Free Babala's Correction by Bethany Amber Page B

as he clutched her upper arm with his grimy fingers. He wore a greasy square of leather to hide his genitals and his upper body was covered in dark matted hair.
    â€˜A whore, eh?’ he hissed through broken, rotted teeth, as he dragged her from the podium and down a flight of worn steps to a maze of dark and dank cells.
    â€˜No, I’m not a whore,’ Babala said, through sobs of indignation. ‘I was prepared for the Prince.’
    The jailer’s filthy free hand slipped down over the pleasing flatness of her tummy to the pad of her pussy mound. ‘And what Prince is that? There is no prince in Brentasi. Only a dictator.’
    Babala twisted her body, trying desperately to escape his loathsome advances, but his fingers slipped down further to enter the moist crevice of her sex pouch. She felt his ragged nail stroke the slippery tip of her nubbin and she couldn’t help but arch against his touch.
    â€˜And a well trained whore at that,’ the foul brute croaked. ‘You love the touch of a man, do you not? See how you thrust against my fingers, urging me to slip them into your warm softness.’
    â€˜It’s because I was trained...’
    â€˜Just as I said; a well trained whore.’ The jailer twisted her against him, lifting the leather square to reveal his cock, bigger even than Capel’s. ‘Not many girls can take this. They scream with horror at the thickness and length of it. I was cursed until the Slavemaster flung you to me.’
    â€˜I was trained by the Taskmaster in the palace of Ellipsis,’ Babala insisted, but such was her training that she no longer struggled.
    â€˜Good...’ he murmured. ‘Excellent.’
    She could feel the massive bulb of his flesh sword opening the dark folds of her cunny and her breathing became more rapid as her traitorous excitement grew.
    â€˜Perhaps you would like to play a little game.’ The two were locked together by the gnarled length that was partially inserted between her thighs.
    â€˜As it pleases you, sir,’ Babala whispered meekly. Her training went deep, and as the jailer said, perhaps she was too well trained for her own good.
    â€˜Oh, it would greatly please me,’ he wheezed, and then pushed her to the darkest corner of a dank cell and she felt the hardness of wood against her bottom, and then she was lifted and placed upon a worn table-like contraption.
    â€˜What is this?’ she asked fearfully, her buttocks lifted by a shaped wooden pillow that served to also part her thighs. She felt extremely open and vulnerable.
    â€˜As I said,’ murmured the jailer, ‘just a little toy of mine...’
    Wrists released from the bonds Babala had worn for two days were immediately clamped wide apart in shackles fixed to the head of the table. Her ankles were similarly spread and clamped securely, and the position in which she was placed lifted her tummy and breasts and offered her fleshpot to her captor. She was rendered totally helpless and at the jailer’s mercy.
    The bottom pillow thrust up and spread her sex, and she was all too aware that the dim candlelight revealed her pert pink nubbin very clearly against the darkness of her sex folds.
    â€˜How do you feel?’ The jailer bent to lap his tongue about each bud of her nipples.
    â€˜V-very open,’ admitted Babala.
    â€˜As a whore should be for her client.’ The tongue laid a trail of spittle over her raised belly and wetted the upper curls of her cunny.
    â€˜I’m not a whore.’ Babala struggled against the iron clamps, but only succeeded in causing her wrists to be chafed by the cold hardness of the iron manacles.
    â€˜Who but a whore would allow herself to be led to this table so willingly?’ persisted the odious jailer, shuffling between her straddled thighs. ‘Eh? Answer me that.’ He waved his monstrous penis over her like a huge wand. It was thick and full, the skin stretched by its