Anticipation

She was called Teresa, but after finding that out, the men weren’t interested in her personality at all anymore. They spent the next twenty minutes handling her in a very similar way to the first girl; only the amounts and durations were different. The initial orgasm to the Hitachi took her several minutes and they didn’t issue any more preliminary ones. Instead they headed on to the cropping straight away, so Teresa only struggled to her second orgasm under the crop.

Afterwards Mandingo gave her a mere five pussy thrusts, but three more butt thrusts were added to that as well. I watched in amazement how she yelled and screamed when she took Mandingo’s full majesty into her tight asshole, and shuddered as he delivered three full-length jolts deep into her intestines.

Then her processing was done, and they left her as a second ragged dishcloth when they turned to the next bunk. One bunk closer to mine. My mouth went dry when I realized there were only two more bunks to go before they would get to me. Time just kept ticking on, irresistibly heading forward to the moment that it would be my turn to face a very similar ordeal.

A certain amount of routine slipped into the men as they handled Nancy, the next girl. Joe had expressed a clear sadistic joy when he had handled the crop on the first girl, now he just made a callous impression. A “hanging” element sneaked into Mandingo’s erection; his boner lost some of its zeal as he watched the cropping. It clearly dropped a few inches and had to be hand-incited before it could provide the necessary mass to nail her properly when it was his turn.

All of that didn’t make much difference to Nancy, of course; her cropping wasn’t any more clement than the previous one, and her high-pitched squeals echoed from the hollow walls of the hangar as they extorted the orgasm from her pelvis, and she was nothing but a sobbing, pitiful wreck when Mandingo claimed her womb for nine engrossing thrusts, followed by a single cramming of her asshole which he stretched into forty seconds as Mike counted down. Gradually her sobs first turned into moans again, then further evolved into a salacious groaning.

I can almost swear that she came yet again as the silent pulsing of his skewer resonated throughout her overheated crotch, otherwise she must have been a hairline away. When Mandingo finally withdrew, the pitch of her voice changed to an animalistic regret, an expression of vacant privation. Mike nodded in approval, and the white guy frantically typed at his tablet. A positive evaluation, I assumed.

Rachel’s eyes lit up in horror as they left Nancy on the bunk, and turned to her. She made a faint attempt at beseeching, a mere mumbling of words by someone who knows it is completely useless: “No… please… don’t… I can’t… no… mercy, mercy…”

As expected, they completely ignored her. Less than a yard away from me, they set about their gruesome labor once more. Rachel was an easy cummer, and they had to lead her to five apogees before she finally passed the two-minute duration benchmark. It was her good fortune as well; despite that long streak of preliminaries, the sharp sting of the crop pushed her down that same lane within twenty strokes again.

When Mandingo launched into her, there was no sign of orgasm saturation despite the wild jolts of her body in her bondage or the screeching crescendo of her voice; she received him willingly. He gave her only a single pussy thrust though: deep and hard, but not very long, pulling out of her within a second.

I watched her face in amazement. I clearly saw grief, regret… Despite the flaming pain raging through her tormented clit, I could tell she was sorry. Sorry, that he had just treated her so scantly. Disappointed, that her ordeal was only rewarded with a single thrust. Wronged, that she was denied the same treatment as her sisters.

I shivered. I had seen it happen twice, right under my eyes. Would it happen to me too? Would I really squirm my pussy to the crop, like a cheap slut, **** for more orgasms no matter how many I had already had, no matter how I was maltreated? And worst of all…

They would know… they would see…

How was it possible to maintain any kind of dignity to this… terror squad? These men who whipped clits and penetrated pussies with an air of natural enablement, and an weary expression of tedium on their face? How could I keep up even a basic level of pride if my pussy would revel in it, groaning under the yoke of the whip, yet soaking in juice and hungry for more?

The answer would come soon, and it would be even more humiliating than I feared. As they wrapped up their job on Rachel, the men turned to me. Mike towered above me, the vibrator wand in his hand, and looked at the white man with the tablet: “How about this one? “

There was a slight surprise when the man looked at his screen: “Dispatch.”

Mike looked at him, copying the surprise: “Dispatch?”

“That’s what it says. Dispatch.”

Mike looked like he was feeling redundant when he glanced down on my spread pussy, throbbing and anticipating an ordeal like I had just witnessed four times right before, then to the vibrator in his hand. Then he shrugged, and said: “Well, okay. I guess they know best. Untie her.”

The white men jumped into action. As they reached for my wrists, my ankles, the knots in the ropes and started to untie them, a sensation of loss and deficiency overwhelmed me. Here I lay, clenching my teeth, panting in anticipation, all set and spread out to endure my torment and have the orgasms wrestled out of me… and now it simply wasn’t going to happen? I would really escape tribulation?

My breathing slowed down to normal levels, and I managed a sigh of relief. As the bondage unwinded, I regained control of my limbs one by one, I could finally stretch my arms and itch my calf as the circulation returned.

But the feeling of deficiency didn’t disappear… no, it wasn’t really deficiency. Searching my soul, I suddenly realized it was something entirely different: disappointment. Discontent. Maybe even resent. And it wasn’t a thing in my head; it burned in my belly.

I had watched the other girls being tortured and played, knowing I would be next, and my pussy had prepared for it, in the only way she knew: she had juiced herself up, she had hornified, she had prepared for sex. No matter how violent and painful the proceedings had been, she was aroused and eager for stimulation. And now that it was withheld so suddenly, she was disappointed, dejected, and frustrated. Despite everything, she had yearned for those orgasms. Now they were denied. It wasn’t fair!

It took a few minutes before I was able to stand up again. Then one of the white men supported me as he led me to an exit door of the hangar. As I stumbled along with him, I looked over my shoulder. Mike and his team had proceeded to the next bunk, and fresh moaning arose as he pressed the vibrator to a different clit than mine.