THE PEAR


@Copyright Maureen Lycaon, May 2000, January 2002. Permission 
hereby granted to distribute this story freely by electronic 
means, as long as no money or other consideration is charged. 
Permission is also granted to print out a couple of hard copies 
for personal use. All other rights reserved under the Berne 
Convention. Please don't repost this without my permission; I 
can repost my own stories, thank you.


Author's notes: This is a *very extreme fantasy*, even if it's 
written in a way that makes it sound very real. In point of 
fact, you'd be crazy to use this device in real-life BDSM play -
- you'd most likely kill your partner.

Unfortunately, the pear was a very real torture device used by 
the arbiters of morality to ferret out "witches" during the 
early Renaissance witch hunts.

Yep, Kerry Black, as he calls himself, is a Satanist. No, the 
Mistress here is not. Their relationship verges on hate at 
times: it's a complex one with more background than is covered 
in this story.

I live for feedback. Send it to maureen_lcn@yahoo.com. You can 
read more of my stuff at:

http://members.vclart.net/Maureen/



The Pear

By Maureen Lycaon



At my order, big Kargoth lowered the singletail and stepped 
back. Kerry Black leaned -- no, better, sagged -- against the 
leather-padded whipping post, breathing heavily, loudly. 

His arms were stretched over his head, the leather wrist cuffs 
chained to the metal ring at the top. His whipstreaked back 
glistened with sweat wherever his long, curly brown hair didn't 
cover it. Candlelight flickered off the little gold reversed 
crucifix dangling at his throat. 

The air of the "dungeon" room reeked with smells that told a 
story: the tangy-sour scent of fear, the sharp musk of the anger 
that was so much a part of his psyche, the more subtle musk of 
masculine arousal with its hints of semen. And, of course, the 
smells of leather and sweat, and the faint burning-paraffin 
scent of more than a dozen candles set in iron sconces around 
the room, casting their golden light on his compact, muscular 
body.

I savored those smells, savored the sight of his body in the 
flickering light. Kerry's head was half-hidden by his long hair 
at the moment, but then he lifted it slightly, turning to me to 
glare once again. He didn't bother to glance down at my breasts.

*You can't break me*, the look in those dark, angry eyes said. 
*You haven't even *hurt* me yet.*

He'd just taken a hundred lashes, half of them with the 
singletail. It would have been an extremely severe whipping for 
anyone else. For Kerry, it was barely out of the parking lot.

I looked back at that blunt, brutal face with its heavy brows 
and deep, dark eyes, at Kerry's anger no longer sullen but fully 
aroused and flaring -- like his penis, rock-hard in spite of the 
pain he'd just endured.

If I didn't break him, or at least impress him, I'd lose his 
respect.

I wasn't worried.

"Like that?" I said, smiling blatantly into his face. "Well, it 
gets better. I've got a little surprise for you."

I went back to the dresser in the corner of the room, opened the 
top drawer, and pulled out the little wood-and-metal object. 
When I returned to his side, I held it up to his face as he 
leaned against the whipping post.

Kerry shook the hair out of his sweaty face to get a better look 
(and more candlelight flickered off that reversed crucifix), and 
then his jaw went slack, eyes widening. He recognized it, all 
right.

"No way!" he said, his rough voice hardly more than a husky 
whisper. "No --" And then he turned his face away.

I grinned. This time I'd really rocked him.

"Come on," I challenged. "Take a look. I went to a lot of 
trouble to have this made, just for you, because I don't know 
any other sub who could take it."

Kerry can't resist a challenge to his pride. Reluctantly, he 
turned his head again to get a closer look.

The pear was one of the most vicious devices in the arsenal of 
medieval and Renaissance torturers, which was why he recognized 
it. Perhaps even had an encounter with it in some forgotten or 
not-so-forgotten past life. This one wasn't that old; I'd had it 
custom-made, out of polished wood instead of metal.

It looked like an elongated wooden pear or a fig, only three 
inches wide at the widest part, with a little metal crank where 
the stem would be on a real pear.

I demonstrated its workings, turning the little crank to open it 
up. The four beautifully dovetailed 'quarters' of the pear 
opened up, widening like vise jaws in reverse, to their maximum 
width as I kept cranking - about five inches, as big as a large 
fist.

