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Original Fiction
ISAIAH

My savior takes care of me. He sleeps in one bed with me. In the darkness I feel the smell of his huge heavy body and his loud breath drowns from me all other sounds. When he comes to give me water and food I know that it is one more evening. He never spends time with me by day - he has other things to do. So, I am alone and with no light mostly but I am not afraid - I know nobody will come to hurt me. I lie listening to the plash of waves against wooden walls of our room. My bed is rocking gently all the time and I like it, it is like a cradle.

He uses me twice a day usually - before he is going to sleep and in the morning, when he wakes up. He pulls down his pants and crawls on the bed over me, his massive organ pokes in my thigh while he arranges himself. Sometimes it is moist with the liquid that is dripping out of it - and if not I ask him to let me use my spat on it. It hurts less when it is wet.

He is weighty when he lies upon me and his cock which he brings into me feels very hot inside me and though it is smooth it seems like broken glass against my hole and it cuts and tears there and draws blood when he moves it back and forth. It is so long that I feel it deep in my belly and when he shoots inside me I feel his fluid scalding my bowels.

For a long time I could lie only on my side and it was not cozy for him to settle down beside me - but this morning he checked my back and the welts were well-crusted. So, he made me lie flat for him and he put my legs on his shoulders to attain my opening better. I knew he liked it more this way. Because he spoke to me and told me to speak to him and to say if I liked it, if I wanted more.

I felt some fresh blood under me when he started stirring me - but it was nothing, I could forget it. Even in the beginning the welts didn't bother me as much as my feet. And he was always careful when he changed the bandages on my feet or in my crotch.

* * *

I had never made it with a man until the first night in prison after they had seized me. They took away my nice clothes and gave me some rags instead but before it there was a man with the razors and he shaved my hair off, all my hair, on my head and on my private parts. After that I was led to the investigation. And that's when I met Isaiah for the first time.

Isaiah the royal executioner, I mean.

It was the late afternoon already and Isaiah only used his whip on me for two dozens of blows. I had never imagined it could hurt so badly and I passed out twice while he was doing it. He laid the lashes on my back mostly but in the position I was tied - with my hands in the rings above my head - the whip was free to circle round my body and I could feel the strips of blood flesh swelling on my ribs. Once he cut the blow almost across my chest and the end of the whip caught my left nipple and tore it right in the middle.

I could hardly stand when they untied me, so, they brought me to the cell - and there I lay on the floor, whining and shivering, crestfallen, unable even to rake some hay around me to get warm. I thought I was in the worst pain that could be possible.

And then, after a while, the guards came for me. At first I guessed they were going to take me to the torture again - and I howled because it seemed unfair for me - I thought I was spared of it for night. But it was another room where they took me, warm and lit brightly with resin torches, and there were a lot of the guards there, drinking and laughing and playing dice.

They laughed even more when they saw me and someone said:

"Clean the table for the whore!"

So, they wiped their dice off and put the goblets away and they dragged me to the table and in a moment they took my clothes off and laid me on my back on the table.

I was scared and shamed and I didn't know what I had to wait from them. They looked at me and laughed again and one of them groped my shaven pubis and exclaimed:

"What a tender pussy!" and he pinched with his fingernails the puffy cut the razor left there.

I raised my hand a little because he was hurting me - but I knew I didn't have to do anything against them. They grasped my wrists and held them on the table over my head and they spread my legs wide. One of the guards unfastened his pants and there was his cock stiff and red swollen with blood and he took my bum and raised it. I was scared even more - so, I started flailing and thrashing in their grips but they kept me still. The guard shoved his thumbs into my crack and pulled it apart and put his meat there and then he pushed and pushed - and as the tip of his cock was against my hole and it got into there.

I screamed. It was a wretched pain, the same bad as when Isaiah whipped me, and the guard didn't stop there. He pressed his cock in and in and I knew that my hole was ripping and my bum was filled with his shaft. Then he touched me with his coarse pubic hair and I felt his hairy balls against my crack and like that he froze for a moment.

"This pussy is so tight it doesn't let me go," he said and everybody laughed.

