He was burning to know; that
question was on his tongue's tip, so compulsively that the
impossibility of asking it translated him to silence as to
anything to say at all to her.
It was, finally, she who spoke first. "I am sorry to disturb
you this way," she said, in a tone low but clear, and as with all
of her, calm but still vivid, "but you must understand that it is
not my choice. I am put here, and must stay as I am put."
It was not to be said why, but having her speak, or perhaps
what she said or how it was said, magically almost totally lifted
from him that inhibiting access of compunction which kept him
from voicing it all, anything. If he had again allowed a chance
for thought, that moment must have absconded with alacrity; but
out it came, and as he said it his blood was rushing, to his face
and to his loins. "Was it, then--was it you--this morning--that I
heard..." Trailing, horribly, off, he saw look into his those
dark fathomless eyes, that calm yet all-acknowledging face.
"Screaming?" The eyes did not drop, the voice did not
tremble. "Yes. It was I."
And that was all. All, that is, for many moments, in which
again his burning, his importuning curiosity, pushing itself
gradually, insinuatingly forward, won its slow ground, its hard
fight, against such propriety as still hung on in him. She sat,
as it were, waiting, knowing that he must ask.
"What did--" He had to draw breath, as if drawing blood.
"What did they do to you?"
She was still, and at last, from, as he saw, that profundity
of pain impossible to face, only shook her head. But waiting, his
stillness matching hers, he had finally a word, and that word was
the most chilling sound of all.
"Nothing that they have not done before."
Nothing, she might well have said, that they would not do
again; and in that soft, calm, unwilling yet helpless knowledge
of hell he found a horror unknown, unknowable, unthinkable; and
at once an arousal, a rabid animal lust for just that horror, as
caused him, once again, to black out...
Drugs certainly, it had to be drugs, as floating once again
to slow consciousness it was brought to his mind, slowly, how
difficult it was to move his limbs. At last he found floating to
his sharpening mind a realization that it was his condition of
restraint which was the difficulty. His arms, his legs, tightly
roped at wrists and ankles, pinning him, lashing him, into the
chair he sat in, making him, so to say, a part of it, immobile as
itself. Nor was that all of shock that was brought home to him;
for it was with nothing less than total, than all-encompassing
shock that he discovered his body devoid of that clothing he had
worn, of, not to put too fine a point on it, any clothing, that
is, at all. With this twin shock he had hardly begun to struggle
as he swiftly bethought himself of that other with whom his
colloquy had only how much earlier passed--he did not know. But
swiftly glancing, in his shame and almost dread, across the room,
he colored to his roots to find her still sitting in that chair,
still quiet, still gracefully elegant, still watching him. Unlike
him, her condition was not changed; that vision was still
unbound, still clothed.
Having caught her eye, he must most quickly look away, in
such confusion and embarrassment that all realization of her
fellow captivity was almost as it had not been known. But as to
that, it took only her first words, in reply to his stumbling
ones, to bring it back, and that most fully. "I--I'm so sorry,"
was his awkward beginning. "I hope you will not--I can't think
why they should--it must be--"
But she was shaking, again, that graceful head. "You mustn't
apologize. Do you think I don't know that you have no more
control than I of what is done to you now?" As he was again
starting to speak, she quickly went on. "Wait. I must tell you--"
And now for the first time she did not look at him, but cast her
dark unfathomable eyes on the hard floor. But that soft slow
voice was, if tightly so, unfaltering. "It is I who must
apologize to you," she said, adding, "They told me I must. Now.
And they told me that now I must answer, fully and without stint,
anything you may ask me. That I must tell you, if you still wish
to know, what they did to me this morning. So that, if you ask me
again, I will do so."
It struck him all in a muddle, and it took him a time to
sort it out; during which she again raised her look to his,
though with no betrayal of her thoughts, or emotions, which might
in any way affect his. But, but, his could not help being wafted,
on that look, as on a monstrous flood, or rather a whirlpool; for
it was with no fixed, no singular direction that they moved.
Round and round was this frail, listing boat carried, round in a
circle of horror, of terror, of curiosity, of lust, and all in
all, of the memory of that morning's screams. Looking at her
watching him, amid whirling thoughts, it was this he heard.
"What," he said at last, not looking away from her, not
knowing why, "did they do to you--this morning. When you
screamed."
