Belinda by Bryan Caine

Nonetheless, she decided that she should never admit this disturbing reality lest it incited her molesters to further horrors which might leave her mutilated or even – she shuddered as she glanced at the bodies on the frames – executed.
    Suddenly it seemed that that was to be her immediate fate, for the feathered leader who had brought her in appeared and shouted a command. At once she was seized and dragged sobbing to a frame in the clearing where her dress was removed with surprising care. She was forced up against the timber frame and coarse leather thongs were attached to her wrists and ankles so she could be tied to each corner of the structure with her arms and legs stretched wide. She was facing the fire and could feel the heat on her naked front. Her heart pounded as she heard the rhythmic beating of some tom-toms, and the crowd fell silent. A female appeared from the painted wigwam behind Belinda and up went a cheer. The ugly flat-faced squaw walked around to the front of Belinda and the English girl saw she had some sort of short stick in her hands. She stopped near to Belinda, and then another female approached the first, carrying half a melon skin which acted as a container for a large dollop of some sort of grease.
    The crone with the stick sat on the ground by the bowl of grease, and the small crowd moved closer with an excited murmur. Belinda temporarily forgot about dying as she saw what the stick really was. It was a phallus that was perfectly fashioned out of shiny black plaited leather. The length of her forearm and almost as thick, its full and flawless head appeared to be made of a polished stone set snugly in amongst the thongs that made up its shaft. At the other end the leather opened out into a bag that was filled with sand and whose finely grained leather surface gave a remarkable impersonation of a scrotum.
    The black-eyed crone proudly held the phallus aloft and the savages cheered and screeched. She looked at Belinda and grinned in a sickening way. She reached into the bowl of grease, scooped up a handful, and started massaging it into the leather penis. The crowd shouted with ribald delight as she made much of masturbating the baton, and she rubbed more and more grease into it until it glistened obscenely in the firelight.
    When she appeared satisfied with her work she tested it by lying back on the ground, lifting her tunic and inserting the slippery length slowly inside herself for about a third of its length. Belinda was disgusted, and then she struggled fearfully against the bonds as the crone withdrew it with a cackle, stood up, and approached her.
    The beat of the drums intensified and the gathered savages shrieked excitedly as the crone stroked the gleaming phallus up Belinda’s thighs until its lustrous cold tip pressed against the entrance to her vagina. A man moved into the light of the fire, and Belinda numbly saw he was carrying a short thick whip, like a flexible black billiard cue. He showed it to Belinda, and then moved behind her. She knew what to expect. It was pointless to protest.
    The savages fell silent and gawped. The old crone pressed the artificial monstrosity firmly against Belinda’s defenceless vulva. It was held there as the first agonising lash struck her back, and as she jerked forward its huge head opened her and slipped partially inside. She gasped at the intrusion, closed her eyes, and braced herself bravely for the next stroke of the whip. As it bit into her shoulder she spasmed again and the monster slid deeper and deeper.
    The tormentor with the whip steadily and unhurriedly worked his way down her back to her firm white buttocks. The enormous dildo was fully inserted and the crone slowly fucked her captive with it. Her raven eyes sparkled evilly in the shadowy light. Belinda barely felt the vicious whip now; she was totally absorbed by the leather cock sliding up and down inside her and stimulating her swollen clitoris. The shiny stone head