Feng accepted the whip from Ming-tsu and bowed in return. This night promised to be most gratifying; as chief enforcer for the Chan gang, he was kept occupied most of the time beating up businessmen and artisans who (at first) refused to pay "protection" money to the Black Scorpions. It had been some time since Feng 'The Butcher", as he had come to be known to the Black Scorpions, had had a beautiful young girl to break.



Feng had grown up in a remote mountainous region of western China where two rival clans had been fighting for supremacy for generations. Their warfare was utterly barbaric, and spared neither women nor children. One morning, when he was but a lad of eleven, a war party from the enemy clan surprised and overran a small encampment of Feng's nomadic people. In a brief bloody skirmish the raiding party slaughtered all of the men in the camp, saving Feng's father, the head of the clan, for last. As a warning to other rival clans, they had bound his father to a pair of wild horses and torn him limb from limb. But his death, though horrible, was at least swift. The young women of Feng's village were not so lucky.



Feng, like some of the other young boys, had been forced to watch while his mother and his recently-betrothed older sister had been raped by waves of enemy warriors. His frail mother had succumbed after only a few hours of their bestial assault, but on the second morning of her captivity his beautiful sister, Anya, knowing that she was doomed, had had the temerity to rake her nails across the eyes of the ferocious-looking man who was raping her. Unfortunately for her, that man turned out to be none other than Dargon the Invincible, the enemy warlord himself, who was known for his savagery from the towering peaks of the Himalayas to the snow-capped summits of the Tien Shan.







For this unpardonable crime, and inspired by the delicious ripeness of her figure, the cruel tyrant sentenced the comely young maiden to suffer first, the Torment of the Helix, and then the Devil's Swing. At noon of that day, Dargon's soldiers had all assembled in front of the castle walls to enjoy the afternoon's 'entertainment'. Dargon's tall, sultry, dark-haired daughter, Princess Dena, about fifteen then, had laughingly directed one of the enemy soldiers to tie Feng to a tree so that he might watch his sister's punishment from afar. Feng had watched in stomach-wrenching dismay as the executioners had stripped Anya's tattered dress away from her lovely body. Then while the shorter of the two held her arms pinned behind her, the taller one seemed to punch one of Anya's breasts. Feng, watching through a haze of tears and horror from a great distance, imagined that he had seen a brief spurt of scarlet. A moment later the tall guard held her while the short one made a similar motion toward Anya's other breast. And again, Feng, half hysterical with grief, thought he had seen a second spurt of blood. Meanwhile the taller executioner was still holding her arms behind her while the other one began to loop heavy, knotted cords tightly around each of his sister's opulent breasts, buttressing their harness with two wraps around her chest.









Once the soldiers were satisfied that her tit-ropes were secure, they flung the pair of rope-ends up over a sturdy cantilever-like bar that extended outward from the crenelated battlement. Even from his remote vantage point, Feng could hear how Anya had screamed in agony as the two burly guards retrieved the rope ends and then pulled mightily at the breast cords and lifted her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, several feet above mother earth, until the weight of her body was supported only the the hempen harness that ringed her tortured breasts. The guards then secured the supporting ropes to stout iron bars in a window of the warlord's fortress, leaving the lovely maiden dangling naked, kicking helplessly under the hot mid-summer's sun. Every now and then one of the soldiers would give her body a push, gentle ones at first that set her body swaying lightly in the breeze, and then harder and harder shoves that redoubled the agonizing pressure on her tight-corded breasts. This, then, was the infamous Devil's Swing. They let Anya hang by her breasts for another quarter of an hour, heedless of her desperate pleas for mercy, before at last cutting her down. When at last she was released from the Devil's Swing, she was sent back to the soldiers' quarters to see if she had learned her lesson, and was ready to be a docile barracks-whore. Later that same night, after another endless bout of savage lust, when most of the soldiers had drunk themselves into a stupor, Anya, more dead than alive, had crept soundlessly out of the barracks, climbed to the top of the castle wall and thrown herself to her death.





Feng, then but a boy of eleven, was spared from death , along with a few others of his own age - if a lifetime of slavery and sixteen hour days toiling in the fields of his captors could be considered being spared. But Feng endured, somehow, and the memory of his family's fate was etched in his heart forever. Several years later, he escaped from his servitude and joined the few surviving men of his clan. Their women all dead or enslaved, the men lived like animals in the barren mountains high above the plateau on which stood the citadel of their enemies. They survived by eating roots and berries, and occasionally trapping or killing some small game. Every now and then, Feng and his companions would waylay a traveler unwise enough to venture into the rugged mountains in which they scratched out a meager existence. Early one afternoon, some months after Feng, a natural leader, had joined them, five of the mountain men spotted four horsemen, dressed in the royal blue cloaks of the rival clan, riding up a trail into the foothills. One of Feng's cousins let himself be seen and decoyed the three horsemen into a narrow pass, where his comrades were well-positioned to pick off the interlopers with arrows shot from higher ground. Within seconds three of the horsemen had falled victim to the skilled archery of the mountain men. When a sudden gust of wind swept up the canyon and threw the hood off the head of the fourth rider, Feng noticed with astonishment that that purple-cloaked"horseman" was none other than Dena, the daughter of Dargon, now in her early twenties.