He pulled out - sharply as if his cock was of carved wood and very swiftly, much quicker than he pushed in - and I howled and wept and said:

"Please, stop it, it hurts."

"Of course, it hurts," somebody answered me. "Who needs a pussy if it is not hurt?"

And the man inside me didn't stop. He drove his fingernails in my thighs and held me like this and he thrust into me fast and hard and he panted as if he was running. I cried and moaned and others slapped my face to make me shut up.

Then the guard stopped moving. He was still in my ass and he hooked me with his fingernails and like this he was for a while and after that he pushed me and tugged his cock out. I felt the warm liquid running out of my hole and his cock was in blood and in his own semen when he tucked it back.

"The new pussy-whore is born," somebody said.

And at the next moment another guard was at my orifice and before I could plead them he pushed his cock in and started riding me. This one slid smoother and slicker against the wetness of my hole and it took him less time to cum.

There were, maybe, eight of them and they went one after another. They dragged me back and forth against the table when they beat into me and it made me groan because it rubbed against my welts - but they didn't pay attention to it. Some of them who were not fucking me touched me at that time, squeezed my balls and tugged my prick and tweaked my nipples hard. When one of them pecked at my split nipple I yelped.

It went on and on, no matter how hard I was praying for it to stop. They didn't stop until they all would finish.

My eyes was blurred with pain and tears and when I saw Isaiah in the doorway I thought it was a vision of my desperate mind, the most frightening person I had ever known. The guards, they didn't look there because they were with their backs to the door and they didn't care - but I saw him - he stood, in his scarlet clothes, a beast of a man, huge, with his dark hairless face void of expression. He didn't do anything, didn't step in - he was silent - but I felt shudders going through my body because of his bleak eyes on me.

When the guards released me at last, Isaiah was gone.

* * *

They fucked me every night after that and they taught me how to use my mouth to please them. It was so much less pain when doing it that I liked it and I always asked them, please, to allow me to do it this way. They laughed - they enjoyed seeing me begging and some of them really appreciated my mouth better.

When Isaiah poured boiling oil over my feet I was in no form to serve them for several nights. I remember vaguely that they tried to fuck me the first night after it but I screamed so badly that they resigned and put me back to the cell.

It was like my feet were on fire every minute. There was no real fire, of course, and never had been. Isaiah just took a handled pot from the hearth and brought it to my face to show. He didn't say anything - he scarcely spoke to me at all - and I looked at the gurgling golden liquid in the pot and smelled hot oil and at the next moment he turned it over my feet.

I never even thought that I could feel this way. This was the agony and I felt I was dying and I wanted to die to stop it - but no, I didn't die. I screamed and blacked out but I came back to my senses again and it was here, with me. It was maddening and I was ready to lose my mind, I wanted it, I wanted anything just to stop feeling it.

The skin on my feet down from my ankles partly blackened and was glistening and was covered with wet blisters. And it hurt, it hurt so much for hours and hours and didn't calm down - as if the air itself was smoldering.

On the second night I passed out so deeply at last that the pain almost was not perceptible. And when I woke up there were bandages on my feet soaked with some ointment and though the pain was here, I could bear it, I could breath and live with it. I wept with gratitude to whoever had done it for me.

When I was brought to Isaiah after that I knew he could tear the bandages off and even apply his tools to my feet again - but he didn't do it and the guards didn't touch it, too.

"People say we'll have to part with you soon, pussy-whore," one night a guard who seemed to have a kind of compassion to me said. "You are going to the trial next week - and I don't think you will be acquitted."

I trembled in fear of what waited for me and I knew that it would be new, unendurable pain.

But even before it I had to go through such a thing I had never thought I would have to.

* * *

The water outside the ship still plashed slightly but the rocking was almost gone. My master pulled the clothes on me gently - wonderfully if to think about his enormous hands like paws of a bear. He put the parcel with his things on one shoulder and raised me on the other and walked out.

The sun was blinding for me after so many days in the darkness and I yelled thinly into the smelly cloth of my master's jacket and pressed my palms to the hurting eyes. My head lolled in tact with his steady walk until he dropped me down on the hay-covered floor of a vehicle.