The original versions would have been bigger - big enough that, 
when used, they usually killed the victim.

Kerry clamped his jaw again, his face turning a shade paler. 
Kargoth laughed - mockingly, cruelly, white teeth gleaming in 
his dark face.

I waited tensely for a safeword. None came. Instead, he lowered 
his head again, giving me an ever-so-little headshake, and I 
heard a muttered "Fuck."

"Let's get him over the padded bench again," I said to Kargoth, 
who grinned and stepped forward.



Later: bent over the bench, he was an even better target, his 
muscular ass offered up invitingly.  Kargoth used him a second 
time, fucking him slow but hard, making it hurt as much as 
possible. Kerry clenched at the stout bench legs, at the chains 
holding his wrists to them. His head was up, his face almost 
beautiful, transfigured by mingled pain and passion, now 
gritting his teeth, now open-mouthed and moaning -- not with 
pleading but with pleasure.

Toward the end he was actually thrusting back, making the bench 
squeak, grinding his ass into Kargoth's pelvis. I squatted down 
to see his penis, now harder than ever as Kargoth fucked him. He 
couldn't quite rub it against the padding, but it looked like it 
was dripping precum.

Kargoth came inside him, throwing his head back and grimacing 
with ecstasy. He stood there a few moments relaxing, while Kerry 
slumped with mingled relief and disappointment over the bench, 
before he stepped back to leave him once again.

I went over, squatted down again and examined Kerry's puckered 
little anus. After two fuckings already, not to mention a 
session with my largest strap-on, it was swollen, still slightly 
open and leaking Kargoth's cum in a sticky stream down the 
cleft.

He was ready for a bigger caliber.

I rose and got the pear again. As I approached, I was rewarded 
with the sight of his hard muscles tensing up. I held the toy up 
before his eyes once more; he stared bravely at it, but I could 
smell his fear.

The tension between us was electric; he was aroused, terrified -
- and very genuinely angry, as he so often is during our 
sessions. I gave him my best predatory mocking smile, looking 
into his eyes.

"You -- fucking -- bitch," he gritted.

I let my smirk get broader, and then I walked around the bench 
to his other end.

I'd greased the pear, of course. Kargoth held his buttocks open 
as I pressed the bulb against that hard-used, quivering anus and 
slowly pushed.

Kerry's body shuddered all over. Having to take that terrible 
thing into his anus was probably the hardest thing he'd ever had 
to do under my command, but he'd be damned if he'd safeword. 

Slowly, slowly, the ring of the anus stretched around the pear, 
helplessly accepting it. 

I don't know how long it took for me to get it all inside him. 
Maybe five minutes, maybe ten, as I pushed it little by little, 
never letting up the pressure except when I paused to let his 
rectum adjust. He writhed slowly on the bench as Kargoth held 
his ass wide open, muscles standing out in relief, shaking his 
head, his entire body rigid.

As the widest part of the bulb entered his tortured asshole, he 
actually groaned despite himself, "No . . . no . . ."

"I do not hear a safeword," I told him. "Do I hear a safeword?"

"Nope, no safeword," said Kargoth, grinning from ear to ear.

"Shit . . . *Damn* you, bitch!"

Once the bulb was in, the rest followed easily. At last the 
whole torture device was buried in him, up to the little 'stem' 
end with its crank.

His life was in my hands. It would be so easy to go too far . . 
. . And his agony, too, was in my hands. That's what really got 
me going! I could inflict as much as I wanted, as long as I 
wanted.

I eyed his taut, sweating body. I couldn't see his face, only 
his shaggy dark hair, but I knew already he was in Purgatory. I 
considered my choices: take him to Hell right now, or taunt and 
tease him with the agonizing anticipation?

I opted for a few moments of teasing, nudging the pear, playing 
with it as it protruded from his asshole. His entire body 
writhed slowly, unable to remain still, but he didn't make a 
sound, except for the hiss of his explosively released breath. 
He wouldn't give me his cries yet.

Kargoth squatted on his haunches in front of Kerry. His black 
face was split in a wide, white, cruel grin as he watched 
Kerry's face. But I knew pretty much what he was seeing: Kerry's 
teeth gritted, jaw muscles trembling with the strain, his face 
twisted in utter agony.

