The Iron Maiden of Caen - Sex Stories

The Iron Maiden of Caen

... screamed, deafening herself in her steel tomb. Her chest tried to heave driving the spikes impaling her breasts hard against the ribs beneath while some of those lower down her chest slipped slightly between those ribs to tear the muscle connecting them. Still she screamed. Her tummy heaving onto and off those spikes embedded in it. Any attempts to relieve the pressure from one spike only pushed another opposite one slightly further in. Spikes even pressed into the soft flesh between her pubic mound and her hips, which could only be relieved by driving her buttocks further onto the spikes behind which had already sunk into them. For half an hour she screamed and twitched, no longer cold sealed inside her own tiny world, her private hell, sweat started to mingle with the rivulets of blood. Then, exhausted her body gave up, hanging still as she continued to take shallow, painful, breaths. Yet she remained conscious even when cramps seized her immobile legs. She had no idea of time. She perhaps slept fitfully, supported by the spikes which had now become almost a part of her. As the hours went by she learnt to live with the unceasing pain from every part of her body, but then a burning thirst began to take over. Weakly she cried out once again, but this time for water. However each pathetic cry embedded the spikes deeper between her ribs and that pain once again came to the fore .... Karl had sat staring at the closed casket. He had, of course, been sorely tempted to open it ...

... after her muffled cries had faded away but, desperately hoping his measurements, calculations and assumptions had been correct, he watched it, for hour after hour. He tried to imagine what the poor girl must be going through, assuming she still lived. Poor girl? What made him think that? She had recently murdered his superior and five SS officers. Bitch was too good a word for her! He stood, walked up to the Maiden and embraced its smooth steel. He dropped his trousers and, thinking of the girl inside it started masturbating. Knowing her naked frail body was suffering just centimetres the other side of that beautiful burnished steel! "Herr Schmidt!" Was it morning already? Hilda called out upstairs, in rising panic "Herr Schmidt, where is the prisoner?" He had to refasten his trousers and adjust his clothing before going up to her, turning off the lights. "She's downstairs, waiting to talk to me soon, I hope." Hilda moved towards the open cellar door. He tried to pull her away but she stepped on down. Unable to find the light switch in the unfamiliar surroundings she fell over a storage box on the floor. Karl pulled her to her feet then pushed her back against the wall. "Where is she? What are you doing to her? I want to see... " pleaded Hilda. Karl hit her in the stomach, hard. As she bent forward her caught her by the neck and pinioned her against the wall while ripping open her blouse with the other. As she struggled to release the grip of his right hand round her throat he ...