That look did not change, that gaze did not flinch, and he
could not have said what it was that almost, in that short but
profound split second only in which she hesitated, almost made
him put up a hand, had he one free, to stop her. But "almost" was
what it was. If that voice, as it began, was a bit lower than its
previous wont, it was still most clear, most in control. Which,
again, could only rouse all that contradiction, all that
confusion, within him.
"I was hung by my wrists," she said, so calmly, so
shatteringly, "with my ankles bound widely apart, so that I was
stretched, straining, to my limit of endurance. In this position,
many things can be done to a woman. On this particular occasion,
when you heard my screaming, pins were being used on my body. I
was, of course, naked. Pins--long, thin, sharp pins, with small
wood bottoms for handling--were slowly stuck into various parts
of my body. Particularly into my breasts. Mostly in my nipples,
but not only. This procedure is most painful. I can bear pain--I
have had to learn to do that. I can absorb a good deal of it if I
must, without making a sound. Which is why they are always
turning to new ways to bring me pain. It inspires them to find
original ways to destroy my will. Always they do that. Always.
And this morning, no doubt, they wanted me particularly to
scream. Most particularly. Thus the pins. And so what you heard
was my unstoppable agony as they stuck pin after pin into my
body, pin after pin, slowly, sadistically, pushing them in,
further, always further into my nipples, twisting, turning,
pushing--" With a gasp, suddenly, she caught herself up, going on
more softly, as in fascination and a terrible lubriciousness he
sat watching, listening. "And so I had to scream for them. I
always do at last. Scream and scream for their pleasure. Until it
stops."
And stop was what she did, now, and was still; and it was
now obvious that this narration had aroused him--all too obvious,
to his humiliation, by that stiff and throbbing part of him which
now stood tall from his crotch, asserting for all--but alas, she
was all the all--his reaction, his uncontrollable flood of
arousal at what she had said, to all that she had told him. And
the woman sat watching, as it appeared to him, unsurprised,
unjudging of this truth, simply accepting it as to be a natural
thing, as if, yes, it would have struck her as unnatural had it
not been so.
And as his impulse again to apologize was at war with his
impulse to ask her about further things, to ask dark, horrific
questions which, as she had told him, she was bound to answer--at
this point a door was swung open, and the military, in the body
of a man in a captain's uniform, was in the room.
"It was thought, and is now known," said this arrival, "that
the agony and victimization of a woman, such as this, would find
you--" smiling at that stiff proof of what he said-- "not
unamenable."
"What is it that you want?"
"But, sir, you know that. But wait--it is not time just now
to discuss such things. It is most obvious, sir, that Miss
Lorna's narrative is not, to your mind, disgusting. If you wish,
I will ask Miss Lorna to go on with that narrative, and to
amplify it in such a way that it will affford you still more
fascination. Miss Lorna, I would ask that you recount to our
friend the details of what took place on that day not so long
ago, on which you first offered that most beautiful body of yours
to me, to use as I would."
"No," was on his lips, if not in his heart; but the woman
paid with her docility only the uniform.
"I was hanging by my hair," was what first she said, again
now without looking at him; but at once that military visitor--
for so he was thinking of that uniformed arrival, though this
situation was truly that of his playing host to the two
individuals who had, all unwillingly though it was, anticipated
him in that room--had made it known, with what was introduced as
a polite suggestion, but one which, our man was fully cognizant,
had the authority, or threat, of a command, that it was his wish
that she should not avoid the sight, the look, of him whom she
was addressing. On this the woman again raised her eyes to his,
going on with that soft, tight, vividly calm voice, in and beyond
which lay such a limitless growth of dark impossibilities as to
almost not allow him, on his part, to go on gazing at her steady,
dark, immeasurable eyes.
"I was hanging by my hair," she began again; and if, as he
thought, in the slight, almost imperceptible hesitation that
followed, her throat just barely had signalled a swift,
involuntary swallowing, no sign of that was in that voice as it,
not hastily but forthcomingly, continued. "It was most painful.
