So much of his touch was pain - the press of him against her thrashed, salted back, the continuing pain of her bloodied breast, worsened as he tortured her clamped nipple; it sent zings of agony into her breast, and she writhed unintentionally on the strange contraption that held her bound and spread.<br/><br/>Yet horribly, there was pleasure as well; perhaps the woman between her thighs had been pressed into such service before, or perhaps fear made her bold and lucky in her lapping, because Elandriel's sex warmed unwillingly - urged on, most of all, by his touch upon her sensitive, pointed ear, breath and lips and tongue a sweet torture that made her nerves sing with a longing that made her mind scream against in protest.<br/><br/>"No..." the elf moaned again, twisting her head in vain to try to draw away from his mouth; his hand still rested heavy on her throat, his body against her back. There was no escaping, truly, and the elegant creature sobbed in despair. "I don't... want to...."