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Satyra

Underworld of the Chevaan

Chapter 1

Devil's Bargain

Raising her head Satyra shook her head to clear it and flexed her fingersbehind the wooden stocks. For the past two days she had tried to use her magicto free herself, without success. Now she tired again, focusing all her strength,her knowledge, her will, channeling them as she pinpointed her desire to sunderthe metal bands holding her.

Nothing happened.

Satyra slumped back against the frame in defeat, but almost immediately shesensed a tingle in the air, a rising supernatural buzz that played over herskin like the flutter of a summer breeze. She lifted her head again, but shehad no need to try to probe with her mystical senses – the source ofthe feeling was quickly obvious.

Without preamble a flickering blue flame sprang to life on the wooden floorbefore the trapped priestess. It burned only a few feet high, but quickly rosehigher and higher until its ragged crest licked against the roof of the wagon.Satyra felt no heat form the gushing pillar of fire, and felt instinctivelythat the manifestation would not attract the notice of the guards outside asa common fire would have. This apparition was meant to be seen by Satyra alone.

With a sudden flurry the flame seemed to explode outwards, washing over theshackled woman without burning her, and from the middle of the cold fires,a figure emerged.

At first it seemed to a woman, but even the most cursory of inspections revealedit was a woman such as no mortal of the Roman Company escorting Satyra hadever seen.

Her hair was jet black, so black it almost seemed like a void gathered abouther head, and fell in a long straight flow over her shoulders and halfway downher back, while the fringe was straight cut, as straight and sharp as a razor.Framed by that raven hair was a face of exotic beauty, with high prominentcheekbones, a long straight nose, full sensuous lips and large, hypnotic eyes.The lips, though, were black instead of red, and the eyes that settled on thecaptive woman were faintly glowing, lynx-like yellow. There was a mark of crueltyin those eyes that struck Satyra at once. On either side of her forehead partingthe raven hair sprang two horns; but where Satyra's were ones of curling ivoryhue and shaped like those of a ram, these were formed by two straight linesrising up at about 45 degrees for half a foot, before angling sharply backagain for a slightly shorter length. They ended in two wicked points facingeach other.

She was tall, fully as tall as the 5'10 priestess, with long tapering legsand slender body, Where the Chevaan's skin was a rich golden hue, the newcomerswas crimson red that contrasted sharply with the barbaric golden jewelry adorningher arms, wrists, and slender ankles. She was naked from the waist up, hersmooth belly bare to the world and her pert, full breasts open to all viewers,their blue peaks tipped with tight, hard nubbins that were so dark they werealmost black. One of the nipples was pierced by a golden ring. Below the waistshe was clad only in two shimmering purple silk clothes that were strung froma golden chain about her waist and fell down between her legs at the frontand back, revealing a plentiful expanse of her smooth thighs and the dimplesof her tightly molded derriere at the rear. The purple was not quite translucent,but it hinted at the beings intimate regions nestled betwixt those lovely legs.

The face below those midnight tresses regarded Satyra with a cold mirth.As the flames died away the newcomer padded over to the helplessly bound priestess,the exaggerated sway of her hip conveying a mocking tone to her demeanor.

"Well, they have got you in an interesting position," said the red woman,and her voice was deep and rich. She approached until she stood a few feetin front of Satyra, hands on her hips. The priestess's limbs were tremblingcontinuously with the strain of having to take almost her full weight on hershoulders and the quadriceps in her legs. Her position forced her body to bendat the waist as her shoulders and knees were pulled behind her, and the effectwas two fold. First, her large breasts were presented magnificently, thrustforward proudly I front of her. Second, her legs were spread wide enough tomake her crotch a hard flat space below her belly, the lips under their adornmentof ginger fluff hanging free in space over the floor. Her whole figure wascovered in a soft film of sweat from the exertion. "I imagine that must bequite uncomfortable."

Satyra looked up into those yellow eyes, blanching slightly at the malevolenceshe saw in them. 'Whoever you are,' the priestess whispered, 'help me beforethe guards find us together.'

The red woman laughed, her head thrown back and her breasts quivering asshe chuckled. 'Have no fear of that, my pretty one,' she said. No Roman willinterrupt our conversation unless I will it so. As to my name?' She pausedand smiled more widely as those golden eyes glittered. 'You may call me Sadiste.'