Which, of course, was its point. In such pain, a woman will do
almost anything. And--" again that hardly catchable pause--
"perhaps not almost. To hang that way is worse than--I had hung,
that morning--that first morning of the day I was brought to
them--by my wrists. Not, as I told you I was this morning, with
my legs bound also, but just hanging, with all my weight on my
wrists. For hours. That, I had thought, was the worst that could
possibly happen. I cannot tell you all the agony of it. Hanging
that way, all of my body pulling, straining. For hours. I
couldn't pass out, not hanging like that, I couldn't. And all
that time, the men. Soldiers. Watching. Just watching. Not
touching me. Not yet. Just sitting and watching. I was not then
naked. I was fully clothed. Still, they watched. It was my pain
that was the attraction, I know now. Not my body. My body was an
attraction too, certainly, but not as much as my anguish, my
awful suffering, which excited them so much. So much. And their
anticipation. Of my broken spirit. Of my submission. For it was
from the first certain that I would submit. To anything. To all
of it. And I did. Submit. But that first morning, that waiting,
that watching, as I hung before them, not knowing what I must do
to stop that pain. And I was, oh soon, aware that I would do
almost, as I said, anything. Was I to beg? Was I to offer--what?
I had no valuables. I had no information to give. I had only, I
knew, my body. I could not offer that, although I knew it might
be taken. I could do nothing but cry. I could do nothing but
moan. I could do nothing but, at the last, scream. I had not been
touched. I was not nude. I was not--not then--tortured in any way
but by hanging as I was. And I screamed. Until I couldn't scream
any more. And I knew that I was lost, I was nothing, and that to
avoid that kind of pain I could be made to do anything. I told
them that, finally. When I could not scream any longer. Begging.
Babbling. I told them that. I would, I said, do what they said to
do, if only I could know what that was. Saying it over and over,
and hanging, hurting, crying."
"Stop." It was the captain, cutting into that rising voice.
"You grow," said this individual, "boring. Was it boring for you?
Was it?"
"I am sorry." And it was with that old calm that she said,
though possibly not with that calm alone, "It was not boring. It
was not at all boring. It was hell. I had to stop it. I couldn't,
and I must have known I couldn't, no matter what I did. But I had
to do it. That noon I was taken down. Unbound. And told to take
off all of my clothing. I cried. I couldn't do that. They said I
would be put back up. To hang. Until I did it. I cried. And I did
it. Standing before them and crying and shaking, I did it. I took
my clothing off. All of it. I was not touched. I was told to go
down to my knees. I did. And I was told to crawl. On my hands and
knees. And I did that, too. Crawling around on that floor, on all
fours, crying. Until I was told to stop. I knew what would come.
I knew I was to be raped. I was not hurt at that time. The
torturing did not start until the following day. The whippings.
The burnings. The racks. The pins."
The captain almost, again, spoke, but found it groundless,
for that signal was not unnoticed. "I--I was waiting, that first
day, to be raped. But I could do nothing. If it was to be, I must
bear it as I could. Physically, it could not be worse than what I
had gone through. But spiritually, it was the most unimaginably
horrible thing of all. I was a virgin. Of course. I was a virgin.
But I was a captive, and put to awful pain, and if I was to be
forcibly violated, helplessly taken, I could do nothing. Nothing.
But I didn't know. What I would have to do. For him."
"Him" was, obviously, the captain, that slim and still
military visitor, who now took in her words with rapt, glittering
eyes, smiling slightly, watching her, watching him, watching,
too, him watching her.
"I was told," the woman was saying, "told by him, that I was
to give him my body. Not to have him take it, but to give it to
him. Willingly, as he said. Voluntarily. I was, in truth, to ask
him to take it. Ask him, humbly, to possess me, to destroy, as he
put it, my virginity. I was to ask him to do this. And to assist
him. To do things for him. With him. To him. And, of course, I
couldn't. It was simply not possible that I should do that.
Horrifying. Unthinkable. And so I was hung up by my hair."
"It was a sight," now the captain put in, "to rouse any
saint, any angel, any castrato. Dangling by that long dark hair,
that body twisting, swaying, those legs kicking. But I interrupt.
Our friend is far more fascinated, Miss Lorna, by your narration
than by mine. Do go on."
