‘You’re going to enjoy it when we fuck you, aren’t you Summer?’ smirked Lord Arendt. Summer gasped up at him in shock. She wanted to whimper ‘no’ but a huge part of her was terrifyingly aroused by the large erection clearly visible through his clothes. He was big and hard and she already knew he would be rough, just like her body needed.
‘Get the slut’s breasts out, Makepeace’ Lord Arendt commanded the third man, the man whose name she hadn’t known until now. ‘I want to see my new toys.’
Summer’s Engagement: 7
[Summer’s Engagement contains non-consent fantasy erotica, female submission to male characters and object insertion. All characters are over 18. Chapter 1 of Summer’s Engagement is here]
‘Get the slut’s breasts out, Makepeace’ Lord Arendt commanded the third man, the man whose name Summer hadn’t known up until now. ‘I want to see my new toys.’
She guessed Makepeace was a guard or a groom in Lord Arendt’s employ. His hands, thick and hardened with outdoors work, reached down to her breasts, the rough skin on his palms scratching across the soft swell of her breasts.
He pulled at her laces unceremoniously, the same laces that Summer had so often let the young men pull apart to access her large breasts, and she whimpered in fear. The man was rough and matter of fact, and it felt like only an instant before he pulled the silken fabric of the gown down and open in front.
Summer screamed, in shock more than anything else, as she felt the cold air touch her breasts. Her gown pulled down, her bosom was fully exposed, forced unnaturally high by the swell of the fashionable underbust corset all the younger women in court were wearing this year. Summer saw with embarrassment that her nipples were hard and swollen in the cold air, as if eager to please Summer’s tormentors.
Makepeace dropped his hands to her hips and Summer shuddered to feel them there, like a lover’s hands embracing her.
‘Corset, milord?’ he asked, and Summer realised in shock and fear that he was used to this.
He and Lord Arendt had a routine.
They bring women here and they bind them and undress them for Lord Arendt’s pleasure. she thought sickly.
Lord Arendt raised his eyes from Summer’s exposed breasts long enough to shake his head at Makepeace’s question.
‘Leave the corset on her. In fact,’ he paused, as his eyes drifted back to Summer’s breasts, a cruel smile hovering on his face. ‘Tighten it. As tight as you can. The slut is behaving like a whore. Let’s make sure we treat her like one.’
Summer trembled at the cruel smile that slid across Makepeace’s face, whimpering in fear at the thought of her corset being tightened. She remembered an old wood-cutting she had seen years ago, one day in the library perusing books she shouldn’t have been.
Labelled crudely and simply ‘whore learning better manners’, the engraving had shown a woman naked except for a tight hourglass corset, bent forward on hands and knees on a narrow table, surrounded by lewdly laughing men with loosened trousers and huge erections. The corset was tight, cruelly so, and the artwork demonstrated that a man could fit his hands around her waist. Heavy rods ran from ceiling to the table, locked onto the sides of the corset, holding the woman in place.
Summer had gazed at it long and hard, entranced at the obscenity — the woman’s clearly visible vagina and large breasts, the men’s huge erections — and puzzled as to the story it told. It was a punishment, she had realised, for some infraction, or maybe just a method to train her, the woman punished and restrained by the cruel corset, unable to move or even breathe properly, her waist captured and held in place, while her body was forced to accept one large cock after another inside her until the men were done.
I don’t want… Summer thought, then stopped herself. Lord Arendt had shown he didn’t care what she wanted.
In any case, the serving man — Makepeace — was already pulling at the laces on her corset, and Summer braced herself. Lord Marlowe bent forward to help him and again — in a strange, absent part of her brain, Summer wondered at this strange alliance of the Lord Arendt, her father’s vice-chancellor, Lord Marlowe and Makepeace.
She didn’t have time to think about it though, as Makepeace and Lord Marlowe started to work in tandem to viciously tighten the corset strings. The men were strong and pulled hard, and soon Summer felt the pressure increasing inside her, along her waist. She generally liked the feeling of a corset but she felt herself panting in anticipation at what the men were doing to her body — paralysing her waist, crushing her lower ribs so she couldn’t breathe deeply.
Only whores were allowed to wear tight corsets. It was a mark of their particular social status. Vaguely, Summer found herself, for the first time ever in her social butterfly existence, wondering why that was true — why was that fair, why did men and the city authorities treat the pleasure women differently? They weren’t any different to virtuous women, she suddenly realised. Just in a different place, at a different time.
‘Tighter,’ said Lord Arendt once, when Summer didn’t feel like the corset could go tighter. He handed Lord Marlowe a short belt-like strap of leather and Summer’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Don’t stop until this cuff fits around her waist.’
Lord Marlowe chuckled, reaching down and sliding the open cuff underneath Summer’s body at waist height.
I won’t be able to breathe.
They’re chopping me in half.
Frightened thoughts fluttered around Summer’s head as she felt herself panicking. Tiny tears that she couldn’t control were running from her eyes down the side of her face and she was breathing fast and shallowly.
The men paid no attention, continuing to pull at the strong laces on her corset, grunting with the effort. The pressure inside her waist was intense, she felt almost like the top half of her was disconnected from the bottom with the ruthless reshaping of her body.
I am a toy, she realised despairingly, and for the first time ever that didn’t feel wickedly fun.
It was almost as though Lord Arendt guessed her thoughts.
‘You’re not a toy, Summer darling,’ he smirked at her from his vantage point at the side of the bed where he had been watching the men’s ruthless re-moulding of her waist with a smile. ‘That delicious hole between your legs is the toy. And these, of course,’ he reached down and fondled one of her bare breasts.
Summer hated the feeling of his arrogant hand touching her, his being able to touch her however and wherever he wanted.
‘You’re the just baggage that comes with the good fuck we’ll get from your hole,’ Lord Arendt chuckled.
Lord Marlowe gave a smug burst of laughter at that, looking up briefly from his work torturing her waist.
‘You’re the thing that screams when we hurt you, aren’t you, darling?’ The uncouth man grinned at her, briefly showing his teeth.
‘I suggest, my dear princess, that you reach deep inside yourself and find the part of you that is enjoying this.’ Lord Arendt smiled at her, his hand still fondling her breast. ‘We’re just getting started, after all.’
Please follow me for more stories! In the real world, remember to always play safely and practise positive, informed and enthusiastic consent that is respectful of all genders.
Chapter 8 of ‘Summer’s Engagement’ is here.
Want more erotic torture?
If you love erotic torture and object insertion stories, you might like my published novels Pleasure Doll: The Enslavement of Isobel and Pleasure Toy: Isobel’s Collar.
‘I want easy access to your breasts. Wear that big butt plug that you posted online about. And a toy in your other hole. I want you full and uncomfortable.’
Read as Isobel succumbs to her nemesis Eddie over two published novels! Eddie knows she doesn’t like him but nevertheless he is determined that she will call him Master. And once she is in his power, she will fuck who she is told to fuck, and submit to whatever cruel games he designs for her. She will learn to enjoy being nothing more than a hole and a pair of tits – his hole, and his pair of tits.
© Pixie Isobella
Pixie Isobella 