Satyra grimaced at the woman's humorless laughter; something about it feltlike being leered at by the soldiers outside. Her manor became less desperateand more guarded. 'You're no Roman,' the priestess asserted. 'What are youdoing here?'

Sadiste wandered over to the shackled woman, reaching out to run a hand overSatrya's painfully stretched arm. 'I'm here to see you, of course,' the red-skinnednewcomer said, still smiling. 'After all, this entire episode has been largelydue to interest in you.'

'What do you mean?' asked Satyra, but a cold realization was already formingin her mind.

'There are those I serve who are very interested in you, and your abilities,'Sadiste explained. Her long nailed fingers twined in the satyr-woman's copperhair. 'Our influence among the Roman's made it easy to prompt them to moveagainst your tribes-people, and from there it was only a matter of time beforeyou found your pretty self in such a…bind, shall we say?' Sadiste smiledagain, looking the prisoner's naked torso up and down. Her eyes glowed orebrightly. 'I must confess, the last minute rescue in the forest by that black-hairedtrollip was unexpected, but I believe I improvised brilliantly – especiallythe bit where my magicks hid the approach of those Roman clods while you andConine where having your little tryst in the lake.'

'You heartless bitch!' Satyra spat angrily, shaking her head to free herhair from her visitor's grasp. 'Everything that happened to our sisters, toConine; it was all you!'

'Well, yes,' Sadiste answered with a shrug. Her hand whipped back, this timegrasping Satyra's jaw and forcing her head up so she looked into those glowingyellow eyes. 'I have to confess, watching your black haired lover scream onthe end of Gracus' prick was an unexpected bonus. I suppose I could have appearedmuch sooner, but she looked so pretty being raped. And there was no chanceof you using your poor powers to help her – another little spell of minesaw to that.'

'Slut!' Satyra spat angrily.

'She moaned like one certainly, Sadiste chuckled, playing on the priestess'words. 'And now, my little one, we bring ourselves to your own fate.'

'You can't frighten me,' Satyra answered, staring back defiantly.

'You, don't think so? You may think that gang-fucking in the forest whenyou were captured was bad, but I assure you once you get to Rome they'll haveyour shrieking like a stuck pig for hours on end. They have tortures and degradationsthat even our folk find impressive.'

'And who are your people?' Satyra asked.

Sadiste leaned in closer. 'The dark powers have many servants. I work forone of them – a particularly voracious Demon Lord who prefers that yoursisters' example of feminine dignity remains trampled beneath the boots ofmen sympathetic to his…appetites.' Sadiste moved so close her breathtickled the Chevaan's cheek. 'And he's very interested in making your personalacquaintance, my dear.'

Satyra struggled to control her anger as her tormentor's hand held her headback while she nuzzled against the red-haired woman's neck. 'Why me,' she askedin a choked voice.

'You power are unique,' Sadiste answered, stepping forward so her body pressedup against the prisoner's in the stocks. 'You heritage makes you a channelfor the powers of the whore-goddess your sisters revere.' The demoness freehand reached up to cup Satyra's full breast, squeezing gently. The prisonershuddered but could do nothing to prevent the touch. 'Your joining our rankswill greatly diminish her influence her among the mortals, and increase ourown.'

'I'll never join you,' Satyra vowed icily.

Sadiste's grip on the captive's tit increased just enough to become painful,making Satyra wince. She kissed the red-head's smooth neck. 'We can be verypersuasive,' she whispered.

Satyra fought to overcome her rage and think clearly as Sadiste continuedto explore with her hands. They were hot on the prisoner's soft skin as theybrushed over the peak of her breast and slid down her stomach in a mockeryof tenderness. 'I know enough of your foul kind to know that you cannot takeme from this place without my consent,' she said.

Sadiste chuckled as she moved her hand around to grasp Satyra's tight rump.She pulled back a little to again meet the satyr-woman's gaze. 'It would befun to find out just how long that defiance lasts in the face of what Gracushas planned for this body,' she mused, 'but time presses, and my Lord is notwell-known for his patience. Perhaps an alternative form of persuasion wouldbe expedient.'