"What must I say further?" that lady said. "It was, simply,
unbearable. How long I was that way I do not know, but at last I
was utterly, thoroughly, completely broken. I was broken. I was
his. I was theirs. I don't know how I was able to say anything,
but what sounds I made were sounds of submission. I said I would
do what he wanted. I said I would do it all. I asked him to take
my body. I promised to give it to him, to do it for him. I begged
him to rape me. I begged all of them to rape me. I promised I
would do all the things that would give pleasure. I was--I--"
"Thank you, my dear," the captain said. "Thus far, as you
can no doubt discern, your tale has had no diminishing effect
upon our friend's passion. To the contrary, obviously; to the
most contrary. And now, sir, if you will, you and I may discuss
that small business for which you find yourself in this
involuntary but I think not totally displeasing position."
"Why should you think I would impart to you anything at
all?" our man watchfully said. "You will not put me to harm."
"No, alas," and the uniform was profound in sorrowful
courtesy. "But such information as you possess would be so
practical in our hands. And to you it is nothing. While, as it is
so undeniably to all our sights, your--may I again say, passion--
is not, at all, nothing. And, as it was our beauteous Miss Lorna
who, so to say, brought it so unmistakably to light, it should be
Miss Lorna, do you not concur, sir, who should act as its modus
of satisfaction?"
Looking now, unavoidably, at the woman of whom he spoke, our
friend saw the paling, a drawing in of lip, a shifting of eyes,
which if anything contributed its own odd thrill to that most
general thrill which what had been said had sent through his
body, through his soul.
"What is it that you say?"
Smiling was our captain now. "I say, sir, that, to begin
with, that mouth, that sexy mouth, Miss Lorna's own most
attractive mouth, which has narrated to you, for your edification
and to your delight, that rousing story of her submission--a
partial story, thus far, though a true account--should be--and
will be, if you will allow us that bit of information so
important to us--only that--will be, I say, the instrument, the
receptacle, if you will, for your discharging it."
He could but stare. "You say that--"
"I do, sir. I say that at that moment in which that
information is in my hands, I will ask Miss Lorna to use that
mouth on your so longing, so aching stiffness. Must I, sir, put
it more vulgarly?"
"No. Not at all. But why would--what makes you think she
would--"
"Can you doubt that now?" He was, smiling, astounded. "Ask
her, if you wish."
But he could not.
"So? Allow me. Miss Lorna, my dear, if I should ask you to
use your so fine mouth to bring our friend to satisfaction, would
you not do so?"
Waiting, both waiting, they still watched. But the woman
said nothing.
"Miss Lorna?" Smiling. Waiting. And the woman said nothing.
"Ah," our military man said at last. "But, you see, sir, I
say she will. I give you my word on that. I promise you she will.
I promise that. On my honor. I can promise it absolutely."
"And if not?"
"And if not," the captain, still smiling, said, "it may call
for a bit of persuasion. Just a bit. You may, sir, wish to watch
that persuasion. You may wish to watch it for a long time."
"I may," he said, "wish to participate."
"Ah," the captain sighed. "That could probably be arranged.
No doubt it could."
"All right." And now with this, finding himself a traitor,
and all uncaring, he looked straight at the girl. "I will do it."
Looking at that dark gaze he saw all of it, horror, fear,
submission, all that calm, his now to do with as pleased him.
That swallowing of the throat now was not surreptitious. And the
woman got up from that chair in which she had sat from his
initial sight of her, got up slowly, and stood, straight,
elegant, graceful. So clear was that voice now. So high that
head. So almost still that slim body, but only for the tiniest,
slightest tremor.
"Do you wish me," she said, "to undress?"
Her military captor was making the most of this, to him,
victory. "Do you mean," he said, drawing it out for her, for him,
for our friend, "first?"
"Yes," she said, and her look was still on him. "First."
Our captain, now, in triumph, deferred to him. "Sir?"
Considering, watching her, waiting, he was all in all.
"Can she still," his inquiry to our military friend went,
"later?"
"Most of course," said that party. "She will be, sir, at
your disposal."
"Ah. At my...disposal?"
"For as long," said the captain, "as you wish." And now,
only now, the girl closed her eyes, standing still as she could,
before him, waiting, but now not looking at him, at anything.
"Then, no," said our friend. "Do not undress."