Yelling to his comrades not to shoot her, Feng began the steep descent to the canyon floor. Dena, meanwhile, had continued further into the pass, while her injured and besieged companions tried to make a desperate stand against their savage enemies. While Feng's kinsmen made their way down to finish off the three downed horsemen, Feng set off in pursuit of the dark-haired princess. As Dena fled for her life she soon found that the "pass" quickly narrowed to a treacherous precipice along a steep ridge, with a sheer rock face stretching high above her, and a vertiginous abyss below. Dena dismounted from her horse, and stripped off her confining cloak, revealing a shapely and athletic body clad in a white tunic and white skirt, embroidered with pale blue flowers, that reached only to mid-thigh. The pass above the Gorge of Hell, as the mountain people referred to it, being much too narrow for her horse to negotiate, she abandoned her steed, and inched her way forward, above the fearful chasm, ever conscious that at least one of the men who had been lying in wait was in hot pursuit. But the ledge was so narrow, and the concentration required to traverse it so demanding, that it was all but impossible to turn around and look back at her pursuer. Feng was halfway across the narrow ledge when Dena reached the far side of the canyon, where the sheer rock wall above her gave way to a series of rugged rocky hills dotted with huge outcroppings of gray rock that had been formed by some primeval cataclysm of the earth's crust.







She was young, and strong, and fleet, and she set off into the hills, struggling to maintain her footing in the difficult terrain. Properly fearful of her fate should she be captured, she ran and climbed, and climbed and ran until she thought her lungs would burst. Feng, more accustomed to the steep hillsides, slowly made up ground on her, confident that a pampered princess could not long elude him. He enjoyed playing this game of cat and mouse; when she slowed he slowed slightly too. But after an hour or so, he tired of the game, made up the remaining distance between them, and tackled the utterly exhausted young woman from behind. "My revenge will be most sweet, woman," he whispered to the terrified beauty, as he twisted her arm savagely behind her, "but let me wait for my friends to rejoin us. They will be angry with me if I do not let them share in the spoils of war."







"Let me go, you treasonous scum, or my father will feed you your balls for breakfast when he gets his hands on you!" "You are brave now, whore- princess; but let us see how brave you will be in a few hours," Feng grunted as he reached beneath Dena's tunic, and cupped her splendid breasts in his toil-roughened hands. He had never touched a woman this way before; the softness and the warmth of her stiff-nippled tits made his ardent young cock throb with pleasure and his swollen testicles tighten with anticipation.







When his kinsmen caught up with him, they pulled the dark-haired, dark-eyed daughter of the enemy warlord roughly to her feet, and ruthlessly stripped off her tunic, her skirt, and a flimsy undergarment, revealing a body more voluptuous than they could have dreamed. At fifteen, when Feng had first seen her, she had been tall but willowy; but in the intervening years she had blossomed into a voluptuous young amazon.



The warm rays of the mountain sun had been kind to the skin of the sultry princess; her body was a vision of pale gold loveliness. In the thin mountain air, Feng and his companions stared disbelievingly at their prize - at her lush, full-nippled breasts, which despite their majestic size rose high and proud from her chest. At her long athletic legs and at a pair of well-rounded buttocks that seemed to have been born for the lash. At her deep-notched navel, narrow waist, and dark-tufted pussy that set five cocks to throbbing. Ten malevolent eyes devoured her luscious body; and ten malicious hands groped her roughly, fondling her pleasure-globes, pinching and twisting the mahogany buds of her uptilted breasts, and probing insistently between her legs as she squirmed in revulsion. "You will die for this, you pigs," Dena hissed at them. "And die slowly!"







With a swift motion, Feng slapped the nude ripeness of her left breast viciously, causing it to bobble sensuously on her chest for an exciting moment before coming to rest, now wearing a garish red mark left by his powerful blow. "No, princess. It is you who will die. Or rather," he snarled, before greeting her mouthwatering melons with the thick-knuckled back of his hand, "you who will wish to die!" Dena swallowed the blinding pain with difficulty and glared at Feng defiantly, her spectacular breasts heaving as she tried to regain her breath. She was the daughter of Dargon the Invincible; she would not cower before these churlish savages. The men eagerly moved forward to continue Feng's assault on their prisoner, but were surprised when Feng stopped them. " That's enough!" he bellowed authoritatively. "For now. Do not forget, my brothers, that there are others at the camp who have scores to settle, too." A short time later, after a few minutes of disappointed male grumbling, the naked young princess began her long, arduous trek to the camp of her captors. Surrounded by her leering captors she was compelled to take a long circuitous route back to the entrance of the Gorge of Hell so that the mountain men could recover her warriors' horses. Even at their high elevation the sun beat down unmercifully on her; within ten minutes, as she struggled up the steep inclines, her luscious body was covered with a thin film of sweat.







