As Erik commanded, I stole naked down into the dungeon. The time was three A.M.. I was silent, on bare feet, and I was sure from the sound of her breathing that our captive was asleep in spite of her being bound in a sitting position in the chair. My hair was drawn back into a careless bun.

I flashed the little penlight at her, and smiled. Yes, she was asleep. Her big, naked, satiny breasts jiggled and swayed and heaved visibly with her deep breathing. The tips were soft, pale pink and wrinkled in repose, the nipples only tiny buttons. But I smiled at them, and at her, remembering how they had been inflamed and elongated while she watched our sexual activity.

I marked out positions, decided just where and how I would squat there beside bet, and prepared to switch off the penlight.

But before I did I thrust the little thorn I held, needly and about an inch long, straight into the swollen white side of her firm left jug.

“aaaa-a-a-a-yyyya-a-a-a-ahhh!” she shrieked, coming violently awake to pain. By then the light was off and I knew she could see nothing. Nor could she do anything to assuage her pain, even if she were already certain of its cause and source. Her wrists were bound securely behind her. A cord across her body, just below her bosom, held her erect in the chair. A leather strap held her legs still, securing her ankles to the chair’s bottom rung.

I caressed her unimpaled breast. I stroked it, squeezed it very gently, cupped it from beneath, bent forward to let her feel my warm breath on it.

She whimpered. Ropes and chair creaked as she tried to move. There was no place to go. She had no way of stopping me.

Squatting beside her chair, I held the squishy cream-filled melon firmly but not hurtingly, and I licked its top, again and again. It grew. She whimpered.

“No-o-o-o,” she said, in a wavering little voice, and, “Unhunnnhhh… ahhhh…” Sighs of both outrage and… pleasure!

My tongue licked, tapped, and swirled over the tip of her trembling silken breast, and that tip grew. It mushroomed up and out, stiffening and seeking out my tongue until it was a hard-standing crest of desire. She moaned, quivering, and I wished that I were the sort of girl who really liked girls, that way. She was so soft and her, breasts so lovely and her voice so tiny. She was so helpless, so deliciously helpless! Best of all, she surely thought I was Erik or Miles!

Her nipples were now hard spires thrusting from her bosom, quivering with her trembling little gasps.

I licked the right one, sucked at the tip, and caressed it. Meanwhile the thorn remained sunken into the other big tit, and I knew she was intensely aware of it with every restless sway and tremble of the globe it pierced.

Carefully, resisting the impulse to ram a finger up into the damp softness of her, I tickled her clitoris. It became fat and quivery and juicy, immediately. She groaned and gasped.

“Ah-h-h-h-h… ah… ah… aahhhnnnhhh… ooohh… ummmmm…”

I twiddled her cut until I knew she was close to orgasm, then felt about on the floor until I found the other thorn. Working by feel, I rammed it into her right tit.

“Eeeeeyyyaaaahhhh… ah! Ah! O-o-o-o-oooh!”

Smiling in the dark, I kept one thumb against the end of that second thorn while I manipulated her clitoris. Her gasps and sighs went from pain to delight, grew impatient and urgent. Then she was grunting and hunching, tickling my fingers with the delicate little tendrils of hair framing her tight-lipped cunt.

The moment I was sure she had come I found the penlight on the floor beside her chair leg, where I had placed it. Then I rose and, left as silently as I had come.

Back in my own bed, I turned my fingers to my own damp clitoris, fondling and pinching my nipples until I, too, came. Then I went to sleep.

The next day, today, we left her down there all day, bound, without company or the sound of a voice, without food or drink or… any means of relieving her bodily urges. It’s wicked, I think, and intensely cruel. We are about to go down, and I fully expect to find her a stinking mess.