But without looking she could not go on, and those eyes met
his again. Moving slowly toward him, that elegant carriage as
arousing to him as was that awful dark gaze and that softly
rounded mouth, she stood just in front of his chair; then, slowly
still, went down, her body sinking with an awful grace to the
floor, and she knelt for him. He caught again her eyes for a last
long, lingering look, and then that head bowed to him, that hair
was touching his thighs, those lips closing with his throbbing
instrument, and as he found himself arching his body toward that
lowering mouth, arching with anticipation, he suddenly lapsed,
sitting still, wanting her to go after him, wanting her to do it
all. And now, with a groan, he was taken as that soft, soft mouth
found him, took him into it, and her lips closed around him, and
soon her mouth was moving, moving, and as the captain, watching,
took down in his book the information, it was for him as though
his world was swaying, rolling, and that mouth, which had told
him of her awful agony, was, although forcibly, giving him such
joy as had not in past days been known to him. Now, shouting, he
erupted into that still taking mouth, filling it with his awful
joy, as he heard again in his mind that morning's screams,
knowing he would hear that sound again...
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"Remember the Lion"
ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au
From ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au Thu Apr 03 18:03:56 1997
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From: ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au (**_MOUSE_**)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story : Fantasia - The Screams of the Dove (2 Parts - TXT) - dove-2 [01/01]
Date: Thu, 03 Apr 97 23:03:56 GMT
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Message-ID: <031302Z26081994@anon.penet.fi>
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From: an117711@anon.penet.fi
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Reply-To: an117711@anon.penet.fi
Date: Fri, 26 Aug 1994 03:11:55 UTC
Subject: FANTASIA: The Screams of the Dove - Part Two
Lines: 647
WARNING: All Fantasia stories contain some or all of the
following: Non-consensual sex, rape, bondage, heavy pain,
torture, incest, degradation, underage characters. If these
things offend you, do not read.
...............................................................
THE SCREAMS OF THE DOVE
by V.P. Viddler
Part Two
"And now you know, sir, why I am in this position. And why I
was instructed to tell you my story."
"Yes. So that that account of your brutalization, your
victimization, your submission, and your agony should stir my
blood to a point at which my lust for you--and for your pain--
would conquer my patriotism."
"That is what our captors had in mind, I am certain."
"And, as you to your misfortune know all too well, that plan
was successful, was it not?"
"It was, sir."
"Your performance was most enjoyable, I must say. Truly--if
I may--delicious."
"I will not, sir, thank you for that compliment, for any
skill I may have demonstrated in regard to that humiiating act
was acquired with as much compulsion as was my doing of it."
"I know that. But I cannot but marvel that suck exquisite
joy, such almost fantastic pleasure as that which was given,
however forcibly, by your--if I may--your truly luscious mouth,
could have come about as a result of that most horrible anguished
pain with which you have so arousingly--the accout of which, I
should in fact say--so arousingly entertained me."
"But you must know that it is the truth, sir, for as I have
said, and as our captain has corroborated, I was, prior to my
arrival at this place, utterly virginal. That long and, as I
would have thought, truly insupportable course of training--which
is what our captors are pleased to call it--training, or
persuasion, or anything but what it is--torture, horror, inhuman
suffering and degradation--that awful training has taught me,
most forcibly, to be skillful at what I must do, always. For it
is intimated, if not said outright, that the giving of pleasure
will limit, will minimize, that agony to which I must always look
forward. Of course, that is not always the case. At times, no
matter how I try, no matter how skillful I am at satisfying all
their lusts, all appetite for debasement and humiliation and
submission, still that yet stronger appetite, that hunger for my
pain, my agony, that desire to watch my helplessness and
suffering, will not be put down, and all my efforts to assuage
are in vain. And still I must try. I must submit, always, to do
what they want of me; for it is unthinkable, impossible, that I
should not grasp at any small chance, any tiny possibility, of
avoiding, even of postponing, any part, any small bit, of the
things that are done to me; that fact rules my life, my brain, my
soul. Of what is done to my body, you have heard part of it in
detail, and part only in summary; and part of it you as yet have
not known; although I have no doubt that I will be told to
recount it all to you in time. This is why, sir, I am able to
acquit myself with such skill as I may, in acts such as that
which I was required to perform on you."
"And that, if I may be so bold, is why I was told that you
will do for me--anything. Is it not?"
"That is why."
"And will you?"
"You put me, sir, in a most difficult position. It is, I
must suppose, obvious to you that if my choice is to submit to
you in all things or to be again put to torture, I must, as you
know, submit."
"As I have known."
