Chapter III: Revenge is a Dish Best Served with Bondage
Anna was living her own personal slice of hell. The supple body she'd spent years training to its physical peak was being stretched even further beyond her prodigious limits. If she was anyone else, her ligaments would surely now be strained beyond what time could heal. And to Richard, she assumed, she was no one exceptional, so it must be his intention to inflict permanent impediments upon his victims. Or perhaps he just didn't care; perhaps he merely saw her as expendable meat to be tenderised as his sadistic whims desired. Whatever the case, there was not a muscle in her body that wasn't sore from straining in one direction or another. Her shoulders were the worst—at this rate she'd have to kiss her right hook goodbye, and still her sadistic host continued to adjust her restraints and groom her hair as though she was an inanimate ragdoll in his deviant fantasy.
But then it got worse. Her previously-neglected crotch received an innocent rub. And another. Despite the aches all across her body, this new sensation was producing an itch she didn't realise she wanted scratched. The rubbing continued until it was no longer just hitting the spot, but fuelling a fire. Unsought lust engulfed her until sexual release was something she needed, and she was utterly dependent on her captor to deliver it.
Her body was turning traitor—such carnal indulgences were beneath her, especially at a time like this. But she was in no position to shake off the persistent finger stroking the soft lips between her crouched legs, or to shake anything except perhaps her protruding bust. After a half-hearted attempt to twist out of her unyielding restrains, Anna convulsed with guilty pleasure as the stimulation overwhelmed her. These convulsions turned to erratic twitches as she tried her utmost to escape the wriggling digit.
Were she able to, she'd be hanging her head in shame—she'd barely put up a fight against the surge of lust that had gripped her, and now her well-meaning altruism was soiled by base sensuality. Fortunately, her powers were still with her, for her maidenhead was yet intact. But even if her body's reactions were beyond her control, her mind was not, and she could not deny that she had enjoyed the involuntary climax far more than she should. This disgusted the sorceress and drove her hatred of her serene tormentor up to the level of a sizzling malediction. She would see him suffer if it was the last word she breathed.
"So... tense..." he admonished as he ran his hands around her heaving form, slick with sweat despite the cool subterranean air. "What would it take, I wonder, to loosen you up a little?"
He squeezed her crotch as he said this, making her tiptoes stumble and sending a wave of discomfort propagating across her cramped form. Anna huffed angrily into her silk gag, her rosy cheeks bulging out around the tight band of cloth.
"Awww, is my little slave struggling?" Richard teased her, prodding her firm engorged breasts. "Tell you what, I'll give you something sweet to suck on."
He dropped his velvet-lined trousers and unsheathed his impressive shaft. Though Anna had never been on the other end of one, she'd seen enough men disrobe in her travels to know he was a monster in more than deed. She would actually be intimidated if this reveal didn't carry a joyous implication: he was about to ungag her.
Anna froze as he reached down to loosen the gag cleaving her lips apart, not daring to move lest her anticipation betray her intention. She'd have but a split second before her mouth was refilled with a much less desirable gag. And so, the moment the silk was pulled from her mouth, she spat out a word in the ancient tongue. Richard's eyes widened in surprise as he was lifted into the air and flung across the room with the force of a sledgehammer.
But this would only detain him temporarily, Anna knew. She'd made that mistake once already. So she followed with another spell to send numerous shackles and restraints flying over to pin him to the wall, muttering words of power until Richard was surrounded by more metal than air. She didn't know the limits of his strength, but that should buy her enough time to free herself and the other unfortunate slave girls.
Her next spells were more calculated: she had to unbolt and untie countless restraints one by one without seeing what she was doing or putting herself under further strain. After a few minutes she finally collapsed to the ground, exhausted but otherwise unharmed. She was eager to conceal her nakedness, but that would have to wait until she could find more suitable clothes. She wasn't going anywhere in that frilly dress. Not that she was ashamed to wear it—it was simply too restrictive to manoeuvre around in.
She climbed to her feet, rolling her numb shoulders and wincing as her nipples seared with pain from their recent release. Freedom! Anna could scarcely believe her luck. With Richard out of the picture she had only to deal with his dimwitted manservant before freeing the others. She left the bedroom and began checking other doors along the stone passageway. As she beheld the contents of each room she began to form an increasingly disturbing image of her host's pastimes.
Most cells seemed to be outfitted for one purpose: torture. There were torture chairs, torture racks, torture cages, torture wheels (or Catherine wheels, thought Anna, her heart sympathising with the poor girl who must have been its namesake), and just about every other contraption associated with the word torture. Upon seeing each devious contraption Anna involuntarily empathised with its imagined victim, her heart pounding ever faster as fear and despair flashed repeatedly through her. In her mind, she was locked in a narrow human-shaped cage suspended above the ground, her arms pinned to her sides as sharp tools poked at her unprotected flesh... She was trapped on a pyramid-shaped saddle, its pointed edge buried deep in her nether region as she winced in pain with nowhere to go... She was curled up inside the belly of a giant bronze bull, gasping as the metal around her grew uncomfortably warm and listening to her own distorted wails as they echoed through a system of tubes and escaped as distant moans of anguish.
The predicaments may have all been in her head, but the creeping dread Anna felt was all too real. She had to get away from this depraved place.
There were many other peculiar contraptions in the rooms she passed—cunning arrangements of wood, iron, leather, and hemp—and while she didn't know how they all worked, they all made one fact painfully obvious: the unfortunate victim whose neck went on the block was not in for a pleasant ride. Other rooms housed primitive holding cells, and there was one room which stank so badly Anna could only gag and back straight out.
She found Ripper in one of the many torture rooms, but it wasn't a rat he was torturing. Another ruby-haired girl had her back arched across an overturned barrel, her arms and legs pulled wide in opposite directions. Her face was fearful, and no wonder: the mammoth torturer was twirling a cat o' nine tails between his thick fingers, its ends whistling dangerously through the air, murmuring a repeated mantra that sounded suspiciously like "rip her." Fresh scarlet lines decorated the girl's bare navel and chest.
Ripper spun around and registered surprise upon seeing the smiling, unfettered Anna. He truly was a sight to behold: a mountain of black muscle with calloused hands and well-defined creases where his cruel smile normally stretched across his face. All that muscle was useless against magic, however, and Anna quickly had the manservant pinned to the wall just like his dazed master. It was a testament to Richard's extensive fascination with torture that there were enough contraptions lying the room around to bury the servant's hulking figure in more metal than a dozen suits of armour.
Anna knew her improvised restraints wouldn't hold the powerful creatures forever, but she'd at least bought enough time to free the other slaves. She started with Ripper's victim, loosening her wrists and ankles so that she could wriggle off the spine-bending barrel.
"Thank you," said the girl, her voice thick with an exotic accent Anna didn't recognise. "The back-breaker becomes most uncomfortable after many minutes."