They had progressed about a mile through the treacherous terrain, when the tallest of the five spied a young deer nibbling at a green-leafed shrub. Signally to the others to be quiet, Jadar quickly strung his bow and launched an arrow cross the hillside. The missile caught the young deer in squarely in the throat, and the mountain men made their way to their fallen quarry, which would be their evening meal. Chen, the strongest of the bandits began to hoist the deer's bleeding carcass over his shoulder, but Feng stopped him. "No," he said sternly. "Our princess will carry it." Laughing the men agreed, and draped the dying animal over Dena's broad shoulders; she slumped when they added the weight; the deer weighed as much as a nine-year old child. "March, princess-whore! We can be back at the camp in three hours if you don't dawdle." Balancing the deer's weight across her shoulders, Dena began to climb the next hillside. The hillsides had been steep before her burden had been added; now her thigh and calf muscles ached at every painful step. To compound her misery, two of Feng's comrades paused at a woody thicket and cut thorn-bearing switches, that were about the length of a man's arm, from a prickly wooden bush. They fell some distance behind the the others while they used a knife to shave six or eight inches of the prickly barbs from the thicker end of the thorn-switch, so as to provide a handle. Then they quickly ran after their companions, catching up with them at the apex of a wind-swept hill.







Now that they were able to grip the thumb-thick thorn-sticks comfortably, the two of them took turns using the prickly flails to lash the back of Dena's smooth, well-toned thighs and her ripe round buttocks as she struggled painfully down the hill. As often as not the the razor-sharp spines lodged themselves in her tender flesh, and then broke off when her tormentors tried to pull the thorn-switches back again. Within a few miles of her exhausting journey through a series of steep ravines, Dena's lungs were burning for lack of oxygen in the thin mountain air, and her well-curved legs were screaming with fatigue. A little later Feng's men recovered the enemy horses, which were a great prize to the dispossessed bandits. Then Feng himself tied Dena's hands to the saddle of her mount and led her back through the pass where the ambush had taken place. The beautiful princess turned pale when she came upon three bloody headless bodies sprawled on the trail. A little further on, her blood ran cold when she spied three gruesome, lifeless heads positioned among a series of boulders. Dena shuddered in terror, and wondered if there was any violence of which her captors were not capable. She grew even more apprehensive when one of the bandits, a barrel-chested, black-bearded young man retrieved the horse-whip she had dropped when she had fled the scene of the ambush. While the afternoon sun broiled her bare flesh, and her heart pounded from the stress of her exertions, Princess Dena continued to suffer the bite of the stinging thorn-sticks as her tormentors inflicted scores of tiny cuts on her long legs and her round-buttocked ass. And still she was compelled to stagger forward beneath the oppressive weight of the dear.



A little further on, curly-haired Meldor, one of the thorn-switch wielders and the youngest of the five men, slipped past her and climbed up on a rock that she would have to pass as she trudged toward her unknown fate. When she drew alongside, he yelled excitedly, "Genghis Khan himself would want to see these tits bounce!" and, taking careful aim, he lifted the thorn-switch high over his head and then whipped it downward across the upper slopes of Dena's luscious breasts. And bounce they did, most satisfyingly so, on her slim-waisted torso. "AAAAGHHH!" the sultry princess had cried out - her first true admission of the extent of the pain being meted out by her captors. It would not be her last.



"Well struck, Meldor!" Feng's comrades encouraged the youngster, and for the rest of the interminable march, the boy walked in front of Dena, pausing every fifty feet or so to turn around and switch Dena's gently curved belly, her straining thighs or her succulent brown-tipped lust-globes with the cruel thorn-stick. Meanwhile, the deer's neck wound continued to ooze blood in a thin stream over her collarbone and down across her deliciously ripe left breast, leaving a bright crimson stain in its wake. Up and down the hillsides they marched her, the deer's weight now a crushing burden. Three times her legs gave out under the broiling sun and three times, at Feng's signal, Xorg, the black-bearded man with the horse-whip lashed her back until she struggled desperately to her feet. As soon as she regained her feet, her young nemesis, Meldor, was there in front of her again, drawing a bead on her sculpted breasts, and then flicking them with the thorn-switch, until she began to trudge slowly forward yet again. By the time they reached their fateful destination, Dena's body, front and back, was criss-crossed with a plethora of thin lacerations. Mercifully she was allowed to drop the deer, before falling to her knees in exhaustion. The bandits' camp was as unprepossessing a habitation as one could imagine - little more than a clearing in front of a cluster of caves whose dark entrances were covered with bearskins.