"As you, as you say, have known. That, indeed, is why our
captain could promise you my docility. I shall, I must, do
anything, I stress again to you, sir, anything to avoid what will
be done to me. And thus, sir, if it is my docility, my obedience,
my subjection you wish, you shall, as you are told, have that for
as long as you want it."
"That is most gratifying, I must say. Most gratifying, and
most tempting. For it is not to be gainsaid that your charms are
most attractive. You are a beautiful woman, Miss Lorna; and no
man would fail to desire your favors. Your face is a vision of
angelic loveliness; you possess an elegance and a grace which
stir a man's blood, if I may so say; and, although I am not,
alas, in a position to fairly appraise the glory of that luscious
body, I am most positive that it, too, is a repository of
delights that would warm any man's blood. I am sure of that."
"As for that, sir, I cannot say. You will, no doubt, if you
wish, find that out for yourself."
"Indeed, I might have found it out, as you say, earlier
today, when you inquired as to whether you should undress, if you
recall, previous to your--doing what it was that you did."
"That is so."
"And I suppose I could find it out, for that matter, now, if
I wish to do so."
"That is so. For, as I told you, I am, sir, in your power. I
have no alternative."
"Again, Miss Lorna, I must say you afford much
gratification. And yet, I must tell you, it is not only your body
which is arousing to my thoughts--to my lusts, if you will
forgive my bluntness--in this strangely unusual situation in
which you and I find ourselves. It is, that is to say, not simply
the fleshly delights, sumptuous and fabulous though they most
indubitably are, which attract my strongest curiosity; not just
carnal satisfaction which arouses my blood and, I must admit it,
allows me, if not compels me, to play into the hands of our
captors, and to furnish them with all that information which they
would extract through this unique ploy. That, assuredly, has its
temptations, but it is not my main, my central, my overriding
motivation. What that driving motivation may be, I am sure you
will have, by now, an idea."
"I am afraid, sir, that I can have no doubt of it."
"Of course. And this idea, I can well understand, cannot,
shall I say, fill your soul with joy."
"Hardly, sir. In fact it fills me with, as I'm sure you
know, horror, terror, and dread--to put that in ordinary terms
which cannot truly be told in any words at all. It fills my
throat right now with such awful fright that I can barely talk.
And yet I must. It is so horrifying to my mind, to my spirit, and
to my body, that if only I believed it would do any good, have
any possible effect upon your decision, I would plead with you,
with all my strength, to consider what it is you say. I would,
sir, go to my knees and most humbly, most abjectly beg for your
mercy. I would promise you anything you desire of me, anything I
could do, could give, could in any way bring about to please your
smallest whim--except that you have that of me now; and nothing I
can do or say will, I know to my most profound horror, give you
pause. I am, sir, yours."
"You are correct, Miss Lorna. I must ask you to forgive me
if you can; but the fact is that from that instant, this morning,
when I, sitting in this room, heard you screaming; heard, to my,
I must say, guilty but excitedly appreciative delectation, those
shrill, agonized, frantic, desperate, ear-splitting yet
absolutely delicious, to my mind, sounds of pain, anguish and
truly inhuman torture; from that moment, I say, that sound has
remained a part of my consciousness; has rung in my brain with
that melody, rhythm and harmony usually associated only with
music, music of the highest and most rarified spiritual essence.
That shrill music of pain will not abscond from my thoughts, or
from my blood. It has filled my soul with but one single thought,
a bright, particular craving, to which all--all--is subordinate.
Patriotism. Honor. Gallantry. Consideration. Sportsmanship.
Humanity. Nothing, nothing will stand up to it. You know, do you
not, Miss Lorna, what that importunate desire is."
"I am most afraid I do, sir."
"It is, Miss Lorna, nothing more--or I should say nothing
less, for undoubtedly there is, will be, more--than to hear that
sound again. To hear those screams, those marvellous, awful
screams--again. And again. And again."
"That, sir, is just as I had thought. Is there, sir, I must
ask you, is there nothing--nothing at all--that I can do to
allay, even to diminish, that wish?"
"I am most sorry, Miss Lorna. Hypocritical as that must
sound to you, I am truly sorry for you. But the fact is that,
having been given by our captors this unmatchable opportunity to
absorb, to witness, to participate in such pain as I may wish to
impose upon you, I find it impossible to pass up. It is, as you
know, your pain that I want. It is your frantic agony that I look
so forward to experiencing, and this time in an activist
position. Nothing in this life, Miss Lorna, has made me as
ecstatic as your screaming has done; and nothing but that ecstasy
can satisfy me now."