I knew I was far from being fit to ride a horse - that is why we had to move slowly with the carriage. But I liked it. I lay quietly on my back looking up to the sky - I got used to the sun very quickly and I liked watching the sky when it was bright, with many white clouds moving and leaving with the wind. Sometimes I saw the slant branches of the trees close to the road.

At nights, after my guardian was done with his pleasure, I lay close to him and gazed at the sky, too, with so many beautiful stars I had never seen at home. Our horse neighed softly and there was the even chirr of insects that never stopped until down. It was chilly at nights but my master is so big and so warm and I got myself warm in the heat coming from his body.

From time to time we stopped in one village or another to get some food - milk and bread and eggs. Sometimes he was forced to pay with money - and he didn't like it.

"I paid too much already," he said to me grudgingly - I suppose, however, he was not exactly speaking to me, he almost never did it. "We won't drag ourselves long wasting money like this."

He made some work for the villagers instead and as he was so strong and coped so well with knives and axes they asked him often to hack firewood or to slaughter a cattle for them.

I was recovering little by little. The only thing that made me feel bad was my torn nipple. I guess there was some dirt gotten into it and it was festering and inflamed off and on and sometimes I even felt feverish because of it.

We passed by the towns almost always - except one case and it was quite later.

* * *

On the day when Isaiah did it to me he had me spread naked on the rack but it was not screwed enough to hurt me. He walked around for a while, so close that the hem of his crimson clothes brushed against my skin and his tiny eyes were on me.

"Now Isaiah will do it," he mumbled under his nose, as he did sometimes, sending me into the fits of horror. "Yeah, Isaiah will do it now."

I followed him when he took one of his tools, heavy metal pincers, out of the fire and brought it to me. My voice was caught in my throat by terror preventing me from scream. I didn't know what he was going to do, I didn't think about it, I couldn't. Isaiah stooped over me, over my bottom belly, and I felt his firm hand grabbing my privates.

For a split second I felt it exactly - how the pincers closed on my ball sack crushing it and burning it out. But the pain blew me off; even in a second there was so much of it that I couldn't co-exist with it. It started - and I went senseless.

For some reason Isaiah didn't do anything to bring me back as it was usually done. He finished everything while I was unconscious - and when I was back it was all over.

Not the pain over. So weird - there was nothing left to pain - and still it pained so much. It chewed my parts I didn't have any more. I howled in shock when I had the opportunity to look at what was done to me.

They were gone, my balls. What was instead looked like black crusted clots of flesh.

When the guards picked me up that night they were amazed and said to each other:

"Look what a work Isaiah did to him!"

One of them poked his forefinger into my piss-slit and said:

"He should have cut this off and made a real pussy for us here."

Some of them pawed the place where my balls had been and wondered if I was hurt much with it.

* * *

It was a town just on our way. Maybe, there was possibility to stay away from it - but my master was eager to enter it, as far as I understood. Our vehicle stopped at the gates and he went to speak to the soldiers there. I watched them over the brink of the carriage. They were arguing. I didn't understand the language mostly - though my master was capable of speaking it - but I saw the soldiers showing coins to him and he shook his head grimly.

Then one of the soldiers came to the carriage and pointed at the horse. I knew we couldn't sell the horse - and still more not to them who wouldn't give us any fair price in any way. The soldier slid his eyes over me. When he returned to his fellows they spoke again, calmer - and soon my master came up to me and took me out of the carriage.

"Keep your tongue behind your teeth," he said to me and brought me to the soldiers' room. "Here you are," he muttered carrying me. "Not a girl yet but already not a boy."

He sat me on their table and left.

He didn't have to tell me to be discreet - even if I had spoken they would have understood me the same little as I understood them. They looked at me and chatted. Then they tugged me down on the floor and tried to make me stand. I shrieked and fell and they spoke about it, too. But eventually I took my clothes off and served them as I knew how to do it.

They laughed when they saw my genitals but some were terrified and they laid their hands there and touched. And they felt my scars, turned me right and left to look at them. One of the soldiers took my bad nipple in his fingers and jammed it and played with it.

