<span style="font-weight: bold">Ambrosine</span><br/><br/>The pain of penetration was far, far less than the slow<span style="font-style: italic">roasting</span>of my thighs, breasts, neck, and I tried to focus on it, on pleasure instead of pain. I moaned and writhed on the end of his cock, the heat of arousal mingling with the slow roasting fire below. I imagined, somehow, that he might pull me from the fire and soothe my wounds if only…<br/><br/>He spurted, twitching and cumming inside my ruined nethers, stuffed with cock and cum and marinade.<br/><br/>“Please…” I choked out, through my burning, heat-chapped throat.<br/><br/>He wiped his cum on my face, bitter lemon drawing bitter tears that popped and sizzled on the coals below. My skin reddened, browned as the marinade turned to rich glaze. The pain lessened, as my nerves burnt and the heat migrated within. I smelled delicious, and my mouth watered.<br/><br/>Slaves seized me, flipped me, and I screamed in fresh agony with what breath I had left. My crisped flesh crackled and split as I jiggled over the fire, bleeding hot oil and juices.<br/><br/>I couldn’t even find the strength to beg for death, as Lady Catherine toasted her guests and roasted us…