I need to tell you a little bit about this story.
You’ll find a couple of different (unfinished) versions on the internet – one of those versions is still in the membership part of RPP I think.
I stopped writing the story some years ago - after a falling out with the then webmaster on another site - but still receive many requests to finish it off. The problem I’ve found with just “finishing it off” is that I know where the story is going but want to revisit where it’s been!
This then is my attempt to go back to the beginning and finish the story off after nearly 5 years in the wilderness!
It’s a long story so will, inevitably, end up in the membership part of RPP.
Keep looking back – most of it is written and I’ll regularly add chapters.
Do write to me and send your comments and ideas – even though much of the story has already been written I have been inspired along the way by suggestions, drawings and photographs others have sent.
One final teaser. As you read the story see if you can work out who is under the mask the ubiquitous Mistress XS wears!
Best regards
Saavik
drsaavik@hotmail.com Synopsis: Catherine is a public prosecutor who thought she'd quashed the sadistic Group XS. Then her friends and family start disappearing and the spectre of her past comes back to haunt and ensnare her.
Disclaimer: This story is a fantasy which contains graphic descriptions of sex, violence, rape, non-consensual imprisonment and torture. It is definitely NOT for anyone under 21 or anyone who is offended by such material. This story is fictional and any resemblance to anyone dead or alive is purely coincidental.
Group XS
Preface
The girl hung from a metal frame securely bolted to the wall. The frame was like a wide metal ladder, shaped rather like the number ‘4’ with her head at the apex and her chest and torso pressed against the sloping side. Her thighs had been spread obscenely wide at the knees and drawn up to the horizontal underside of the frame while her lower legs and arms ran down the longs side of the frame where it attached to the wall.
The effect was to thrust the naked girl's ass out invitingly and, the way her legs had been drawn apart to the edges of the frame, force her tender sex on display.
The girl was only dimly aware of the shadowy figures in the room with her.
She was in pain from her position: they had not been kind to her. The girl's breasts had been pulled between two of the rungs on the ladder-like frame - rungs peppered with short, sharp, spikes – and the rungs had been slowly ratcheted together so her breasts now bulged obscenely like two dark purple balloons.
She had not been strapped to the frame; she had been bound to the frame with wire.
The girl was aware of a new figure entering the room. She tried to turn her head to see who it was, but the wire passed through her tongue and wound round the very top rung in front of her prevented any but the smallest movement.
Then she was aware of the newcomer coming close to her, aware of soft female hands stroking her, aware of expensive perfume… a perfume she recognised.
The girl felt a leather-gloved hand stroke gently down her back and expertly manipulate her pussy, teasing the lips apart and stroking her most secret parts, teasing her clitoris until she felt a shudder of pleasure. Abruptly the fingers stopped.
A soft female voice whispered to her in her own language. ‘You never could control yourself, could you? I had to punish you for that before...’
The girl recognised the voice immediately; it had, afterall, haunted every waking moment, every dream and every nightmare for years. Especially the nightmares. The realisation that she was back in the hands of her nemesis, the woman she had fled halfway round the world to escape, had a profound psychological and physiological effect on the captive girl.
She let out a plaintive cry at the same time as she lost control of her bladder!
Her captor’s fingers instinctively moved out of the way as the stream of warm urine splashed onto the stone floor and she deftly side-stepped the little splashes which threatened land on her gleaming black knee-length high-heeled boots. When the stream had abated and the agonised cry had diminished to a low guttural moan the woman stepped forward again and held her mouth near to the girl’s right ear.
‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten that I punish girls who piss themselves without permission?’ She said with a hint of menace. ‘Or perhaps you want me to punish you? Maybe that’s it! Is that why you’ve been telling everyone about the last time?’
The girl on the frame was visibly shaking now – at least shaking as much as the rigid metal frame and her cruel bondage would allow. Seeing the girl’s wracked body shaking on the frame the woman stepped closer behind her.
Unable to see her captor the girl was surprised, shocked and frightened, in that order, by the sensations she felt as the woman pressed against her. Had she been able to see her, the captive girl would have seen that the woman was dressed as an archetypal dominant mistress. She was wearing a beautiful form-fitting black leather corset with red trimming, matching full-cut satin panties in black and red together with seamed black stockings held up by suspenders, elbow length leather gloves and, of course, her knee-length boots.
But this was not what shocked and frightened the girl. In addition to the clothing, the woman wore a mask and a strap-on.
The leather mask covered much of her face and, as the woman leaned into the back of her and brought her head forward beside hers, all the captive girl could see of her was a cold steel-grey eye peering out at her through the leather mask.
The strap-on was designed for no other purpose than to inflict pain. It was hugely long, ridiculously broad and gave the impression of being made from several misshapen tennis balls! Its texture was deliberately rough, uneven and intended scrape, graze, abrade, stretch and irritate the soft female membranes it penetrated. The girl wasn’t expecting it when the dildo pressed against the underside of her obscenely exposed ass; she did, however, recognise it...
As the woman pressed against her and gave the impression of bumping and grinding against her captive’s ass she whispered, ‘Can you feel your old friend back to punish you? Does it make you as wet as it does me?’
The woman reached forward with both her gloved hands and found the taut bulbous breasts where they were squeezed painfully between the spiked bars. Her firm, strong, fingers grabbed the girl’s tit flesh and began to squeeze and twist.
The agonised cry which emanated from the girl was the start of many, many cries to come from her...
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