Chapter 57 Noelle
NOELLE
Noelle’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped-bird rhythm that echoed in the silence of the winding stone staircase. The air grew colder and damper as they descended—the only light coming from a faint, sickly green glow-strip along the wall.
Thune’s massive, three-headed form loomed behind them, his heavy, shuffling footsteps a constant, menacing reminder of their captivity.
The control to the pain collars they wore was clutched in one of his huge, gnarled hands, a simple silver remote that held the power to send them all to their knees in agony.
What’s going to happen to us? The question was a desperate, silent scream in her mind. What are we going to do if he tries something?
She didn’t even know what she meant by “something,” just that in this place, with this creature, it was bound to be terrible, humiliating, and painful.
The stairs finally ended, opening into a vast, cavernous room that swallowed all sound. It was pitch black until Thune grunted and slapped a panel on the wall. Harsh, overhead lights flickered on, one after another, revealing the space in all its terrifying glory.
Noelle’s breath caught in her throat. It looked like a sex dungeon. She’d never been in one, but the images from BDSM erotica novels she’d guiltily read paled in comparison to the real, visceral presence of the equipment surrounding them.
The walls were rough-hewn stone, but anchored to them were polished steel racks displaying an array of intimidating implements. Floggers with multiple tails of black leather and soft suede hung beside single-tail whips that looked like they could split skin.
There were paddles of various sizes and materials—smooth wood, perforated leather, even one that appeared to be made of thick, clear acrylic with holes drilled in it—presumably to cut wind resistance.
A St. Andrew’s cross, stark and imposing, dominated one wall, its restraints hanging open like waiting arms. In another corner stood a spanking bench, upholstered in black vinyl, with straps for wrists and ankles.
Suspension cuffs and heavy chains dangled from a reinforced beam in the ceiling, and glass-fronted cabinets held rows of gleaming metal clamps, plugs, and other devices whose purposes she could only guess at—their cold, clinical appearance at odds with the raw sensuality they implied.
The air smelled of old stone, oiled leather, and a faint, coppery tang that might have been blood.
In the very center of the room, sitting directly on the cold stone floor, was an enormous, low-profile mattress, covered in plain black fabric.
To Noelle, it looked like an altar. At the far end of the room was a large, overstuffed couch clearly built for someone Thune’s size.
Perched on one arm was a sleek, mechanical drone, its single, unblinking red eye dark.
In front of the couch was a large viewscreen, currently blank.
Thune settled his immense bulk onto the couch with a groan that shook the floor, his three heads bobbing in unison. The springs protested loudly.
“Now then, piggy-wigs,” the middle head rumbled, its voice a grating bass that vibrated in Noelle’s bones. “The three of you are about to have some fun.”
As he spoke, the drone on the arm of the couch whirred to life, its red eye glowing.
It rose silently into the air and floated towards them, coming to hover just overhead.
Simultaneously, the viewscreen flickered on, displaying a crisp, high-definition image of the three of them from the drone’s perspective.
Noelle saw herself, pale and wide-eyed, flanked by the tense, shirtless forms of Bright and Burn. It’s a camera. He’s filming us.
“Now get on the mattress,” the Trollox commanded. “Yes, all three of you. Oh, but first, take off your clothes—we want to be able to see your pretty little bodies.”
A violent shiver wracked Noelle’s frame. She didn’t want to get nude—the thin fabric of her dress wasn’t much cover, but it was better than no protection at all.
Thune noticed her hesitation. He raised the silver remote and waved it menacingly. A low, warning hum emanated from the collars around their necks.
“Come now, piggy-wigs—show us what we want to see.”
The three of them exchanged a look of shared dread and grim resignation. Burn’s jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. Bright’s face was a mask of controlled fury.
But Noelle didn’t want to be shocked again.
The memory of the searing, incapacitating pain was too fresh.
With trembling fingers, she reached for the fastenings of her dress.
The soft rustle of fabric was deafening in the quiet room as she let it fall to the floor, leaving her standing completely bare.
A moment later, she heard the rustling sounds of Bright and Burn discarding their own trousers.