Moving around behind the bound girl while keeping one long red leg twinedhigh about Satyra's waist, the demon-woman waved her hand in the air beforethe prisoner. Blue flame again rose from the wagon floor, but this time insteadof a new arrival, an image took shape.

'Conine,' Satyra gasped, seeing her lover amidst the flames.

*****

Conine blinked and opened her eyes.She heard steps approaching from the side of the table. They were slow,measured step and somehow filled her with a sense of growing dread as theycame closer.

A soldier appeared in the circle of lightaround the rack. He was dressed in tunic bottom and helm and carried aheavy iron ladle, so large he had to carry it with both hands, the bowlof which was filled with something that bubbled and steamed. As the Chevaanwatched the man, he came to stand level with her up-thrust breasts, smilinglike a fiend as he kept his eyes riveted to those two glistening orbs.

Conine's breath quickened again as shestared up from the wooden torture table at the ladle and its hidden contents.The heat emanating form the lower edge of the container could be felt clearlyon her skin even though the metal was poised a good twelve inches aboveher. She struggled again against the pull of the chains holding her spread-eagledand was surprised to find the tension had eased slightly, though the acheof her brutally wrenched muscles and ligaments continued to torment her.Before she could wonder at this seeming mercy, however, a drop of the liquidcontents of the ladle was spat over the side and landed on her right arm.

The pain was startling, a sudden burningshock that cut through the constant suffering of her joints like a knife.The ladle was filled to the brim with some kind of thin oil heated to boiling.The full horror of what was about to happen flooded through the proud beauty,her flashing blue eyes rimmed all round with white as the soldier tippedthe ladle gently to one side and began to pour.

For a split second the yellowish liquidwas suspended in the space between the metal holder and the soft curveof her bosom. Then the spatter of boiling oil splashed against the upwardslope of her breast like lava.

'NNNNHHHHHhhhh!!!' A voice that had nevergiven such an utterance on the rack now choked out a strangled cry of agonyas the liquid bequeathed a searing kiss to her tender mammary. Comparedto the heat of the oil the whipping had been a sweet caress. Conine's largeeyes were no more than a scrunched line as her long lashes mashed tight,and her body shuddered awfully as the pain washed over her.

With terrible precision the man withthe ladle moved the instrument carefully. The rain of scalding liquid shiftedits target, cascading down directly onto the tit-globe's erect red nubbin.

'EEEEUUUUuuuuuNNNN…NNNN….NNNNRRRRRRRR!!!!!'The pain was unbelievable, as if the Roman fiends had planted a red-hotpoker against her flesh. Conine's entire body spasmed mightily, liftingclear of the table in an upward curving arch of gorgeous femininity. Hermind was ablaze with the terrible agony of her scorched nipple as the oilcontinued to sizzle against the sensitive nerves clustered in her swellingchest mound.

From his chair Gracus leaned forwardto enjoy every detail of the display with glee. The easing of the tensionon the table's chains allowed the prisoner to writhe exquisitely, and thisChevaan slut was putting on a magnificent show. The tortured athletic frameon the rack heaved and shook so that the entire exquisite composition oflean muscles, shining smooth skin, long tapering legs, flat midriff andblessedly large firm tits performed a cock-stiffening dance macabre, accompaniedby the strangled cries bubbling between those as-yet still clenched teeth.As the man with the ladle continued to move his tool the burning liquidshowered down over the sensitive underside of that rigidly defined love-orb,causing the victim to crash back down onto the wooden table again as shethrashed and heaved, straining with muscles already wrenched with painand multiplying her suffering threefold.

The rain of scalding liquid shifted,and the oil splashed now over the lower quarter of the prisoners tremblingbosom. Fresh half-choked cries of anguish echoed through the torture chamberas the heat washed over the sensitive underside of the tit. Gracus knewthat a woman's breast flesh was often far more tender here, used as itwas to being covered far more than the upper part of the mammary. His insightwas rewarded by the Chevaan warrior twisting wonderfully in her restraints;lips pulled back form white teeth in a rictus of pain that only enhancedthe beauty of her features in the general's eyes.

