You give in to captivity

You spend hours alone in the darkness, feeling Murt's cum slowly oozing from your defiled quim, pulling at your chains and murmuring prayers to a goddess that will no longer hear them. You cry so much that you you lose your tears and succumb to a dry sob that shakes your body like a cough. You tremble and fall into a restless, stifled sleep chained within the tiny cell.

It is impossible for you to tell how much time has passed when the door opens again. You know that at some point you stared into the darkness and released your bladder, feeling the hot piss soak your thighs and empty into the bedding beneath you. Now, the door clanks open again and you shrink from the shocking brightness of the candle that Murt holds into the cell.

"Grand daughter, you reek!" shouts Murt. "Have you messed yourself? You will have to be cleaned and punished!"

The old man unhooks your shackles from the wall and, grunting with effort, drags you out of the cell. He raises your chains above your head and throws them over a heavy iron hook that his hanging from the timbers of the ceiling. He turns a crank and you are winched above the floor, suspended by your wrists. The shame and anger of before have largely gone. Now it is just fear that he is going to **** you.

Murt disappears, leaving you whimpering and hanging from your wrists for several minutes. He returns with two sloshing buckets of water. He grunts and pours the first over your head. It is ice cold and you scream in shock, shaking and bucking at the chains. Just as you begin to recover, he throws the second bucket in your face. You gasp for breath as the cold water fills your mouth.

"There now, get some of that stink off you, Keyla. Gods, I can't believe how nasty you are, little girl. Gonna have to teach you not to mess your bed."

You hear a rasping, clanking sound and you try to twist and see what Murt is doing behind you. Panic rises as you see him grasping a long needle in one hand and a small silver ring in the other. He circles around to your front.

"Please," you gasp. "Please don't do this."

"Awwwww, sweetie, don't whine. I've gotta do it."

He grabs your breasts roughly and presses the tip of the needle to one cold-stiffened nipple. You gasp for him to stop, but that gasp becomes a wail of pain as the needle pierces your little nipple. He draws the long needle all the way through until the fat end pops through. The pain is intense, though only a tiny trickle of blood spills down your pale breast. Murt's squeezing hurts worse and the agony as he hooks the ring through your nipple and closes it tight.

The pain recedes to a dull throb. You don't know if it is the punishment or some magic associated with Murt's ring, but you feel immediately more docile.

"There we are," he says smoothing the hair from your sweaty face. "No more tears, Keyla. Time for you to take your medicine. Be a good girl. Don't make me put another ring on you."

He lowers the chains and you drop to your knees on the floor. You look up at him, shaking still from the cold water and pain, and you watch as he takes out his withered cock. He strokes it slowly and watches you.

"How do you want it, sugar? You want me to try and knock you up again?"

Your will is broken. You cannot resist him. Your name is Keyla. You are his grand daughter and you need to take your medicine.