Chapter Nineteen

Degas called Delila to him after her return. She’d been asleep, exhausted from the trip, and having only five hours of rest, she was bleary eyed when Fier led her into Degas’ tiny office.

“You don’t look as pained as before,” Degas observed.

“Tired perhaps,” she replied.

“But not so agitated as you were after your last visit?”

Delila smiled and sat down in front of him. “I have a little hope now,” she answered him.

“Oh?”

“He started with the caning, do you want to see the stripes?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he replied. “Just go on.”

“He was harsh,” she continued. “But afterward he was much gentler with me, and not so angry.” She smiled, talking to Degas as if he was a friend.

“A reunion of sorts?” Degas queried.

“Perhaps, some admissions that made me think that we can salvage our lives together.”

“How delightful for you,” Degas said.

“It was just a small step, but it’s something to joy in.”

There was a dour expression on Degas’s face. Not one that was unlike him, he was often dour, but often mysterious and incomprehensible as well. Now, however, he was disturbed by something, though it was hard to say what that would be.

“I’m glad you’re so exultant, Delila, but your stay here is hardly over. Where are we now? Not even half way? So much more time to go, a lot can happen. Let’s hope you’ll survive the trials coming to you as well as you’ve survived so far. I’m afraid that you might have been lulled by your imprisonment to this point. A lot more will be expected of you in the next few months.”

Delila said nothing in response to his message, though he was clearly weaving a spell around her that took her mind from Armand and drew her back into the dark territories of the Island. Places she’d not traversed for days, it was awkward returning but that would only be a brief concern. The power of this place was working on her again.

“Have you been breached in the ass?” he asked her.

She hesitated to speak; the look in his eyes was so intense she couldn’t find the words to reply. “No,” she finally admitted.

“Fier!” Degas called to the valet. Appearing in the doorway moments later, the man listened intently to the instructions that followed.

“Take Delila to a leather room, she’ll spend the night over a bar.”

“And . . .?”

“Yes, ass high, well flagellated, her ass probed with dildos until the sphincter gives way for a prick. Let me know so I can breach her first.”

“You?” Fier questioned the suggestion.

“She took my cock in her cunt, the ass is hardly different.”

“But you’ve never . . .”

“No, I haven’t, but there are first times, and Delila’s begging for a fresh experience with defilement. I don’t think we’ve been hard enough on her.”

There was an angry, horrified look in the dark haired woman’s dark eyes. However, given no opportunity to protest, she was pulled from the chair by Fier’s firm grasp and led away.

***

The leather room was as dark as its name suggested, no blinking lights to blind the eye, just solitude at this hour to mark Delila’s entry into the deepest regions of Outer Island.

Fier, becoming brusquer just entering the room, shoved her to one end of a simple sawhorse with a leather-covered rail. The rail itself was at an angle so that once bowed over the apparatus, her head would be far lower than her ass. Forcing her into position, he then secured her ankles to either end of the wooden rail, and stretched her arms out in front of her.

Thus posed, her ass stood out a ready target for a new order of sexual violation that frightened Delila. Yet even as she trembled wondering how this horror would proceed, her body craved the abuse she would feel, knowing that as with all other acts at Outer Island this would take her into greater bliss if she could get beyond the pain.

The initiation starting, Fier lashed her ass with a leather thong whip until Delila cried out for him to stop. Not stopping, the valet continued the punishment until he saw that her backside was a righteous crimson color, bright enough to suit his fancy. Once the first lashing was complete, Fier swathed a smooth penis shaped dildo with a thick, spicy smelling lubricant, and shoved it against the door to her ass.

Delila: I was tied at four corners, not a state I was unaccustomed to, nor was I unaccustomed to all the focus on my ass. How many times I’d been caned, flogged and thrashed, I wasn’t counting anymore. The lashing, though painful, hardly caused more distress.

The dildo in my ass was another thing.