They were cheerful fucking me and I knew I surprised them with what I could do with my mouth. There were a lot of them - but they didn't crowd at me and they gave me tiny breaks when I was tired and they poured some wine into my mouth.

My master didn't have to pay for the passage and, so, he sold our horse and our carriage for a good price at the town market and he bought a boat instead.

* * *

We were going by the river then. It didn't change much for me, however, because it was him who rowed. At nights he dragged the boat ashore and made a small fire and we ate. I felt much healthier already and I could stand a little on my feet though not walk yet. My hair grew for about an inch long on my head.

It was our second or third night on the river when he got worried with my sore nipple. He was caressing me and squeezing and mauling my tits and I cried out. I tried to keep from it usually but I couldn't this time and, so, he found out how bad the things were.

He shook his head and next morning he tied me firmly in the boat and bared my chest. And it was as good as possible that he tied me - because I flung myself up and down when he started cleaning it and doing other unspeakable things. He pressed the red-hot iron to it afterwards.

When it was over I sobbed and I was wet with sweat and I pissed myself. And he took me in his arms and walked with me like this, rocking and rolling me.

"Don't cry, don't," he uttered. "Isaiah is here."

In the evening, after penetrating me, he said patting my forehead fleetly:

"Don't be afraid that they catch us. I'll kill you first, I promise."

Several days after that thunderstorm was so heavy that there was not way we could sleep in the boat. With the greatest difficulty we tugged it on the bank so that it couldn't be washed off by the waves and we went to the inn to spend night there.

The inn-keeper, a fat moustached man, didn't have any clients tonight except us - and from his speedy words I understood - ah, yes, I started catching a little - that he wanted money for the lodging and only money. He didn't need any work my master could offer. Well, he didn't mind me - but as a half of payment and a half he demanded with solid coins. They shook hands at last and I went to him. My master sent me a look when he was leaving for his room.

For a while the inn-keeper peered at me - and I was not sure if there was something besides disgust in his eyes. Then he waved his hand at me and said:

"Dirty, dirty kid!"

I was not sure what he wanted. But when I climbed upstairs there was a vast tub with hot water there. And there was an old woman, the inn-keeper's mother, who told me to undress and I sat down into the water and she washed me. She scrubbed me clean - but she was so careful with her callous withered hands and didn't hurt me in no place. She brushed the lice out of my hair and while I waited for the inn-keeper in his immense bed she brought me some bread and honey.

"Poor creature," she was speaking to herself, as old people often do. "Poor little thing."

I guess the inn-keeper was pleased with how clean and neat I was and he enjoyed doing it to me. His fat belly hindered him and he laughed about it and made a joke but I don't remember it though I laughed with him. He mounted me twice at night - but his cock was so much smaller than my master's was and it didn't hurt at all - and I sucked him once and after that we both were breathless. His bed was soft and warm and wide but I used already to sleep close with my master, so, I rolled to him and nestled at his side and he embraced me.

In the morning he was already gone when I woke up and there were new clothes, tidy and solid, instead of mine. My master was stunned when he saw me toddling downstairs - and for one moment his eyes became large. Then the inn-keeper came up to him and started speaking - and there was something about money again, big amounts, so big as I knew my master never had. He shook his head and then he shook his head again and very soon after that we left.

The old woman gave me a parcel with bread and cheese when I was leaving - and my master grinned dimly when he saw it.

He spoke to me a lot when we were out of sight from the inn.

"You are shit," he said. "You are neutered slut and you don't know what gratitude is. How did you dare to ask him to buy you from me? Isaiah paid for you more than money."

I tried to say I didn't ask the inn-keeper about anything like this - and how could I?! But he didn't listen to me. He took me to the shore and pulled off my new shirt and tied my hands high above. He lashed me with his belt and I cried because he was cutting across my old welts. He had to know it, too, because he stopped quite soon, even didn't beat me unconscious.

* * *

I was sentenced to hanging and though I knew I had to expect this I was terrified hugely. I cried hysterically in my cell, clasping myself convulsively and rocking from side to side. The guards came for me for the last time. They knew I was going to die tomorrow - and they teased me mildly and I wailed. When they couldn't cum any more they brought me back and locked me. I lay there listening how the prison was getting more and more quiet.

