THE DREAMSTERS OF MERIDIAN TRACE
Excerpt
PATRICIA IN THE HOUSE OF ZAGISH
by Gabriella Balboa
Patricia O'Mally and her fellow convicts stumbled forward in single file
procession. Their cadence was grueling; their trotting labored. Awkward
staggering underscored their deep exhaustion. A casual observer would have had
no difficulty recognizing that they were prisoners. Neck collars, tether ropes,
and arm bindings were of course dead giveaways.
Their total lack of clothing however, suggested they were not in the custody
of conventional authorities.
Strap marks blazed bright red on Patricia's big bottom and well muscled thighs.
The smarting marks bespoke of how the Harvollian Police had delivered her to
this predicament.
Nine straight hours of marching over harsh Artoolian terrain had stripped away
a good deal of her resistance. A lash had done the rest. Her jerky movements
resembled coiled springs --- dangerously ready to come undone. Her
wrenched-back shoulders trembled violently, twisting her arms into contorted
knots. The incessant clawing of her fingers left no doubt she was a most
reluctant prisoner.
Captain Mustafa Ali-Faziz smiled from his speeder-bike. He'd been cruising
behind the marching female column, of which Patricia was bringing up the rear,
ogling the luscious gyrations of her bare legs and formidable hindcheeks. He
especially enjoyed the awkwardness with which she hopped from foot to foot as
the twin Artoolian suns set fire to the sand.
Sweat poured from the thirty year-old spacewoman. Her waist-length hair was
sloppy with perspiration; appearing darker then it's natural hue (auburn);
matted to her neck and back as if she'd just stepped from a shower.
Being older then the other prisoners had earned Patricia some special
treatment. Unlike her accomplices, Patricia's wrists had not only been bound
behind her back, but also drawn up to the leather collar she wore; tethered to
a D-ring at it's rear. The effect was near dislocation of her broad shoulders,
and absolutely outrageous display of her oh-so mature goods.
The police had greased her bareness ( henchgirls too), with glistening sun
block. Cascades of perspiration added to the glimmer. The ropes cinching each
female's waist stood darkened with sweat.
And, of course, complete nakedness was the uniform of the day!
With Harvollian protocol, the only proper attire for female prisoners was total
nudity. That way, there'd be no chance of harboring a concealed weapon. In
fact, the girls' cat-burglar duds had gone bye-bye immediately after their
apprehension; even before their subsequent trial and conviction. It was the law
of the land!
Stripped nude, Patricia O'Mally was breathtaking --- a spectacle of female
voluptuousness in the tradition of Jayne Mansfield or Christy Canyon ( in their
seasoned years ). Compared to her younger accomplices, she was clearly a
grown-up woman. Her boobs were pendulous floppers --- fleshy double-D cones,
whose sweaty underbellies casted dark crescent shadows, and cleavage loomed
deep and lusty --- a perfect spot to snuggle a man, or harbor an
identification-mark. Her waist looked to have had years of corset training,
flaring into mature hips and an absolutely glorious bottom. Her thighs
comprised a perfect blend of muscle and satin; calves looked absurdly sexy.
Even her feet were titillating --- slim and shaply --- with decidedly fabulous
toes and heels.
She possessed a heart-shaped face, bee-stung lips, aquiline nose, and deeply
set emerald eyes. A thick mane of auburn hair cascaded to the top of her butt
crack.
And then there was her voice, which although was reputed to be quite sensual,
currently didn't live up to it.
" OHHHHH....PLEASE...P-P-PLEEEEESSSSEEEEE!!!! OH ..M-MY FEET ARE
B-B-BURNING..T-THEY..R..F-FIRE.....ON F-FIRE...SOB SOB SOB SOB!!! "
Patricia twisted her head this way and that, babbling to no one in particular.
The heat and exhaustion had reduced her vision to a meaningless blur. She could
only see outlines of the space-police who'd made prisoners of herself and her
gang.
Mustafa's men circled around her --- their speeder-bikes churning up a
sandstorm that clung to her bareness like slop to a pig --- whooping and
roaring as the Captain answered Patricia's pleas.
"So sorry to hear that miss O'Mally. I'd give you some sandals, but prisoners
must be kept completely naked. Including the feet. It's Artoolian law, you
know. I'll admit the suns are hot, but I did have you properly greased, and you
still have your hair. At least for the time being anyway.
"But I'm not completely insensitive to your discomfort. Perhaps we can take
your mind off your tootsies. The law does give us the option to employ corporal
measures. Maybe a good strapping of your big bare bottom will help."
"NOO.....OOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
SWISH...SMACK!!!
WOOSH...WAP!!!
SWAT...SPLAT!!!
SMACK! SMACK! WALLOP!!!!!
"OWWWEEEEEEEEOO!..NO!..OUCH!...OH..NO!...UGGGGG! UUUUUUUGG!!..NOOO
M-MOREEEE..AGGGGGHH!! OW! OUCH...AGGGGGEEEE!!!..P-P-P-PL-LEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!
I-I-I'M..S-SORRYEEE!..I'LL..B-BE. G-G-GOOOOOOOD! SOB!