Dena knelt naked on the ground trying to recovering her strength as she watched two of the men butcher the deer, skinning it, dressing it, hacking it into manageable pieces with their dull knives; they were about half done when Feng ordered "Take her to the river, and clean her up!" Gratefully Dena let herself be dragged some fifty yards to the other side of the clearing where a fast-moving mountain stream rushed passed them on its downward course to the valley floor. Jadar, the tall slender one, and Chen, Feng's muscular kinsman, watched with unabashed lust as Dena splashed the cold mountain water over her stunning body, trying to clean her numerous cuts. Chen elbowed Jadar as they watched her dig the spiny thorn-barbs out of her breasts, and belly. She was going to provide good sport. Princess Dena finished her primitive toilette at about the same time as the deer-butchers finished their work; when she returned to face Feng, great hunks of venison were roasting on a rustic fire-pit. The interlude, the beautiful princess quickly noted, had done nothing to improve Feng's temper. The well-built young leader of the mountain men called out, "Tie her to the tree!" and his kinsmen dragged the still-dripping statuesque princess to the left side of the clearing and threw her roughly against the scaly bark of a tree-trunk. Despite a desperate resistance, during which she succeeded in scratching one captor and kicking another, Feng's four companions soon had her arms pulled back behind the tree and her wrists bound tightly together. A second length of rawhide that dug deeply into her supple thighflesh, cinched her legs to the tree, while a third held her slender waist fast against the trunk. The beautiful barbarian princess glared at her captors, her succulent breasts heaving from her struggles to escape, her nipples dark, proud, defiant. Despite her plight, Dena was too proud to beg for mercy; she knew full well that even if she had, her entreaties would have been in vain. Her captors were in thrall to a bloodlust that would render them deaf to her pleas. Feng's cousin Chen led the way. Chen, a big brute of a man, well remembered how a dozen members of Dena's clan had raped his attractive young mother while Dena had cheered them on. He had prayed to the cruel gods of the mountains that the day might come when he could avenge his mother's ravishment. And now that long-awaited day was at hand.







Chen strode toward Dena with a determined look on his beefy face, as he uncurled two long thin strips of tough brown yak leather in his big hands. He began by encircling one of Dena's superb breasts with the thin cord . He looped one strip tightly around the base of her right breast; then, while Feng gripped her nipple tightly between the jagged nails of his thumb and forefinger and pulled her breast out from the chest wall, Chen pulled with all of his considerable strength on each end of the leather to ensure that the rawhide bit as cruelly as possible into Dena's soft, ivory-gold breast flesh. Once that first circlet had been jerked excruciatingly tight, Chen wrapped a second breast-choking loop around the big lust-melon, and yanked it tight again. "Tighter, Chen! Tighter!" roared Xorg, Feng's black-bearded kinsman. It was he who had chopped off the heads of Dena's companions, and he who had found and wielded the horsewhip. Xorg had once been a rotund, good-natured young man known for his joviality. Until, that is, he had seen his demure young bride ripped apart by the stallion Dena had trained to rape slave-girls. Like most of the other surviving men and boys of his clan, he had escaped during a brushfire that had swept through Dargon's domains. His jailors, in their haste to flee the fast approaching fire, had left the outer door to the building in which the male slaves were imprisoned nightly unlocked. The once-jovial Xorg had rarely been known to smile since. But he was smiling with undisguised sadistic pleasure now, as he watched Chen work on Dena's swollen tits.





Twice more Chen wrapped the diabolical leather bands around the soft breast-flesh, and twice more he yanked the ends tight with a mighty grunt. By now Dena's right breast was compressed into a blushing bloated sphere of tit-flesh that seemed to young Feng to be begging for even harsher treatment. At some point in the process, Chen had cleverly wedged a short, thick stick under the tit-gripping leather bands. His work on this breast complete, Chen seized the breast-stick in a powerful hand, and twisted, doubling the pressure on Dena's poor pleasure-globes. Feng then seized her other nipple-nugget between his talon-like nails, while his kinsman took the second strip of rawhide and garrotted Dena's left breast with a similar painful bondage. Both of the sultry princess's jutting jugs were now thrust provocatively outward, Feng noticed with satisfaction. Perfect targets for further abuse. Feng approached her and grasped the breast-sticks and gave them a mighty wrench. "AAAAAUUGHHHHH!" Dena screamed in agony; it felt as if the bandit leader was going to twist her strangled breasts right off her body. The scorching late-afternoon sun had dried the cool droplets of the mountain stream that had enclosed her body in a fresh dew just minutes earlier. Feng twisted the tit-sticks again, and Dena, in her pain, could feel beads of sweat racing teardrops down her cheeks and then falling softly downward onto her throbbing breasts. Dena could do little but look on with fearful dread as the barbaric band eagerly set about selecting and fashioning weapons to use on the bulging tit-globes of their splendidly endowed sex-slave. Chen removed a long leather strap from his kit, young Meldor used his sharp knife to smooth an eight-inch grip on a freshly-cut thorn-switch, and Feng chopped himself a yard-long stalk of sturdy bamboo. Xorg, his long black hair and beard wild about his face, produced the light horsewhip he had found at the scene of the ambush and brought back to the camp. It seemed only fitting that he use the whip of the horse that had ravaged his mother on the bold-nippled breasts of the the captive princess.