It was when Isaiah came. When the door opened and I saw him with the torch entering I thought it was time already and I yelped and dug my fingers between the stones of the floor. But he shushed me with his hand. He kneeled down and put his palm on my mouth.

"Come on," he said. "Let Isaiah see if you are as sweet as they say you are."

I shriveled apprehending his movements - and then he pulled my pants down and found my bloody opening, damp and slick with the sperm of the guards. Isaiah was going to fuck me, too, I understood, and I could do nothing to object. And I was not going to object. He was the one who would execute me the next day --and if serving him meant to bring a little relieve to my death I went for it.

But when he unlashed his pants and took out his cock I bit my lips to stop from crying out. Even with the training the guards gave to me I was sure I was not going to survive the impalement of this size. His organ was thick as my arm - purple and veined and hard and the lid of it was like a child's palm.

But he didn't let me say anything. He didn't let me start my vain pleas. He raised me and his member rammed into my hole - and after that I couldn't speak any more. And when he moved it was as if he was tearing my rectum out of me.

When Isaiah cummed he stayed still in me for several minutes, until his cock limped all over - and even then I couldn't help moaning when he dragged it out. He dressed himself and he dressed me and he sat with me, watching how I gnawed in my hands to prevent crying aloud. Then he said:

"Do you want to die?"

"No," I whispered. "Please, no."

"Then do you want to go with me?"

"Yes," I said.

He stuffed a rag into my mouth and tied my arms around my knees and he put me onto the big cloth and made a huge parcel of it. I felt him raising me on his shoulder but when he started walking I lost the consciousness - until there was a bed, a ship and his giant body protecting me.

* * *

It was another country and early in the morning he stopped the boat and shook me up.

"Here we are," he said. "She is my city, the most beautiful one in all the world."

I looked at golden and flame domes of great churches in front of me veiled by the thin morning mist and at hundreds little square-roof houses scattered on the banks of the river.

"Wait here," Isaiah said.

He went to the city and I sat on the shore at the fire he left for me - warm on this cold day. It was some hours after when he returned. He had a parcel in his hands. For the first time his face was contented.

"I arranged everything," he said. "This is for you."

There was a blue woman dress in the parcel and a yellow shawl. I looked at him without comprehension. Suddenly his eyes became worried.

"You are so stupid," he said. "You can spoil everything with your stupid tongue."

He towered over me and I watched him, not knowing what to say.

"Tell me once more your name," he asked.

"Dominique," I said and he listened to it.

"It is a good name," he remarked, "it can do both for male and female and you won't forget you have to be hailed by it. Open your mouth," he added.

I thought he was going to be served in this way - and then he took something from behind his back and put his fingers into my mouth - and then there was such a pain, such a sharp pain that petrified I was.

He cut my tongue out. I saw the bloody lump of flesh in his hand before he dropped it to the fire - and then I started screaming. I could scream myself cold - but there was blood that flooded my throat, hot and abundant, and I coughed and drowned in it. Isaiah yelled at me:

"Stop it, you'll choke yourself, stupid bitch, open your mouth!"

He caught me and pried my mouth open and burnt the wound up.

I was half-conscious when he washed me and put the new dress on me. The shawl covered my head as low as my brows, so, nobody could say of what length my hair was. Then he took me in his arms as if taking a child and brought me to the city.

* * *

Our house is small and tidy, in a nice place close to the river. From the doorway I can see the great Cathedral where my husband and I go every Sunday. He has found the work at the slaughter-house for himself and I do the housework. And when he comes in the evening, his clothes steaming with blood, there is always hot water for him ready and I help him to wash himself, pouring the pots of water over his immensely broad shoulders.

Before sleep he usually makes love to me. He shakes me and squeezes me and bruises me demanding to say how I love him. But we both know I cannot say it.

My feet are almost healed - and I might walk even better if my husband didn't hack my big toes off. He worries that I can take in my silly mind to run away from him and hence get in trouble. And my troubles are his troubles now.

Because he saved my life. Because I belong to him and because I am his wife.

The End.

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