You have the urge to say something like, so, we meet at last, but this is way too trite. And you’ve had more than enough of people playing cartoon villains. So instead you raise your head, and say, as defiantly as you can manage.
‘What does Central want then?’
You are not surprised that her mesmerizing lips remain idyll when she replies.
‘And what gave you the impression that you are in any position to demand answers?’
‘You need me to cooperate, to do something for your lot, don’t you?’
She laughs. A mirthful gong banishing your words.
And then it strikes you; your own mouth is also moving soundlessly. The only person who can hear you is this debouched officer. Or is that what she is? As far as you know, she could be some deranged war lord. Or an extraordinarily stylish brigand.
‘A colonel, as a matter of fact. But I’ll concede that a dashing brigand does have more flair.’
She says sweetly your head.
‘In who’s army?’
The only reply is her cane tapping once on the stone floor.
Two troopers lift you by the armpits. You try to shake them off. You can stand by yourself. They let you flex your muscles and straighten your back.
Then all four fix you with their machine guns.
One of the cold dark metal barrels is poking at your head. Pressing against your temple. The other is lightly resting against your chest. But the second set of storm troopers go for crueler ‘move and we blast you,’ maneuvers.
The third machine gun it prodding the base of your cock.
Blood races into the shaft, this isn’t as bad as what happens when the fourth long, hard, barrel taps against your ass hole.
You try to clench it, but the tapping causes your anus to open invitingly.
You freeze, expecting an assault – no one had entered your ass since the mercury eyed stud lanced you on to the toilet pipe. And that telescopic muscle had plenty of time to heal and tighten. But the barrel just rests there, blithely rotating.
You look up at the trooper threating your privates. Trying to show a little bravado in the face of the lethal and humiliating rods.
Those troopers, they are are almost identical in their thin leather jump-suits, heavy combat boots and balaclavas. All impossibly long legged, with hard asses and tits on full alert.
You still can’t detect any trace of human scents. Are they breathing at all?
But you are certain that they will blow you to smithereens at the slightest provocation, most like starting with your boner then working their way in, and up.
Evading your flickering reflection in the colonel’s eyes, you follow the shadows of the flames in the massive fire place behind the pair, playing on the pink ass hole and smooth shaved cunt lips of the naked girl.
Strange, such a roaring fire in high summer.
The girl strikes the pose of a faithful portrait dog. Not a lap dog, oh no. A pure blood boar hound. Complete with a collar lined and overlaid with vicious spikes. But the leash attached to it is strangely fine. An impossibly long and precious necklace. Could it really be made of pure titanium?
When the girl adjusts her position, you spy a hint of steel in her nether regions.
She isn’t strictly naked. Not if you consider the elaborately carved and painted black and gold Venetian mask; a long snouted face which reminds you of childhood trips to the museum.
And of course, there are the four stiletto shoes, if you could call them that. Most shoes have a single heel, not five porcelain dagger points, one at the back and four at the front. Like clawed paws.
This girl isn’t a domestic hound. She’s a semi-tame werewolf in cream and peaches skin. And that wolf is now licking her handler’s bejeweled hand. Hungrily.
The colonel strokes the wolf girl’s impossibly long and tangled moon-light main. Then lifts the cane. As the silvered tip roves down the wolf girl tensed back, the top of her crack, you start to suspect that you know something about the function of the hefty bands glittering around the colonel’s knuckles.
The girl arches her back and tries to rub her cunt against her mistress’s stretched crotch.
Then the colonel extends her palm, and one of the body-guards steps forward and reverentially takes the sword cane.
Once the guard is back in position, the other trooper approaches, presenting the colonel with a coiled bull whip.
The colonel dismounts, and hands the long titanium leash to the trooper.
One guard pulls the girl forward, roughly, and she trots unsteady on her porcelain claws as the other trooper loops the chains attached to her front heels around a rusty iron ring bolted to the ceiling and hoists her up.
The trooper steps back with the gleaming leash, passes it between the wolf girl’s shaking shapely legs then yanks, running the metal links over her protruding clit as the collar’s spikes press against her wind pipe.
Wolf girl gulps, then wiggles her bouncy bum cheeks, as the colonel raises the whips handle and stretches the supple woven leather thong
Then time, which seemed suspended, harnessed by the wolf girl’s mistress, is released, like a steed finally given its head and allowed to gallop at will.
A perfect cracking sound pounces on the girl from across the room and the knotted tip bites her sculpture shoulder-blades.
The girl whines in pain and greed. It is not a human sound.
A welt blossoms on the flawless skin. The colonel treats you both to a few potent seconds of silence, then strikes again. Crack. Straight on that spectacular bottom. Has the dead bear risen and clawed her quivering buns? But the savage howl comes from the girl’s own mouth.
Then the lashes rain down hard and fast. CRACK, CRACK, CRACK. Each stroke opens her up a little more. The girl strains to keep still, but she can’t help trembling, tensing, and, when the evil leather anaconda impacts inside her ass crack, uttering a muffled yelp.
The colonel halts. Then gestures with her whip towards you.
You must try and stop this from happening. Anything is better then being whipped like a dog. So, you urgently form the question in your head. Despite the gun barrels
‘Please, what’s the point of this?’
‘First and foremost? My pleasure. Oh, and quite possibly this island’s future.’
The colonel says this lightly. And if the wolfs girl attentive toss of the head is any indication, also audibly.
Then the troopers shove you to the centre of the bear pelt rag. At last, you can see the girl’s front. The large taut breasts with slightly elongated nipples, slim waist and gently curving stomach, her swollen cunt.
And you were right, there is steel down here. No less than a dozen needles, pining both her outer and inner labia lips open.
When the voice in your head issues the command you obey. Not entirely reluctantly.
You grab hold of the girls rounded hips with one hand, and start whipping her cunt with the hot heavy head of your cock, smacking the base of the needles till they scrape against each other and warm drops land on your tightening abs.
Wolf girl wiggles her ass again, this time in protest, not anticipation. You are not her mistress, and she has nothing but contempt for you and your sort.
Her clit, however, seems to rise to meet your cock on its own accord.
The colonel’s whip slashes the air again, striking wolf girl’s bottom, expressing in no uncertain terms mistress’s desires, but this is not the only reason wolf girl doesn’t bulk as you grab her legs, predator instinct rekindled, and lift her up.
She growls at you as your throbbing cock pushes the needles into the skin of her groin, as it flattens her stretched open lips when you ram your augmented piston inside her dripping cunt.
Your screams duel.
Keen as you were to make this savage girl a slave to your mutant’s prowesses, you failed to notice that like the spikes in her collar, the needles in the wolf girl’s cunt lips were criss-crossed: pointing both inside and out.
When impaling the yelping girl on your twitching organ, you also drove the sharp steel points hard into the swollen shaft.
You stumble, and stab your toe on something sharp. Soundlessly cursing, you look down: in your efforts to disengage you stepped into the open jaws of the dead bear.
The colonel sends her baby python hunting again, and your toe no longer hurts. You forget you even have appendages called toes as the bull whip lands on your ass, pushing you right to the hilt in wolf girl’s steaming cunt.
You bawl as a second lash rises a purple welt in your tender scrotum and frantically try to close your legs and move away when the wolf girl tightens her legs around your ass and grins.
No, she isn’t smiling. She is baring her teeth.
And behind this lovely pink Cupid’s bow are fully developed canines, more regular and sharp then any lupin’s.
The third crack of the leather serpent doesn’t quite mask your terrified shout as the truth hits home: Your bleeding cock is buried inside a snarling girl with porcelain blades fangs.