And then her finger was back, pressing and rolling, pressing and rolling again. She didn't just press and roll in one way. She kept changing the direction of roll and kept changing the pressure so that there was no chance that Marsha could pre-empt what she was going to do with that finger or to what degree. It was an added layer of torment - that Marsha not know. That she not get used to any one particular sensation through her hooded clitoris. But then out of nowhere - completely out of nowhere, Lisa 'popped' the clitoris out and there was this utter cry of despair from Marsha. There was this wet sound of absolute despair that is hard to define or describe. As the swollen bundle of eight thousand clitoral nerves slipped out into the open, so they swelled even more. And as they did that the hood flesh constricted around the base of the bundle creating that added pressure, and therefore pleasure. And that was a constant pressure. It was something that Marsha could 'feel'. It was something that she was aware of immediately. That slow slide and 'pop' out of the clitoris from the hood and then that feeling, that sensation of the hood flesh then tightening round the base of the bundle of nerves. Marsha let out a series of despairing cries. That is the only way one could describe that sound, as one of a despairing cry. And Lisa standing back, and she had this smile on her face but it was more than a smile it was an expression that told that she knew - that she knew exactly what this poor woman Marsha was going through right now.

Quite rightly one would think, Marsha came to the conclusion in her melting mind that Lisa would see to her now, that she would sort her out by giving her a clitoral orgasm. That was a reasonable conclusion that she come to, given the circumstances and given what she had been through already. Maybe she would do that, then take her jewellery and then go. Then she could begin the process of getting over this experience that she had been through and was going through. Maybe then she could at least begin the process of rebuilding. And because it was the weekend, she had the days to get over it. She might even call in to work on Monday sick, that would give her an extra day. It was true, Marsha was seeing light at the end of the tunnel. But she wasn't thinking right or straight. She was thinking that the light was at the end of the tunnel when it wasn't. Lisa returned her attentions with the tip of the feather to the nipples. This time she concentrated solely on the nipples. Or more specifically the nipple tips.

That was what she had craved when that feather tip was playing around her aureole's. She would have given anything for a swipe of the feather across her nipples but she wasn't given that. Not then! She was desperate for it, but she was denied - she was denied for a long, long time. She was denied until a little more of her sanity was taken away and until she was in a constant state of 'sob'. That sob, something that was in time with the state of tremble that she was also in. And now, now her clitoris had been taken out to play but was being left with just its hood constricting around its base, and now that feather being played around and over her long, thick nipples. And Lisa was being extra gentle, extra accurate with that feather tip. Using it like she might use a little tiny paintbrush. Concentrating on various parts and areas of the nipples. The stems, swiping that feather around it, around the base of the nipple to help along that deep seated throb that she could feel. Then around the thick stem itself. Using her fingers and her hands at different angles and heights so that she could paint those nipple stems with that feather tip. And then swiping across the nipple tips. Those nipple tips, the very tips, the most sensitive and most erogenous of areas. And when that feather tip swiped there, it was like this sound came from Marsha that told of only one thing, and that was despair.

And that was the thing. It was almost a sad, desperately sad despair that this girl was going through. She needed some kind of release, any release. But there was this cruelty that was being inflicted on her by this woman Lisa - a cruelty that could only be inflicted by another woman. And for the main part Lisa worked in silence. She simply inflicted her cruelty with that feather tip and she didn't engage in any sort of communication with Marsha. And it was like that - she was inflicting cruelty but she was doing it with a smile and then occasionally, very occasionally she would say something in her posh, her very posh voice that made what she was doing even more chilling. "You're doing fabulously darling. We'll be ready soon for you to beg. I know I know you probably feel like begging right now, in fact I'm sure you do, but not yet darling." And there was this 'knowledge' in Lisa about what she was doing. There was this knowledge in the way she spoke and the words that she used that would just tell anyone who heard her that this was a woman who knew what she was doing and what effect she was having on Marsha, or any of her victims at any given time. That voice of hers, that silky sexual voice that she used like a weapon in itself. But she was right - Marsha did want to beg. She felt she needed to beg. Then at least her begging would be some form of outlet, some kind of release. But weirdly, strangely given that she knew that she had been brought into this process deliberately and sadistically by Lisa and the tall man who had raped her ass, she had this need not to displease Lisa, that she couldn't displease her and so she didn't beg. Instead she simply absorbed what was happening to her and the sensations that she was feeling. But at what cost?