"I could, sir, if it is my screams that so pleasure you,
scream for you on command. I could scream for you any time you
may wish, and my screaming, I promise you, will sound as painful,
as agonized, as shrill and frantic as you might wish. Thus any
necessity for actually putting my body to torture would be
superfluous."
"Alas, I do not, in all truth, feel that in that
circumstance your screaming would have that authentic, that
realistic sound which--"
"Oh, sir, it would, I swear to you it would! I will scream,
I will shout, I will emit such sounds of horror and unfathomable
agony as to sear your soul. I will, sir, cry, sob, plead for
mercy, so that if you should close your eyes you would think
yourself back in this room this morning, listening to my anguish;
and, sir--"
"Please do not go on with this; I assure you it can do no
good. For you will surely understand, Miss Lorna, that my lust
has soared beyond just desiring that sound again, however sweet
that may remain. For as I sat in this chair, listening to your
marvellous shouts, I could not but envision what was happening to
you at that moment. And, further, when, later, you narrated to
me, as that captain had commanded you to do, the details of that
morning--that violation of your body with the pins, which you
recounted so accurately and so thrillingly--and then your
narration of all those other things that you had undergone--that
hanging by your hair; that binding of your wrists and legs; that
talk of whipping and burning; that account of you, in your
anguish, finally constrained to bare your body, and to submit,
nay, to ask for, and to participate in, your own violation, shame
and degradation--all this, most naturally--or unnaturally, if you
will, it is not for me to say--all this could only build up in my
soul an overwhelming lust to be myself a part of such a scenario.
I must, Miss Lorna, I must and I will, watch with my own eyes,
watch and listen and enjoy, as you hang in agony from your bound
wrists; watch as your body, naked, helpless, whip-marked, swings
from that taut rope, straining, twisting, writhing; kicking
vainly; listen as you, in the midst of that wonderful screaming,
beg and plead with frantic, frenzied desperation for surcease,
for a moment's pause, for mercy, which is not, Miss Lorna,
forthcoming; thrill as I, I myself, push the long thin pins deep,
deep into your aching nipples, or press the glowing red-hot
cigarette against that soft, vulnerable, squirming flesh. Again
and again and again. And only then, Miss Lorna, only after many
hours, after you have gotten hoarse from pleading so frantically,
so vainly for mercy, for surcease, finally for death if nothing
else; only at that time will I allow you to show your, as you
call it, docility; will I allow you to please me with your body,
at my command; will I allow you to utilize, for my entertainment
and at my whim, that fine, skillful mouth which I have today
found such a soothing source of delight; as well as those other
parts of your luscious body which I have not as of now partaken
of. Can you understand that, Miss Lorna? Can you resign your body
and your soul to this difficult vicissitude?"
"I can, sir, understand; but, alas, I cannot resign myself.
Not, as you know, that I may choose. But, sir, have I not shown
you today that I will submit myself to your lusts; that my body
and my will are at your command? Did I not perform for you, and
with the captain looking on, that most humiliating, shaming,
spirit-breaking act? Did I not offer of my own will to take off
my clothes for you; and did I not go down on my knees to you; and
did I not most totally serve you with my mouth, my lips, my
tongue, and my throat? And did I not, as you gave up to me that
fruit of your passion, swallow it down, swallow until I had drunk
it all? What more must I do, sir, I ask knowingly in vain, but
what more can I possibly do to abase my spirit, to make of myself
nothing but a slave, a plaything for your pleasure?"
"Nothing, Miss Lorna. There is, as you say, nothing."
"But still you will--"
"But still I must have your pain. To the utmost."
"I see."
"I know you do. I'm sorry. But do you know, Miss Lorna, your
astounding recapitulation of your actions on that occasion has
awakened my importuning lusts once again. As, I think, you could
discern if it were not for that tearful mist which you appear
unable to dissipate. That recapitulation has, unsurprisingly to
my mind, aroused a most strong urge to have you do that again,
all of it, just exactly as you did it earlier. Can you wonder at
that, Miss Lorna?"
"No, sir. And, if you so wish, I will, of course, do it
again for you."
