EXTRACT FOR
The Naked Appeal
(Author Unknown)

Chelsea screamed about the heavy black rubber bar gag jammed between her teeth and then bit on it as the man slapped her naked breasts again so that they rebounded from each other, and then pinched and twisted her nipples.

    'You like a bit or rough, don't you, whore?' he demanded.  She nodded frantically through her tears.  If it would make him hurt her little less, she would agree to anything?

    Six iron-framed beds, with thin mattresses covered by rubber sheets over webs of springs and metal mesh, had been set out in the middle of the nave in two rows of three, rather like in a hospital ward.  Their corner posts and sides were hung with chains and straps.  On either side of each bed were metre tall candlesticks with wrist-thick red candles burning in them.  

    The women lay spread-eagled on the beds, stretched tight and securely chained down.

    Their "benefactors" for the day were six men who wore rough cloth hoods over their heads, work boots and T-shirts and nothing in between.  Their buttocks clenched in effort, hairy ball sacks bounced and slapped about as rampant erections stabbed and plunged triumphantly into the gaping clefts of their victims.  Each thrust and sob was accompanied by the metallic ping and twang of bedsprings as they bounced on top of them.  Breasts were treated like fleshy modelling clay: slapped and squeezed and kneaded, delighting the young men with their pliability.  What wonderful toys they were!

    After they had each climaxed for the first time, the men pulled out of their women and had a drink and exchanged opinions about their respective mounts' qualities, while Lang and Griffiths made their way around the beds with a bucket and sponge, cleaning up the mess they had left.  A big syringe with a suction cup about the base of its nozzle flushed out and sucked away the mixture of female juices and sperm clogging the wells of aching vaginas.  When they were refreshed, the men swapped about and plunged into new pussies.

    After each man had taken three women, there was a longer interval to eat and recover, while Griffiths and Lang went about the beds turning the women over so that they lay face down and chaining them back in place once again.  Chelsea heard Blanche sobbing quietly but continuously and Tammy pleading indistinctly with Lang in the name of God to let her go, but of course he ignored her.  They were given a drink and then a cup and hose draining into a plastic can was held to their groins so that they could relieve themselves.  Spanking paddles of dense foam rubber were then left lying across their bottoms.  And so round two began.

    The men stood over the beds or knelt between their chosen pair of spread legs and energetically beat the women's bottoms until they were blushing pink.  Shrieks and sobs echoed back from the church walls, mingling with the smack of foam rubber on flesh.  It was not as damaging as the pure rubber blades with their wire webs that Christensen, Lang and Griffiths used, but the young men made up for this deficit by using greater power.  Soon all six women were shrieking and sobbing in pain.

    'We want to hear you beg for it up your bum holes!' the men taunted them.

    'Yes? yes please fuck my bum? put your big cock in my rear? shaft my arse? bugger me? sodomise me? please sir?' the women sobbed back in a cacophony of confused and pitiful pleading.  Chelsea's own snivelling words joined the others.  She was completely beyond shame now and would say anything to get it over with.

    The men lay down across them pumping vigorously and six greased rectums were opened up by hard cocks, stretched and pummelled and then filled with hot sperm.  While each man rested, their well-reamed rectums were flushed clean by the attentive Griffiths and Lang, and then the benefactors tried the pleasures of the next set of tight rear passages?

   After what felt like an eternity of suffering, it was time for the final round of misuse.

    The women were turned over onto their backs once more, and straps were pulled across their stomachs to hold them down.  Then their legs were pulled up and over and their ankles were fastened to the headboards of the bed beside their wrists, so that their bottoms and groins were exposed and thrust upwards.

    Chelsea felt her stomach knotting in fear.  What were they going to do to them next?  What was left?

    The big candlesticks that had been flanking each bed and burning steadily all day, were repositioned so that they rested at angles across the beds with their flames over women's groins.  They screamed as a steady stream of waxy lava dripped and splattered onto their defenceless pubic clefts, seeping between their sore vulva lips, down the clefts of their buttocks and flowing through their pubic curls, flooding their little bushes with red wax that rapidly hardened into solidity.

    Even as she sobbed and whimpered, Chelsea thought her pussy was burning.  How could they be so cruel?

    Only when solid domes of wax filled the space between their inner thighs were the candles removed.  The benefactors chose a woman each and knelt on each bed, examining the wax-encased pubic organs of their victims, while the woman peered up at them between their spread legs, red-eyed and flush-cheeked in fear as a terrible suspicion of what was to come began to overtake them.

    Chelsea looked up at the nameless man who knelt over her, hoping to see some sign of mercy in the excited glittering eyes buried in the slots of his hood, but she saw none?

    'On three,' one of the men said, as they each took hold of one of the red wax crusts. 'One, two, three!' And then they ripped them off the women's bodies, stretching their pussy lips like elastic and then tearing their pubic hair out with them.

    Their screams of pain echoed around the church.  

    The men held their trophies up triumphantly for each of them to see.  Chelsea looked up through streaming eyes at what had been part of her body only moments before being held aloft.  A negative red wax mould of her pussy mouth encasing her pubic bush.  Part of her would always be a macabre permanent memento of some nameless man preserved in wax to celebrate his day of domination over a helpless female plaything.  

    Then the men examined the now perfectly smooth weeping clefts that remained and agreed they looked much prettier now.  After a few more slaps and pinches, their victims, slobbering about their gag bits, also agreed that they were far prettier like this, and that they had enjoyed losing their pubic hair in such a spectacular and painful fashion.  

    And in her despair, Chelsea almost believed it, because the inside of the wax cast of her pubes had orgasmic juices splattered over it.

    Then the men filled their captives' freshly waxed and depilated naked pussies with rolls of banknotes?