The fifth member of the band, Jadar, who as a youth had seen his father castrated and his bleeding organ stuffed into his mother's mouth while Dargon's lackeys assaulted her, was laboriously lashing several small pieces of split bamboo together with sturdy withes, forming a makeshift rectangular paddle, studded with the raised ridges typical of mountain bamboo. Chen had doubled up the strap in his powerful right hand, and was just about to launch a first volley at Dena's succulent, sweat-glazed lust melons, when Feng held up his hand again. "Wait, cousin. Where are Kandar and the Old One?" Feng asked. Usually at this hour of the day the other two men of his band were to be found at the main cave. "Chen, while we await the others, prepare the princess's nipples for punishment!"



"Aye, Feng,' Chen grinned. "That I will." Feng's brawny kinsman wasted no time in devoting his attention to Dena's magnificent breast-buds, pinching and kneading, twisting and flicking the marvelous corky nubs until they stood out from Dena's swollen breasts like a pair of dark, fleshy bullets. Chen concluded his enviable assignment by digging a thumbnail into one of the thin lacerations opened by Meldor's thorn switch, and then rubbing the resulting scarlet droplet into Dena's delectable brown breast buds, infusing the inviting brown crests, with a dash of scarlet. Dena could only watch in dismay as her tasty love-buds stood rigidly at attention for their coming punishment, having been christened with her own crimson war-paint, and thus becoming even bolder, brighter targets than they had been before. "I see the others! Here they come!" announced the lanky Jadar. The others looked up to see a pair of pitiful examples of manhood emerging from a trail on the far side of the clearing. The Old One, Talmaz, hobbled along, his weight supported by a knobby walking stick. Though he appeared to be four score and more, he was actually not much more than sixty years of age. But watching a company of Dena's father's men defile his nubile grand-daughters had sapped twenty years from his strength. The other figure who made their way toward them from the other side of the clearing was even more grotesque. Kandar, a once-vigorous young man of twenty-eight, had no arms. Or rather, his arms had been cut off a couple of inches above the wrist - his right arm as a punishment for poaching the deer of Dargon the Invincible, his left arm for refusing to reveal his companions in that thievery, the desperate thievery of starving men.







"Welcome, my brothers," Feng had trumpeted. "Chen - Now that our friends are here to take part in our rightful vengeance - you may begin." And with that command, Feng's desperate band, who had all been without a woman for years, set about avenging their womenfolk and their own years of privation. The muscular Chen began the frenzied assault on Dena's bulging tit-globes. He took his leather strap and burned an inch-wide strip of pain into the constricted melons, leaving a reddening rectangle in his wake. Meldor, gripping his thorn-switch with all of his strength, took dead aim and ripped into both of Dena's swollen breasts, drawing an anguished scream of pain from the swarthy princess, and a single drop of claret just below her left nipple. Dena, gasping for breath, closed her eyes as she saw Jadar approaching. She could not bear to watch as he continued the onslaught by crushing Dina's left pleasure-globe with a short compact swing of his paddle. Bushy-bearded Xorg, meanwhile, had taken a position slightly to the right of the dark-haired beauty and as soon as Jadar stepped back, he horse-whipped Dena across the upper rim of her sweet-crinkled areolae, as the dark-eyed beauty writhed in agony. Feng made good use of his first turn, beginning by tapping his bamboo rod lightly against Dena's blood-engorged nipple-crests. He was fascinated by the way her tit-choking breast bondage forced the shadowy rivulets of her breast veins to swell and pulse as if they had a life of their own.









Despite her resolution to defy the mountain scum, Dena's courage failed her as Feng poked her juicy breasts with cane in preparation for what would no doubt prove to be a horrendous blow. "Please . Don't . I beg y." Feng cut short Dena's abject plea for mercy by tightening his steely grip on the whippy cane and then slamming it dead on into Dena's succulent melons with titanic, tit-splitting ferocity, just below her gallant nipple-nuggets. The cruel blow opened Meldor's thorn-cut a little wider. "AEEEAIIGHHH!" the tormented princess's anguished cry seemed to reverberate off the walls of the nearby caves. "Old One - join us!" Feng beckoned. Talmaz slowly dragged himself forward. He leaned against the tree to which Dena had been bound and then picked up his walking stick and slid it up into the delightful valley between Dena's luscious, close-set breasts, now flecked with beads of crimson. He slid it roughly back and forth for a moment or two before speaking. "This, whore, is for my grand-daughters," he squeaked in a high-pitched voice before lifting the knobby stick over his head and slamming it down into her bound breasts with suprising strength for a man with such a decrepit body.