SOB!..BOO!..HOO!..HOO!!!!"
"I suggest you relax miss O'Mally. Those big tits of yours are flopping all
over the place, and you're loosing the pace! Try to set a better example for
the others. I know that big ass of yours can take a sound lashing without any
permanent damage. I have experience in these matters! You see, I'm a
professional! Besides, I'll bet you've already forgotten about your feet! Now
straighten up, get those titties properly jutted, and thank my men for
attending to you!"
Patricia's neck snapped to attention. The belts were walloping her cheeky goods
so fiercely, that the smacks could be heard a quarter-mile away.
As each salvo catapulted her forward, she scrambled to trot faster, as if she
could somehow out-distance the spankers.
SMACK!
Her pelvis bucked.
WHACK!
Thighs violently wobbled.
THWACK!
Knees momentarilly turned to rubber, resulting in a lewd, bow-legged waddle.
WAP!
Her head pitched; girl-bags wildly joggled; mouth screwed into a tight oval.
The ensuing whistle sounded like an erupting teapot.
THWACK!
Teeth flashed.
SPLAT!
Spittle frothed and drooled.
And after every whiplash, the former cat-burglar sputtered a shaky...
"T-T-T-THANK....Y-YOU"
.
..to her assailants.
Mustafa's men instinctively guided their speeder-bikes up along side of the
lumbering female. With eyes now targeting Patricia's flopping tits, their whips
stood ready to quell any further insolence.
It wasn't necessary, however.
Thirty strokes across her cheeky bottom had been all the inducement she
needed...
...to break into a disciplined trot;...
...maintain it until camp was reached.
-2-
Three hours later, the procession of female prisoners was ordered to a halt.
Patricia sank to straddled knees, burying her face in the evening sand. Her
tits hung beneath, like jiggling cow udders. She was a beaten animal in every
sense: panting fiercely, bottom cheeks weaving high and vulnerable; pee-pee
rolling down her inner thighs. Every bone in her shoulders and arms screamed in
agony. Dark spots swirled before her glazed eyes.
A hand slipped under her chin, raising up her woeful visage. She blinked and
struggled to focus on the hopelessly defeated faces of her fellow convicts.
Unlike herself, ball gags had been used to muzzle them; wrist-to-wrist bondage
secured their arms behind curvaceous hips. Their only other attire was total
nudity.
They were all between twenty-five and thirty years old,.....accomplices of
Patricia in a diabolical burglary ring. They'd been apprehended after their
last caper; quickly convicted,...and now stood blank eyed, naked and bound;
subdued by terror and pain.
The burning terrain had compelled them, like Patricia, to trot well up on the
balls of their bare feet, like harnessed fillies. A point which played no small
role in their current fatigue.
Heads lolled as they surrendered to the exhaustion. Ribs heaved; girl-glands
quivered. Nostrils dilated and snorted as their lungs fought for air.
Damn those ball gags!
On command, they dropped to their knees, and, under the scrutiny of
whip-wielding police, lewdly relieved themselves.
Then, while grinding their foreheads into the yellowed sand, and twisting their
ivory skinned bottoms provocatively aloft, the henchgirls were all brutally
fucked.
Huh?
Fucked?
Brutally?
What the heck kind of Police are these guys?
Hey, I told you they weren't "conventional authorities"!
You see, on Planet Biblelando, which is where this dream is unfolding, all
convicted criminals are turned over to other criminals for punishment.
It's simply an extension of the eye-for-an-eye philosophy!
And when straws were drawn for sentencing of the O'Mally Gang, the Harvollian's
got the nod.
The fact that the Harvollian Police were themselves a notorious slavery ring,
had made no matter.
Bad folks get punished by bad folks on Biblelando. It was simply the law of the
land!
In fact, the Harvollian's business was already pumping on all cylinders at the
time they'd received the O'Mally assignment. The sudden arrival of seven more
beautiful females, who would require extensive training, represented a huge
burden for the operation; much more of a hindrance then anything else.
At first they seriously concidered refusing the appointment, appealing to the
Court on a hardship basis. But when duty calls,...
...those with a sense of responsibility must answer.
Although a plethora of overtime would be required,...the boys simply sucked it
up;
...rolled up their sleeves (and down their flys),...
...and went to work!
-3-
During the debauchery of her girlfriends, Patricia wasn't left neglected.
Her big bare titties were treated to a taste of the lash.
The convicted burgler howled like a coyote in the moonlight, as two brutes
whipped her girl-glands with crisp strokes.
While randy pricks violated henchgirl pussy, oiled belts punished the gang's
leader.
Hot sperm bloated the boys' nuts to the bursting point. One after another,
cocks wrenched free at the last second; then slapped hot and sticky against
Patricia's grimly clenched jaws.
Fists grabbed hench-girl hair,....and the six heads were rudely jerked upward
and twisted toward Patricia, who was ovaling her lips around prick after prick.
Six times her cheeks were hugely ballooned by warm salty goo. Cum bubbles
expanded at her nostrils. Froth oozed at the perimeter of her lip-lock ---
baptizing her chin; snaking between her flopping tits.
