Polly's African Adventures

It all started when relaxing with her master, Ulysses, in his luxury apartment following a particularly sadistic beating. Her master was a well-built man with a shaved head. Apart from a dark beard and moustache encircling his mouth, with matching eyebrows, his body was devoid of hair. When naked, he was a magnificent sight to behold, particularly when sporting a strong erection. He radiated domination and power. The mere sight of Ulysses was enough to rouse Polly's base instincts to slave-like devotion. She melted. He could treat her as he wished. And he did. Polly suffered his humiliating acts of sadism with relish.

Round his neck he wore a gold chain and locket. His body was usually swathed in white robes when relaxing in his apartment. His faithful attendant and ever-present helper was the dwarf, Quilp. His was a misshapen body and humped back. A large head was topped with slicked-back hair, a flat face split in two by a black moustache. A permanent grin gave him an altogether satanic appearance. He was usually perched on a padded stool. He, too wore a white wrap-over robe. Polly shared their sadistic games with her companion, Marina, the small Eurasian woman she had rescued from the clutches of a cruel boat captain.

Earlier that evening Polly had watched Marina sobbing under the torment of Quilp. The smallness of his body was not matched by his misshapen phallus. When at full stretch, it reared above Quilp's chin. As he stood gazing lewdly at the forlorn, helpless figure of Marina, he would tease the waif-like girl by kissing the end of his own cock. She was made to stand naked in the middle of the room, legs well apart, behind a silver bowl on the floor. Wrists were manacled, arms held high to lift her small breasts.

The near-black nipples hard and shrivelled, tempting lips to suckle them hard to straighten out the wrinkles. Above her head, slung from the ceiling, was a container. It resembled a spherical kettle. Steam rose from it. It held boiling oil. From one side of the container dangled a cord, the end of which was attached to Marina's wrists. If she lowered her arms above a few centimetres, the container would tilt, dripping boiling oil from its spout onto the body beneath. Splashes of molten agony. Quilp sat, kissing his solid penis casually, watching the strain on Marina's face as her arms began to ache. Perspiration broke out on her forehead. Her mind began to panic as the muscles in her arms begged for relief.

Quilp smiled at her discomfort.

'Pee for me, darling,' he asked. 'Then you shall be released.'

Quilp had a fetish for watching a woman pee. He moved closer to Marina, concentrating his scrutiny on the gash between her thighs. The parting of the legs opened the labia so that the small pink folds were clear to see. Marina's secret honey was smeared over them, for she was seldom free from the secretions from her passage. Quilp reached out his hand to part the lips, exposing the small orifice of the urethra.

Although Marina had drank a fair amount of liquid, to pass water to order was not easy, even though it was a common demand from her master. She was not allowed to empty her bladder until ordered to do so, but given the order, she found it hard. She squeezed her bladder as hard as she could. But to no avail. Quilp took her clitoris between thumb and second finger, nipping it very hard.

'Pee!' Her body jolted in response.

Then she screamed! A drop of molten oil had tipped out of the container onto her shoulder. Her bladder opened. To Quilp's great joy and squeals of delight, the golden stream tinkled into the silver bowl. The dwarf held the palm of his hand under the stream allowing the hot liquid to run through his fingers into the bowl.

When, at last, the stream had finished, Marina's face screwed up in agony, the manacles round the wrist were unclasped by a remote control switch. Marina sobbed as her arms fell to her sides, her head hung in shame and dismay. A small blister had formed on her shoulder. The burning pain from it bit into her flesh.

The bowl removed, Quilp then proceeded to thrash Marina's buttocks with a short, wide leather strap. About the size of a large slipper. It was a casual, almost disinterested flogging. But behind the superficial appearance, Quilp was relishing the humiliating punishment of the pretty young woman; taking delight in watching her suffering expression, teeth gritted to avoid screaming in pain. Yelps only encouraged the dwarf to strike even harder.

'Bend!' he barked. The compliant slave bent forward, her taught buttocks presented for his enjoyment. After the strapping she endured that evening, Quilp drew on a pair of gloves whilst ordering her to lay, face down, over a footstool so that her genitals were level with his loins. The enormous phallus was crushed into Marina's rectum with savage force. She yelped and jerked at the intrusion.