On the rack Conine continued to strugglehopelessly against her bondage while the terrible searing deluge snakeddown over her boob and continued lower, washing her sternum and the flatplain of her abs with its fiery touch. Tears welled freely in her eyes,which were closed tight against the horrible pain. She gasped and triedto catch her breath but the torture was constant, the pain in her scorchedtit-flesh as fresh and clear as the moment the oil had first found herbudding nipple. As the ladle progressed further down her form her bodybecame a canvas of torture on which the Romans painted a portrait of epiccruelty.

By the time the burning sludge pooledin the cavity of her navel she could no loner think clearly through thered haze stabbing through her mind, but understood instinctively the finaldestination of the molten flame. She managed to lift her head as her bellywas added to the list of tormented flesh, willing herself to stare downas the ladle dipped and swayed and scattered burning drops amid the sweatshiny thatch adorning her pubis.

It was a moment of exquisite crueltyfor Gracus, the proud warrior staring wide-eyed but still defiant at theladle of hot liquid poised majestically over her most intimate region,the parted red lips offering no protection to the vulnerable quim meatwithin. For an instant she waited with her breasts quivering with the fightto control her breathing, to hold onto some shred of dignity in the faceof her conquerors.

The ladle dipped again.

The oil fell through space.

Conine's clenched fist drew beads ofblood form her palm.

The first drops of the fiery liquid spatteredagainst her inner lips and trickled down into her cunt.

At that flaming touch on her womanhood,Conine lost the battle against the pain washing over her. Her mouth openedwide, her head arched back; her diaphragm flattened as the agony rippedfree form her in a single, tearing sound.

'EEEEAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!'

The watching soldiers were witness to a site such as they had neverseen, the exquisite creature on the rack transformed into a goddess ofsuffering. Her lank back hair was cast back and her red lips stretchedwide as the scream and its brethren erupted from her. Her body thrashedso violently it seemed even that muscular body must tear itself apart inthe fury of her convulsions. She heaved, trembled, fell back, rose again,all the time screaming, choking, shrieking.

*****

'Stop this,' Satyra groaned. 'She's done nothing to harm you.'

'Nor I to her,' Sadiste purred. 'These images are of the past, things thathave already occurred. Shall we see more?'

Amidst the flames, the image swirled and changed.

*****

One of the men came over carrying thebucket of nails and the large, well used wooden mallet. Conine struggledafresh and men strained to hold her in place. When he was standing overher, the men holding her arms moved suddenly, hauling Conine off her backjust enough for another soldier to shove the wooden beam she had been lashedto back under her. Then the men slammed the Celtic woman back down hard,jarring her shoulder blades against the timber as they planted her armsalong the length of the beam on either side. The men holding her legs gruntedas she tried to use those long limbs to get leverage to push up with.

'Right,' said the centurion. 'There areonly six of us, and it seems our guest is feeling uppity again.' He rubbedhis chin. 'Hmmm.'

'We could rape her a bit, sir,' one ofthe men holding her arms offered. Conine stared heavenward and closed hereyes. 'That might take some of the fight out of her.'

'Good idea, Rufio; but we don't wanther worn out when the real fun starts. I've another suggestion.'

'You, boy,' the centurion barked at theman holding the bucket and mallet. 'What's your name?'

'Quintus, sir,' said the young soldier,coming to attention fro his open mouthed appraisal of the woman on theground. He was younger than any other in the detail, about twenty yearsold with a fresh, unscarred face with high cheekbones and a strong chin.Stripped to the waist his body was well muscled but leaner than the bulkierframes of his fellows. His hair beneath his helm showed curly black andhis eyes were deep brown.

'Ever seen a woman like this up close,Quintus?' asked the centurion.

'Only in the pens in the keep, sir,'answered the boy. 'My family could not afford slaves back outside Capernaum – that'sone reason I joined the legions, sir, to see the world outside Italy.'

'Well, you'll see some interesting partsof it today,' guffawed the centurion. 'Now see here, lad – we needto keep this murderess of Roman men pinned while we get her spiked down.Reckon you're up to it alone?'

'Alone?' said the youth. 'I'm not thestrongest here, sir…but if you order it, of course.'

'Good lad!' said the older man, slapping his back. 'Put those downand kneel down over the prisoner, legs astride her hips.'