I tensed when Fier began inserting the piece. Being infinitely patient, my valet pierced that place slowly, until the head of the fake prick cleared the doorway, and the remaining eight inches of inflexible wood was buried inside. Tying it firmly in place with leather straps so I couldn’t expel it, he left me. My eyes were closed so I couldn’t see his face. While my head ached from the blood rushing downward, I know he was scowling happily.

In the hours that followed that first abuse, I was flogged, lashed, paddled and probed by customers who found my cunt more pleasing than ever with the hefty prick lodged next door. After hours of oblivious abuse, it seemed as if my ass wasn’t even connected to me. Though I must admit the sensations were remarkable, and when I did have the advantage of a less severe lover, I was toyed with until I climaxed too, and could benefit from the powerful surge of lust my state of bondage brought me.

***

The leather rooms were not places Delila had been before, though she’d heard stories of the acts committed there. Certain girls seemed prone to submissive behaviors, a few enjoyed playing dominant bitches for cowering submissive customers. Delila didn’t think of herself as either dominant or submissive, though by the nature of her crimes and the re-training she was subject to, being submissive had become second nature. Forced to relent so many times, she’d learned after her second flogging by the State, that it was better to give in to the treatment than fight it. Yielding, she found her satisfaction.

According to Degas commands, Delila remained the willing servant to his customers for three weeks, spending her days in the leather galleries, most commonly poised over the bar, tied securely so her offered ass would be available for whatever unspeakable acts were required of her, all except for the real anal rape. That would be the final initiation, and that was saved for Degas himself.

In addition to being tied over the bar, she spent one long day fixed to crossed bars, her ankles and wrists cuffed and tied to the four corners. Another day, she was laid out face up on a crude table, her cunt splayed wide so that it was the target of a biting small whip and a thin baton. Eager customers made her pussy dance against the flailing implements, as she sought without relief to get away from the stinging sharp cuts and smacks.

In every position, no matter how awkward it might be, dildos invaded her ass, and in tiny increments, the intrusions increased in size as if her captors were preparing her for a major assault, making certain that those dark inner recesses would open as wide as her fate demanded. Such a feeling of fullness became second nature to her, as cocks in her cunt. Because she was required to endure longer and longer sessions in the leather room, Fier began giving her an enema each morning to clear out anything that might cause discomfort. Even the enemas became a ritual to long for, as she plummeted to depths, submerged in sensation that made everything else that followed a wonder to her bewildered psyche.

***

After several days bound to posts, laid back on the wood rack and tied to the cross, Delila was back on the slanted bar, bound as she had been on her first day in the leather room. She waited there for a long time without a single hand laid on her. Was there no one to want her? she mused to herself. When for days there had been a steady stream of men to satisfy, this seemed strange. She could hear voices and feel the movement of bodies around her, but since she was blindfolded, she had no idea what came next, or even who was in the room.

“How beautiful you are in such captivity,” Delila heard Degas voice rise above the murmurs around her. He laid his hand on her just flogged hot ass. As his hand continued to pet her gently, he knelt down beside her so that she could hear him clearly.

“I’m going to fuck your ass, dear one, place my long prick inside that treasure and scour you out as you have never felt before.

“I expect you to scream being penetrated, but you’d do yourself a favor bearing down against it, just as you’ve learned to do with the training rods. You might even find it a pleasure, though few women do on their first violation. Remember, love, you’re made for these things, your whole soul cries out for this kind of travesty. Don’t deny its power to move you.

“After today, your ass will be your ticket to heaven.”

Delila: I heard his words and shuddered, from my fingertips to my toes. The intense feelings moved through me so rapidly, I was stunned when the fake prick in my ass was unceremoniously jerked away.