He embraced her small tender breasts with his special gloves. They were set with a ring of thorn-like prickles round the palm. These dug painfully into the soft olive-coloured flesh. Marina screamed in agony as gloves clasped over her breasts, the thorns pressing into her whilst he thudded in and out of her tight passage. He enjoyed hearing the high screams of his slaves when he was ravishing them. He believed they were shrieks of enjoyment.

So Marina intensified the cry to satisfy his desire. One day, she knew, he would tire of her. Her future - her life - would then be in serious doubt.

It had taken several minutes after the punishment for Polly to repair Marina's broken skin, soothe the blister and the severe scratches on her breasts. Marina was young, though not as young as she looked. Her pretty face, smooth skin; her small frame and narrow hips, gave her the appearance of a child-like waif. Her body quickly recovered from these minor, if agonising, injuries. Then they ate their meal. Afterwards, they relaxed with their masters.

'You remember the Third Man?' Ulysses asked Polly.

'The sadistic monster in MI6?' Polly remembered his savage treatment of her friends in the punishment room some days earlier.

'The same. I have since been informed that he was one of the disciples of the Marquis at your sacrifice. Your resistance to the punishment impressed him. He now has news of your father.'

Polly sat up quickly. 'Father?'

'An African Ambassador, Prince Tontu, is in England just now. The Third Man thinks you ought to meet. But, first, he wants you go see him in his office where he can explain all.'

'When?'

'He will find the means of telling you. But, Polly, I must warn you that he is a brutal sadist. Quilp is a benevolent saint compared with him. Even so, he is very important to me. So you must do all he asks of you, without question. If you agree to a meeting there will be no going back. He is a merciless killer if it becomes necessary.'

So it was that a mysterious message on her answer-phone told her to be ready the following day at 7.00pm. At exactly seven a car drew up outside the door. An ordinary small private car in need of a wash and polish. It was dusk as the car came to a stop outside a dingy terraced house in a quiet street. Polly knew she was somewhere in central London, but the obscured windows prevented her from knowing exactly where. The sound of Big Ben chiming the half-hour suggested she was not far from Westminster.

Before she had time to reach the door at the top of three stone steps, it opened. Polly found herself in a dingy entrance hall. The door closed behind her with a soft click. A young man in a grey suit motioned her to follow him up the staircase. The carpet was threadbare. The paint peeling off the walls.

When she reached the top of the stairs a panel hissed open in front of her. She stepped into a small cubicle. A soft hiss behind her told her that the panel had closed. All was in blackness. The only sound was that of her own breathing. She then felt the jolt as the cubicle moved. Polly realised she was in a lift. It came to a halt. Another hiss. Then a sudden shaft of light blinded her. Her body was hauled out of the cubicle, the blinding light obscuring her surroundings.

'You are Pauline Raddles?' The voice was that of a woman. It had a sinister tone.

'I am,' she stammered softly.

'All right,' said a more friendly male voice. 'It's her all right.'

The spotlight was turned off. Polly's eyes became accustomed to the normal light. At the end of a desk facing her was a tall, severe-looking woman of heavy build. She was dressed in a black uniform, her hair tied back into a bun. Round her waist was a thick studded belt. On the desk was a black box. Wires came from it, attached at the other end to metal rods. On the wall behind the desk was a large screen.

At the other side of the desk, sat in an armchair, was The Third Man, smiling at her. He was tapping an ebony cane in the palm of his left hand. His eyes looked her up and down. They had an evil glint, examining her curves. Polly had dressed soberly and was wearing a long belted raincoat. Beneath a two-piece costume, she had put on a blouse and a pair of white silk French knickers with open crotch.

'You are in a high security building, Miss Raddles. It will be necessary to search you. All newcomers are regarded as adversaries until proved otherwise. You will be stripped and searched. Please hold your hands high and keep them there at all times.'

Polly had no sooner raised her arms when the woman came to her. The raincoat was expertly removed and the pockets searched. They were empty. Buttons were expertly unfastened. Before Polly realised it, she was standing only in her knickers. Turning to face Polly, the heavy woman had a look of respect and excitement in her eyes as she studied Polly's figure. The perfectly shaped breasts, smooth and pale. The chunky nipples. The shapely thighs and narrow waist.