From below Conine looked up at the youngtroopers face staring down at her with a young man's frank lust, a sightshe had seen many a time in the villages as she walked past in her armorbut never before had experienced as a helpless victim. In her twenty sixyears she had often had to gently rebuke the young men of her kin for theirunintended insult to her warrior pride, though some she had actually warmedto later and condescended to take into her bed, instructing them in theart of love and in return enjoying their youthful passion and fire. Thehelmeted stripling straddling her could have been any of those with hishandsome looks, but instead of her deciding on his sexual fate she wasthe method of his education; not in love, but in rape and torture. Shestruggled afresh, trying to lever him off, but in vain, and the men chuckledanew. This was another aspect of her humiliation, she understood – shewas to be used like a broken mare to give experience to this dry mouthedyoung Roman, his first taste in sexually violating a free woman. Coninecould see the eagerness mixed with nervousness in his brown eyes and knewthe soldier sitting on her would blanch form no order the centurion gave.He saw her with a little humanity as he would a deer in trap – atrophy to be had.

The centurion had Quintus take hold ofConine's arms just above the elbows, using the weight and strength of hisupper body to keep her forced down against the wood, while still hoveringoutside her essence. The men on her arms eased their grips a little, andstraight away the young man atop the prisoner had to exert more force toold her down.

'That's it Quintus, one called,' as hishands grasped the iron like swell of her biceps. Her back arched up a littleto try and throw him off as both prisoner and soldier began to seat withtheir efforts.

'Now, young Quintus,' called the centurionhoarsely. 'Start to push into her.'

Quintus sough to obey with an awkwardjob that skewed off Conine's tight clenched entry. He cursed and repositionedhimself, trying again.

On the ground Conine fought with increasingdesperation to keep the young man outside of her body. With each attemptshe could feel him pushing a little deeper and she closed her eyes as sheconcentrated on fighting with all her strength. The youth looming overher sickened her with his vulgar excitement, his handsome face and bodyyet another mockery of her as he proceeded to violate her, to use her againsther will.

Conine glanced to her left and saw theman there had let go her forearm to position one of the steel spikes justat her wrist, the other hand raising the mallet into position. His kneehad moved to help pin her arm at the elbow beside Quintus grasping fingers,now deeply embedded in her flesh despite the hardened muscle beneath. Shecould se him raising the mallet; fee the steel tip against her skin atthe gap in the arm greave. With a sweep the mallet arced over the man'shead and came down with a dull thud against the head of the spike.

Instantly the metal pierced the softflesh, rupturing the skin in a small shower of crimson blood and pushingthough to the far side of the arm limb, where it was stopped by the woodof the beam. Small bones splintered as it force its passage and stoppedwith a shock.

'NNNNNeeeaaaaarrrrrrhhhhh!' grunted Conine,a sound of pain beyond any she had uttered on the battle field. Her youngbody spasmed and she reared against the wood, fighting for freedom fromthe pain and finding none. Quintus gasped again as the force of her writhingpushed her against him, burying herself deeper on his own spike as shesought to twist free of the other.

'Great Jupiter!' exclaimed the lad, andthe centurion laughed. He had never felt a woman's pussy wrapped abouthim with the same fire as that of the Celtic prisoner, and he could feelher breasts mashed against him as she struggled. He watched Polonius swingagain and smiled.

THWAK!

'AAAAAARRRRRRHHH!' came Conine's scream,a loud, bestial explosion. The metal had pierced her wrist entire now andwas pushing into the wood. The pain was beyond description – herwhole body seemed to be drawn into the acid fire in her forearm, whereher body was being mutilated by her captors. She thrashed about, the menhaving to wrestle with her strength now doubled by the extremity of herpain. Tears flowed freely. She fought for breath.

*****

Watching her beloved's torture and violation, Satyra shook with racking sobs.'You fucking monster,' she cursed at the smiling demoness.

'Such language,' Sadiste said with a laugh, amber eyes shining. 'And youa priestess. Perhaps you'll be more grateful if we see what your brave defenderis 'up to' now.'

Again the image shifted.

*****

The moon crested the sky in a silverhaze. It painted its white glow on the tops of the mountains lying in themiddle distance. It fired the tops of the clouds drifting across the horizon.The soldiers standing duty outside the border keep on the frontiers ofthe empire looked up at its heatless light and drew their cloaks againstthe night chill.