"Ooooouuuwwww!" Dena moaned forlornly. She shook her head back and forth. "No.please.no more." And then she looked up to see the muscular figure of Chen standing alongside the old man, his biceps bulging, the veins in his neck standing out, as he doubled up the leather strap, and made it POP! in the air. "Move aside old man; let a strong young buck show you how it's done!" "Make her sing, Chen!" exhorted Meldor, anxious to prove that he fit in with the older men. "Work those tits over good!" Chen had drawn the strap back and was ready to pull the trigger again when a deep voice called out, "What about me?" The company turned to look at Kandar, the man with no arms. "But how?" Chen stammered. "How can you ." he left the thought unfinished. Undismayed, Kandar stepped forward; Feng noted that his back and shoulders were strong. The gods had been cruel to let him live. After his maiming, one stump had been cauterized successfully by Dargon's men; but what was left of his left arm was a suppurating gangrenous mess, discolored a hideous greenish-black all the way up to his shoulder. The spread of the disease was such, thought Feng, that Kandar could not possibly have long to live. But a vengeful fire still burned bright in Kandar's eyes as he approached their full-breasted prisoner, intent on inflicting a hellish retribution for his own suffering. When he was close enough he reached out and fondled Dena's tightly bound tit-globes with his festering left stump, letting his appalling limb slide back and forth over her luscious mounds, while she squirmed in revulsion. And then with a sudden violent movement, Kandar's powerful right shoulder shot forward and his good stump drove into Dena's left breast with crushing force. "AAAUGGHHHH!" she screamed.







Dena had no sooner recovered from that brutal blow when Chen stood before her again. This time he took the sinister strap down low and brought it rushing upward at the speed of lightning to explode against the taut undersides of Dena's throbbing tit-goblets. "EAIAAAAHH!" she screamed in pain. Meldor's thorn-stick revisited her luscious turrets next, opening up a few more tiny crimson-oozing cuts, and then, before Dena even had time to scream, Xorg, with a long flowing overhand stroke, brought the horse-whip CRACKK!ING down sharply across the upper slopes of Dena's sumptuous love-gourds again. "AIEEEEAAAAGGHHHH!" Dena's prolonged cry of suffering pierced the stillness of the mountain air. Dena looked around her wildly, half-crazed with pain. She felt as if her breasts were immersed in molten lava. "Enough. please. let me go. WHAACKK! "EEYAAAHHH! Long-limbed Jadar had used his improvised paddle on her right breast with such force that he seemed to drive her tortured nipple-bud deep into her breast flesh. Feng watched with awed astonishment as the injured crest sprang back with a youthful resilience remarkable to behold. Old Talmaz smacked her strangled tit-globes again, with less strenth this time, and then the man without a weapon stood before the beautiful princess once again. Kaldar spat in Dena's face, chuckling as the gob of saliva ran down a tear-stained cheek. Then without warning, the man with no arms suddenly drove a mighty knee into the soft place between Dena's legs, as she howled in pain. Then, using his festering arm to hold her chin up, Kandar used his stump to smash her tightly-tied right tit with pulverizing force, the end of his bony stump leaving a nasty imprint on her flesh. And then he drove his knobby stump solidly into the bulging tautness of Dena's other breast. Then he stepped back, exultant at the princess's suffering. It occurred to Feng that there must be something primevally satisfying about exacting revenge with one's own bare hands. Especially for one who had no hands.







One after another, Feng and his kinsmen attacked the taut balloons of breastflesh. Sometimes hacking at the undersides with slashing horizontal strokes, sometimes taking the weapon of choice high over head and crashing it down on the tops of Dena's proud-surging lust-melons, and sometimes taking dead aim on her provocatively pebbly brown areoles and her blood-reddened nipples. And when it was his turn, the man with no weapon continued to use his grotesque stump as if it were a bare-knuckled fist, pounding it furiously into Dena's tightly bound tits. It wasn't long before the ear-splitting screams of the barbarian princess were nearly as inhuman as the savagery of her attackers, to whom her screams were the sweetest of music. Her animal-like cries of agony rent the cool mountain air, but there were none to hear her, save for her tormentors, and they were as deaf to her pleas as the great gray boulders that lined the trail to the camp. Before too many minutes had passed, Dena's tight-cinched pain-globes had endured a withering array of ferocious blows; Feng and his comrades had transformed the ivory-gold mounds of an hour earlier into two bulging, throbbing, pain-wracked globes of martyred breastflesh. Anxious for new pleasures, Feng's comrades men untied the rope that pinioned Dena to the tree-trunk and stripped the bindings from her breasts. The seven men marveled at how her splendid breasts, though dark-ringed and reddened, gashed and slashed, quickly re-assumed their natural shape, having lost none of their smooth-skinned resiliency, their dark-nippled beauty or their gravity-defying firmness during her horrific ordeal. As the blood flowed back into Dena's tortured mounds, every nerve ending in her young breasts gave out a silent scream of agony. The barbarian princess had little time to dwell on that pain however, because moments later, Xorg and Jadar dragged her across the clearing and threw her voluptuous body face up across a rough slab of granite. They held her down while Meldor and Chen used a heavy rock to drive four pointed wooden stakes into the ground; moments later they had used the leather strips to spread-eagle their lovely captive, leaving the entire front of her body exposed and vulnerable. "Look at that juicy cunt, boy," Chen teased young Meldor. "Your first one?"