The cool, damp air raised goosebumps on her naked skin, and she fought the urge to cover her breasts and the triangle of dark curls between her legs, knowing she would only shock herself if she did, thanks to the non-contact collar she wore
“Good, good,” Thune grated, his six eyes roving over their bodies with clinical appraisal. “Now then, I know the three of you have to be all together in order to breed, but we think it would be good to see you in pairs to start with. Let’s see…which of you has the biggest equipment?”
The drone whirred in a slow circle around them, its lens focusing intently on their groins. But neither Bright nor Burn was hard. They stood with their fists clenched, their postures rigid with tension and defiance.
This seemed to displease Thune. The middle head let out an angry snort.
“Well now, this is no good—we must be able to see what kind of equipment you have before we start the breeding, piggies. Each of you, take a pink drink from the cooler unit.” He gestured with a massive hand towards a sleek, humming unit in the corner.
“And while we’re at it, we think it would be good to have some wine. ”
He heaved himself off the couch and lumbered towards the cooler. As he did, Noelle’s eyes, sharp with fear and desperation, caught a glimpse of something long and silver sticking out of the pocket of his sagging, filthy trousers.
Her heart gave a wild leap.
Could it be? The key to the shuttle?
It had the right shape, the right metallic glint. She nudged Bright subtly with her elbow and nodded her head minutely towards Thune’s retreating back. The Light Twin’s gaze followed hers, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod, catching Burn’s eye to pass the silent message along.
Is there any way to get it?
But the hope was immediately crushed by the sight of the silver remote, still held securely in the Trollox’s other hand.
Thune opened the cooler, the light from within illuminating his grotesque features.
He pulled out a large, dark bottle of wine and poured a truly enormous amount into a tankard that looked like it had been carved from a dinosaur’s skull.
The smell that wafted across the room was pungent and fruity, with a sharp, alcoholic burn that stung Noelle’s nostrils even from a distance. It was clearly potent stuff.
“Well? What are you waiting for—come here and have a pink drink, piggy-wigs,” he demanded, turning back to them and waving the remote again.
Reluctantly, they walked towards the cooler, their bare feet silent on the cold stone. Noelle felt utterly exposed and vulnerable under the unblinking gaze of the drone and Thune’s six hungry eyes.
“What’s in this fucking stuff?” Burn growled, picking up one of the small, chilled bottles filled with a vibrant, pepto-bismol-pink liquid from the door of the unit.
“Nothing bad—it only gives good feelings,” Thune promised, all three of his heads nodding in unnerving unison. “All good feelings for the piggy-wigs,” the middle head remarked with a wet-sounding chuckle. “Now drink up…or would you rather drink pain?”
He pointed the remote directly at them, and the collars around their necks hummed ominously.
Noelle hastily uncapped her own bottle. The smell that hit her was cloyingly sweet and minty, with a chalky, medicinal undertone that reminded her exactly of the Pepto-Bismol it looked like.
She had never been able to stand the taste or smell of wintergreen—it made her want to gag. But the threat of the shock collar was more immediate. She pinched her nose and took a sip.
The taste was worse than the smell—thick, syrupy, and disgustingly sweet, with a bitter, chemical finish that coated her tongue.
She forced herself to swallow, then took another, larger gulp, desperate to get it over with.
Thankfully, the bottle was small, and it was gone in only a few revolting swallows.
Bright and Burn downed theirs with similar expressions of disgust.
Almost immediately, a wave of dizziness washed over Noelle. The room seemed to tilt slightly and she had to put out her arms to keep her balance.
That wasn't the only effect, however—the strange, achy fullness she’d felt earlier in her breasts returned with a vengeance—a deep, throbbing need that made her nipples pull into painfully tight, sensitive peaks.
But between her legs, things were even worse. A sudden, shocking heat bloomed in her core—a wet, aching emptiness that made her gasp. She had to squeeze her thighs together tightly, trying to alleviate the sudden, fierce ache of desire that clenched deep in her belly.
Noelle looked at the empty bottle in disbelief.
What the hell was in that drink?
On either side of her, it was obvious Bright and Burn were feeling the effects too.
Their cocks—which had been soft moments before—were now rising, thickening, and lengthening with startling speed.
They swelled to their full, impressive dimensions, standing thick and hard and proud between their legs.
Burn’s shaft was a masterpiece of brutal thickness—heavily veined and dark with desire, while Bright’s was slightly longer—a graceful, elegant weapon.