Atrocious Apprentices

Bertram's apprentices were not possessed of their master's excessive endowment, and knew it. Unfortunately for Christine, it made the two younger men all the more determined not to be found wanting, either by Bertram or each other. Combined with their competitive spirits, youthful lust, and charge to hurt the poor girl, Christine was hoarse from expressing her anguish.

Her face burned. Her cheeks felt tight with the salt of her own tears, and she had long since given up any hope of quelling the attendant flood from her nose. She knew that anyone looking at her in that moment would have seen a creature without dignity or resilience, and it shamed her.

It made what had been done and was being done, below the stocks, all the more onerous to bear.

"Come on, Tom, you layabout! Is that the best that you can do?!"

That was from Will, who had already pumped his own seed into her wracked and battered bowels. He had found his satisfaction quickly within Christine's ass, aided by cleaving the leather belt into her belly with such repetitive and malicious intensity that Christine had vomited up what remained of the repast she had so recently taken with the brothel's mistress.

That much of my debt should have been refunded, Christine had thought, absurdly, and, wanting to laugh, had only cried the harder.

But having partaken of Christine's forbidden back door, Will had only grown more coarse and contemptuous, now thinking himself some kind of expert in the debased girl's galloping backside. Having succumb too quickly to pleasure in his own eyes, he was determined that his comrade would thoroughly wreck the young woman's backside.

"Make the strumpet cry...! Pierce her...! Pound her...! Harder...! Harder...!"

Her thighs were darkened with bruises where the men's thrusting had slammed them into the bench. Her stomach seized and shook with cramps and spasms that had become utterly arrhythmic with either her breathing or the brutal thrusts of the man behind her, a mad creature in a too-small pen goaded from a thousand directions. Her flanks were awash with heat and pain; her breasts felt as though they had been weighted down with piercing nails from blows of the thrice-bedamned coshes.

If she did not cry to Will's satisfaction at Tom's ****, it was only from exhaustion. They had taken so much from her, not least the sweet belief that no man could treat a member of the "gentler sex" with such determined and relentless cruelty.

...And they _kept _taking, each plunge stripping away something precious from her, a bit of her vitality, her hope, her sense of self-worth, her very notion that her body could feel things that were not wrongness and shame and hurt.

And as he began to relentlessly slap her already burning ass with both hands, riding her hard and fast, Christine had begun to fear not that she would die, but that she might not.

From somewhere within her, she began to scream.

"That's it, Tom! That's the spot! Siege it...! Raze it...! Drive it home in the bitch...!"

Her scream just carried on and on, rising in pitch as Tom fucked her ass. She had never spoken so much as a word to him before today, and now he attacked her where she was already weak and torn in a way that one would hesitate to lay into a mortal enemy.

What could she have done to deserve this? What could she have possibly done?

"Go on, Tom- dump your seed in the whore! Foul her!"

With a final yell of his own, Tom drove to the hilt in Christine's ass, jerking her back by the hips as his cock began to contract inside of her. It was not until after his manhood had fully emptied into her belly that Christine's scream finally died into sobbing.

Oh, Father, Father... Better that you should die, than that you see your own flesh and blood brought as low as this... You thought so much of me...

As Tom withdrew and began to do up his trousers, Bertram looked impassively down at the girl's flushed red posterior. Her plundered anus trembled, leaking rivulets of crimson-tinged semen to pool on the stone floor beneath her.

"That's a good show, lads. She's going to be carrying that around in her guts like a stone for a right while. You could've eased up on the final stretch, there, a bit, Tom. Remember that you're trying to break the girl down, not exhaust yourself."

The apprentice looked embarrassed as Will smiled with superiority, and Bertram turned to his colleague.

"And don't think I didn't notice that you were more interested in getting off than putting her in her place, Will. Yeah, makin' her puke will make her squeeze, for a moment- but what if she'd choked, and you were so caught up in your end of things that you didn't notice? What then?"

Now it was Tom's turn to smirk. And Christine's body shook on the bench in the aftermath of their terrible lesson. It was all she was to them- like a pig going to slaughter, or a skein of yarn unwound until it was empty. An object to operate upon, a good, a trinket. Used for its function and then forgotten without remorse or regret.

There was a rapping on the dungeon's hatch, and she knew that the time of Bertram and his "lads" was over. Whether she was done for the day, or if they would bring someone new and terrible to use her, Christine did not know.

She tried to cultivate a fatalistic disinterest, but could not. She did not believe that whatever was coming down would bring mercy with it, and she was beginning to recognize that while she had suffered terribly, there were people who not only were capable of furthering her suffering, but might want to bring it about.

Oh, please, only let them bring water... My eyes will crack for the tears that they cannot shed.