Degas was behind me, I could feel his muscled thighs against my behind. I felt his prick as well. The immense organ pressing against my sphincter made me tense. He slapped my ass, ordering me to relax, as if the tension was something I could turn on and off that easily. I tried to comply, but hardly given the time to respond, his cock was beginning to enter me, little by little taking up residence in my darkest domain. The first real thrust was not so bad; my well-greased channel let go as he shoved himself to the hilt. However, when he grabbed my ass cheeks in either hand and began to pound himself inside me, I instantly cried, shooting stars of pain and ecstasy making wildly brilliant patterns of light in my mind’s eye. I bore down, and still the pain didn’t go away. All I could hope for was a quick end. I’m not sure whether it was quick or not, for a while it seemed endless. For a while, I thought I passed out. However, when he finally jerked hard and pressed himself ever so forcefully against my interior, and I felt him spasm. I finally gave in, letting the tension go. His invasion didn’t take me to a climax of my own. I was, however, transported into another realm of bliss, where I yearned for a final fondling to give me pleasure.

It wasn’t until I had satisfied two more pricks this way that I finally found a conclusion of my own, one gentle man attending to my personal pleasure enough to ignite the thundering inferno in my over wrought loins. I realized some peace at last.

***

Delila spent her time pleasuring men in the leather room, bound by restraints and tied to the apparatus, all so her ass could be readily violated. At times, her cunt was given some relief, and often there was a prick planted in her, from which she could take some pleasure. The generous abuse, while at times painful, other times simply annoying, always left her at peace. As long as she had an orgasm of her own, she remained in a state of blissful exhaustion, too spent to do anything but sleep and eat and do her servitude in the leather room.

It was hard to believe that another four months of her life passed this way.

***

On the eve of her third conjugal visit, Delila wasn’t taken to the leather room. Instead, Lexia and Mira came to her, taking her from her room into Lexia’s boudoir.

“Shush!” the voluptuous blonde, Lexia, pressed a finger to her lips. “I paid Fier off to have you before you left.”

“Left? Left where?” the stunned Delila wondered.

“Your next visit with your husband.”

“It’s already time?” she asked.

“Time doesn’t really have any weight here, does it?” Lexia purred in her ear, as she and Mira laid Delila’s naked body against the cool of the bed.

There were no cuffs, no collar, no chains or weights or ropes, just the hands of two women pleasuring her in the most subtle ways. When she might have thought that such tenderness would escape her, being so used to the rough stuff, she was immediately overwhelmed by the feel of softness all around her, aroused again into a lighter, more delicate passion.

“You’re going to do something no woman has yet done,” Mira said with a whisper.

“What’s that?” Delila murmured, not really too concerned about conversation. Lexia was tonguing her nipples, sending the most thrilling sensations throughout her body.

“You’re going to survive this place; you’re going to make it outside these walls into the real life.”

The idea wasn’t instantly registering in Delila’s brain. Lexia had moved down to her navel, her tongue dancing around the skin.

“You’ll be the only woman to leave here, your marriage intact, the only woman to triumph over this place instead of it swallowing you up.”

Lexia and Mira changed places, Mira going after the pink bud of her clit, while Lexia’s throaty voice was at Delila’s ear. “You aren’t like the others, you aren’t like us. You have a special ability that no one else possesses. Don’t ever forget that.”

By then, these hushed words were interesting her. “What do you mean?” she replied, even as Mira’s tongue on her clit was doing a fascinating tango she would have liked to follow to orgasm. For a while before she replied, Lexia was running her tongue around Delila’s inner arm making her shriek.

“No matter what anyone says, you don’t belong here. You belong in your marriage bed; you belong in the real world away from this place.”

“But I love this place,” Delila found herself replying.

“Of course you do, but you can take Outer Island with you when you leave.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. Mira’s fingers were in her cunt, prodding her hard, not hard enough to be painful, although the force of the penetration was a delicious treat she wanted to continue.

“You will, my sweet,” Lexia whispered to her, as her lips toyed with Delila’s ears. “You’ll understand very soon.”

They spent their interlude enjoying each other bodies. What Mira’s tongue and fingers did to Delila’s cunt, what Lexia’s mouth did thereafter to the same engorged place, Delila did in return to the two women. They spent two hours in this blissful state – with the women’s mysterious words echoing in Delila’s ears.