For the prisoner hanging on the cross,the moon signaled the beginning of another night of pain.

A day on the wooden frame had taken itstoll on the tall warrior woman. After the humiliation of the soldiers rapeof her they had dragged to the A frame, hoisting her up while the men hadused their hammers to drive more nails through the tops of her booted feet,laughing as she tried to choke back her screams as the metal spikes punchedthrough bones and flesh and pinned her to the hard wood crossbar. The menhad cheered at the spectacle of that athletic body heaving as the nailsripped her flesh. But that had only been the beginning of the warrior woman'sordeal.

For Conine the passing of time was measuredonly by the repeated need to pull down on the bar, draw breath, let thebar rise. Over and over, and endless, terrible cycle. Sweat had formedon her body as she fought the terrible lingering execution of the cross.

After an hour her whole magnificent formhad been covered with a sheen of sweat that highlighted every smooth surfacesand rounded curve. Every few minutes the Roman's were treated to the spectacleof watching the barbarian female flexing her well molded limbs, her faceshowing the signs of ever mounting agony as she hauled down on the bar.As her biceps swelled and the muscles of her shoulders stood out like cablesbeneath her bronzed skin her magnificent chest would swell, the majesticpeaks of flesh expanding outwards as she sucked air into her lungs, wobblinggently as she gasped for air.

The latter half of the day had passedas a lingering nightmare for the warrior woman. Pain was her constant companion,mixed with humiliation and festering, impotent rage. Her body hurt morethan any time in her life, more even than on the rack, and her thirst hadbecome maddening. Flies had buzzed around her head, landing on her to feedoff the salt in her sweat and sometimes the blood of the wounds on herarms. Her brain pounded unceasingly inside her skull.

By the time the sun had begun to setin a red and orange crescendo behind the western horizon the female onthe cross was half dead, her body performing the actions that allowed herto continue breathing as mechanical repetition, barely enough to keep heralive. Any other woman in her position would have become exhausted andsuffocated hours ago, but Conine was cursed now with the stamina and willfulnessof her warrior heritage. She would not surrender to her inevitable fatebefore her body had failed her.

Now it was night. Pummeling heat hadbeen replaced by a slight chill. The wind blew across the hilltop and ruffledConine's now matted hair.

'Oh please,' Satyra sobbed, straining towards the flickering image of herlover's suffering. 'Pease let me help her.'

Sadiste smiled like a cat stalking its prey. 'But of course, my dear. There'sno need for your darling to suffer further.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Just submitto our service and she will be instantly free.'

Satyra's voice caught in her throat. 'I…I can't do that. Anythingelse, name it an I'll…'

'There is nothing else of yours we want,' Sadiste cut her off. 'But don'tworry, you'll have another few days to change your mind, while your lover bleedsand is fucked by the Romans.' She smiled again, hideous mirth in her words.

Satyra wavered, her lovely face a mask of anguish. Tears welled in her emeraldeyes, but she turned away. 'I won't,' she whispered. 'Conine, forgive me, mylove.'

Sadiste placed her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes skyward. Priests!She thought, disgustedly.

'Alright, my sweet one' she said at last. Reaching around she cupped Satyra'schin in her hand so she could raise her head to see her face framed by itstwo curling horns. 'I'll make a bargain with you.' Satyra stared up at thedemoness through her tears. 'I'll give you the chance to save your lovely partner,but in return, you must give me the chance to change your mind about joiningus.'

'What do you mean?' the Chevaan woman asked, hope struggling with suspicionin her mind.

'Just this, brave Satyra; I will enable you to speak with dear Conine andhelp her to free herself – not to free her, mind you, but to give herstrength enough to aid her in her own attempt.' Sadiste smiled and leaned soclose her back horns brushed Satyra's red hair. 'In gratitude,' she said witha purring voice, 'you will consent to be my Lord's guest in the Underworld.If you can endure a number of…trials, without agreeing to serve him,you will be released.'

Satyra once again felt a cold dread settle around her heart. 'What sort oftrials?'

