A BURST OF jagged lightning flashed the moonless, overcast midnight sky into momentary brilliance. Seconds later heavy crashes of thunder shook the ground as a sudden squall whipped the wind into an even greater fury, hammering raindrops the size of marbles into the faces of the twelve assembled Disciples. The approaching croak of a straining diesel motor rose over the howling wind and the Disciples shuffled in unconcealed anticipation as twin beams of headlights pierced the darkness, lighting up their robed and hooded figures.

An open-topped cattle truck with slatted wooden sides, slowed to a halt on the gravelled drive in front of them, its lights flickering off to once more render the night an impenetrable sheet of black. From the shelter of the entrance to the ancient manor house, their spiritual leader the Sacred Nazarene, Peter, ordered The Disciples forwards as another sheet of lightning burst across the sky, highlighting a jumble of figures struggling amid the sawdust and sharp-edged wood shavings strewn over the flat bed of the truck. The diesel engine stuttered for a few final juddering revolutions before cutting off completely, allowing a new sound to replace its throaty roar. The sound of wailing. Of distress and confusion. The sound of terrified women.

For that is what the figures were. Bound, chained and blindfolded young women; bound so that they could not escape and blindfolded so that they could not see where their journey had taken them. But they had not been gagged because the two men transporting them revelled in the sound of their screams and wails. Cruel, heartless and unfeeling, James and David were Peter's two closest henchmen and as confirmed devotees to the creed of the 'Children of Aztor' they carried out their duties with unconcealed and unflagging zeal.

Jumping down from the cab, they bent against the wind as they hurried to the rear of the truck, dropped the tailgate and climbed inside. Eager with anticipation, snorting away the stench of the animals that had obviously been the original occupants of the truck until they were replaced by the girls, the Disciples clustered around as James and David began hauling the luckless captives to their feet. They were twelve in number, the same as The Disciples and in a pitiful state, patches of wet sawdust sticking to their faces and their shivering limbs. The incessant rain and the biting cold had assailed them all through their journey and what little clothing they wore clung to their soaking bodies. Despite the weather none of them was dressed in more than a thin dress or a top and skirt, nipples primed into erection by the intense cold sticking out through the material like thimbles. That is on those lucky enough to be wearing clothes, for not all of them were. Some were naked and from those girls it was not only the rain that flowed. The mixed semen of James and David dribbled from them, to be washed from their thighs and haunches by the unending downpour.

Unconcerned by the appalling weather or their surroundings the girls' captors had stopped the truck several times to beat and to fuck one or more of the girls. Some they had thrown on to a grass verge out in the country in order to carry out their sadistic assaults, while others had been taken on the floor of the truck in the midst of their companions. Now, lifting them without effort the two men slung the anguished figures of the girls one by one over the shoulders of the waiting men, who immediately carried them, helplessly struggling against their bonds, into the gloomy, forbidding interior of the house.

Before being borne away on the wings of the unrelenting wind, the girls' screams blended with the raging of the storm to produce an eerie, almost supernatural wailing. A wailing that was as nothing compared to what it would become in the ensuing few weeks as they suffered at the hands of The Disciples. They did not know it yet, but in the blood-chilling surroundings of the dungeons and the fearsome pit of pain that was the torture chamber, they were to be trained by those ruthless, bestial men as sex slaves. Slaves with no will of their own, who would be sold to the highest bidder in order to swell Aztor's coffers of gold; slaves who unable to help themselves, would grovel and beg to be allowed to indulge in all and every perversion their new Masters' inventive minds could conceive. The Children of Aztor had promised them sanctuary from an evil world that was headed for destruction, but had instead condemned them to a hellish future from which there would be no escape.

On that fateful stormy night they began their journey into submission. Once inside the manor the Disciples wasted no time and went straight into action, each one being assigned the task of subduing and training a particular girl. But not before they had all fucked every single one of them. During the course of that long night each Disciple was going to plunge his manhood into all twelve of the girls; into every available orifice.

And they would have the stamina to do it. Peter had not picked them for their intellect but for their physical strength and natural streetwise savvy. He needed followers that he could control, who would readily believe his teachings and would not too closely question his motives and his deeds; men who would soak up the particularly unusual sexual perquisites that allegiance to Aztor brought with it. And as they were manipulated by him, so in turn they exercised power and authority over the unfortunate girls who fell into their power.

In the forbiddingly medieval confines of the great Hall, each screaming, hysterical girl was either thrown to the ground, laid over a bench or just simply pushed up against a stone wall, and still blindfolded was ravished by her captor. Ripping off their hooded cassocks The Disciples presented terrifying figures, their muscular bodies gleaming with oil, leather hoods with zipped mouths hiding their features, their biceps were circled with studded leather bands and their hard, erect penises were bound with thin leather strips that looped around and under their testicles. Their scrotums bulged and their cocks pulsed as the straps exaggerated the size of their balls and generated monstrous erections.

Huge, artificially stimulated shafts mercilessly reamed and raked the girls' vaginas, the thin leather strips rasping their delicate insides. Each and every Disciple reached orgasm and ejaculated into his own slave's chosen orifice before cleaning his sticky penis on her pubic mound or with her hair. Leaving the girls where they lay, in the semi darkness, with the flickering light of the flaming torches throwing eerie shadows over their glistening bodies, the twelve Disciples formed a circle and with their arms draped over each others' shoulders, chanted a ritual homage to Aztor.

And then they really went to work.

 

The girls were in a veritable Hell that they yet had to see with their own eyes. They had suffered unbelievably and their poor abused bodies had felt every moment of their torment, but because they were still blindfolded, they had seen nothing. If they had thought that their pitiful state was as bad as it could ever be, then they were mistaken. Their anguish and misery was about to increase tenfold.

Hauling the girls to their feet, the Disciples ripped off the broad bands of coarse sticking plaster that had been use to cover their eyes. As they blinked in the flickering gloom, their sight adjusting to the dim light, the bedlam increased as first one girl, then another took in the full horror of her circumstances. It was their first look at the beasts who held them and horrified screams rent the air as they took in the awful baseness of their surroundings. The Disciples presented figures that would have done Bacchanalia itself proud, Roman gladiators never presented a more frightening or arrogantly cruel picture than they did.

The experience was too much for some of the girls, several of them slipping to the ground in a dead faint. Peter had been watching, supervising the proceedings and now a giant roar leapt from his lips.

"Quiet!"

That was all. The gleaming men immediately started to quell the cacophony. Finally, although complete silence had not been achieved, the only audible sounds were of subdued sobbing and tight gasps for breath. The atmosphere was heavy with smoke from the flaming torches lining the walls, but that was not all that hung in the air. Fear positively flowed from the girls, an almost tangible emotion that the gathered men could almost touch and taste. And that only added to their determination and eagerness to deal with the whores in their midst.