"Aye, cousin, that it is," Meldor replied as he stuck his face between Dena's wide-spread legs the better to study the inviting lips that drew his dark eyes to her womanhood like a moth to a flame. And a lovely cunt it is, even if I've only seen the one!" "Step aside, boy, and watch an expert!" The burly Chen opened his ragged trousers, removed a thickish cock, and without any preliminaries, rammed it viciously into Dena's dry cunt. Facing him, Jadar crouched over Dena's face and inserted his own massive erection into her mouth. Feng warned her to suck his men well, and that if she even thought about using her bright white teeth on his mouth-raping comrades, she wouldn't have them long. For over an hour the arduous double-fucking assault continued, until each of the original five had ravaged both of her warm receptacles - pussy and mouth. When it came his turn, Talmaz, his days of fornicating long past, seemed content to lean against the rock while he forced his thick, knobby walking stick into Dena's semen-coated vagina. After old Talmaz had worked his cudgel around inside Dena's pink passageway her for a few minutes, Kandar brushed him aside, and mounted the slut-princess, pumping into her with the feverish abandon of a man who knows his days are numbered. When Kandar pulled his dripping cock out of the tortured princess, Feng lifted his hand to allow the girl a little time to recover her strength. He didn't want their luscious victim to lapse into unconsciousness before he had had a chance to deliver the coup de grace.







For the next hour or so the men tore into nicely-seared chunks of deer meat, washing the hunter's meal down with mountain wine that they passed around in a goatskin bag. As they ate and drank they laughed and joked, commenting crudely on the thrill of plundering the wondrous body of the spread-eagled princess, who was still draped painfully over the jagged slab of rock. Her pathetic pleas for water went unheeded. As darkness approached, Feng directed his companions to release her from the stakes and throw her over a nearby boulder, leaving her sprawled face down, and her ample buttock rounds high in the air. Her bottom had remained fairly unscathed up to this point, save for the stinging cuts of the thorn-stick on the long trek back to the encampment. "By the saber of Tamerlane, her ass is built for a flogging, is it not?" Chen asked nobody in particular. Three deep voices, edged with lust, anwered, "Aye" almost simultaneously. "If you can lie there and take your beating, perhaps we will not have to tie you up again, slut-princess," Feng told her. "Please . " Dena sobbed, " have you not done enough. let me go. I will tell no one of what you have done, or where you camp. Ple." Dena's tearful entreaties were answered with a vicious CRAACKK! from Xorg's long, black horsewhip. "Aarrghhhhh!" "We will grant you the same mercy you extended to our mothers, our daughters, our sisters, slut princess. Jadar!" "Aye, Feng!" "Warm her ass with that paddle of yours!" Jadar stepped forward with alacrity and slammed his rugged paddle first into Dena's left cheek, and then her right. Back and forth he went, between the two ripe, rounded buttcheeks using his long arm to deliver sweeping, punishing strokes. Four and twenty times he smote each bottom oval, as Dena's intermittent cries of pain mounted into a steady wail of agony. When Jadar was done, he was breathing hard and sweating profusely; and Dena's bottomglobes were as red as September apples. Then Meldor stood to one side of her and Feng the other as they peppered Dena's encrimsoned buttock-mounds with alternating strokes from their respective weapons. The curly-haired lad still wielded his favorite thorn-switch, while Feng delivering one concussive stroke after another with his trusty bamboo cane, working his way slowly from the base of her bottomcheeks up to the top of her buttcrack and then back again.