'Oh, very painful ones, you may be sure,' Sadiste promised. One long nailedred hand came up and stroked the prisoner's cheek. 'We specialize in torturein the Underworld, and I'm sure I can think up some very imaginative ones forsuch a brave beauty. My brothers in hell would welcome the chance to play withthis body.' She stared lasciviously at Satyra's narrow waist, athletic armsand legs, and her flat stomach below the round full breasts with their pinknipples. The horned red-head blanched. 'Come now,' Sadiste chided, 'such aheadstrong, dedicated priestess as you can surely endure a little torture withoutbreaking. Especially,' she added softly, 'if it's to save your beloved.'

Satyra's breathing quickened – hanging in the stocks she could seethe cruelty mixed with lust shining in Sadiste's lovely, evil face. The smileon those full dark lips was one of pure malevolence, and she quailed at thethought of what fiendish torments this red-skinned devil-woman would inflicton her. But to save Conine… 'How many torments,' she asked.

Sadiste smiled wider. She had the mortal slut now. 'Six,' she said off-handedly.'It's my favorite number.'

Satyra swallowed, thinking about what she had already endured, but more onwhat her warrior-lover had endured on her behalf. She knew that if Sadistehad her in her power that her agony would unspeakable, and that she would berisking not only her soul but her sister's sacred connection to the Goddess.But she had no choice.

'I agree,' she said finally. 'Let me help Conine, and then do with me asyou will.'

'Oh, I shall,' Sadiste replied. 'But first,' she added, touching a fingerto her sable lips, 'your promise.'

Satyra grimaced but leaned forward, straining against the wooden stocks untilshe was able to brush the demoness' lips with her own. Sadist smiled rapturously.

'Such a full, soft mouth,' she cooed, eyes closed. She opened them and lookedat the prisoner. 'Its screams will be as delicious as its kisses.'

Satyra spat the brief taste of her tormentor out on the floor, and then lookedat her defiantly. 'Now let me help her,' she growled.

'As you command,' agreed Sadiste, and promptly knelt down in front of thegirl in the stocks, letting her hands slide down over her waist as she settledfacing the prisoners soft pink crotch.

'What are you doing,' gasped Satyra, staring down her body at the smilingshe-fiend.

'Helping you,' the red demoness replied. 'Your magic is weak thanks to myspell.' She ran the flat of her palm over Satyra's Venus Mons, massaging it.'You need some woman-power.'

Satyra's horned head fell back as she felt Sadiste move her hand so her fingersbrushed her labia, teasing the lips apart. She closed her eyes and scowled,forcing herself to think of helping Conine.

'Do you know the Roman's call this device you're in the 'fuck-cradle', 'Sadistepurred softly, glancing up at Satyra's face. The priestess' all-green eyeshad a yearning look and her red lips were parted as she took short, shallowbreaths. 'Alas I have no prick myself, but I'm sure you'll nonetheless findmy attention adequate.'

The first brush of Sadiste's lips against her quim brought the priestessa sudden rush of warmth, suffusing her with energy. She gasped, letting thepower emanate through her, building in potency as the she-devil nuzzled herpouting cleft and used her tongue to trace the outline of her inner lips. Shecould feel the tips of Sadiste's horns pricking the underside of her breastsas the hellion worked her tongue past her entrance, probing lustfully.

Satyra's heart was hammering inside her chest. The pain of her bondage didnot ease, but the sensations radiating from between her legs superseded allother thoughts. 'She focused on that growing heat, using it's fire, reachingout with her thoughts. 'Conine,' she whispered, picturing the memory of thewarrior-woman's own soft mouth lapping at her cleft, drawing courage from thathappy thought. 'Hear me, my love.'

Suddenly Sadiste paused in her ministrations. 'Thinking of another womanwhile you're with me?' she asked sarcastically, looking up at the pinionedhalf-satyr. 'That's naughty, Satyra. I'm afraid I'm going to have to scoldyou.'

Satyra looked down between her breasts as Sadiste reached around to cup herbackside with her taloned hands. The nails on those fingers scratched painfully,but the red-head quickly forgot that as Sadiste smiled again, revealing forthe first time her pointed fangs.

Oh, Goddess, thought the helpless priestess.

Sadiste laughed, and then lunged for Satyra's red tufted pussy, canines flashing.

'AAAAARRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!'