At a nod from The Third Man, the uniformed woman pushed down Polly's knickers, removing them altogether. Holding them to her nose, she inhaled the odour of Polly's crotch with relish. Polly now stood naked and vulnerable. A lonely waif with blonde tresses tumbling over her shoulders. She had an expression of shame on her face. Her rounded, peach-like bottom attracted The Third Man. He had an evil, hungry look. Almost satanic.

'You can lower your hands,' he said.

Polly took up a child-like stance, shoulders slightly hunched, head bowed with thumb between her lips. The woman came to her, grasped her wrists in a vice-like grip, pulling them down. There was the feel of cold metal and a click. Polly's wrists were manacled. A shiver of apprehension went through her.

The Third Man now stood up from his arm chair. He stared at her beautiful body. His ebony cane traced casually over the contours of each breast, pausing at each nipple. He prodded them, to test their stiffness before moving down the flat belly, the soft blonde curls, the narrow waist and swelling thighs, the contours of her bottom. Polly felt herself beginning to get wet.

There was a curious feeling of foreboding about the place. A sexual threat. A fear of the unknown. It roused her sensuality.

'Hmm! Excellent. Such inviting flesh.' And with a sudden swing of his arm, The Third Man swiped the ebony cane across the pale cheek of her buttocks. Polly winced, grunting at the suddenness of the sting.

'Get on the trolley please.'

Polly had not noticed the inspection trolley beside her. She hesitated a fraction. The cane was brought down hard on her buttocks once again.

'Please, Miss Raddles.'

Polly quickly climbed onto the trolley, laying on her back. The trolley was wheeled into the centre of the room. Above her were stirrups suspended from the ceiling. The were clearly controlled by a remote switch, for they began to descend. The powerful woman took each of Polly's legs, fixing her ankles in the stirrups. They were then raised until her legs were pulled apart into a large V-shape, exposing her vulva. The outer lips were drawn apart to reveal the pretty orifice with its coral-pink wrinkled lips. Warm honey glinted on them.

Polly felt a mixture of embarrassment at being examined in this way, with her enjoyment of exposing her beauty. For she knew she had the perfect set of genitals. Their shape, their proportions, were in every way female perfection; sweet and innocent looking. Suddenly, an overhead spotlight came on. Its beam lit up the genitals. Every detail was ready for inspection. The woman gasped audibly. Her eyes popped with awe as they feasted on the sight.

Polly was familiar with the reaction. She, herself, enjoyed gazing on their beauty through a hand mirror, teasing apart the pink lips to reveal the orifice itself. The dark secret of her feminine paradise. The small button, so innocent-looking, nestling in its little fold. That nub of gristle which had the power to excite; to send currents of ecstasy jolting though her body.

'You may examine her,' the woman was told.

Moving between Polly's legs, the powerful woman slowly reached forward to part the delicate lips between her fingers. A narrow tube was inserted into the vulva. The screen behind the desk flickered into life. There, for all to see, was the enlarged view of the inside of Polly's vagina. Pink, soft and honeyed. The tube, a miniature TV camera, was moved around and pushed to its fullest depth.

'Clear,' the woman muttered thickly. 'Nothing hidden.'

'And the other opening.'

Polly realised that she would have the indignity of the tube in her rectum. The smooth metal pushed into the tight puckered entrance.

'Clear,' came the response. Polly noticed the excitement on the woman's face; the way she licked her thick, dry lips.

'Codes?' the man asked.

Polly's torso was inspected minutely. Her breasts were lifted for examination, her armpits, her inner thighs. Her legs were taken from the stirrups, and she was turned over onto her belly. The cheeks of her buttocks were dragged apart, every square inch of flesh scrutinised.

'None!' she muttered curtly.

'Now, Miss Raddles. It seems that there are no marks on you to indicate any connection with the Russian espionage. And, believe me, if you were an agent, there would be. Not obvious, but certainly there. Used as a means of identifying unrecognisable corpses. They are usually etched into the skin to one side of the vulva. A small red dagger. On a man, you will find a similar symbol on the underside of his penis. The skin must be stretched to identify it fully. Of course, when the penis is erect, the sign is clear. A combination of three minute dots identifies the person. Or dead person, perhaps.'