Mustafa reminded Patricia she would be taught to perform better. Then he held
up six outrageously long dildos.
"Big, aren't they miss O'Mally? You know where they're going, don't you? Right
up the assholes of your henchwomen. Yes, that's right! We need to break those
holes in quickly. Now why don't you be a good leader, and grease them up nice
and slippery? "
Deep sobs rocked Patricia's frame. Her robust titties careened this way and
that as she bawled. Laughter was all she got for her trouble. That, and a big
jar of pig fat --- rudely pressed under her nose.
The odor raised a tide of nausea.
The foul goop was scooped up and plopped between her udders. Fists pulled her
hair savagely. She was hugely bent backward, making her tits wobble like twin
jello blobs. Methodically, her glands were wrapped around each of the rubber
dongs and cleavage-fucked.
At some point a hypodermic needle was jammed in her ass. Unconsciousness
relieved her from the debauchery.
The bandits flopped her forward; then hog tied her. A pole was slipped through
her linked extremities and Patricia was carried her off to Mustafa's tent like
a fallen animal.
The rest of the police busied themselves with the muzzled girls. A table had
been set up with barber equipment. The weeping females were lined up on their
knees with leashes attached to their collars.
A nearby transport was being unloaded. It's cargo,...
...graphite bondage frames.
-4-
"Time to rise and shine, Prisoner-499. There's no one to rescue you in your
dreams. Wake up and see what surprises we have for you."
Mustafa's voice was slow and almost soothing.
He slowly walked around Patricia's hanging body, scanning every inch of her
nakedness. When face to face with the convicted gang leader, he grinned and
signaled a minion to begin cranking a suspension winch. An overhead pulley
creaked loudly.
The system drew Patricia upward, raising her to the very balls of her feet.
Perspiration rolled. Her mouth screwed into a grimace; fingers began clawing at
the air.
Another turn of the crank raised her to tippy toes.
Her eyelids lurched. She frantically pitched from side to side, trying to get
oriented.
Another rotation,...and her right foot was dragged from the ground.
Pain surged everywhere, but especially in her tits.
She jerked into the most stretched posture as she could, rotating her hips
inward; feet madly scrambling for contact. Her windpipe was choked off, due to
her own struggling arms --- still tethered at the back of her dog-collar.
Another crank saw spittle flying everywhere.
Pee-pee too.
And a shitload more of sweat!
Gooey snot clung to her chin; saltwater dripped from quivering heels. She
whipped her head right and left, not understanding why she couldn't feel her
hair.
Pain surged --- thwarting her abilty to comprehend.
She bucked her neck downward. The effort seemed to detonate a fire-bomb --- in
her titties.
A rude fart bleated.
She instinctively hung as still as possible. Then, without moving a muscle,
rolled her big eyes downward.
Her boobs looked ready to burst --- each hugely bloated and tense --- with
engorged veins fanning from ring-skewered nipples.
Agony bludgeoned like a sledge hammer. Fireworks eclipsed her vision as reality
sank in!.
She was now suspended fully clear of the ground...
...hanging by her tits!
"AAHHHHHHHH....OOOOOOOOEEEE.....NO..NOOO...N-NOT-T-T
THISSSSSSS-S-S...OH..GOD...GOD...PLEEEEASE...LET...MEEEEE D-D-DOWN!!!!!!!!
OHHHHH..SSHHHHHHHHHHHHHIIIIITT!!
AAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Saliva clung like mad-dog froth. Farts mimicked a burp-gun. Social etiquette
was forgotten faster then a Clinton redemption promise.
Mustafa tapped a riding crop against Patricia's left tit.
The pitch underscored the gland's tautness --- like a snare drum.
He stroked the whip over her nipples; then slid it down her belly. Five strokes
would be delivered across her midriff; then five more aslant each robust
haunch.
And she better count off each one loud and clear.
CRACK!!!!!!!
"AGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH-H-HH!...O-ONEEEEE!!!..SOB!.SOB!"
THWACK!!!!
"OOHHH..AGA..AOOEEEEEEEEEEIIIIII!!!...T-T-TWOOOO!"
The scene could not have been more barbaric: a naked woman with pierced
nipples, and arms crossed behind her back --- strung up by her big tits; being
methodically flogged with a riding crop.
Patricia's grotesque lurching was bestial; her writhing left no doubt the
punishment was beyond any darkest expectation.
And why not?
After all, she was a convicted criminal!
She hadn't given a hoot about the misery she and her gang had inflicted!
Now it was her turn!
Want some leniency, Patty?
Next time don't get convicted on Planet Biblelando!
Patricia's treatment would be stringent indeed; sure to be one-hell-of a
deterrent to others contemplating a career in burglary. No prejudice would be
exhibited in preparing her for the auction platform.
That'd been her sentence!
And her gang's too!
All would be totally humiliated and unquestionably subdued.
And if there were any doubt of the nastiness to come, one glance at what'd been
done to Patricia's beautiful hair would settle it.
End of the excerpt.