And then I began cranking the pear open, as slowly as possible. 
I braced the protruding end with the fingers of my left hand and 
gave the crank a slow turn with my right -- it expanded maybe an 
eighth of an inch with each full crank. One full turn . . . 
another . . . Even before I finished the third turn, Kerry was 
shaking uncontrollably, and once again his exhalation was a 
hissing whimper.

I paused, my hands poised on the pear. "Want to safeword?"

He shook his head angrily, sending sweat flying from his 
drenched hair. More sweat was literally running in rivulets onto 
the leather of the bench, every muscle was quivering, the agony 
had to be excruciating -- and he would *not* safeword. I gave 
the crank another turn and stepped back to watch again.

We watched for fully a minute as he writhed on the bench, body 
jerking, fists clenching. His erection was down to half-mast. 
Not even Kerry can eroticize that much agony, even though he 
needs desperately to feel it.

Then I stepped forward again. This time I tried just a half 
turn.

I couldn't have gotten a more powerful reaction if I'd run a 
jolt of electricity through him. His scream of pain punished my 
ears as he lost control, and his entire body spasmed and arched 
on the bench, one big hard tight muscle. The crank was torn from 
my grasp and I pulled back my hands as his hips wrenched away 
from me, his body trying wildly to escape my torture even as his 
mind refused to safeword.

Kargoth's eyes glittered with delight as he watched, and I 
wondered if mine did, too. His erection was at full mast, 
practically slapping against his belly as Kerry writhed on the 
bench, his scream dropping to a strained, involuntary whimper. 
Finally Kerry took a hissing intake of breath, teeth bared, his 
whole body shaking as he regained control.

I watched in awe. I honestly hadn't thought he'd be able to stop 
screaming. But then I crouched down again to continue.

Kargoth stepped around to seize his hips as my hands once again 
went to his ass -- and the gracelessly protruding crank.

Another turn -- same thing. Once again I got only one scream, 
and no safeword. Sweat dripped off the bench onto the concrete 
floor.

Another turn. Another . . . more . . .

And finally, with the pear opened to more than four inches wide 
inside his rectum, Kerry arched and threw back his head again, 
screamed more loudly than ever -- and then slumped in total 
collapse.

I let go of the crank, straightened up and went over to his 
head, brushing his hair back to get a look at his face. He was 
out cold, in a dead faint, eyes closed, face slack.

I glanced over to Kargoth, who shrugged and looked disappointed. 
As for me, I was almost relieved. Almost.

I padded back to Kerry's hindquarters. On a sudden thought, I 
pushed a hand in between his groin and the padding -- he was 
lying belly-flat to the bench now. It came away drenched, but I 
wasn't sure whether it was semen or just sweat. He'd really 
soaked the bench during his agonies.

I cranked the pear back closed again and gently withdrew it from 
his tortured anus. There was no bleeding, but it remained half-
open in a gentle pout, swollen and a bit reddened.

Only as Kargoth and I unchained him, half-dragging his 
unconscious form off the bench, did I finally see that there was 
indeed a big splotch of thick, translucent semen on the wetly 
shining cover, dripping down to the floor. Somehow, he'd managed 
to come while half-hard.

Kerry came around with his usual speed a few minutes later on 
the nearby sofa. He shook his head, blinking his eyes as we 
watched. Then his hand went down to his crotch, feeling his now-
limp penis -- and he cursed savagely and glowered up at me, 
taking his gleaming-wet hand away again.

"You cunt! You fucked up! I should have been awake to enjoy 
that!"

I smiled a snake's smile right back at him. "Is it my fault you 
couldn't take it? You're the one who passed out cold."

Kargoth laughed.

Kerry glared at each of us in turn, then finally sighed and gave 
up.

"All right," he growled. "But I want another chance to come 
later."

I wordlessly padded over to the small fridge, brought out a 
bottle of beer and opened it. I smiled as I walked over to his 
side, squatted down and offered the bottle to him.

"You got it."



Direct comments and criticism to: maureen_lcn@yahoo.com . See my 
author's notes above for the URL to my story archive.