"I do wish it. But, I think, with one variation. I do wish
you, this time, to undress for me. First. Do you recall, Miss
Lorna, how, when you saw that I had given in to our captain's
terms so that I could gain my will of you, and saw that to obtain
any possibility of escaping instant persuasion, you must do as
our captain had promised me you would, and had thus so
reluctantly but so gracefully and proudly risen from that chair
and stood before me--do you recall how you then asked, hardly
showing an iota of your shame and humiliation, if you were
desired to undress? And do you recall how the captain, wishing to
draw out and to emphasize your submission, and to further mortify
your spirit, said, as in reply, Do you mean, first? Thus bringing
out into the air, so to say, the rhapsodic fact that now you had
shown yourself prepared, forcibly though it was, to submit to
that act at which you had at first hesitated. And do you recall
how you, for your own reply, knowing that you were, perforce,
acknowledging that fact, that submission, lifting your head,
lifting your eyes, said, splendidly, Yes. First. Do you recall
that, Miss Lorna?"
"I do."
"The captain, having thus gained his triumph, passed your
inquiry on to me. I then, not wishing at that point to burn all
my bridges at once, put, in my turn, a question to him. Do you
recall what that inquiry was?"
"I do, sir. You asked him if I could still--later."
"That is the form my inquiry took, that is right. And what
did it mean, Miss Lorna? I ask, you understand, simply for the
pleasure it gives me to oblige you to answer."
"I understand that fully, sir. It meant, as I took it, that
if you did not command me to undress at that time, you would wish
to retain the option of making me do so in future."
"That is quite right, Miss Lorna. And, our captain having
given this assurance, I chose to enjoy your ministrations with
your body still fully clothed. But now--stand up, please, Miss
Lorna."
"Is this satisfactory, sir?"
"It is. And now I would like you to ask that question again,
just as you did earlier."
"Yes, sir. Do you wish me to undress?"
"Do you mean--first?"
"Yes. First."
"Ah. Thank you, Miss Lorna. This time my answer is yes. Yes,
I do wish you to undress. I am now anxious, most anxious, I will
say, to look at that body naked. To watch you as you take that
clothing off for me, baring yourself to my sight. Will you do
that for me now, Miss Lorna?"
"I will, sir, if you wish it."
"I know you will. Reluctantly, though, is that not so?
Unwillingly?"
"Indeed, sir, yes. But I think you will enjoy it all the
more for that, will you not?"
"Of course I will. How perspicacious of you. I will
thoroughly relish every moment, every move, every inch of bared
skin as you strip that body as I watch, knowing how degrading it
is for you, knowing how you, by your own actions, are allowing
your spirit to be ground into dust, knowing how you debase
yourself in front of me in vain hope of pardon, knowing how your
mouth, your body, will labor to bring me joy with your own
destruction, all to postpone that time of screaming, writhing,
helpless torture to which I look forward, and the ecstatic vision
of which will turn in my mind, and the shrilling sounds of which
will ring in my ears, as you bow to me and caress me with that
fabulous docile mouth. And now you may begin."
"Yes, sir."
"Slowly, please. Ah. Such skin. Such breasts. Such nipples.
Such legs. Such thighs. Such calves. Such buttocks. Such a body."
"It is, sir, yours."
"I know that. To hurt."
"If you wish, sir."
"Kneel. As you did before."
"Yes, sir."
"That is good, Miss Lorna. That is wonderful. Slowly,
please. Just do it slowly. And as you do, I want you to think of
what I'm going to do to you. I want you to think of hanging by
your hair. Screaming. I want you to think of hanging by your
wrists, first with your legs spread wide, ankles bound far apart,
body straining, taut, stretching, throbbing; and then just
hanging free, kicking, thrashing, twisting, as I push those pins
into you, painful, agonizing pins sinking so slowly, so
relentlessly into your breasts, again and again, as you scream
and squirm and shout and writhe and yell and twist, so good,
screaming, yes, take it, begging me to stop, now, do it, swallow
it, now, screaming for me forever, AH AH AH..."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi.
Due to the double-blind, any mail replies to this message will be anonymized,
and an anonymous id will be allocated automatically. You have been warned.
Please report any problems, inappropriate use etc. to admin@anon.penet.fi.
END -- Cut Here -- cut here
**_MOUSE_**
"Remember the Lion"
ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au