Polly realised these people meant business. They were not playing a game. It was a matter of life and death to them. The warder-like woman was strapping Polly's ankles to the two stirrups which had been lowered. A button was pressed. There was a whirring noise. Polly felt her body lifted in the stirrups once again. But this time the trolley was removed from beneath her. She was swinging loose, suspended by her ankles, legs wide apart. Her hair swept the carpet. Her hands could just reach the floor. The Third Man was, meantime, explaining the action to her.

'Our enemies will do anything to make us talk. They torture the names of contacts out of our agents if they can. We need to be certain that you will be able to withstand such treatment, Polly. It will hurt, I promise you. And, if it helps, you should know that we have all undergone this same punishment. Yes, even Two-o-five here. I personally had the enjoyment of testing our friend.'

'But I don't know any contacts. How can I reveal that I don't know?'

'But you do my dear. There's me, for example. There's Two-o-five here. There's Ulysses. There's your father. and - of course - Fagin.'

'Fagin!' Polly was truly amazed to learn that her old master and teacher, Fagin, was in the pay of MI6.

'So, you see! Of course, the punishment is not usually carried out in comfortable surroundings. But those comforts will soon be forgotten, I assure you. There are three stages to the usual punishment. The failure of one leads to the next one.'

And the first began immediately. A leather whip landed without warning across Polly's delicious cheeks with a loud crack. It cut a deep rut in the pale flesh which swelled up quickly to a red weal. She yelped, her body jerking, setting it swinging drunkenly. A succession of blows quickly rained down on her buttocks and thighs.

A whip was alternated with a supple cane. It was rapid and unremitting. Brutal. The pain rapidly reached a crescendo. It swamped her sensations. It seared through her groin making her sob. Her loins were ablaze. Her flesh quickly became a mass of crimson, with purple bruises and swollen ridges of stinging agony. It lasted exactly one minute. Then it stopped.

'Who is your contact, Polly. Tell me. Then we need not flog you any further.'

Polly bit her lip. Tears filled her eyes, squeezed shut against the agony bursting in her head. She remembered Ulysses' warning.

'Come, my dear. Just one name and the pain will go away. Otherwise, the punishment will be turned on your secret little genitals. Your pride. So beautiful. So tender. It will be a shame to spoil them.'

Polly was horrified. She suddenly felt sick with dread of being whipped between her thighs. But she bit her lip, tensing her body against the onslaught she knew would come.

She screamed!

The cane struck between the pearly lips, sending up a fine spray of her honey. It was worse than she expected. The woman stood behind her, the man in front. Both were wielding slender canes. Two cruel stokes each cut into the tender folds. The pain was excruciating. She must tell them! She could not endure more punishment. After all, what's a name?

'Tell! The name!' Polly was now sobbing. Her body was a mass of suffering. She turned her mind deliberately onto other things. She thought of her father's playful spanking; his semi-thick phallus teasing; beckoning. The burst of his sperm in her throat.

Her body remained rigid. She remained silent.

Another three strokes each sliced sharply into the fleshy folds of her vulva. Polly's brain was incapable of taking more agony. A numbness was creeping over her burning flesh, scalding deep into her loins. Thighs and buttocks were aflame with angry crimson blotches and weals, mixed with blue bruises. As string of red pearls seeped from two new ridges, her whole genital area was pulverised to a cluster of swollen raw flesh.

'The name!' This time, the voice was harsh and menacing. 'Tell us the name and your life will be spared. Your wounds will be attended to. Soothed. Just say the name of your contact.'

Polly hardly heard the voice. Her brain was trying to cope with the messages of anguish, swamping out all else.

There was a welcome respite for a few moments before Polly's wrists were grasped and manacled together. She suddenly felt her shoulders being lifted until her body hung limp, like a hammock.

'So, Two-o-five. Stage two.' The voice in the distance sounded threatening. After a short pause, a cool, thin rod was inserted deep into her vagina. A second one was inserted into the bowels of her rectum.

Snap! The pain was excruciating. Her body recoiled and convulsed wildly as the electric current jolted her internal tubes and passages. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. The agony was too intense to describe. It jolted her torso in a sea of stabbing agony. Polly had no control of her muscles. The current buffeted them; piercing agony!

Then it stopped! The scream held in her throat finally escaped her in a deafening shriek. She knew she would die! There was no escape! Then, a merest touch on her clitoris sent the electric current jabbing straight to the groin and Polly erupted in the most agonising orgasm she had ever felt. Her body convulsed, tossing and leaping with its power.