When Feng's arm grew weary, Chen stepped forth and used his menacing black strap on Dena's golden thighs until they were as rosy a red as her bottom. When he was done, Xorg stepped forward to deliver twenty savage lashes up and down her back, buttocks and legs with the horsewhip which ironically had been Dena's only hours before. And then, without warning, their weapons dropped, the men were on her again. Four of them seized a limb, as strong arms yanked her legs painfully wide apart. "Look at that tight little asshole!" Jadar, who was manning her right leg, exclaimed. "It won't be tight after I get through with it," Chen observed salaciously, as he stroked his thick powerful member with one hand while he held one of her arms pinned down with the other. Moments later Feng strode forward, reached into his dusty trousers and brought his massive weapon up to the tiny rosebud between Dena's ripe, deep-clefted buttocks and without further ado, rammed it into her anus. Dena groaned in anguish, not only because of her bottom pain but also because Feng' thrusts scraped her tender breasts against the rough surface of the rock over which she was draped. At first her sphincter resisted, but each violent thrust served to impale her more and more deeply on his phallus. He pounded away furiously, reveling in the spasmodic clutching of her muscular nether passage, until his swollen balls were pounding against her buttcheeks with every plunge. "Unnghhh! Unggghhh! Unngggghhhhh!" Dena moaned beneath him. The subjugation of the sultry princess seemed to have given Feng the stamina of a stallion; to Dena, Feng's vengeful ass-rape seemed to last an eternity, as he plowed his relentless manhood deep into the furrow between Dena's plump buttocks, until at last he shot a mighty wad of spunk deep into her nether channel.







Then, while the others held the squirming princess down, each of the men took a turn raping Dena's whip-inflamed ass, plundering her upraised derriere with the tireless energy of youth. When the five bandits had satisfied themselves on the altar of her rectum, Talmaz came forward. Once again he was content to let his sturdy walking stick act on his behalf; he worked the oaken tool into her with every ounce of his fading strength. And then Kandar strode forward again, a lusty figure of a man, save for his missing limbs. He sodomized her too, but after he emptied the contents of his balls into her nether channel, he did not back away as the others had. Instead he rubbed deer-grease from the cooking pit all over his good stump and then he punched it forward, aiming for the beleaguered princess's semen-dripping rectum. When her rosebud did not yield him entrance, he drew back and shot his truncated limb at her anal opening again. And again. And again. Until at last his greasy limb found its way into Dena's over-stretched rectal canal. Kandar gave the sweet-assed beauty a fistless fisting then, punishing her abused nether channel with every plunge, and every twist and turn of his intruding stump. Meanwhile, after he had finished plundering Dena's shapely buttocks, Feng had stepped away to search his cave for two unusual objects that he had stolen from Dargon's citadel years ago. He had kept them all these years in the forlorn hope that one day he would have a chance to make use of them. He still remembered how Dena had cheered her father's warriors on, when they had used them on Anya, his sister; in a few minutes, though, he was confident that Dena would come to wish that she had never seen them. After a brief search he found them in the dark corner into which they had rolled. Each of the devices had a heavy wooden grip, and a slender silver pin, a little more than an inch in length, that had been painstakingly forged into the tight spiral of a very sharp corkscrew.







When Kandar had finished his anal assault, Feng told his comrades to stand the exhausted girl up, facing him. As he held one of the diabolical corkscrews up before her, Princess Dena recognized it and fainted dead away. But her abductors carried her over to the stream, and threw her bodily into the icy mountain water, which quickly revived her. The water beaded up on her lovely flesh most attractively, chilling her tortured nipples back to erectness; Feng marveled at the animal responsiveness of her body despite the harrowing ordeal she had suffered for the last few hours. Then, as Chen and Xorg held her fast, Feng took the first corkscrew by its wooden grip, placed its fiendishly sharp metal point against the soft curve of her left breast, and pricked her tender breastflesh lightly with the sharp tool, enjoying her winces of pain. Tiring after a few moments of this pleasant foreplay, though, he gripped her punished breast tightly with one big-fingered hand, and then jammed the devilish implement firmly into its soft, warm undercurve. Dena uttered a full-throated cry of agony at this, but Feng did not shrink from his revenge. For this was the Helix - the very same diabolical weapon than Dargon's soldiers had used on the the sweet young breasts of his sister, before they had put her in the Devil's Swing; and now, at last, vengeance - vengeance cruel and sweet - would be his.









Because of its spiral shape, the wicked tool did not puncture the skin too deeply. Until Feng, using the wooden grip for leverage, began to slowly twist the corkscrew, pausing with each quarter-turn to let his comrades revel in the sadistic spectacle. At first only a thin trickle of blood oozed from the tiny wound, but with each merciless turn, Dena's succulent breast became more and more incarnadined. Slowly, relentlessly, Feng bored deeper and deeper into the tortured globe. After a number of turns, the fine point of the slender screw had been drilled into her flesh as far as it would go, and its handle was flush against the outer surface of her blood-smeared breast. When Feng let go, the cork-screw remained lodged deep in her lust melon. Feng and the others paused for a few moments to admire his efforts. And then Feng, still not satisfied that the proud princess had suffered enough, held the second corkscrew carefully over the roaring campfire until it was red hot, and then he touched her other breast with it, enjoying her futile attempts to shrink from the burning metal. Feng then took the implement and etched the Chinese ideograph of his name into the upper curve of her heaving breast with the point of the searing tool. Only when he was finished with his signature did he heat the corkscrew yet again, so that he could once again savor the sadistic thrill of deliberately drilling it into her sweat-slick pleasure- globe, turn by exquisite turn.